#you captured his kindness and curiosity so well and I love how that’s reflected in the child too

[awkward-walking-potato]

Ahhh hello! I saw you mention Kurt and immediately came to the ask box LMAO I love him so much😭

Anywasy, imagine if he met a reader who also has a physical mutation (I always imagine her having like a chameleon mutation so she has the hands of a chameleon etc.) and they both bond and get super close because they both know what it’s like to be judged for their physical mutations 😭

Anyways I just love the thought of them feeling less alone cus they have each other

Have a good day❤️

Shades of Us

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Inside, the common room was buzzing with the usual evening activities. Kurt Wagner, also known as Nightcrawler, was sitting quietly in one corner, his tail wrapped around his legs as he read a book. His golden eyes flicked up periodically, watching the students and teachers move about with an ease he admired but sometimes felt distant from.

In the midst of this bustling environment, a new student had recently arrived—someone with a chameleon-like mutation. Your arrival had been met with a mix of curiosity and hesitation from the other students. Your hands, covered in delicate, scale-like patterns, were an unusual sight, and your ability to blend seamlessly with your surroundings made you both fascinating and enigmatic. Despite your unique traits, you kept to yourself, finding solace in the quieter parts of the mansion.

Kurt had noticed you from the start. Your subtle movements, the way you shifted colors to blend into the background, and your quiet demeanor piqued his interest. He had seen how the other students occasionally looked at you, some with curiosity, others with barely concealed judgment. It was a look he knew all too well.

One evening, as he was making his way through the mansion’s halls, he saw you sitting alone in a sunlit alcove, sketching in a notebook. Your fingers, with their chameleon-like grip, moved delicately across the page. The sight tugged at something in Kurt’s heart, and he decided to approach you.

“Guten Abend,” Kurt said softly as he approached, his tail swaying slightly. He didn’t want to startle you. “May I join you?”

You looked up from your sketchbook, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and curiosity. You nodded, motioning to the empty space next to you. “Of course.”

Kurt took a seat beside you, his tail wrapping around his legs as he settled in. He glanced at the sketches on your notebook, admiring the intricate details and vibrant colors. “These are beautiful,” he remarked sincerely. “You have a real talent for capturing the world.”

You smiled shyly, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. “Thank you. I just like to draw the things I see around me. It helps me feel less… invisible.”

Kurt nodded, understanding more than you might have realized. “I know that feeling well,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes, it feels like people only see the surface, not what’s underneath. It’s like being judged for something you can’t change.”

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, you saw a reflection of your own struggles in his eyes. “Exactly. It’s comforting to meet someone who understands.”

Kurt’s golden eyes softened, and he reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I understand more than you know. We’re both used to being seen as different. But here, we don’t have to hide who we are.”

The sincerity in his voice was comforting, and it made you feel a bit braver. “It’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t judge,” you said softly. “Someone who sees the real me.”

Kurt’s smile grew, and he leaned in slightly. “And I see someone who is incredibly special. Your abilities, your art—they’re all part of what makes you unique and wonderful.”

The warmth of his words, coupled with the kindness in his eyes, made you feel a sense of belonging you hadn’t felt before. “Thank you, Kurt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the evening wore on, you and Kurt began to share more about yourselves—your past experiences, your dreams, and the small things that made you who you were. The conversation flowed easily, a natural connection forming between you as you both found solace in each other’s company.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to your powers. Kurt was fascinated by the way you could blend into your surroundings, your skin changing colors seamlessly. “It’s like you’re a part of the environment,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “It’s something I can’t do, but I find it amazing.”

You laughed softly, a genuine, relaxed sound. “It’s not always as great as it seems. It’s easy to disappear, but sometimes I just want to be seen for who I am, not just what I can do.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “I feel the same way. My appearance can be… jarring to some. But here, with you, I don’t have to worry about that. We can just be ourselves.”

The night grew darker, and the two of you eventually decided to take a walk outside. As you strolled through the garden, Kurt’s tail gently wrapped around your waist, his touch light but reassuring. It was a gesture of affection and solidarity, a way of saying, “You’re not alone.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the tenderness of his touch. “Kurt, you don’t have to…”

He smiled down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “I want to. It feels right. And besides, it’s nice to have someone to share this with.”

As you walked together, the world seemed a little less daunting. The shadows of the evening wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly seen and appreciated.

The connection between you and Kurt grew stronger with each passing moment. In each other, you found not only understanding and acceptance but a deep and genuine bond. You both knew that the world could be harsh, but in each other’s company, you found a sanctuary—a place where you could be your true selves, without fear or judgment.

And as the night deepened, you both embraced the comfort of the other, knowing that, together, you were no longer alone in a world that often felt indifferent.

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

A Surprise at the Café

Paring: Benoftheweek (Youtuber) x Reader (Mainly Female)

Summary: One special day at your favourite coffee shop fate brings you closer to someone you couldn't imagine meeting

This story is a response to the post made 3 years ago - Here's the link to that post

After a grueling day of college classes, I sought solace in the familiar routine of grabbing a warm drink from the nearby coffee shop. As I waited for my latte, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my subscriptions, eager to unwind with a Benoftheweek video.

The latest upload caught my eye, and I eagerly tapped on it. Ben's videos always brought me a sense of comfort, like catching up with an old friend. Lost in his latest adventure, I barely noticed the bustling crowd around me until I collided with someone while reaching for my drink.

Startled, I looked up to apologize, only to find myself face to face with none other than Ben himself. My heart raced with disbelief as I realized who he was. I'd been a fan of his videos for years, and now here he was, standing right in front of me.

Ben's kind eyes softened as he noticed the coffee stains on my jeans and sweater. Without hesitation, he offered me his hockey hoodie to cover up the mess. As I slipped into the oversized hoodie, a wave of joy and warmth washed over me. It was like wearing a piece of his world.

Feeling giddy with excitement, I asked Ben for a selfie to capture the unexpected moment. He chuckled warmly and obliged, his arm wrapping around me in a friendly embrace.

Ben insisted on buying me another coffee and a muffin to make up for the mishap, even though I knew it was my fault. We found a cozy spot to sit and chat, the conversation flowing effortlessly between us.

Curious about the hoodie, I asked Ben about his interest in hockey. Surprisingly, he admitted that he wasn't much into the sport but collected jerseys because he liked the way they looked.

Ben's eyes fell on my bag, noticing the array of books and a laptop peeking out from within. "So, what major are you taking?" he asked, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes.

"I'm studying Journalism," I replied with a smile, feeling a spark of pride at sharing my chosen field of study. "It's actually my first year here."

"Ah, journalism! That's awesome," Ben exclaimed, nodding appreciatively. "Gotta love the power of words. You'll do great, I'm sure."

I thanked him, feeling a rush of encouragement from his words.

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Ben leaned in closer and quipped, "Well, at least the coffee didn't decide to make your books and laptop its next victims. That would've been a real headline: 'Coffee Spill Disaster Strikes New Journalism Student!'"

We both chuckled at his joke, the tension from the accidental collision melting away into shared laughter. It was moments like these that made unexpected encounters truly memorable.

As we continued talking, I glanced out the coffee shop window that had the reflection the clock and realized how quickly time had flown. I needed to get back to my apartment soon.

Sensing my dilemma, Ben offered to drive me home. Grateful for the gesture, I accepted, and we chatted animatedly during the short drive.

During the drive, I couldn't help but notice the pom-poms dangling from the car's ceiling. I remembered the video where Ben decorated them, feeling like I was right there with him during that moment.

"Those pom-poms are adorable," I remarked, unable to contain my smile as I touched one lightly.

Ben laughed, a warm sound that filled the car. "Thanks! I thought they added a fun touch to the car."

"They definitely do," I replied, feeling a rush of gratitude for the shared connection, however small.

As we pulled up to my building I gathered my belongings, preparing to step out of the car, Ben turned to me with a hesitant expression. "Hey, before you go, I was wondering if… would you be interested in going out for dinner sometime? I had a really great time talking to you, and I'd love to get to know you better."

My heart skipped a beat at his unexpected invitation. "I would love to," I replied, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through me. "Here, let me give you my number."

We exchanged phones, inputting our contact information, before reluctantly parting ways. Before I closed the door, Ben reached into the backseat and handed me one of his favorite caps as a parting gift.

"Consider it a token of our unexpected meeting," he said with a charming grin.

I thanked him profusely, feeling incredibly grateful for the unexpected gesture.

As I watched him drive off into the night, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. One of my biggest dreams had just come true, all thanks to a chance encounter at a coffee shop. As I settled in for the night, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for the future date with Ben and the endless possibilities it held.

[tsumuus]

the bachelorette | chaper three; dinner date °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

series masterlist

main masterlist

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The evening had arrived, and you were excited for your one-on-one date with Akaashi. The day had been filled with anticipation, and you were eager to explore the connection you felt during the group date.

As the sun began to set, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange, you found yourself in a luxurious, dimly lit restaurant. The ambiance was intimate, with soft music playing in the background and candles flickering on the tables. Akaashi, dressed in a well-tailored suit, greeted you with a warm smile.

"Keiji," you said, smiling back as you took your seat. "This place is beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so," Akaashi replied, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. "I wanted tonight to be special."

The two of you started with a light appetizer, and as the conversation flowed, you found yourself genuinely enjoying Akaashi's company. His calm demeanor and thoughtful responses created a relaxed atmosphere.

“So, Keiji,” you began, glancing at the menu, “what’s your idea of the perfect evening?”

Akaashi looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’d say it’s a mix of good food, meaningful conversation, and great company. It’s the little things that make an evening special, don’t you think?”

You smiled, feeling a connection. “I couldn’t agree more. So far, I think we’re on the right track.”

As the evening progressed, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Akaashi’s insightful responses and thoughtful questions revealed his depth of character. 

"So, Keiji," you began, "what's something people might not know about you just from first impressions?"

Akaashi chuckled softly. "I think people might see me as reserved, but I have a quirky side that I usually keep hidden. I’m a huge fan of classic literature, and I have a collection of rare books that I’m quite proud of."

"That’s really interesting," you said, leaning in. "What draws you to classic literature?"

Akaashi’s eyes lit up as he spoke. "I love how timeless the themes are. Despite being written centuries ago, the emotions and experiences are still so relatable. It’s like having a conversation with the past."

You nodded, appreciating his passion. "That makes sense. I’ve always admired people who can find meaning in the classics."

As the evening progressed, you shared more about yourselves. Akaashi talked about his love for photography and how it allowed him to capture fleeting moments. You learned about his close-knit family and how they supported his dreams.

In return, you opened up about your own interests and experiences. The conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and genuine curiosity. Akaashi’s ability to listen and engage in meaningful dialogue made the date feel effortless.

Back at the main house, the remaining contestants gathered in the living room. The atmosphere was relaxed, with everyone lounging on couches and chatting about their day. The conversation eventually turned to you, and the men began sharing their thoughts and feelings.

“I’m curious,” Bokuto started, leaning forward, “what does everyone really think about yn? I mean, aside from the obvious.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Well, for one, I think yn is incredibly down-to-earth. It’s refreshing to meet someone who’s so genuine and approachable.”

Semi nodded in agreement. “I’ve noticed that too. There’s something really special about how yn interacts with each of us. It’s like she truly wants to get to know us.”

Atsumu, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, added, “I agree with that. yn’s got this way of making everyone feel at ease. It’s kind of rare, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Oikawa chimed in, his usual confidence evident. “I’ve seen how she interacts with each of us, and there’s definitely a genuine interest there. It’s refreshing to see someone who’s truly invested in getting to know all of us.”

Sakusa, who had been relatively quiet, spoke up. “I think yn has this natural ability to make people feel comfortable. It’s not something you come across every day. I can definitely see a potential future with her if things continue to go well.”

Iwaizumi agreed, adding, “She’s got a great sense of humor and a positive outlook. It’s easy to see why she’s a fan favorite. But I also feel like she’s someone who genuinely wants a meaningful relationship, not just a flashy romance.”

Tsukishima, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. “I think it’s her authenticity that stands out. She seems like someone who’s genuine and real, which is something I really appreciate.”

The conversation continued, with each contestant sharing their perspectives on why they were there and their thoughts on you. There was a mix of admiration, excitement, and vulnerability as they discussed their feelings and their hopes for the future.

“Well, I’m here because I genuinely want to find someone special,” Suna said. “yn seems like someone who could bring out the best in me, and that’s something I’m really looking for.”

Sugawara nodded. “I agree. There’s something about yn that makes you want to be your best self. I can definitely see a lasting relationship if we continue to connect on this level.”

As the night wore on, the atmosphere grew more contemplative. The contestants reflected on their experiences and their hopes for the rose ceremony that was fast approaching.

Back at the rooftop restaurant, you and Keiji had said your goodbyes, and you returned to the house with a sense of anticipation. The evening had been both enlightening and enjoyable, and you were eager to see how the connections would continue to develop.

As the contestants gathered for the upcoming rose ceremony, you felt the weight of your decisions. Each man had shown a different side of themselves, and you were prepared to make the difficult choices necessary to find the connection you were searching for.

(vote for whoever you'd like to keep safe, a rose will not be given to three guys this round)

taglist:

@yvqip  @hyenagoated  @wakashudou  @twinklingmelon  @dazqa  @cosmiicdust  @oqqti  @keikokashi  @jojo23allegra  @jaynawayna  @staarism

[thescreaminghat]

Ok but Viktor is so DELICIOUSLY mischievous in Arcane???

Like, I think a lot of us went into the show with the impression that he was going to be this no-nonsense, stoic counterpart to Jayce's brash personality, and while Viktor is level-headed and calm, he has such a biting humor that gives him so much personality and life (at this point I think Viktor is responsible for 90% of the sassy and funny quips in the show).

And I really enjoy the fact that the writers gave him this liveliness and soft-spoken charm (and how well Harry Lloyd voiced the lines), because it makes Viktor so human, so optimistic, and so kind, especially when you consider how he literally talked Jayce down from committing suicide. You can feel the passion and energy bubbling underneath his calm exterior, and the little details (like Viktor being ready to risk his own position to help Jayce by sneaking into Heimer's lab only to come up with the ridiculous but hilarious lie of "Oh silly me! I thought I was going into my bedroom but I was actually unlocking a restricted area using these oversized keys" when he gets caught red-handed) is so...perfect? Like you can easily imagine that, as a kid in Zaun, Viktor was likely just as mischievous and willing to get into hijinks as Ekko or Powder. XDD

And OH MY GOD CAN WE TALK ABOUT "TIME TO CRANK IT"??? Again, Harry Lloyd's soft-spoken delivery and gentle accent for Viktor is so perfectly executed for the joke. So the setup in ep 3 is this: when they're working on the hextech research, Jayce exclaims that they'll need to "crank it" (referring to the stabiliser machine, I believe), and Viktor, caught off-guard in his thoughts, says, "Yes, yes, we need to...cRANK it," and what's so perfect about this scene is the awkwardness that Viktor gives to the word. Like, it comes across as Jayce using "slang" or very casual language in his excitement that Viktor finds really amusing and charmingly unexpected, so Viktor tries to emulate the way Jayce says "crank it," but he has a tiny voice crack when he says the phrase (as he's holding in his laugh) that makes the scene so adorable. And then later, the payoff is that right before they test the stabiliser, when Jayce is nervous and stone-faced, Viktor lightens the mood by saying "Time to cRANK it", with his emphasis on awkward syllables, but he says this with, again, that delightful humor and mischief in his eyes. It's such a wonderful and cute scene, and it really captures how Viktor and Jayce are bouncing ideas and emotions off of each other as Science Boyfriends and how Viktor is VERY empathetic, in-tune with social cues and sensitive to other people's feelings (at this point Viktor is so supportive and encouraging of Jayce, and I think that's really important given how Viktor himself may have been at Jayce's low point before he went to Piltover because of his own difficult circumstances).

