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the-midnight-blooms · 5 days ago

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MY HUSBAND, THE SORCERER | CS

pairing: grade 1 sorcerer!choi san x wife!reader AU: jujitsu kaisen au word count: 15.5k warnings: blood, violence, strong language

note: mc is referred to by her surname, not forename.

masterlist | ateez x jujitsu kaisen masterlist

chronology

Hanawa is cursed, and it is all Zenjiro's fault.

You'd think the moral course of action would be to take responsibility for your own self, would you not? Unless, the tale were to mention that Zenjiro, is none other than her great ancestor: Hanawa Zenjiro.

There were three prominent clans in Japan: Gojo, Zen’in and Kamo. The Gojo clan's primary power lay in their unique ability to combine the Limitless cursed technique and Six Eyes. The Zen' in clan were known for their Projection Sorcery and the Ten Shadows Technique. Finally, there was the Kamo clan with their formidable Blood Manipulation. Each clan was distinguished in its respective manner, jujitsu society revered them, feared them, and either wanted to be with them or be them. To be even looked at by a member of these clans was considered a great blessing.

Then you had the Hanawa clan, otherwise known as the ‘Dying Clan’ or ‘Crumbling Mountain’. Therefore, much like their slur alleged, they were literally crumbling, rolling between the cracks of sanity - slipping from the hierarchy. They were once established, more powerful than the Gojo clan. Hanawa heirs moved with the wind, cursed energy pulsing through the veins, bestowing their prowess upon the earth that venerated them. They had various unique abilities, but their primary technique was the Cradle of the Stone Womb: where coffin-like stone formations were used to entomb cursed spirits, trapping them in underground mountains where the Hanawa clan resided.

Once, the ancient Hanawa Zenjiro had done the unthinkable. He had tried to strike a deal with a cursed spirit, promising something as humane as money, power, women and gold. The cursed spirit had barked out a laugh in his face, and said, “O’ deviant sorcerer, what use would mortal instruments have for an eternal being like me?” Zenjiro, afraid, cried and begged for mercy and so the spirit did one thing which seemed impossible for a being like itself. He was merciful. What young Zenjiro did not know was that mercy comes with a price.

The cursed spirit has shattered its soul into fragments, implanting a remnant of itself into the Hanawa clan. Zenjiro, who had grown old after two decades, watched as his daughter clawed out her own throat - convulsing on the ground until her lungs drowned in her own blood. He sook out the fragments, destroying them one by one, until the spirit; limbs torn, hanging by its veins. “O’ Hanawa.” It croaked. “When you begged for mercy, didn’t you know that it came with a price? The last of me is in your bloodline - and I will see the Hanawa clan through until the end of its time.”

Hanawa is cursed.

Naturally, you would suppose she would be when her great, great grandfather Zenjiro had sold their bloodline to stay alive. Since then, the nobility of their clan had depleted, present but nothing more than a disgrace to their world. So much so that there were very few sorcerers left in the family. Enough that she can count them all on her fingers. Her younger sister, Haein is trained, but goes to work like any other normal person. Haein is married to an engineer she met in University and has one son. She is, too, trained - but in a sort of different way. With a gentleness, a slap on the wrist if she made a mistake. Not with brute force and terror.

She is a natural contradiction: born of an involuntary pact between her grandfather and a cursed spirit. Curses are drawn to her like a missing piece of a puzzle; they want to consume her or reunite with her energy to complete a cycle. So she is reminded every day by her father, by her uncles, by her cousins who are jujitsu sorcerers. She is reminded that this is a fragment of their blighted history and is the reason why the clan has stooped to such a low state. The reason why the clan is no longer acknowledged and laughed at by Gojo Satoru. Hell, even the newly-promoted Special Grade sorceress from Tokyo is more respected than herself.

Perfection. Virtue. Greatness.

It was all the Hanawa clan was known for. It is still what is battered into their successors. Their bodies move with the flow of the time, gentle and succinct. Fighting is a craft, only to be perfected with careful concentration, cursed energy is not just an arsenal, it is a vessel to be nurtured. Each fibre of pulsating energy is plucked delicately from the roots of their divine essence, light spilling from their fingers swallowing the darkness that surrounds them.