Anyways, this is to say that once these two have the worst breakup ever according to lore and Viktor falls into a deep depression without any help from Jayce I will look back at these early interactions and cry my eyes out for the hurt that Viktor, a rational but charming innovator who saved a man's life by believing in him when no one else would, will ultimately experience.

Edit: The way Viktor acts and carries himself ISN'T reflective of a man detached from himself and humanity, or a man broken by poverty or his disability. His playfulness, his joy - this is someone filled with happiness, youth, silliness, curiosity, and most importantly, a belief in and love for the world.

[canonatypical]

Hello! Are you still taking requests? I really love your writing and you capture Eddie soooo well! I wondered what your thoughts were on how Eddie would choose to take someone out on a proper date. Is he a disaster case? Hehe :>

Hi, friend! Yes, my requests are always open! Thank you so much for the kind words, I really appreciate that and I'm happy that you like my take on Eddie. Here are my thoughts on a date (perhaps even our first!) with Eddie:

If there's one thing that Eddie is good at, it's putting up a front. All of the hurtful words that used to pierce him like bullets now ricochet off of him, but in the comfort of the home that he shares with his uncle, he can allow the mask to slip...and tonight, slip it does.

Nervous doesn't even begin to explain how he's feeling. He's been plucking away at his guitar all evening, but his fingers are fumbling and he's screwed up more times than he cares to count. A string of expletives leave his mouth when Eddie glances to his watch, opting to give up on the guitar practice for now. He has only allotted himself a measly half an hour to get ready and he better get a move on or risk either looking worse for wear or ,worse yet, being late for the agreed upon date.

With his guitar safely cradled back in its designated spot, Eddie's fingers crimp and detangle the mess of curls that cascade down to his shoulders, stopping only once he's satisfied with the reflection peering back at him in the dirty bathroom mirror.

He ditches his trusty Hellfire Club shirt and exchanges it for a well worn plain black t-shirt, but as he heads out the door, he still dons the all too familiar leather jacket and hand decorated denim vest.

Eddie's mind has been racing, plotting all of the various places he can take you, things he can experience with you, ever since he'd proposed taking you on this date. When he climbs into his van and brings the engine to life, his heart thumps wildly in his chest as he hopes that the idea he'd finally settled on will be enough to make you want to come back for more.

You don't make him feel embarrassed when he picks you up, you introduce him to your parents and seem thrilled—proud, even—to be in his presence around your folks, a rare courtesy only ever extended to him on one or two other occasions by friends he's made through Hellfire. When you climb into his van, you begin rifling through the 8-tracks that are thrown into the small box in the footwell of the passenger seat.

"Do you mind," he asks, holding up an unlabeled 8-track which instantly piques your curiosity.

He slips it into the designated slot when you nod your ascent and returns his now clammy palm to the steering wheel as one of many songs begins to fill the vehicle. As the two of you drive to your destination, a flurry of conversation carrying on during the ride, Eddie doesn't tell you that these are songs he's hand picked—songs that make him think of you.

Maybe one day he'll tell you. If tonight goes well.

Eddie takes you to Lover's Lake, not for its scandalous reputation, but for another purpose entirely. It is here that you discover Eddie's passion for the cosmos.

"When I was little," he says as your back rests against his chest whilst the two of you sit on the blanket he's laid on the ground, "I used to go outside at night and stare up at the sky, wishing to be anywhere but here."

It should be a sad thought—it is a sad thought—but Eddie doesn't allow you to linger on the past. Instead, he keeps one arm hooked around your midriff as the other lifts to point out the shape of a constellation—Corona Borealis; Northern Crown—that shimmers overhead.

There is so much more to Eddie the freak Munson, you realize in the midst of his tale of the Northern Crown and the love gained from the legend. Perhaps your story and his will end much in the same light. If you're lucky, your stories will continue to intertwine.

He certainly hopes so.

[mrpenguinpants]

Xiao: Falling Hard In Love HCs

I re-posted this in case anyone is confused. Tumblr is not enjoying Xiao and I feel attacked. Pls work ;-; I have family 

Hihi^^ and npnp I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I love Xiao so much, pls send me all your xiao asks I will speed do them. He deserves the world so buddy, come home don’t dodge me like Venti

Semi Part 1: Friendship

Semi Part 3: Cuddles

Semi Part 4: Protective

Semi Part 5: Affection 

Semi Part 6: Jealously

Semi Part 7: First Kiss

Semi Part 8: Opposites Attract

Semi Part 9:  String of Fate [Soulmate] HCs

Semi Part 10:  [ Fainting ]

---

Xiao: Falling Hard In Love HCs

He knows what love is but never thought he would experience this strong of an emotion. He's respected people such as his fellow adepti and Rex Lapis and he has a somewhat close relationship with Ming. He's felt protective over Liyue and children but never for a single person.

His first thoughts are you must either be an unannounced adepti that somehow came to be or you were an evil demon that somehow laid a curse on him. Both very implausible since he can tell you were human and you would never have an opening to curse him before his spear would get to you first.

He watches you, wondering why you've captured so much of his attention. You can feel someone's eyes on you but every time you turn around you don't see anyone.

You go to Xiao worried that a demon might be stalking you since he is the Guardian Yaksha and he might be able to help you. When he sees how frightened you are because of his actions, he immediately stops borderline stalking you. He tells you he will take care of it and you won't need to worry about anything.

He tries to keep his distance and aloof manner to make you both drift apart more since a relationship would not be the best considering he is an adepti, but he does dote on you in his own way without realizing it. It just comes naturally to him.

If you bring a gift or a plate of almond tofu, he can't deny an offering. That would just be rude. This is ignoring the fact that he's never concerned himself with prayers or offerings in the past, let alone appear in front of that person except for you.

If you're a traveler he would silently watch over your path. He won't be watching you from any shadows since that didn't go so well the first time so he'll clear the path so you won't run into monsters. Half way through he get's a bit pissed at his behaviour, that he's doing so much for one person when adepti usually seclude themselves yet here he is in the open, killing fodder when he’s faces demons that could swallow Liyue. But then he thinks about you getting hurt and he's right back to work.

He finds himself missing your presence when you’re not at the inn for an extended period of time. Looking out over Liyue from the roof of the inn hoping to see you appear just over the hill. Whenever Ming points out that he’s missing you because he likes you he frowns at himself. Has he really fallen that hard? He tries to clears his mind by fighting something but his walk back always makes him reflect.

When you return and remark about how easy your trip was. That there were no monsters anyways near their camps and how peaceful it was, he simply shrugs and nods in agreement.

"Xiao? I'm back from my travels!" you call out in the open space where you would usually find him. You had just gotten back from what was suppose to be a 2 week long trip which only lasted for half the time.

"You're back early"

You nearly shrieked in shock. No matter how many times you've talked with Xiao, his sudden appearance always startles you. You slowly calmed your heart as you turned to see the adepti sitting on the roof of the inn, staring up at the night sky.

"You know, it was kind of funny actually. I passed by many hilichurls camps but I never saw any,” you stated reminiscing your trip as you side eyed the adepti, “would you have anything to do with that?”

“You were taking a dangerous route. You should stay on the main road from now on. It would be foolish for you to die out of sheer curiosity and to something like a hilichurl”  he scolds, crossing his arms as he peers down annoyed at you while you sheepishly smile back.

“Aw its not too bad. At least I can count on you Xiao. Going out and protecting Liyue as the Guardian yaksha” you chucked. He can feel the tips of his ears start to blush. But before you can see his face turn pink he suddenly stands up and puts his mask on as he materializes his spear.

“Yes and I must go again. There are more hilichurls coming too close to the inn. I’ll have to deal with it before they cause more trouble” he quickly nods to you as he jumps down from the roof he was perched on

“Oh...alright, have a safe travel” you silently wave to his back as he passes you

“Likewise”

You watched him jump off from the railing to the inn and into the trees as he disappeared into the night. The green glow of his mask fading away the further he ran. He really was incredible.

“Hah, I was so close this time” you sigh, you were trying to lead your compliment into something more but Xiao cut your conversation short. Maybe he did know of your deeper feelings and was trying to softly reject them and you? You quickly slapped your cheeks getting rid of those bad thoughts

“Well, there's always tomorrow” you smiled, hyping yourself up to hopefully tell the aloof adepti your feelings for him.

[d-nghy-ck]

Pearlescent

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Donghyuck x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, smut, romance, established relationship. Inspired by the From Home MV aesthetic. 

Warnings: Unprotected sex 

Summary: A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion. 

Header: by Jackie @/ hchan 

Word Count: 5k

“Pack your bags for a night away,” Donghyuck mischievously instructs through your phone’s speaker, only to revert to his usual playful, singsong tone. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes, baby.” The call ends before his distorted laughter has even finished. 

And sure enough, a few minutes of hasty packing and insatiable curiosity later, the horn of Donghyuck’s quaint little 1985 sedan honks from outside your apartment door. 

Crisp autumn air awakens your senses better than any cup of coffee, and when you hop into his passenger seat you’re met with the sight of one very pleased Donghyuck. Adventure dances in his eyes as he idly taps his foot on the gas to rev the engine, a lopsided grin playing at his lips. 

He leans across the center console to deliver a well-placed good morning peck, and without a moment to waste, he shifts the gear and whisks you away. With the windows rolled down, his hair flutters in the wind as he tells you of your plans for the day. 

“I got us a home away for the night, a place far from everyone else. I think you’ll really like it.” His thumb taps on the steering wheel, revealing what you think might be possible nervousness, and he glances between you and the road. “You deserve it.”

The pull of your lips into the shyest of smiles is all the confirmation he needs. 

You have no idea where you’re headed, but if there’s anything you’ve learned by dating Donghyuck, it’s that, yes, his plans are usually spontaneous and hectic, but they’re always exciting and worthwhile. Maybe at the beginning of your relationship you would have inquired, but with the way Donghyuck is smirking to himself as he absentmindedly fiddles with the radio knob, you know you can trust his intuition, oddly enough. 

Leading you through his daring thrills and unexpected plans makes him feel alive - you can see it in his boyish grin as he wordlessly glances over to you and intertwines your fingers with his as he drives. He chuckles at the innocent, curious look in your eyes and raises his eyebrows, almost taunting you to ask him where you’re headed. When you meet him with the same expression of expectancy and defiance, he can’t hold the silence any longer and a laugh bubbles out of him. 

“You’re cute, you know that?” He offers the road a glance before looking back. “I bet you’re dying to know where we’re headed.” 

His grin widens, imploring you to break down and beg for him to spare you his thoughts. Instead, your grin mirrors his, and you disarm him in a completely different way. 

“I trust you, Hyuck.”

His expression promptly softens and his fingers tighten in your grasp, bashfully looking back to the road, caught off guard by your unhindered sincerity. You always know how to best him in the most precious of ways, and he loves you for it. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

Passing building after building, the space between each structure widens and fills with wilderness revealing serene stretches of land, a relieving contrast from the hustle and bustle left back home. You stop occasionally along the way to observe overlooks of the distant sea or visit coastal villages scattered with weather-torn cottages and quiet shop streets. Belatedly, you realized you’d stopped wondering where he was ultimately taking you, and instead found yourself enjoying every moment he pulled you close to point to buildings in the distance, trotted down hidden pathways to see what lies beyond, or held a streetfood to your lips for you to taste. 

At last he steers down a gravel drive that opens to the expanse of the ocean, rolling his car right along the beach to a standstill at the shore. Hyuck cuts the ignition and the rumble is replaced with the calm crash of waves as you take your first steps across the sand. You didn’t expect the coast, especially since this time of the year beckons chilled breezes, occasional gusts of wind carrying the fresh scent of impending storms. The shiver on your skin seeks the comfort of warmth, and lucky for you, Donghyuck radiates within his padded white bomber jacket as he stretches his legs on the sand. 

He breathes in deeply and spreads his arms wide, sighing contentedly. Not a single person is on the beach aside from you and yours. It only takes a moment’s pause before you rush to squeeze him as tight as you can, slipping your arms beneath his jacket to pull his waist to you. Though winded by your ambush, his chest rumbles with laughter as you mumble against him  your appreciation for bringing you here by surprise. 

“I wanted to bring you somewhere where I could take the time to focus on you, and only you.” He kisses your cheeks, savoring them one by one. “Gotta make sure you’re as loved as possible.” 

After tossing your shoes by the car, you spend the daylight hours skipping through the sand, exchanging teasing banter, and exploring the area hand-in-hand. It even turns out Hyuck put thought into this; you’re impressed when he pulls out your favorite treats to snack on from the backseat of his car. 

The passing of the sun overhead revolves much like the way you revolve around each other with the passing of time. To just stroll along the shore with him is a boundless dream. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

Walking backwards by the tide, he pulls you in front of him, fingers just barely lacing together. Your clasped hands sway with each step, and the cute quirk of his lips and sparkling eyes urge you forward. As the tide crawls in, you hastily warn him that he’s about to step into the water. His eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he halts abruptly, causing you to bump into him. Instead of dodging the water, he fixes his gaze on you, mischief stirring in his mind. 

“Alright, come on.” He deadpans, dragging you to the incoming currents by a newfound hold on your wrist. “Let’s see who can outrun the waves.” 

Fear of how ice cold the water might be at this time of the year has you digging your toes into the sand in resistance. His eyes challenge you to approach the tide, begging you to play along with him. Unable to resist his antics, you entertain the idea just for another chance to see him lively and laughing. 

Following him to the water when the waves retract, you find how the sand beneath your bare feet chills deeper with each step. You prepare to run when the tide surges forward again, but Hyuck guards you with guarded arms. Just as the waves threaten to crash against your skin, he catches you in his embrace and refuses to budge one bit as the cold water rushes over.  Both of your squeals fill the air, but between the subsequent laughs and the trickle of the ocean, you can’t find it within yourself to mind. Though the water laps at your feet, he allows you to forget about the cold or how fast the sun passes overhead. And even as the waves retract, he holds you close, and he radiates just the right amount of warmth. 

Your view of his handsome features shifts as he turns you around to face the sunset. Pressing behind you, he lightly rubs a hand down your arm and along your waist to hug you securely to him, creating warmth with the friction. Brushing the hair off your neck, he kisses along bare skin, rising goosebumps in his lips’ wake. 

“See the sunset, they way it reflects off the water? The serenity and the natural beauty of it all?” He kisses up your neck to the rim of your ear and watches your profile as you exhale from his gentle touches. “It still all pales in comparison to you.” 

Shivers run through you from the combination of the drag of his lips on your skin, his whispered intentions at your ear, and his satisfied chuckles that follow. Cold water continues to rush over your skin below against the contrast of the steady warmth of his hold above. 

Spinning around in his arms, you catch the flirty glint in his eyes that plays with reflections of glimmering waves and pearlescent skies. Delicately, his fingers leave lingering touches on your skin; at the inside of your wrist, at the curve of your waist, at the nape of your neck he quietly explores. Kisses press into you on spots he knows you love, and he loves more. In return, you kiss him in the way you know he adores, and that’s anywhere and everywhere, so long as it’s your lips on his skin. 

It’s when you tremble against him that he pulls away just enough to speak against your lips. 

“You must be shivering from the water.” But he knows it’s from his affections, and he knows you love it when he teases you. Unable to deny lest your voice also trembles, you instead fall into his knowing eyes that gradually capture the light of the falling sun. 

He urges you out of the water, leading you by clasped hands ashore. Soon he’s laid out a comforter over the sand, a puffy duvet, the kind of makeshift extravagance you envision he proudly stuffed into his trunk earlier this morning. You crawl onto the duvet with him, curling up into his side as the sunset evolves before your eyes. 

There’s comfort in the solitude and far cast gazes while thoughts are of someone held near. The warmth from his soft jacket carries the clean scent of linen and hints of a scent so characteristically him - alluring and exhilarating. 

You can’t help but steal glances at him watching the view, peeking up from your snuggles on his shoulder to admire his emotive eyes, red-tipped nose, and even his brown hair curling at the collar of his jacket. Your fingers twist into the duvet at how badly you wish to curl your own fingers in his hair, to continue your loving kisses from earlier that he so graciously ended in favor of your comfort. 

And with that, your mind is lost to thoughts of him. On the surface level, his flirty confidence can come across so nonchalant, but at his core lives a caring side to him that’s present in the way he empowers you to embrace your inner strengths, the way he encourages you to take care of yourself. He wants you to be happy, and you want nothing but the same for him. It’s so positively nurturing that you couldn’t be more convinced that you’re meant for each other. 

Irresistibly, you’re as drawn to him as he is to you, and you’re sure you’ve fallen. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he catches your pensive gaze, and you find yourself holding your breath, silently begging for his touch, so thoroughly allured by his charm that you’re unable to think. He knows you, and he knows this, so he meets you there halfway. 

His fingertips under your chin urge you to him, his thumb softly tracing your bottom lip. The vibrant fire of the sunset burns in his eyes, yet in them swims something deeper as his fingers grip at the nape of your neck and pull you close for a searing kiss. 

The glide of his lips persists, slow and connected, as Hyuck melds his lips over yours in a way that bonds you to him. Your fingers find home in his hair, twirling and pulling at the tufts, earning a soft hum from him that’s lost on your lips as he leans into you. His palm moves to the small of your back, drawing you flush against him, falling into the duvet. 

The seclusion of being the only two people from horizon to horizon brings reckless abandonment as he confidently presses into you, his hands sliding up your thighs, his wet kisses trailing off your lips and down your neck. Nestling your nose in his hair, you catch the vanilla scent of his shampoo while your hands burry beneath his hoodie, drifting over soft warm skin. Your touch elicits a small giggle from him at the sensitivity before he bussies his mouth on your neck again, heightening your temptation to have him nearer. 

The physical attraction that pulls you together holds steadfast, though at the root of it all is a manifestation of the love and trust you hold for each other. He feels so content with you, so free to be authentically, vulnerably himself, that his actions and spoken thoughts release unfiltered. 

Hyuck kisses his way up your jaw and hovers right at the corner of your lips to speak with ragged breaths. “You know, I really love you.” He teases and sucks at your bottom lip, pulling gently. “I might want to be with you forever, if that’s alright by you.” 

You follow the pull of his teeth and answer with a proper kiss, attempting to convey at least a hint of how much he means to you. He chuckles at how it’s almost as if you didn’t hear him, just eagerly, mindlessly seeking his touch. 

A break for air gives you a moment to attempt to encapsulate your fondness for him, but it’s best simply put, for the magnitude of your feelings can’t possibly be conveyed with spoken language. “I love you, too. Just you as you are.” You love him for his care and passion, his playfulness, his spontaneity, and even his flaws. “Just you already - you’re perfect.” 

The genuine honesty rises a catch in his breath, the profound nature of your words pulling you both from your carnal desires. Feeling wholly understood and appreciated, you’re overwhelmed by the joy of falling completely in love. In this moment, there’s no worry other than letting each other know how much you adore and appreciate each other. Hyuck leans down for another kiss, and your minds and hearts and touch and lips are full of the other. 

The waves flow, reflecting the sun in its descent, and a light breeze sweeps by, encouraging you to sink even further into your embrace. It’s nature’s way of drawing you together. 

Noticing how your skin grows cold to the touch with the settling of the sun, he hugs you closely and murmurs a suggestion in your ear. “How about we warm you up?” Gesturing behind your huddled embrace to a hilltop that looks out over the coast, a quaint home is nestled amidst the sparse pines. Before you know it, Hyuck is on his knees, hair catching the wind in a flutter, offering a bashful grin and a hand to bring you along. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

With his heated palm resting against your thigh as he drives, the ride is not nearly long enough for you to catch up with your rapidly beating heart and lingering thoughts of his love and touch. Rolling up in front of a mid-century modern bungalow, Hyuck cuts the engine and grabs your and his bags from the back seat. 

Hyuck patiently sways, studying you as you endearingly gape up at the house from the gravel drive. You pull your gaze from the picturesque cottage in disbelief and meet his eyes. “Hyuck, this is beautiful.” 

Offering a proud grin, he reaches to clasp your fingers and run his thumb along your skin. You place a lingering, soft kiss to his cheek and he pulls back to soak in the contentedness of your eyes before enthusiastically nodding his head toward the front door. As he leads you up the walk, he pulls a cottage key out of his pocket with a wink, unlocks the door, and urges you in by a supportive hand at the small of your back. 

Together you stumble into your comfortable home for the night. Through large windows that reveal the views of the ocean below, sunbeams cast pinkish coral and golden hues along the walls and mid-century modern interior. The little bungalow is cozy and inviting, but as soon as the front door clicks shut and stillness follows, you can barely pay mind to anything aside from the thick tension and desire hanging in the air between the two of you. 

You send a tentative glance toward him, the light catching the honey browns of his hair, the sprinkle of moles across his warm skin, the deep brown of his eyes. Hyuck breaks the silence with a low murmur under his breath, how the cottage looks great, but even as he says it, he’s not looking at your home; he’s looking at you, and only you. Adoration melts within his gaze, and it shifts down to your lips as he absent-mindedly attempts to garner another comment, but it’s lost to you as you’re unable to think clearly beyond thoughts of his eyes, his lips, his presence, and how much he means to you. 

Dropping your bags, he carefully closes the space, pulling you close to reassuringly cup your cheeks in his soft palms. Anticipation charges the space between you as he brushes his thumbs over your cheekbones, resting his forehead to yours and allowing himself deep breaths to steady the rush rising within him. His palms hold warmth to your skin, and you can still catch a faint hint of the sea breeze beneath his natural musk carried over by the puffs of his breath, laced into his jacket that you grasp to pull him in for a heartfelt kiss. 

As if the short time apart was unbearable, he sighs into you, relieved by the release of tasting you again. His arms around you are strong and sure, desperate to love you as thoroughly as he can, in any immediate way possible. 

“Let’s take a look at the bedroom,” he breathes, huskily muffled against your lips as you swallow his words. You can barely breathe for the effort of pulling Hyuck close by your arms circling his neck. He pushes you into the bedroom with his hands clutched at your sides, desire clouding his senses as he stumbles to the bed. 

You cascade backward together and his lips chase after yours, the slip of his tongue allowing you his pure taste. Rolling over the covers, you’re a bond of tangled legs and low chuckles that swell into hidden moans caught in your throats. 

Tugging at your clothes, his hands twist in the fabric and can’t help but grab at the skin of your waist, your legs, any part of you that he desperately needs to love. As he pulls your clothes away, he graces each revealed plane of skin with a drag or suck of his lips. Your shaking hands do away with his layers and satisfyingly run beneath his shirt along his skin. Focused solely on kissing you wherever he can, he eagerly rushes to connect his lips to you as soon as you’ve freed him of fabric. 

His lips leave wet licks and sucks along your neck as his hands reverently massage your arms, your sides, and finally your chest. He settles his weight on you, his insistent hardness pressing against your thigh. You run your hands along the soft plushness of his ass and pull him to you, admiring the weight of muscle that lies beneath as you grab onto him and the way his breath hitches in a gasp in response. 

With not a single barrier between you but each other’s breath and the unspoken love that it carries, just velvety skin soothingly rubbing against each other, you feel so connected. Holding Hyuck in your arms is a comfort; it’s the nurture of fond kisses and hums. 

“I love you.” He presses his lips to you, to imprint his words into your skin. “I just love you, entirely.” 

Muffled moans bury into skin alongside bitten whines as the emotional overwhelm overtakes your senses. The steady build of passion arises a wave of mindlessness, wherein you’ve lost all semblance of reality and are entranced by him. Sensitive, you whimper and gasp at every small touch of his fingertips. You weave your hand into his hair while he continues to grind, and a press of your lips to his temple has him coming up to capture your lips again. 

He coats himself with you as he slides against your arousal, and the glide blooms a delicate floating thrill, spiking with the rhythmic brushing of the head of his cock against your clit. You wrap your legs around his small waist, digging your fingertips into his shoulders as you ride the feeling. He grunts as he hopelessly moves against you, squeezing his hands over your soft skin. He drags his lips down to mouth at your cleavage, breathing roughly with his eyes on you, heavy with need. 

You slide a hand below to stroke him, and he's already so sensitive that he releases pitched whines as he buries his head into your neck. His cock is velvety hot, soft skin covering hard heat. The weight of it in your hand has your heart thumping and a twisting tension growing deep within you. 

“Hyuck, please,” your pleads tempt him, “I need you.” At your words, he openly groans and his hips thrust against your hold without aim, urgently supporting himself on his forearms and positioning to take you fully. 

As he aligns himself, the focus of his gaze on you ensures you’re safe in his hold. In the stillness, the sound of the waves crashing on the distant shore and the last light rays shining through the window onto his golden skin play with the puffs of your moist, mingling breaths. He gradually presses in, eyebrows furrowed and his gaze intent. When you break the silence with a whimper at the fullness of him, he reactively twists his fingers in the bed sheets, pent up energy spinning. Fully seated, he pulses in you, already so sensitive that just the feeling of you surrounding him has his nerves alight. Every part of you is connected to the other as you hold him, bodies flush against each other. 

And then he shifts, just the slightest movement, and both of you are lost in the other. Even with shallow, smooth thrusts, the feeling is so intense that he only pulls back slightly before pushing back into your warmth, eliciting tingles along skin and drawing moans from lips. You’re twisting limbs and skin on skin, and his care has you willingly swept into his current, his tide pulling you under. 

The contact and drag of his body flows in waves as he pushes in and out with fluid thrusts. The soft silkiness of his tummy and velvet fuzz of his happy trail compound on the sensations, drawing friction within the fluidity. You can feel every part of him moving against you, every muscle, smooth to the touch but powerful and strong beneath his skin. 

His hands clasp with yours, fingers intertwining securely as he pushes them to the covers, mouthing against your skin, “I love you”, endlessly and heartfelt. You melt together, effortless and flowing, whole and light, and so filled with love. All you know is the want to cherish it, to protect his love in your arms. 

The last deep red hues of the sunset glow onto his skin and reflect a warm golden brown in his eyes, and as the rays fade, neither of you are bothered to cut on a light. The darkness brings something only sensory deprivation can provide; the loss of sight heightens his thick scent, his heated touch, his strong movements, his heady sound. 

Gripping your hand in his hair, you easily guide him in for a kiss. You can see in his eyes how he’s already at the desperate edge of snapping, pliant in your grasp. He attempts to slow down, wishing to savor the feeling of you, his hands gripping at your thighs to keep himself grounded. Eyes tightly shut, he collects his last bit of willpower before it slips away. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he murmurs with a broken voice, “You’re too good, it’s too good,” his eyes meeting yours to urge you to understand just how gone he is. 

Your whines beneath him only heighten his urgency; he’s spurred on by the idea of you loving him, completely out of your mind, body twisting in his grasp. The roll of his hips picks up with each movement, edging on frantic, desperate to please you. He leads with impatient, trembling hands and groans roughly in your ear, his last bit of willpower slipping from his grasp. 

His hands leave impressions of his love on your skin, and in return, your comfort enables him to naturally and vulnerably be himself; it’s as if he isn’t him anymore, simply a collection of memories and emotions, yearning for you. 

From his body to his heart, you feel every raw part of him, and he feels you, too; the rapid beating of your pulse, the shallow intake of uneven breaths, the shaking of your legs around him, but most of all the way your heart and soul call out for him. Your hair musses against the covers as your head tilts askew, tension wound tight, and he follows you willingly, pressing his lips to yours to breath into you a last “my love” as you crash over with a cry of his name. 

Hearing and feeling you come apart around him has his hips stuttering and his voice caught. Flowing in your waves of bliss, you’re faintly aware of his flexed muscles and how his cock pulses and twitches within you. You pull his hair off his forehead and tilt his face toward you to view him as best you can in the shadows of the light cast by the moon, a silver halo forming around him. His eyebrows are furrowed and he pants for breath, softly whining and shaking, one pump away from coming, and unable to reconcile with allowing the bliss to end. 

“Baby please, I’m so close.” His voice trembles as he’s about to break, on the edge of a falling, one touch away from crashing. 

In the safety of your arms you pull him to you and relish in the twist of his expression as he crashes, riding the rush of pleasure. He dissolves into the wave of his come with lazy, uncoordinated thrusts as he melts into you. Aftershocks course through him as the tide pulls away. 

Breaths mix, skin slides, the softest of giggles embellishes the cloudy bliss. Waves crash, crickets sing, and you’re floating. 

The lull of sleep covers you gently as you cuddle into his arms, a light sheet draped over you, shrouded by the light of the moon. The last memory you keep is his thumb tracing up and down your arm and your sides, his lips that speak of love kissing your eyelids closed. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

In the stillness of the night, you awaken to him cradling you in his arms amidst the bed sheets. He’s already awake, admiring you with gentle eyes. He peppers the sweetest of kisses slowly, deliberately to your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips.  

“You’re awake?” His voice is thick and sleep-strewn, his eyes endearingly puffy. 

Rolling on top of him with your fingers dancing along his jawline, you hum in a drowsy response against his lips and tuck your head under his chin. Pressing your nose into the safe haven of his warm, smooth neck brings you comfort that just might let you drift off again. 