A faint shimmer surrounds her, her shinai is angled precisely - a gust of cool wind circulating into the dojo. Her bare feet stick to the tatami mats, the stringent scent of sweat infiltrating the air; the aroma of aged pine mingling with the faint trace of incense in the air. Moving effortlessly, her shinai cuts through the air in a silent, calculated arc - battering against her phantom nemesis. Her hips twist as if parrying their movements, bamboo cracks against the floor. She moves with such fluidity, the cursed energy flows into the ground suspending the dojo in a field of her magic before dispersing into the air. Her body twists, another wide, sweeping below diagonally - her beams twirling through the shinai like tendrils.

Hanawa controls her breathing, a tiredness gnawing at her muscles as she continues to circulate the dojo. Her eyes darted to her father, who sat by the porch that overlooks the garden. He watches her with such scrutiny, he could be a spectator for the Olympics. Their eyes bore into each other, hers a pleading look. His read a look of denial. She must continue. Haein, her sister cannot sit with her father so she stands tall and still, her chest still heaving with debility. Composure is a pillar inserted like rods against her spine.

“Stop.” His reticent command, flows into the air, the shinai hovers in the air, perpendicular to her unyielding form. "You'll need to work on your technique." When he leaves the dojo, Hanawa releases yet another fatigued sigh sinking to the floor.

Perfection. Virtue. Greatness.

Those are traits Hanawa does not have.

Their kominka stands nestled on the outskirts of their town; with its gracefully sloping tiled roofs and wooden beams which exude a timeless elegance. The interior of the Hanawa home is dark, with panelled ebony wood amongst the walls and slightly milder floorboards. The furnishing is lighter, and soft shoji screens adorn the home - filtering the soft, natural light. Quietly, the family seats themselves around the dining table, the tinkling of silver cutlery resounding off the fine china as they cut into their food. Innocent babbling flares into the atmosphere, Haein contorts her face into funny expressions as she feeds her son. Embers crack from the lit fireplace, hushed chatter spills into the atmosphere - her brother-in-law converses with her father, whilst her mother converses with his own.

"So, neh-san." He clears his throat, placing his cutlery by the side of his dish. Momentarily, her gaze flits towards him before directing her vision back to her food. "When will you start thinking about marriage?" Hanawa scoffs, twisting her neck to meet her father instead. Surrounding him is a stream of intimidation and control. His eyes are cold and distant, devoid of the warmth that is associated with a paternal figure. Mr Hanawa doesn’t look like her father, he inhibits the role of a teacher, headmaster, and manager. He is power, personified.

"I will start thinking about marriage, when it concerns me." She retorts, dropping her spoon into the plate and leaning back in her chair. "As you can see, I am not particularly concerned at the moment."

"I wouldn't be surprised if nobody wanted you to be their wife." His mother retorts, her mocking tone bleating into the dining room. Mrs Hanawa swallows the lump in her throat, ignoring her husband's burning scrutiny. "I mean it is one thing being cursed, and another to be both average in looks with a rotten tongue."

"I'd say your son was the cursed one. Haein merely took pity on him because she has a thing for charity cases."

That was how, less than fifteen minutes later, Hanawa found herself walking down the gravel path - in the opposite direction of her old home - her arms wrapped around herself to generate a sense of warmth. Large gusts of wind blow through her hair, her leather jacket is no help and the light dissipating from the sky is futile in guiding her back to the train station. She would never forget her mother's eyes welling up with tears as her father rose from his seat, commanding her to leave. Nor would they forget Hanawa leaving without a single beat of questioning. She was their obedient child, she always had been even in their unfair decisions; under their harsh jurisdiction - she always conformed.

Yet, her conformation came with a set of conditions. First and foremost was her liberation, which Hanawa had swooped up from under her father's nose. After completing her university degree and landing a well paid graduate job, she had saved up enough money to move out. So, she did - hoping to cut all ties with her family but when her mother had turned up at her apartment door two weeks later: she found the least she could do was attend family dinners every other week. That meant having to suck up the cynicism dripping from her father’s tongue and have Haein’s mother-in-law further wedge the growing gap between them.