But Hyuck has other ideas. Wiggling you off him and crawling out of the sheets, he soundlessly pads around the bedroom to adorn his clothes, tossing yours on your snuggly form. Mindlessly, you rub your eyes and accidentally put your shirt on inside-out, though it’s when he opens your winter coat and holds it aloft to help you into it that realization hits and you nearly protest with a pout. 

Donghyuck’s spontaneity is thrilling at the best of times, but tonight, it is quite literally chilling. 

Though you are the only residents as far as the eye can see, you still tiptoe your way outside and quietly traverse the trail down the hill to the shore, afraid to break the stillness of the night. Dawn has yet to break and crickets chirp while nocturnal crabs scuttle in the shadows to the sound of waves crashing heavily with the moon’s pull. 

A gust of wind rolls past and Hyuck instinctively pulls you closely to him, protecting you from the cool autumn breeze. As always, welcome warmth emanates from his steady hold. 

He pulls away just enough to look down at you. His hair is a complete wreck, and his eyes are sleepy, and he still looks absolutely beautiful despite it all. His warm lips press a lingering kiss to the tip of your nose in an effort to warm it, and he nestles your hands into his own toasty coat pockets. 

As nature continues to revolve around you, just like your time together, you watch the reflection of the moon on the water slowly shift as an edge of light grows on the horizon of the shoreline. 

Admittedly, it's a bit difficult to think about anything else other than the man in your arms. Turning to nuzzle your nose into his neck and kissing your way up his jaw to his lips, you run a thumb over his cheek and watch as his lips beautifully dawn into a smile. 

You just love him, entirely. 

[wistfulcynic]

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment. 

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge. 

Or, at least, he was. 

-

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic​ Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends. 

Huge thanks to @shireness-says​​ for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite​​ for Just Being Her. 

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this 

on AO3

-

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan): 

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school. 

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity. 

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century. 

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school. 

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it. 

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there. 

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue. 

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone. 

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire. 

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn. 

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed. 

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest. 

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest. 

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.” 

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath. 

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.” 

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor. 

“And the skirt.” 

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles. 

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.” 

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder. 

“Shake your head.” 

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face. 

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.” 

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.” 

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much. 

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin. 

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?” 

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him. 

-

“Gold is dead.” 

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself. 

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way. 

“He is?” she gasped. 

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.” 

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.” 

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.” 

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?” 

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.” 

“Will you go back to England?” 

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.” 

“Argentina?” 

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.” 

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements. 

“You must be hungry,” she said. 

“I could eat.” 

“Stew?” 

“Perfect.” 

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove. 

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—” 

“Emma.” 

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.” 

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.” 

“About what?” 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last. 

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed. 

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled. 

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly. 

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.” 

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.” 

“Because you love her.” 

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.” 

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated. 

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…” 

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.” 

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.” 

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying. 

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.” 

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.  

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.” 

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.” 

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion. 

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.” 

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.” 

“It sounds nice.” 

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.” 

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate. 

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?” 

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?” 

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.” 

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.” 

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance. 

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts. 

-

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement. 

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.  

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend. 

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness. 

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires. 

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan. 

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved. 

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling. 

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired. 

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.” 

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?” 

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.” 

“That’s good news indeed.” 

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.” 

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.” 

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.” 

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?” 

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.” 

-

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right? 

And thus the inspiration for this story. 

-

@ohmightydevviepuu​ @thisonesatellite​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​ @killianjones-twopointoh​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ 

[twh-news]

[For you who decide to start ranting in the notes without reading: it's officially canon.]

TLDR:

Even more so than Loki just realizing he is capable of loving someone other than himself, Loki is finally willing to accept himself and all his flaws. “I don't think Loki's relationship with himself has been very healthy,” Tom Hiddleston explains. “Trying to accept those aspects of himself, which he's been on the run from, was a way of thinking about that in a really interesting way. Also, Sylvie's not Loki. Sylvie is Sylvie. That's interesting, too. I'm really excited to see what people make of it.”

“Two variants of the same being, especially you, forming this kind of sick twisted romantic relationship? That’s pure chaos! That could break reality. It’s breaking my reality right now! What an incredible seismic narcissist! You fell for yourself!”

That’s what Mobius practically yells at Loki in the latest episode of Marvel Studios’ Loki. In trying to get to the bottom of what caused the Nexus Event on Lamentis-1, Mobius starts asking questions and prodding the God of Mischief in just the right way to get a confession out of him, without Loki actually confessing to anything. After putting the pieces together from Loki’s context cues, Mobius arrives at the only logical conclusion: Loki’s fallen for the other Variant, aka Sylvie. “You like her! Does she like you?” teases Mobius.“

That was one of the cruxes of my pitch [for the series], that there was going to be a love story,” head writer Michael Waldron explains to Marvel.com. “We went back and forth for a little bit about, like do we really want to have this guy fall in love with another version of himself? Is that too crazy? But in a series that, to me, is ultimately about self-love, self-reflection, and forgiving yourself, it just felt right that that would be Loki's first real love story.”

Loki and Sylvie’s love story has an apocalyptic beginning since that’s where the two first begin to bond. Trapped on a moon on the verge of total destruction, the two are forced to work together to find a way out of this situation, only to have it completely fail before their eyes. Feeling defeated, Sylvie wonders if Lokis are always destined to lose?

Loki reassures her that while they might lose, they don’t die — they survive. He goes on to call Sylvie “amazing” for how she almost took down the TVA on her own, and it’s clear from the look on his face that even though they’ve only been together a short while, Loki’s already come to admire and respect her. As the moon literally crumbles around them, Sylvie places a hand on Loki’s arm, and that’s when it happens: A branch on the Sacred Timeline. These two Lokis are having a moment they were never supposed to have, which as Mobius puts it, is “pure chaos.”

“The look that they share, that moment, [it started as] a blossoming friendship,” continues Waldron. “Then for the first time, they both feel that twinge of, ‘Oh, could this be something more? What is this I'm feeling?’ These are two beings of pure chaos that are the same person falling in love with one another. That's a straight-up and down branch, and exactly the sort of thing that would terrify the TVA.”

Thankfully this branch also leads to the two variants being located on Lamentis-1; unfortunately, their rescue leads to them immediately thrown into captivity at the TVA.

But what happened on Lamentis-1 clearly affects both of them in different ways, with Loki slowly coming to grips with the fact that he does have feelings for Sylvie — even though she’s “difficult, irritating, and tries to hit [him] all the time.”

This is only made more pronounced after Loki finds himself trapped in a time loop with Lady Sif back on Asgard shortly following his past-self committing a cruel prank and cutting off her hair. Sif not only beats him up (and rightfully so), but tells him many times, “You deserve to be alone and you always will be.” For the first time, Loki realizes he doesn’t want to be alone, and that there might be someone out there for him, who he can connect with on another level.

Even more so than Loki just realizing he is capable of loving someone other than himself, Loki is finally willing to accept himself and all his flaws. “I don't think Loki's relationship with himself has been very healthy,” Tom Hiddleston explains. “Trying to accept those aspects of himself, which he's been on the run from, was a way of thinking about that in a really interesting way. Also, Sylvie's not Loki. Sylvie is Sylvie. That's interesting, too. I'm really excited to see what people make of it.”

As Mobius notes, it might just be a case of extreme narcissism, but it also makes complete sense for the character.

“Who’s a better match for Loki than himself?” director Kate Herron chimes in. “The whole show is about identity. It's about him, and he is on a very different path, and he is on a different journey. He sees things in Sylvie that he is like, ‘Oh, I've been there. I know what you feel.’ But she's like, ‘Well, I don't feel that way.’ And I think that was the kind of fun thing about it. She is him, but she's not him. They've had such different life experiences. So just from an identity perspective, it was interesting to dig into that.”

“When Loki meets Sylvie, he's inspired solely by curiosity,” reveals Hiddleston. “He wants to talk to her and understand her and try to discern what was similar about their experiences, and what was different. He keeps asking her questions because he wants to see if his experience was also her experience. I think he realizes, and she realizes, that while they're the same, they're not the same.”

Herron was careful setting up this relationship. “It was just about giving it the space to breathe and digging into it in a way that felt earned,” she explains.

Considering partnerships are 50/50, credit has to be paid to Sophia Di Martino, taking on the role of Sylvie and becoming someone who can match Loki’s own energy and chaos.

"I think something that Sophia captured really beautifully is that she’s in a different space,” continues Herron. “She's almost where Loki was in Thor in some ways where she's dealing with a lot of pain. For different reasons, obviously. It was really interesting having her in a different headspace of a different Loki.”

When production was shut down at the start of the pandemic, Herron kept working, putting together what had already been filmed. She realized that “there were tonally some things that were coming to the surface” between Loki and Sylvie that she could explore deeper.

“As we were cutting it together in the studio, everyone was, ‘Oh, this [relationship] is really cool. Let's dig into that more,’" shares Herron. “When we went back to filming, we added or tweaked scripts basically to [emphasize it].”

[kaysayshey]

[5:29 pm] supernova || t. oikawa

you sometimes wonder if he’s looking at you, too.

to say that it was a pipe dream was an understatement. after all, when showered with praise and elevated to a height beyond that of the mere mortals, one loses sight of those beneath them. how he was more than just a dream, more than a passing breeze in your life, was a wonder.

after all, oikawa tooru was a star in every sense of the word. from middle-school to now, your third year at aoba johsai, he maintained his status as a celestial body, his swarming fangirls moons caught in his orbit. and you?

well, you were an asteroid passing by. his atmosphere was scorching and intimidating and enticing, yet you couldn’t allow yourself to be ensnared by pretty words and deep brown eyes radiating warmth. no, he had more than enough love in his trajectory, the cheers of his supporters echoing from the highest points of the gymnasium during games. they were pulled in by a honeyed voice and dulcet phrases, words lilting off a practiced tongue.

try as you might to reject it, you felt it. it was gravity, and you were only human. sometimes you wondered if he was made up of stardust with the way he managed to light up his surroundings. speculation aside, oikawa was a galaxy away from his classmates. a galaxy away from you. and you’d float through the hallways on breaks praying that he’d feel it, a push and pull that rivaled the moon’s oceanic control.

maybe he would. and maybe it was a result of every shooting star you’d ever wished on, maybe it was the work of the gods. maybe it was nothing more than coincidence.

sure, he knew you. after years of school together, you could confidently say you were acquaintances. to cross the line from that to more was something that sent your normally levelheaded sensibility to the skies, daydreams of a touch of his hand or a whisper meant just for you sending a rush of heat to your face. and so, you let your fantasies of intergalactic travel be just that – fantasy.

but the stars were at work, and you could recognize it in the most minute of details.

passing oikawa and his swarm of fans with a small smile on your lips earned you a raised brow and a slow smile of his own. a quiet ‘good morning’ when sitting at your desk earned a cheery response, the amiable tone of his voice setting the standard for any man that would enter your life thereafter.

a morning greeting turned into a question of interest, a question of interest turned to a response. responses turned to conversation. and those conversations? well, they led to you falling deeper than you had ever dreamed. the pulsar that was oikawa tooru managed to penetrate your life in a way that you had never expected. his waves were warm – not hot enough to burn, but enough to envelop you, the familiarity reassuring and unexpected.

“chibi-chan, were you listening to me?”

you blinked out of your oikawa-induced stupor, a sheepish grin gracing your features.

“i was at one point. sorry, got lost in thought. you were saying?”

a small huff left his pretty lips, lips that curved upwards at your admission. your honesty endeared him to you, not that you knew. no, he wouldn’t admit to your own gravitational pull, not yet. your brilliance was something he was stunned by, and yet you didn't always see it. how he wished you could.

“i’ll forgive you this time, but just this once! we have a game this friday. you’ll be there, yes?”

it took all of your will to keep from blurting your answer, the words threatening to spill from your lips at a decibel you weren’t quite apt to allow. invited instead of simply arriving, curiosity lacing his tone in an alien way.

“yes, of course.”

and like that, it was planned. ever since the universe was first formed, everything has been planned. you found yourself in the bleachers, surrounded by his moons. surrounded by other asteroids that managed to be graced by his presence, captured by perfectly tousled chestnut locks and a laugh that turned night to day.

the thump of volleyballs against the hard gym floors sounded, the shouts of his teammates following with every successful service ace. more than a hobby, more than a club. a lifestyle, an existence determined by greatness. and he was that greatness.

every moment was executed with an intensity you never believed was real until you saw him. the squeals of his natural satellites filled the air, excitement coursing through the stands. and after one particularly stellar hit, his gaze made its way to the spectators. more specifically, his eyes made their way to you.

they locked. and the heave of his exhale was visible from miles away, a reassured hand pressed to his chest. a light in his eyes that set your soul on fire when you realized that, finally, there was something of oikawa tooru’s that was specifically for you. not the nebula that surrounded you both, no. you.

that alone brought the cheers of his name from your lips, the burst of exhilaration resounding in a way you didn’t think possible. with every syllable, he brightened, usual radiance surpassed by an intensity that rivaled the sun. and now, if constellations could speak, they’d be telling you that this was it.

his victory felt like yours. the crowd’s rallies were muffled. your feet were moving before you could tell them to stop, each breath heavier in anticipation as you ran from the stands. the voices simply faded into the background as the lockers faded into a blur.

and as you turned the last corner, there he was, his usual confidence replaced by worry. that concerned furrow of his brow smoothed in relief once he met your gaze.

“y/n, what happened?! why did you run off like that - are you okay?”

at that, it hit. he was looking for you. your disappearance worried him, he was looking for you. every moment that you tried to resist his gravity was forgotten as you stepped ever closer, finally giving in to your galaxy’s design.

“it’s you, tooru. it’s always been you.”

the words were breathy, but they were there, suspended between you in space. it was as if he could see them float off of your tongue and hang themselves before him, graceful and powerful.

relief was replaced by surprise, and that same surprise turned to understanding. and his luminosity tripled, blinding you with a smile that stretched across his entire face and eyes that sparkled with something you could only describe as love.

a calloused hand met your cheek, glossy eyes filled with recognizable emotion. what you had only seen in your mirror was reflected back onto you, a chuckle gracing your ears. oikawa allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he rested his forehead against yours, his skin hot against your own.

“and for me, it will always be you.”

the quietest murmur accompanied the supernova that followed, two stars finally lighting as once.

definition of supernova: the first type of supernova happens in binary star systems. binary stars are two stars that orbit the same point. one of the stars, a carbon-oxygen white dwarf, steals matter from its companion star. eventually, the white dwarf accumulates too much matter. having too much matter causes the star to explode, resulting in a supernova.

a/n: this was kind of a spur of the moment write, to be honest. originally inspired by moon, by bts' jin. i included a lyric from serendipity by jimin. please let me know what you think!

[vminity21]

sweet on you | ksj

Pairing: baker!seokjin x female!reader

Word Count: 3,087

Genre: fluff, absolute fluff on the valentine’s day

Warning(s): other than i have the biggest sweet tooth whether it is for seokjin or a colossal of desserts but you have been warned otherwise none; Rated: pg

Summary: after every excuse you take to visit your favorite local bakery to see your favorite employee, in a sweet surprise, you learn that the baker happens to share an immense crush on you as you do him.

Credits to: @suhdays​ once again for creating the cover! Happy Valentines day!

Seokjin kneads at the dough of what is to become the toastiest of baguettes while flour paints his arms, and his gloved hands grow achy from the continuous batches. Special orders flow numerously as the holidays inch closer, and with Valentine’s day approaching its turn, it has been long hours of consistently baking and recreating desserts for the hopeless romantics. Inwardly he knows he is guilty of such fondness for a face haunts every crevice of his mind even in the odd hours of the evening when he tosses and turns in his sleep.

The ring of the door signals another customer prompting Seokjin to slip off his current gloves to exchange for new ones, lifting his head to see none other than who makes his heart leap every single time- you. Smiling brightly in his direction, he gulps before putting on his confident face. “Welcome back! I’m glad to see the macarons didn’t scare you away,” he chuckles while you press fingertips of pure chagrin to your forehead.

“I consumed all thirty of them and I’m not sure if I should be ashamed or proud, but I surprisingly survived,”

Quiet murmurs of customers are sporadic throughout the space, yet their wandering eyes remain on the décor of the bakery, hardly noticing the sparks glimmering between you and your favorite worker. “Whoa,” Seokjin bellows, “And, I’m not sure if I should applaud you or tell you to beware. Sugar can be brutal,”

“Well, with your recipes, I’d say it’s worth the risk.” It’s a subtle flirt, yet the flattery in Seokjin’s eyes melt your heart.

“What can I get for you today?” Seokjin’s covered palms press against the freshly sanitized glass as he stares at you contently. Every chance you get, you enter this very bakery in the hopes of seeing Kim Seokjin, and every chance you get, you take home another treat that you save for your cheat day after a long week of work. Out of every local bakery, you have yet to find one that tops the way Seokjin bakes. He has a knack for ingredients and everything you have tried has been sent straight from the pearly gates of Heaven. But you are also convinced that Seokjin was God sent too because when you first discovered this place, you did not expect the immediate spark when you locked with his kind, umber eyes.

Hearts must have danced in elegant spirals around your frame while you witnessed the light movement of his hair when he turned in what seemed in slow motion to face you- plump, pink lips spread into a warm smile, teeth whiter than the whites of your eyeballs, his skin was clearer than the windows, and the way your mouth watered at the sight of his broad shoulders- you are not sure if you even breathed for a straight minute. He welcomed you with kindness and surprisingly tolerated your indecisiveness on what to purchase, but inwardly you were trying all you could to remain in his presence because something about him reveled serenity. And you wanted every part of it.

Seeing Seokjin sparked slumbers of exuberant pink paths prodding beneath your dancing shoes that are clacking in the direction of the delightful smell of marshmellows where sky tower lollipops align the world with their colorful swirls glistening beneath the brightly lit sky without a sign of melting. Vines of licorice would twist along chocolate trunks with branches growing gummy-like leaves matching the scrumptious hues of your surroundings. Rainbows of hard candies trickled along the ground to decorate the view prompting the compulsion to sink your teeth into every delicacy especially when your eyes would cast upon the pastel colors of macarons- flavors of creams protruding between the slices. You would barely miss his silhouette exploring amongst a bed of gumdrops that sat a far distance from an enormous peppermint pinwheel breezing against stalks of blue and pink clouds of cotton candy.

Visions of prancing gummy bears decorate a mountain of frozen ice cream while gingerbread men scope the milky river to avoid being caught by the currents desperate to travel the terrain as you longed to with the man lost in this wonderland of a universe. Oreo crumbs trail on either side of the stream, the smell of chocolate wafts in your direction while you continue the journey. Humming to yourself, your adventure is to endeavor the red velvet island- cream cheese frosting fluffing in an appearance of frames of pictures of more delights as well as smeared professionally into an imagined ceiling. The deep red, walls caked firmly with countless desserts poised in different areas of the domain tempted tourists passing by into taking a bite of their delectable treats.

Nearing the entrance, you would pause, recognizing him pirouetting throughout the greenery resembling grass but is edible as everything made in this dream you are infatuated by. When the pang of something grasps your attention, you searched your eyes along the sky- not noticing anything right away and when you returned your glance to where you found him, he disappeared. Halted in curiosity, you gasp at the tap on your shoulder. Crescent eyes beaming while he brushes his fingers along your gleaming lips, and that’s when your fantasy would wonder the feel of his kiss. The taste of strawberries encompassed your tongue once you would lean into him, but when something else nickered your frame, you pulled away. In awe, you observe minuscule, circular sprinkles shower the two of you in surprise. They tangle within your hair while boisterous laughter escapes both of you simultaneously- palms rising above your head while you spin, attempting to catch them as they rain. Shuffling the sprinklings within your hands, you are in love with the resilient colors brightening the atmosphere as it heightened the happiness.

The dream that has become your most cherished- golden pinecones stick to floating silvery cotton where chocolate cupcakes with thick swirls of white icing blend with red, glistening ornaments- the aroma of fresh pastries with shiny, red jelly are enticed with powdered sugar; thistles of brush dangling above while you whirl around at the enchanting view. Polka dots beautify the walls imaging fondant icing while slithers of whipped cream dazzle the rest of the desserts present. It doesn’t take long before an existence melts behind you, wrapping his arms around your frame, plopping his chin onto your shoulder. It’s the sweetness of his countenance, the plush kiss he places on the corner of your jaw; the delicate aura you are scared can magically disappear; the delicious taste of his kiss when he twirls you to capture your lips, pinning you against another wall reflecting swirls of cinnamon, fingers pressing into your waist while your hands grip his plumy tufts in desperation for more. Sprinkles clang numerously within the walls miraculously not needing a sky to downpour; lips locked and lost in time, it finalizes the fantasy where you wake up with a dazed smile.

“Please tell me you’re not contemplating macarons again,” Seokjin’s voice breaks through the cloud of thoughts bringing you back to reality while you awkwardly suppress the burn of a blush flooding your chest. “I purposely withheld your favorite flavors in hopes of you trying something new.”

“Oh, you brute, I should have known!” You laugh, seeing his shoulders shake in response to his teasing toward you, “So new? Like, new new or never had before new? I um… You know, I was actually planning on trying something new today,” you do not mean to lie, but you kind of lie.

“You had every intention on getting your usuals, and I have bamboozled you.”

“Alright, sir, two can play at this game because I can always go to Hoseok’s bakery-”

“Okay now you’re just being cruel!” Seokjin’s laugh is your favorite sound as he chuckles. Hoseok is his competition but also his best friend, and he is aware that Hoseok has been gaining much success with the recent opening of his bakery, but of course your heart belongs with Seokjin and his glorious, scrumptious delicacies warm and inviting within the glass casings.

“It is called revenge, and I shall prevail.” You wink.

Shaking his head, he quiets but only enough before he lifts his gaze to yours once again, “Speaking of anything new, I think I may have something in mind that you might like actually. I’m preparing to add another dessert to the menu, but I need someone to taste test to make sure it’s good enough to sell to the general public. Would you like to be the judge?” Seokjin leans off the glass casing still smiling at you while your eyebrows shoot up in excitement.

“Hm,” you release a purposeful ponder, “When are you wanting to showcase?”

“How about on Valentine’s day itself? I will be closing the shop early and you can come by after hours. Besides, I don’t really have anything else to do, and when I get bored, I bake.”

Boldly, you tilt your head, a knowing smile budding on your lips, “Are you asking me on a date, Seokjin?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Your heart flutters in reaction to his tender grin that follows his words. You have dreamed for countless months to win this man’s affections and here you are, about to experience your first date with him on Valentine’s day of all days.

“Well, I guess I will see you this weekend,” you muse, “I have high expectations for whatever you create, Seokjin.” Turning on a heel, you shift ever so slightly to throw him a chirpy shrug. Outwardly, it is all a show of composure though your inner self is screaming in joyous bursts mirroring the fireworks going off beneath his chest.

When Valentine’s day comes, Seokjin goes all out in early hours of the morning before the shop opens, red streams curl from the walls where he carefully tapes them- red, pink, and white balloons hover along the ceiling to bring more colors and the very second, he closes for the day, he will paint the floor with a myriad of rose petals while candles flicker upon the tables sporadically. He wants to prove to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long time and he will celebrate you every day if you let him. A bundle of dark red roses lay hidden in his office as well as a heart shaped box of what one would assume is the typical fill of chocolates, but nay, it is holding the surprise of your favorite macaron flavors, just to add to the dessert that he is elated to make. He begins his swift trek to the kitchen, collecting all the ingredients and sprawling them along the counter in preparation before the crowd sets in. And when they do, he serves the happy couples with all smiles, looking forward to whenever he gets to see you.

When the hour comes for the bakery to close, he rushes to finish up the pastry, pouring melted chocolate as the completing touch. “Perfect,” he whispers, protecting the sweets with a lid to maintain the heat. A soft knock on the door makes his heart skip a beat as he briefly flings his apron on the counter, dusting off any crumb excess off his clothes and ruffling his hair before throwing a mint in his mouth. Releasing a slow exhale, he smiles, “Operation, win her heart.”

Sauntering to the entrance, he pauses in awe. Your hair is styled flawlessly while the red, shimmery dress clings to your figure complimenting a pair of high heels. Makeup covers your face in an exceptional amount where the color of your eyes shine, once you see him- mouth ajar, eyes widening in reaction, he robotically opens the door to invite you in. The smell of roses and small hints of lemon reach your nostrils calming the anxiety quivering within your fingertips. Seokjin looks so handsome as he always does, the black turtleneck hugging his torso while the tan slacks hang slightly loose against his long legs. “You look amazing,” you murmur, him shaking his head to bring himself back to the present.

“I can say the exact same to you. You look… God, you look-”

“Proper? Trim? Elegant? …Alluring-”

“All of the above,” he says breathlessly, “But you always look so beautiful,”

Blushing at his compliment, it is hard for you to stay serious sometimes especially when you are nervous, so your eyes scan the décor of the building, “I love what you’ve done with the place,” you step forward with the click of a heel, noticing the rose petals glinting upon the mahogany colored floor.

“I was hoping you would say that.” he clears his throat, “But here, have a seat, I have the dessert ready as well as a few other surprises,” he skids a chair out for you as you descend in shock. Other surprises? He disappears but only for a few minutes before he confidently returns with a lidded case covering whatever it is, he has made just for you. His other hand hides behind his back as he effortlessly places the tray upon the table. “And walla,” he smirks, lifting the lid as your eyes enlarge at the golden brown pastries pressing against a truffle of cream, some protruding delicately on the sides as melted chocolate trickles from the pastry and onto the plate. The sight is so tasty, and you can feel your mouth watering as the smell of the treat becomes prevalent.

“What is this?” You say in uttermost anticipation as he chuckles at your readiness.

“Profiteroles,” he replies, “They are one of my absolute favorites, and I have been wanting to make them for some time but haven’t until now.”

“Try one with me,” you break eye contact with the mesmerizing profiteroles to stare into the chocolate of Seokjin’s eyes, “But after you reveal what is behind your back.”

When a hearty laugh brushes past his widened smile, you are beyond yourself when he gradually brings into your line of vision, a bundle of roses and a heart shaped box, “You are not allowed to open the box until you eat a profiterole though,” Seokjin playfully demands, “So until then, I will protect this box at all costs.”

“I promise I will not touch until you say so. You have my word,” you raise your hands in defense to add to your statement. Seokjin sits across from you, settling the gifts next to the plate. Soft music reverberates suddenly to drown the silence as you feel your heart flying- you are certain that no one has ever done anything as sweet as this for you.

“Are you ready?” He says, scooting the plate closer to you.

“Very ready,” reaching carefully, you grab the treat, knowing very well that you want to devour it whole, and when you do, the cream mingled with the chocolate melts on your tongue deliciously as you close your eyes hazy. “Oh, my word,” you breathe, wanting another one immediately. “This is delicious! You have met every expectation! Jin, customers are going to love these!” The nickname flew from your mouth so naturally and instead of verbally responding, Seokjin chortling a high pitch laugh, leans forward, reaching his thumb to swipe a spot of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. The gesture is so sweet, you can’t help but gaze at him as he returns his hand back to lay on the table. “Have you tried one yet?” You speak softly. “You should. You’re phenomenal.”

He swats the air, “I’ll have one later. Your opinion matters to me the most anyways,”

“You?” Speechless, your eyes flit between his, nothing but admiration falls from his stare. “How do you do it? How do you make my mind drift to the happiest of places? I swear you just- I can’t- it doesn’t matter where I am, I am not happy until I see you.”

Reaching across the table, he leans forward, intertwining his fingers with yours as cliché as a movie, but this is the only movie you are willing to watch where the fairytale of him is connecting with you. “That’s why I always made sure your usuals were made as soon as I arrived. I didn’t want to disappoint nor have you betray me for Hoseok. Plus, he prefers coconut macaroons, not macarons.”

“The distinction between how they are actually pronounced. Thank you for clarifying,” there is nobody that has made you laugh as much as he has. “In all seriousness though, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything to look forward to until I found you.”

“And I couldn’t focus unless I knew who you were and if I was going to see you again. That’s why I always made conversation no matter how small until time gave me enough courage to finally ask you to be here.”  

“Well, I am very glad that you asked.” Smiles linger while eyes remain connected. He has the most eloquent, gentle manly charm and you hope he will end up being your eventual forever one day.

“Come here,” In one flawless swoop, Seokjin reaches for the arm of your chair, sliding it closer to where your legs touch. Surprised laughter serenades his ears once the chair is paused, but the nearness of him sends tingles along your skin. A faint scent of cologne grips to his clothes igniting the further desire building from the crave on your lips. He leans in, you meeting halfway to close the gap in the softest brush of his kiss. Sunlight exposes through the windows to illuminate in response to the magic happening right now in this moment. Linking your arms behind his neck, he wraps his around you, tugging you closer, deepening the kiss- getting so lost in you that nothing else outside of this bakery matters- only you matter.

Feeling his smile within his kiss, you pull away but still close enough to feel his breath swiping your chin, you giggle, “So what’s in the box?”

“I guess you’ll have to see,” he presses a quick, giddy kiss. You squeezing him once ecstatically.

“Okay, but first, let me get some more sugar.” You move your palms to squish his cheeks to where his lips pucker. “I don’t know about you, but I like it brutal.” And with that, you kiss him again, letting destiny complete its story on a day you never dreamed would mean so much.

[thebrochtuarachs]

Something in the Rain - “Finding Solid Ground”

A/N:  Hi all! This chapter has been in the drafts for quite sometime now but I only had the time to pick up the writing. Thank you so much for your patience with my slow updates but rest assured, I absolutely love this story and daydream about the chapters ahead. As always, your comment and suggestions help a lot moving this story forward. Hope you all are keeping safe and healthy! Till the next one!