Additionally she had, too, thought that within her liberation would come individuality and self-expression. Her childhood bedroom walls were of a cream colour, furnished with an oak writing desk and wardrobe. Floral bedspreads - given by her grandmother, and very minimal posters on the wall. There used to be a few odd neon post-it notes with dates of exams and deadlines scrawled across them. Haein's room was a stark juxtaposition, with posters of Nana all over the walls, her favourite bands and other manga. There are perks to being a blessed child. Despite moving out, she found her home was as barren as her soul and that its intricacy had lain in second-hand antique trinkets such as: mirrors, jewellery boxes, crystal glasses, carved spoons and ornate Royal Albert tea sets she found herself rarely using.

The walls may have been empty, and the rooms may have been cold at night, her heart may have felt lost and lonely but: she was free. The mere notion of freedom in itself was enough for Hanawa to be content had it been that the Angel of Death was to make a visit in the next quarter of an hour.

Choi San.

The courteous land beneath his feet beckoned to his will, subsidised by his benevolence as his blood shimmered with an ancient ache. He walked across the land bound by his moral duty, and moral duty alone, ridding the land of its cursed evil. And he, whose name meant 'Mountain' had been raised from the seeds of aristocracy and forged from the roots of a pious tree, had moved his predecessor with the cursed energy he was forbidden against. He is the first to walk across the world, cursed energy brimming to fruition, in a whole century.

His skin flooded with the biting cold, a ripple of goosebumps tearing over him as he dashed through the subway, his broad shoulders puncturing through the crowd; boots splashing the puddles as the rain battered against his skin. A pulse of infuriation roamed through him, ignoring the dirty looks and bitterness of salarymen. Ignoring their scolding he rushes into the bustling train, his figure colliding into another - his long arms immediately reaching for the pole beside him. The sliding doors seal shut, the grating dissonance of the PA announcer rings into his ears - a low murmuring circulating into the compact carriage. Sucking in a deep breath, he ignores the brushing of leather and cotton against his own clothes, bodies swaying as the train, harshly, jolts forward.

A smaller figure slams into his frame, a yelp escaping from her lips. "Sorry." She mumbles, her fingers tightening around the strap hangers. Her head tilts in his direction, San flits his narrow eyes to her.

Principal Gakuganji's office is cold. His hands tremble, his slender fingers curling around the fine china; raising the hot beverage to his lips as the steam trickles up his nose. Gakuganji exudes a certain level of taciturnity and detachment, his hair (which is greying at a rate beyond comprehension San often wonders what colour it will turn next) is sparse but neatly combed back immediately gifting the elderly man with an image of refinement. His body is hunched over, back curved like the spine of a prawn, frail hands resting over his cane.

"Do you like the tea, San?" His voice is deep and gravelly, San represses a wince. It sounds like the old man needs a cough drop. Resting the teacup and saucer back onto the low table, he dips his head politely. "Good. I am not too sure that you will like your next mission." Closing his eyes shut momentarily, he gives the principal a look that urges him to continue.

"Are you familiar with the Hanawa clan?" San nods once more, keeping his words minimal to nothing. "Then, I believe you are also with the family's curse." San raises the teacup to his lips again, this time he makes sure Gakuganji sees him sigh, tiredly.

"You want me to kill their curse?" San notes, jadedly - the warm liquid passes through his lips slipping down his mouth.

"I want you to marry the curse." Gakuganji states, plainly. The sorcerer registers the words, hastily, his eyes widening in shock. Before he can stop himself, the liquid spurts from his mouth like a sprinkler, pattering onto the wooden table. Immediately, his palm slaps to his mouth - grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe down the surface. There is no scent of an emotion, not even amusement, on the principal's face as he carefully surveys San's actions. "You'll have to find her first, get her to trust you. When the opportunity arises I know you'll do the right thing." He pauses mid-action, flickering his gaze towards the old man. Gakuganji has no heart - San has always known this. He holds traditional values when it comes to the strict hierarchy of Jujutsu society, and his actions often lean towards pragmatism, even if it means resorting to underhanded tactics to maintain that order. Doesn't his headmaster understand that marriage is not a joke?