AO3  / C1: A Day In June : C2: Definitely, Maybe : C3: So We Meet Again : C4: Friday Lunch

XXXXX

She was 45 minutes late.

Claire was running as fast as she could, catching some curious eyes on her as she raced towards Mrs. Kim’s Korean Street Food Hub to hopefully, still catch Jamie for their lunch.

She got off from her morning surgery quite late due to some complications but she still went as courtesy and because, in all honesty, she still wanted to see him. Their last encounter kind of left them in an awkward place and she was hoping that this meeting could help clarify some things. She has been waiting for this all week but alas, life (and medicine) had other plans.

Claire entered the store and knew instantly that he wasn’t there. The place was empty after the lunch rush and she sighed in disappointment.

“Claire!” Mrs. Kim suddenly called out. “This is for you, left by your friend”, she said while handing her a piece of paper.

“Thank you” Claire replied, opening it on spot.

Hi Claire,

Sorry, I left before you arrived but I have to get back to the office. Don’t worry about the wait, I really don’t mind but I just have a packed schedule today.

Forgive me if this is too forward but here’s my number. No pressure! Just figured we can text or call whenever is a better time to catch up. Just hit me up when you feel like it and I’ll be on the other line.

I do hope to hear from you soon. If not, I’ll be here next Friday, same time :)

Jamie

Claire did not waste any more time and punched in Jamie’s mobile number to call. After three rings, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Jamie? It’s me, Claire.”

“Claire, hi! I see you got my note.”

“I did. I am so sorry. My surgery ran a little bit long and…”

“Don’t worry, I figured that must be it.” he said cheerfully, cutting her off before she went into a long explanation. “I mean, you save lives and all, couldn’t be angry about that.”

Claire sighed relief on the other line and couldn’t believe just how understanding he is. So understanding that she’s starting to wonder if he’s even real. She hasn't really met anyone that chivalrous and it captures her.

“Oh, wow. Thank you - and thank you for the note and your number. My guilt would’ve eaten me alive if I couldn’t apologize to you.”

“You don’t think it was too forward?”

“No, not at all. To be honest, I was going to ask it last week before we got, erm, interrupted.”

“Well, that’s good to know. And in any case, I would’ve given it.” Jamie said.

She could hear his smile from the other line and she couldn’t help but smile too.

“Anyhow,” Claire followed. “I am so sorry I missed you today. To make up for it, would you happen to be doing anything tomorrow?”

“Hmm, let me check." Jamie checked his board calendar. "Nope, my weekend is free. Anything you had in mind?”

“Well, if you’re up for it, I’d like to invite you to the center tomorrow, see what we’re doing with the kids. Fair warning though, they get a little rowdy sometimes.”

“I’m game! Text me the details and what time to meet you.”

“Really? Great! Sure, I’ll text you the details in a bit”

“Will wait for it. Claire, sorry to cut this short but I have to run to a meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Oh no, please. Go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow, Alright, bye!”

-

It was a Saturday, two weeks since their encounter by the crossing, and now she’s waiting for him to arrive and bring him to one of the most special places for her.

Claire hadn’t absolutely thought through what inviting Jamie to the center would mean. Reflecting on yesterday, a part of Claire thought she may have panicked and this invite might’ve been a mistake. On another end was a part of her that was excited to see him and if she was really being honest, spend time with him, and show her the work they have been doing.

She had told her their meeting story and the extended invite to her friends and staff but left out the part about their lunches. She messaged the team on WhatsApp about their upcoming guest and her inbox has blown with messages asking her for more details about the man himself. She messaged that they’ll be able to find out for themselves tomorrow when they meet him and turned off her phone.

“Claire?” Deep in thought she hadn’t seen or hear Jamie arrive. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Spaced out there for a bit” she embarrassingly admitted.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Jamie asked as Claire pointed the way in.

“Erm, nothing much. Just thinking about giving you fair warning about everyone upstairs. They’re quite curious about you, Jamie Fraser.” she said jokingly the half truth.

Jamie got a bit nervous suddenly and Claire felt it. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll save you if they get too rowdy. Be ready to answer questions though." She said, smiling, hoping to ease his thoughts.

“Is any topic off limits? Should I not mention anything to them?”

“I leave it to you. But if you ask me, just be yourself and charm everyone away”

Jamie chuckled and Claire turned to him. “What?”

“You think I’m charming?”

Claire laughed and smacked him in the arm. “Oh, bug off!”

“I’ll take that as a yes”

“Anyway!” Claire interrupted. “Today’s event is just art and crafts and a story session. The rest, the kids can do and play how ever they like. I usually just play with any kid who asks me to and time just flies and suddenly, the afternoon is done.”

“Got it. I honestly hope I can help more than distract or whatever”

“Pssh, you’ll be fine, Jamie. You’ll be fine”

--

The moment the elevator doors opened, a line of people greeted Jamie and Claire at the entrance.

“Hello, everyone” Claire greeted but to her surprise, no one spoke or moved. Everyone was just looking at Jamie. “This is Jamie. Jamie Fraser, our guest for today”

She ushered them closer to the stunned group and began to introduce them one by one.

Mary, the receptionist and admin assistant.

Mrs. Graham, the secretariat and head of operations.

Joe, also a surgeon from Claire’s hospital.

Frank, the history professor he’d met a week earlier.

Geilis, a botanist and herbalist.

“It’s nice to meet you all. Thank you for having me this afternoon.” Jamie said and it was only then that the ice was broken.

“Hi, Jamie was it? Can I call you Jamie?” Mrs. Graham prodded.

“Yes, Mam”

“Alright, this way. Let me show you around”

As Mrs. Graham swept Jamie away for a short tour, the rest of the group crowded Claire with questions.

“Okay, he is even more handsome than in the pictures!” Geilis excitedly said.

“Pictures?” Claire asked.

“Ugh, I sometimes forget you’re a doctor who needs to catch up to the times” Geilis pinched her nose jokingly. “Jamie was named one of Scotland’s most eligible bachelors in a tatler magazine last year. There’s pretty striking photos of him in a tux and in casual clothes.”

“I remember that issue. Gail had one lying in the house and I happen to peruse it one time. You’re right, the pictures don’t do him justice.” Joe chimed in.

“I had no idea. I mean, I just literally bumped into the guy on the street!” Claire said, a curiosity pooling in her mind. She had to look for that magazine later.

“Such a meet-cute story. Ugh, Claire! It’s like something out of the books or movies” Geilis added.

“Psh, he seems too manly for me. I mean, who is that fit and that put together.” Frank mused.

“I think he’s quite charming” Joe added.

“If you ask me, Claire, I don’t know what’s going on between you two but keep it going” Geilis added.

“Aish, nothing is going on. I just extended a polite invite to make up for - “ Claire stopped as Jamie and Mrs. Graham arrived back, thankful for the Interruption.

“Make up for what?” Geilis asked, not missing that info.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Mhm” Geilis hummed raising an eyebrow to Claire. She’ll pull it out of her later.

---

It was a long but fun afternoon for everyone.

Afterwards, one by one, the space cleared out, the kids were picked up, saying goodbye to the staff with some even approaching and waving at Jamie as they left, leaving him with a heartwarming feeling.

“Well, another successful weekend, folks!” Frank called out and the team gave themselves applause.

“Great job to Joe and Mary for taking on the storytelling and painting sessions this afternoon and I would also like to thank our guest, Jamie, for being patient and helpful with the kids” Mrs. Graham added, earning another group applause.

“Thank ye, I hope I helped at all today but otherwise, I enjoyed today and thank ye for inviting me.” Jamie shared.

“Come join us anytime” Joe patted him on the back. “Alright, everyone, have a goodnight. See you all next week, I’ll bring Gail and Lenny along.” With that he made a way for the elevator and it was everyone’s cue to leave.

Claire approached Jamie just as he was going to her. “Well, how are you and how was it?” she asked. If she expected to spend time with Jamie, well, it didn’t happen. First, he was whisked away by Mrs. Graham. Afterwards, it was Joe asking help to build his set. Next up was Mary who got him assisting on getting and serving the food, and the rest of the time, it was kids calling out on Jamie here and there and he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fun and a little bit tiring” he replied and Claire gave a small laugh. “But in all honesty, thank ye for inviting me to come here. Made me miss my niece and nephew”

“I’m glad you had fun and I’m glad you got to see what we’re doing here.”

Jamie might be overthinking things but he knew that Claire sharing this part of her to him seems like a big thing and he intends to cherish that.

“Anyway, I’d like to offer to drive ye home...or to the nearest bus stop” he added, panicking he put her in a tight spot.

Claire paused, eyed him jokingly, intentionally making him more flush and nervous.

“I’d take that offer but” she began and Jamie swallowed the lump on his throat, “I actually live nearby so we don’t need to drive”

“Okay,” Jamie sighed in relief which Claire found very cute. “Lead the way, then”

[hndcrm]

47 and Diana are in the safehouse in Berlin. As night falls 47, plagued by his newfound memories, can't sleep. He wanders through the house and discovers Diana snores and talkes in her sleep. What will he do about it?!😏

I have made this so much angstier than the prompt calls for im so sorry my brain only provides pain apparently

--

He was glad to have his memories back. There was no denying it. It was liberating to know the events of his life in order, to have them fade back into something understandable as opposed to the blank, cryptic void from before. Some were better than others, memories of his and subject 6’s friendship, of the rare times he’d been able to sneak away with his bunny before its untimely and cruel murder.

Despite this, the memories were overwhelmingly bad, and none quite as pervasive and frightening as the car bomb in 1989.

He was the one to trigger it. It was a mission like any other at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. Simple. Two targets, Peter and Nancy Burnwood, their daughter considered acceptable collateral damage. In the end, there was no collateral damage and perhaps that’s the only comfort he takes from the memory, that he didn’t kill her, that he was lucky enough to have her alive today. It’s not comforting because he knows she will leave him as soon as she finds out. He can’t blame her. He’s the one responsible for her involvement in everything bad in their world. He killed her parents, changed her life forever, ruined it without a second thought at the time. He recalls with tears in his eyes how she was there, how she was present when he set it off, that this innocent child had to witness the violent death of her parents. He’s hurt Diana irreversibly and she will hate him forever if she finds out.

Even throughout his career with her, he often pondered morality and his own goodness. Diana became his conscience and urged in private that he wasn’t evil, promised him that he was worthy of kindness and love. He wasn’t sure even then how much he believed her. He trusted her, however, so he did not question the assertions.

He knows she was wrong now. She deserves to know the truth, but it would result in her disappearing from his life, and he’s sure he would die without her.

And now, he cannot sleep. He stares out of the window in the living room and watches the night sky, silently bets on how long it will be before he turns to alcohol for comfort.

There are soft snores coming from Diana’s bedroom. He gulps. The door is tilted open.

The scene before him is like some practical test of his character and self-control. He could come in and watch her sleep, just for a few moments. It wouldn’t disturb her and she would never know, and he could memorise the details of her face, add to his mental depiction of her before she leaves him, imagine what it could be like to hold her like this if they could ever be this intimate together. He could pretend to be one of the few lucky men who have been able to truly witness this, to be able to say they’ve had the pleasure of sleeping next to Diana Burnwood herself.

Or he could do the right thing and close the door, minding his own business as a professional work colleague should, though even that description is generous towards him after what he’s done. He is evil.

Diana says he is good, but he knows she’s wrong. If he were good he wouldn’t want to come in and see her right now.

It’s late and he cannot sleep, he thinks the guilt will swallow him whole if he does not distract himself. He deserves nothing to do with her, deserves to die by her hands a million times over and rot in the deepest circle of hell, but now, watching her silently while she sleeps does not seem so sinful in comparison to the pain he has caused her.

He pushes the door open enough to slide inside and tilts it closed.

The moonlight peeking from behind the curtain streaks across her ribs and reminds him of a bullet that he was responsible for. He feels sick. She deserves so much better.

She’s tangled in the sheets, hair flamed out around her face, and instantly there’s an urge to run his hands through it, to move it off her cheek and behind her ear.

She looks delicate. He knows better than to think so improperly of her, ‘delicate’ is an insult when she is a force to be reckoned with and could kill a man with her sharp-tongued nature alone, but there is no denying the more physical aspects of her beauty when she’s sprawled out so ravishingly. Her upper lip is carved down carefully, brows furrowed slightly, bosom caressed by her silk nightgown and her hands elegantly tangled in the sheets, like a scene from an ancient erotic painting, beauty that could only be appropriately captured by a lover.

She stirs then, and he holds his breath, terrified that he’s awoken her with his selfishness.

She hums something incomprehensible, and the thought that she might sleeptalk scares him. He should leave. Diana trusts him, she does not hide from him. If what she dreams of is something he already knows, there’s no use invading her privacy. If what she dreams of is something he is not aware of, then he should stay clueless, respect her choice to keep it from him and leave, pretending he was never here.

He decides to do the right thing. He pads towards the door.

He’s stopped in his tracks when he hears her moan his name. He can feel his face heating up. He’s evil for having ever come here in the first place. How can he disrespect her so cruelly?

Curiosity turns him around, as he tries to picture the shape her mouth might take when she moans his name, but there is little left to the imagination when she does it again, quieter, and the sight is somehow more erotic and vulgar than anything he’s ever seen, he feels his trousers tightening.

He knows she doesn’t really want him like this. Dreams don’t reflect reality. Perhaps she thought of him crudely once, and he was lucky enough to catch it, but it was a one-off because she must know she deserves better than him.

He’d be more than willing to play out her dreams in reality. He couldn’t, of course, bring himself to ever actually do it. Their shared intimacy exists purely as a fantasy in both of their imaginations.

He’s grateful for his trained stillness as he’s about to leave again, determined that he’s long crossed a line. He must go if he ever wants Diana to think of him neutrally, at least. If she wakes up to see him standing before her so improperly she’ll know of his vile nature before he reveals it.

As he’s something like a metre away from the door, he sees a frustrated Olivia rub her eyes and grumble ‘fucking Burnwood’, then she slams the door in front of him before he can escape and he panics as he’s stuck in a deeply compromising position. The door is too squeaky to risk opening again, but it’s too late, for when he turns around to look at Diana, she’s awake, rubbing her eyes and squinting in the dark. He prays she doesn’t see him.

“47? Is that you?” She calls out, and he freezes. He could still leave. She would know he was here, but it would save him the embarrassing conversation until the morning at least, or maybe, hopefully, she’d forget. “What are you doing here?” She sits up in bed, a strap of her nightgown falling down her arm. The usual excuses for trespassing won’t cut it. I got lost, he thinks sourly.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He starts. How much of the truth should he reveal? Lying to her feels wrong, he knows she knows him too well for it. “I heard you talking, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Oh.” Now she turns red. “Well, I’m quite alright.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. He nods dumbly.

“Good.”

“And 47,” she adds then. “What did you hear?” She does a good job of playing off her voice crack, but he can sense the fear in her voice - fear he is responsible for. Why wouldn’t she fear him when he disrespects her like this?

“It was nothing - I didn’t understand anything.” He lies. He must lie to make her feel better. He shouldn’t have come in in the first place. She plays with the strap of her nightgown. He wants to leave but she looks so worried. Guilt greets him again.

“You’ve been avoiding me lately.” She says finally, chest rising in the familiar pattern she uses to calm herself down. “Is everything alright?”

I yearn for you, he thinks. It’s true. The thought tastes disgusting on his tongue.

“The serum. The memories-” he begins, but the following words don’t come. He doesn’t know how to tell her the truth. He doesn’t want to. She furrows her brows together and looks sadly at him.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Diana gives him a lopsided smile. “If you want to talk about it-”

“No.” His voice sounds harsher than he intends. She cannot know.

He leaves. Another night is spent alone on the cold leather couch, thinking of her in the dark. Eventually, guilt takes over and he cannot bear to think of anything, so he opens a lager and drinks himself to sleep.

He wakes up to find himself covered by a blanket in the morning, and Diana sitting in an armchair next to him. He gulps.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she sighs. He shakes his head, mutters a protest, but the memories of his actions flooding back terrify him. He’s been awful.

He sits up. She hasn’t done anything wrong, and the shame painted across her face makes his insides twist with guilt. He doesn’t deserve to touch her, but all he can think of is comforting her, so he reaches out tentatively. Immediately she smiles at him and wraps her arms around him. It’s unfair how good it feels, how their bodies seem to fit so well together, and she’s innocently on his lap in his embrace, unaware of how many nights he’s spent fantasizing about this. He deserves none of it, he knows.

“I’m sorry, Diana.” He almost sulks into the warm skin revealed by her bateau neckline.

“Whatever for?” She whispers, and he aches again. He can’t tell her.

“I love you,” he whispers as the tears run down his cheeks and he wonders if she can feel them on her neck. It comes out instinctually, and he regrets it immediately. She doesn’t answer. He prays she won’t think anything of it. He’s pathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

They don’t speak of it again, and he spends every living second praying for her forgiveness, for when she eventually finds out.

When he knows she knows, it’s too late for him, and he’s glad she’s killed him. He spends his dying moments craning his neck up to ensure she’s his last dying image. He hopes Edwards will be kind to her.

[juminly]

Invisible String (Napoleon Bonaparte x Reader)

Prompt #4  and #77 by @missmorosis: “Marry me. Now.” and “I can’t say her name without smiling!”

Tags: Fluff + Mutual Pining. PS: Everything in Italic is spoken in French. –♥–

As the song “Sacré Charlemagne” rang loudly in the air, you were whisked into a jolly circle with the children in the little school that Napoleon and Isaac created by the fountain, which you always seemed to forget the name. You absolutely hated using the term “poor children” as everyone referred to them so you made an effort to learn and memorize each one of their names, even if it earned you a few devilish snickers when you stuttered over a few of their names, fumbling through your misconstructed sentences.

Compared to the children, your grammar and vocabulary was absolutely atrocious and it seemed like the infamous Monsieur de Wahaha found way too much pleasure in it, you could see him biting his bottom lip, muffling his chuckle yet his shoulders gave him away before the rambunctious sound escaped him, racking through his entire body. The few swats that Napoleon had to suffer from you did not deter him from losing himself into a fit of laughter. Your expressions never failed to amuse him, his heart feeling lighter than it had ever been in his chest and the adorable pout on your lips that tempted a little too much.

Just to press his lips against yours, Napoleon would always think. Only for a moment, that’s all he wished for. To simply hold you in his arms, engulf you in his warm embrace, where you would be safe and… loved. Feel your soft plush lips and watch as your face turns to a bright shade of red that roses would envy. His thoughts always found a way to drift to you. The petite nunuche with a kind heart, a bright mind and sass that could rival Mozart’s snark.

While you attempted to decipher the words that you were singing, your botched pronunciation did not help much though, the children jumping around, pulling you forcefully into the merry atmosphere that you had absolutely no qualms to join. Fingers that were even smaller than yours wrapped tightly around your palms, squeezed them as tightly as you felt your heart clench in your chest. Even when you were so far from the place you truly called home, with Napoleon, with these children, you found another meaning to the word. How was it that even when you were in the middle of dancing and having fun, your mind was still flooded with thoughts of him? Finding absolutely any hook just to keep him in your mind, clinging to you with no chance for you to escape from them. Even if you wanted to. Was it because he was near? Was it because you felt his eyes on you? Without even looking, you could feel the intensity of his piercing gaze, thoughtful yet kind, that made your body go through a plentiful of sensations that were too many to count on your fingers. Napoleon didn’t realize that he had paused his lesson, his eyes trained on you, seeing you radiate happiness, the happiness that the little ones shared with you even when they lived in some of the most dire of circumstances. If there is anything that you have learned, it was that the smallest things that made a difference. It is the little things that truly mattered. That is a truth that the former Emperor himself has come to realize after being relieved from the responsibility of leading his country and has tasked himself in aiding those that would be the future of France. “Who taught you that song, Clement?” Napoleon called out to one of the boys that were in your circle, shaking his head incredulously and still laughing for a reason that you had still yet to uncover. You weren’t sure what Napoleon was necessarily asking but it was definitely about the song. That was the only word ‘chanson’ that you recognized in his sentence.

“All of you. Come here and form a circle. I think it’s about time that you all learn about what Charlemagne has truly done and why you should be grateful.” Chuckling to himself, he stood from the spot he was sitting in and walked towards you, leaning down so that you were both eye to eye. You didn’t know why every time he did that, it made your heart flutter, doing a bunch of those weird somersaults that kinda made you want to puke.. But not really, at the same time. Being around Napoleon made you feel a flurry of strange sensations. Thinking about him too. That was a fact. “You do realize that this song depicts how much children hold contempt for Charlemagne for inventing school? Whatever you were singing with them right now beats the whole purpose of what we are trying to do for them.” With an eyebrow cocked, Napoleon folded his arms in front of his chest, waiting for a response from you yet the corner of his lips were clearly strained as he fought back a wide smile. “Wait…” You blinked at him in surprise, clearly unaware of the situation that you were put into due to the language barrier. “I… I promise I had no idea! That was definitely and totally not my intention! Oh my God…” It was a funny situation and you found yourself stuck between a state of slight panic and laughter, both emotions reflecting clearly on your visage. The last thing that you wanted was for Napoleon to be disappointed in you. You held him in such high regards, and he did so to you when it came to you, so you didn’t want to do anything to ruin that. A small laugh escaped him, his large hand reaching to ruffle your hair gently before tucking the stray strands away from your face and behind your ear. A gesture that was so simple yet that was done with so much love. Love that you were completely blind to. “This is why you’re my petite nunuche. Come sit and I’ll explain it all to you, princess.” The sly grin he gave you, one that was more like a wide smile, was much too irresistible, your own smile tracing across your blushing face. As he turned away from you and found his seat before everyone, you noticed something. You knew that look in his eyes. It was one that you knew very well, the passion brimming in them, the heart he put into teaching these childrens and sharing with them everything that he had to give. Nothing was ever too much to ask for with Napoleon. God… you couldn’t stop staring at him and you still hadn’t realized why, assuming it was just because he was a born charismatic leader who was now capturing everyone’s attention as he began a history lesson about the medieval emperor Charlemagne and all he had done for France and for the world. Whenever any discussion happened between you, he always leaned down and looked straight into your eyes, especially since you were quite shorter than him. Even when you stood next to one another, he still did the same. Not only with you but with the kids as well, crouching down so that he was on the same level as them, never making anyone feel as though they were inferior. Never looking down on anyone. He spoke to all, treated all, as his equals. No matter who they were. Your daydreams and musings aside, you tried to focus on Isaac’s voice as he spoke in your ear, recounting to you in English all of the stories that Napoleon was painting before all of your eyes. His mind being a wealth of historical knowledge, he ensnared you with his storytelling, even when you had absolutely no idea what he was saying, needing the help of your dear friend, Isaac Newton, to explain it all to you.

“I have a question, Napoleone!” One of the kids, Patrick, raised his hand excitedly and was basically hopping on his cute little butt, curiosity seemingly eating at the young boy. When Leon gave him a curt nod, Patrick giggled and asked. “Why do you call big sister, nunuche?” “Well, there’s a very simple answer to that question. I call her nunuche because she has absolutely no clue that she has stolen my heart.” He declared with a warm smile, his deep voice reflecting the same. As the conversation took a turn, Isaac clicked his tongue, grumbling something that you didn’t catch under his breath and walked away from the big circle that you had formed in the middle of the small town square. Some of the kids were giggling and others were making gag noises. Whatever Napoleon had said really changed the mood. With your eyebrows furrowed, it was a bit bizarre to see the physicist’s face suddenly turn red. Was he that irritated from the story Napoleon was telling the kids about Charlemagne? Now that Isaac was gone, you were left with no one to translate the ongoing discussion for you. Well, upon Napoleon’s instruction, whenever he was addressing the children directly and couldn’t directly translate to you, Isaac would have to step in for him and help you understand the different French expressions and words, especially the most common ones. But… what were they saying now? You did hear the word Nunuche but they were definitely not talking about you. Were they, though? Still, you didn’t want to leave, even if you were completely lost and oblivious to what was going on. You knew that Napoleon would explain it all to you later. “Does that mean that big sister is a thief?” Jacques asked. “Non, non.” He chuckled, shaking his head and sighing out his next words. “It means that I love her with all my heart.” “Is it like how I love my dog?” The little man inquired again. “I love mushrooms!” The youngest of them all, Carmen, chimed in with her own declaration. “Haha, we can all love different things. Love comes in many ways and we all feel it differently.” “How does it feel for you then, Napoleone?” Lea, who was sitting right by his side, inquired considerately, seemingly scrutinizing every word the Frenchman said. He couldn’t help but smile widely, admiring the smart glint in her eyes, the curiosity in her was nothing but meaningful and quite in place. Eyes that reminded of his beloved. You. “Well…” He pondered for a few seconds, trying to find a simple way of putting his feelings into words. “I can’t say her name without smiling.” And just the thought of it did the same, in that very moment. “And sometimes, I think that I might just walk up to her and simply ask her. “Marry me. Now.”” He admitted, the corner of his eyes crinkling a tiny bit as he announced so. God, now you really wanted to know what they were talking about. To know the reason why Napoleon looked almost… giddy in that calm authoritative way of his. “Oh! Oh! That means you want to also have kids with her!” Jacques, ever the talkative one, stated confidently. “Haha, indeed. That is something I do wish to have with her.” As he turned to look at you, you could see his smile turn wistful, the way his eyes fell upon you held so much longing, a yearning for something that may not ever be fulfilled. “I promise, I’ll tell you about everything we just said.” He reassured you with that exact same smile, masking the fleeting sadness that overcame him by clearing his throat, demanding everyone’s attention and returning back to his storytelling. He would tell you all about that conversation he had with the kids. Maybe not on that day… but what he had to say was for later, or maybe never. Luckily for him, none of the children knew how to speak English or they would have blurted out the confession that Napoleon had yet to make. –♥– A/N: Consider this as a snippet from your matchup story with your Leon. I hope you enjoy this @delicateikemenmemes and yes, the title is a Taylor Swift song reference hehe  💜 And thank you @sweetlittlemouse for beta-ing my insecure ass. Tagging: @nafeary @kisara-16 Please feel free to leave some love in the comments or some feedback!💜 You can also check out my Masterlist !

[wrctings]

just some (slightly angsty) eruri fluff for you all because i miss them 🥰

“And so when I snapped my fingers right beside him, I got his attention. Actually got it! I’ve never had a titan stare at me like this, so intensely,” Hanji’s eyes sparkled, aglow with both irrepressible enthusiasm and the warm reflection from the room’s candle light, her fingers eagerly curled around the handle of a cup. “If only you’d seen it... I think he may have finally recognised me, given all the time we spent together... But we have to wait and see. And there’s also that plant we brought back from the last expedition! It’s growing! We put it in a more humid zone, like where we found it, and it’s actually growing.”

Levi had always known Hanji was a little excessive. Well, really excessive for the most part - especially when she’d get into one of her endless tirades about titans, marvelling over their monstrous abilities and curious shape and reflexes and whatnot... Sometimes, it drove Levi up to the wall to watch their scientist go into raptures over the senseless beasts that had crushed or torn apart so many of their fallen comrades. Though, to be fair, he could hardly blame Hanji - she was with them, after all; among the first ranks during expeditions, flanked by the officers’ side. That titan-loving thing was just a quirk of hers, just like Levi’s own cleaning thing, which he suspected many of their subordinates looked upon as a curious and slightly frightening obsession.

So, more often than not, Levi patiently kept his mouth shut, listening to Hanji’s passionate rants and picking out the useful information only, letting the rest slide into oblivion. But tonight, Levi’s usual self-control act had been getting pushed toward its limit, a disgruntled frown hidden behind his cup of tea. And the reason? Always the same golden-haired bastard.

White sleeves rolled up to the elbows, torso leaning over the wooden table, his blue eyes bright and animated by the same radiant shimmer of curiosity as in Hanji’s gaze, Erwin was hanging onto his friend’s every word.

“So, if some plants can only survive in a special kind of climate, the outside world must be...”

“Full of plants yet unknown to us! And of landscapes we can’t even imagine! And if that plant we brought back can only thrive in a wet kind of environment...”

“...Maybe there’s a large pool of water somewhere further away, beyond the limit we stopped at last time!”

Levi cursed Hanji from the bottom of his heart. Erwin’s entire attention seemed to be focused on the subject, blind to the rest of the room.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, we’re not quite sure of anything yet,” Moblit put his hands up with a sheepish smile, cooling off some of Hanji’s building elation. “First, let’s see how our titan and our plants fare in the upcoming weeks...”

“Our titan and our plants!” Hanji happily cried out, squeezing Moblit’s hand, cheeks burning red from excitement.

“Even if it’s only guesses, the captive titans and those plants can still provide precious information. It takes us one step closer to knowing the truth of the world,” Erwin’s hopeful and determined gaze met Hanji’s, both bound by a mutual fervour.

Levi silently watched them from the side, scowling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t give a lesser shit about all of this - he wanted to rid the world of titans, to keep tightening until the last monster fell under their blades. Not bustle about captured titans in wonderment or waste time growing plants... In that moment, he resent their joy; joy sprung from the bloody cadavres of their comrades. Was this what they dedicated their heart for? Part of Levi knew perfectly well that, of course, all Hanji and Erwin gushed over was important to some degree. But he couldn’t quite share in their foolishness.

“Well, here’s to another step then,” Moblit raised his glass, smiling fondly when he caught a glimpse of the earnest exhilaration radiating off Hanji’s face. She did more often than not put him through the mill, but that’s also why he liked her, wasn’t it?

The other two officers followed Moblit’s lead, lifting their glasses up into the air, but before clinking them together Erwin shot a lighthearted look at Levi, raising his eyebrows as if asking the Captain to join in. With a muffled sigh, Levi shook his head reluctantly.

“Teacups aren’t meant for your drunken shit.”

He got away with a small movement of the hand, slowly shooting it upward in a way that made it seem he took part in the toast.

Erwin, Hanji, and Moblit drank on cordially, indulging in one of the rare merry celebrations they’d allow themselves to enjoy - the last expedition had been a success after all, with no casualties and only two superficially hurt soldiers! Such victories did truly raise the troops’ morale, so, in addition to the dinner feast everybody got to delight in, Erwin wanted to also congratulate the officers who had been working had on the expedition. Hence the wine. 

Only when the crepuscular haze of the night sky hovered over the barracks did the party begin to retire, tired grins and slightly dizzy heads wishing each other goodnight with remains of gaiety seeping through their lips; such a carefree, congenial time would probably be long to come again, so they had drunk from the brimming glass of furtive bliss until the very last honeyed drop dried out on their tongue. Waving Erwin and Levi goodnight, Hanji - held up by Moblit, bless his soul - stumbled around the corner of the corridor leading to her quarters, relying on the loyal shoulder that would help her get to her room safe and sound and not accidentally crash someplace else and carelessly pass out for the night. 

Much like Moblit, Levi had taken up the habit of bringing Erwin to his room after another day of exhausting work or a festive evening, watching the commander’s ever steady pace out of the corner of his attentive eye and listening to him jabber about whatever occupied his mind on that day, barely responding himself, but always paying silent attention to Erwin’s words. Although he didn’t admit it to his own self at first - he liked it. Liked having Erwin stroll beside him, his deep and slightly fatigued voice untangling the knots in Levi’s own head, keeping everything at bay but an inexplicable wave of... comfort. And, soon enough, the comfort had even turned into something more. 

“Did you enjoy the night, Levi?” Erwin inquired in his usual late-night chattery fashion, fingers already working the top buttons of his white shirt as the commander’s quarters arose in their field of vision.

The only answer he got out of Levi was a grunt, the short Captain pushing the door before them open. It slammed against the wall a little too harshly.

“Something on your mind?” Erwin persevered, trying to read the other man’s crossed features. 

“Alright.” Levi ended up conceding, a resigned sigh escaping the vexed line of his mouth. “Erwin, I can’t seem to give the slightest crap about those shitty plants.”

“Ah, Hanji may convince you they’re—” Erwin started again, smiling at what he thought was just a heedless comment of Levi’s, but the way he was interrupted soon let him guess otherwise.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t get excited like you brats. I just... Don’t. I can’t bring myself to care about shitty glasses’ experiments. Or even... That stuff you talked about,” Levi waved his hand vaguely, hoping it was allusive enough.

A thoughtful moment’s silence passed, Erwin considering what Levi had just admitted - he began to recall now how retiring Levi had indeed seemed during tonight’s celebration, quietly grumbling by himself and even cutting short on the playful insults he would usually hand out.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t have fun tonight, Levi.”

“Feel sorry for yourself. You’re the one stuck with a killjoy of a brat,” Levi attempted a sarcastic smile, but it came out distorted by a hint of sad resignation. Ever since he and Erwin had... this - whatever it was called - Levi didn’t hold back as much as he used to anymore; something about Erwin’s kind understanding, no matter the slander ghosts clouding the Captain’s mind, put him at ease. So Levi spoke his mind.

“Sorry?”

Erwin’s reassuring arms twined around Levi’s torso, the commander’s head settling on top of his - the height difference, Levi had to admit, was convenient -, and he planted a long kiss on top of his head; the first real one of the day, after the hasty pecks he had stolen from Levi in between tasks. For Levi, those intimate hours were dreams he’d never wish to wake up from. “Why should I feel sorry, when I can’t believe my luck?”

“I’m not exactly the funniest person you can find, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And so what? I, for one thing, think you are funny. Your dark humour may take some getting used to at first, but afterwards, you crack me up, my dear,” Erwin mused, littering Levi’s neck with sloppy kisses. “I love you.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Erwin.”

However, Levi’s heavy heart did feel lighter already; to feel Erwin’s lips on his skin, his warm hands fiddling with Levi’s uniform to help him take it off, his precious words whispered against his ear - for Levi, and Levi only, to hear and treasure and greedily take for himself - soothes the Captain’s unexpected rush of self-depreciation. But seeing how happy Erwin had looked while talking to Hanji and Moblit had left a painful imprint Levi struggled to erase from his memory. What if... what if he’d never make Erwin this happy?

“Levi, I don’t care that you don’t get excited over shitty plants. You and I can care about different things and still care about each other too, yeah?” Levi felt the nuzzle in his neck send shivers down his spine, another one of Erwin’s kisses mending the cracks in his heart one by one. “I know you press my shirts whenever they get too creased. You bring coffee and food to my office when I’m working too much. You take Hanji’s laundry into her room when she forgets it. You help the recruits who fall behind in training...” Erwin kept on talking, going around Levi to face him in the candlelit room, until his nose gently bumped against his, and their lips met in what Levi could only describe as solace. “The list goes on and on. These are all the things you care about. And I love you for it.”

“...It seems your sappy stuff still gets me. You shitty, sentimental brat,” Levi drowned a teary chuckle in Erwin’s chest, clutching the fabric of the commander’s uniform in his fist. Then, he retired in his cat-like fashion, starting to ondo the buttons Erwin had started to work on. “I had no idea you were fucking spying on me the entire time.”

“Your fault.” Erwin followed Levi’s lead, getting rid of his own uniform before he slipped into bed, a tired look softening his features, and loose strands of hair falling out of place upon his forehead.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Levi joined him, huddling beneath the clean and cosy bedsheets, and brushed the hair away from Erwin’s face, savouring its end-of-the-day softness between his fingers.

“It’s your fault for having such a beautiful soul.”

“A beautiful soul?” Levi scoffed gently, pressing his shoulder against Erwin’s. “Never heard anything this stupid before.”

“It’s true. You may not believe me yet, but I’ll keep doing this” Erwin took Levi’s hand in his, kissing his calloused knuckles - “and this” -, then wrist - “and this”, then forearm, “and this, until you do.”

“I’m no sap like you, so it might take a while...,” Levi murmured in return, pressing a kiss into Erwin’s neck. A beautiful soul? Never before had Levi heard such words - and never before had his heart skipped a beat like it did when they struck him.

“It’s okay,” Erwin cuddled up to Levi, not suppressing a deep contented sigh when the other man’s nails gently raked his scalp, playing with his hair. “I won’t quit.”

[thebigqueer]

"Pick Your Fighter: Tater Trot or Will Solace?" - Solangelo - One-Shot

Summary: Nico tries to befriend a pegasus. This one is for the mythological creatures prompt for @solangeloweek !!

Word Count: 1745

Read on AO3

“Will, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Nico edges away from the pegasus, a nervous look flitting across his face as he does so. “Pegasi don’t usually like me.”

Will looks up at Nico, his hand momentarily freezing as he strokes the creature’s mane. A kind look overcomes his features when he notices his boyfriend’s reluctance. “I think it’s worth a try,” he says softly. “I know they don’t like you, but I don’t particularly like the idea of going on a chariot through the sky for a date, either. I don’t like how bumpy it gets.”

Nico huffs and crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, I don’t like feeling a horse’s hooves crashing against my chest when it’s kicking me away.”

Will chuckles and turns back to brushing the pegasus’ mane. “Has one actually done that to you?” he asks curiously.

“No, but I just know that if someone wasn’t around they’d probably try to throw me to the ground. They’re only nice to me when someone else is present.”

Will smiles and drops the brush to the ground, which thuds softly against the fiery green grass. Then he steps closer to Nico and takes one of his hands; as their fingertips touch, a spark of electricity races up both of their spines. Nico has to physically restrain himself from blushing, but Will lets the pink spill across his cheeks without regret.

“In that case,” murmurs Will, “you have me around. And I really want to take you up to the sky. New York City looks so pretty in the evening.” He leans in and pouts, and Nico can’t help the swelling of his heart at the sight of the blond’s expression. “Besides,” Will adds, “I think we deserve it after such a hectic week.”

Nico doesn’t argue with him. It’s only been one crazy thing after another, what with Nico’s mini quest to retrieve an item of Hermes’ and Will being stuck in the infirmary after a particularly eventful Capture the Flag game.

But Nico also isn’t excited to ride a pegasus. Heights make him nervous - what if Zeus immediately blasts him out of the sky? What if he falls and crashes to his death? He doesn’t exactly want his cause of death to be “ejection from a pegasus.”

Almost as if Will can sense his absurd thoughts, he smiles in amusement. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Nico. I promise.” He turns his head to the creature, who is already glaring at Nico. A frown tugs at Will’s features when he notices the wariness that strangles the pegasus.

He faces Nico again and slips his hand into his boyfriend’s, using it to lead the two of them closer to the winged animal. Nico tries to drive his heels into the ground in an attempt to protest, but a wave of curiosity splashes over him. What if he really can get this pegasus to accept him? What if he really can gain another friend?

So he lets Will take him. The pegasus stares at Nico, its gaze turning fiery with anxiety, but it doesn’t move. Perhaps it’s just as interested in Nico as he is of it.

Will pauses in front of the pegasus’ line of sight, staring it down with a calm, relaxing gaze. He strokes his hand over its muzzle and smiles. Almost immediately, the creature melts under his warmth and turns its focus away from Nico.

But something releases in Will, too. His body curves into the pegasus, fitting in perfectly with the warmth of the creature’s body, and a dazed, faraway look overwhelms his eyes.

“You know,” Will whispers, talking almost as if to himself, “Silena used to be really good with pegasi. They used to love her. Any time she stepped into the stables horses would just turn her way and their wings would flap in excitement.”

Nico’s heart turns to lead at Will’s words. Despite the fact that her death had been so many years ago, just the mention of Silena’s name sends a crash of grief over him. He waits a moment to let the power of her very concept bloom and disintegrate in the air. Then, quietly, he says, “Yeah?”

Will nods, though a cloud of sadness arcs over his head. “She used to let me come with her to the stables. That’s where I learned to take good care of them.” A small sigh billows through his lips. His hand freezes its movement, and his gaze stretches into the forest, searching for something lost, trying to catch a hold of something he can’t reach anymore. “She saw beauty in a lot of creatures.”

A blanket of silence falls over the boys. Nico shifts hesitantly on his feet, and he considers holding his hand out to Will, just to tug him out of whatever spiral of emotions he’s found himself in.

But before Nico makes a move, Will turns his gaze back to him. His blue eyes glimmer dazedly, but nevertheless, he forces a wavering smile over his mouth. He’s awfully good at that. “I was scared, too, you know. When I first started hanging out with them.” Will chews his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I know you and I have different experiences, and I know pegasi don’t like you because of your whole death thing, but… I don’t know. Maybe I can help you a little. I’ll use things Silena taught me.”

Nico winces with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Will. I just don’t want to feel bad.”

Will holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s up to you. But who knows. Maybe you can convince this one that you’re harmless.”

Nico considers Will’s words. He looks at the pegasus nervously, who stares right back at him as if wondering the same thing: Can we really learn to trust each other?

Something in Nico’s heart urges him to push forward, to make a move. He locks eyes with Will again, and in a moment of understanding, the blond smiles triumphantly.

“Here.” Will pulls Nico closer, and despite his nervousness, Nico allows him to be urged forward. Will takes Nico’s hand and raises it up to the pegasus’ muzzle - not quite touching, but close enough so that Nico’s fingers simmer with the heat of the creature. Will bows his head closer to his boyfriend’s ear and whispers, “Just try to touch it gently.”

A wild look of anxiety sparks in the pegasus’ dark eyes, but there’s something determined there, too. It’s just as curious as Nico is to see if they can be friends.

Hesitance seethes in the air between Nico’s fingers and the fur of the creature. Time stills as the human and the pegasus watch each other in anticipation.

Then Nico touches the muzzle. The winged animal’s eyes flash with surprise, then melt into a puddle of obsidian softness. After a beat of reluctance, Nico finds himself drowning under the softness of the pegasus’ body. All the tension, all the anxiety that writhed within him just seconds before completely evaporates, and he’s left with only a sense of ease. Warmth encompasses his chest as he explores this new friend before him.

He runs his fingers up and down over the pegasus’ forehead, and Will lets go of his hand. Nico overflows with a certain giddiness at the realization that this majestic creature is admitting its trust to him.

Maybe he can trust it, too.

Behind him, a low laugh tumbles into his ears. Nico nearly jumps; he was almost convinced he and the winged creature were alone in the wild, but apparently they had company.

Nico turns his gaze momentarily to Will’s blue eyes. A smile flickers on the blond’s face, and a confused expression reflects across Nico’s own features. “What?” he asks, puzzled. “Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” whispers Will, though the sparkle in his eyes says otherwise. “It’s just that… I told you so. You’ve made a friend!”

Nico scoffs and rolls his eyes, though a small smile still cracks against his lips. “Whatever, nerd.”

Will shifts behind him, but Nico doesn’t care to turn and find out what he’s doing. He’s too busy brushing his fingers over the face of his new acquaintance, curious as to the creature’s history. It’s another few moments until Nico feels Will’s presence behind him, and he turns his eyes back to his boyfriend.

Will offers a soft smile when Nico looks at him. A golden eyebrow arches gracefully against his forehead. “Are you ready to go? I think you’ve proved your trustworthiness to this pegasus.”

Nico considers Will’s question. His body hums with a warm excitement, and a cool, comforting breeze brushes against the back of his neck.

He feels good right now. He feels at home.

When Nico turns his gaze up, he finds a golden hue threatening the blue sky; the sun begins to drown under the weight of the incoming night. If they want to leave, they’d better do it now.

Nico sighs. A comforting quiet surrounds them, filled only with the new chirping of crickets and the sound of Nico’s breathing.

After a beat of silence, the son of Hades whispers, “What’s its name?”

Will frowns. “I’m not sure if we have a name yet. I think she’s a new one.”

A new excitement overwhelms Nico’s heart, and he looks at Will elatedly. “Can I call her something, then?”

Will shrugs and laughs. “Sure, I guess.”

Nico frowns in concentration as a cacophony of names ring in his head. Various Italian names, Greek names, even names of simple objects flit across his mind, but nothing feels quite right yet.

It isn’t until after a few moments that something finally clicks. A smile slips over Nico’s mouth. “How about Tater Trot?” he suggests to Will.

The blond snorts. “That sounds kinda stupid.”

“I don’t know,” Nico murmurs in dissent. “Let’s see how she likes it.”

In response, the pegasus huffs in agreement, and Nico turns to offer a grin to his boyfriend. “Looks like she’s into it. Tater Trot it is.”

Will rolls his eyes. “All right, whatever. Are you ready to go?”

Nico strokes his hand once more down his new friend’s muzzle, then nods his head at Will. “Let’s go, then. This view better be as pretty as you tell me it is, or else I’m going to leave you for the horse.”

Will laughs and throws an arm around Nico. “Guess things just got serious between you two.”