"This feels wrong." He argues it's a futile argument because his headmaster is not exactly known for being moral.

"I'm not asking you to fall in love with her." Gakuganji stated bluntly, his lips pressed into a thin line. Out of all people, he should have expected no one less than Gakuganji to say something like that. He wonders if the old timer is a cursed being himself. "All you have to do is conserve her energy into an object that we can destroy." 'All you have to do...', yes because it's as easy as linear algebra or pouring liquid into a conical flask. It's as easy as blinking or breathing.

"What about her family?" San argues, as if the lineage of the Hanawa will not continue.

"I will deal with the family. I would not be asking you to do this, if I knew it would lead to a war." San scoffs, avoiding the old timer's eyes. The poor girl's father must hate her. San wonders if he will despise her too.

Love is not real, it is just a construct disguised as liberty. It is a tale you feed children to keep them sleeping at night, and something that the youth pine over to feel that they will someday regain a sense of worth. It is a maybe. Maybe someday I will fall in love and someone will hold me as bold and as true as I have dreamed. Maybe someday one could lay down their souls for who they believed to be wholly theirs.

"Ok."

His lips twist into a reassuring smile, she smiles back.

The perpetual glare of the computer screen gleamed into her eyes, Hanawa's shoulder had slumped as if the weight of the world had been dropped onto her shoulders. Her fingers reach to tear the glasses of her face, an obnoxious groan escapes her lips as her body curves over the back of the desk chair easing the tension in her muscles. A quiet exhale passed her lips, one slow and drawing out like a surrender to exhaustion. Punching the final few numbers back into the lab report, she clicks the save button before exiting from the several applications. Hanawa doesn't even stop to double check her emails, that the numbers are correct or that there are any typos. She will do it tomorrow when she proofreads the report before submitting it to her superior.

Her heels click across the marble flooring, her head dipping cordially to the security guard who watches as her barcode scans and beeps allowing her through the gates. Passing through the automatic doors of the tall building, Hanawa makes her way down the quiet arena of Kyoto, her eyes seeking the time punctured on the windows of tech stores.

Shit.

She wasn't going to make the last train.

Hanawa bolts down the cobbled streets, her figure cutting through the air like a knife, the wind carrying her body. Her body launches in the direction of the train station. This is why people stayed at the office or internet cafes rather than thinking that they could make the last train. Summoning her cursed energy, her eyes glared purple, the beams pulsing through her skin drifting her down the staircase that led to platform 11.

The train was in sight. She could do this. Hanawa quickened her pace, cursing her heels as her feet wracked in sheer agony. Then, the doors slammed shut, the locks clicking in place and the gates sealing so she could move towards the train door.

“Oh, for fuck sake.” Metal grinds against the metal, the screeching dissipating into the thick air, the train moves away from her. The numbers on the departure board switch to 00:00. There will be no more train departures until four to five 'o'clock in the morning. The emptiness of the platform mocks her, the cold air circulating around her. Her shoulder's slump, she turns on her heel towards the staircase. It is where she sees him. The guy on the train she had bumped into two weeks ago. Hanawa had then consecutively seen him, taking the train home at the same time as herself, getting off at the same stop as herself but moving in the opposite direction she did as she made her way home. Was it a coincidence? Perhaps, but she could not help but notice how she had never seen him before. He offers a sheepish smile, looking annoyed as he has also missed the final train.

He's dressed, formally, in a pair of slacks and a crisp, white shirt tucked in, which accentuates his small waist - Hanawa is convinced it may be more cinched than her own. His dark hair is tousled, falling over his siren eyes. "Takes the piss, doesn't it?" She nods, tentatively moving towards him. Falling into step with him, they make their way up the staircase. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss, do you happen to live in Kibune, by chance?"

"I do." Hanawa responds, they meet the night air again and she holds her creased lab coat closer to her chest whilst adjusting her bag.

"I thought as much, I always saw you getting off at the same stop as me!" Her lips cannot help but uplift into a smile at his amiability. His enthusiasm at this time of night is adorable. "Whereabouts in Kibune do you live?" He questions.

"Oh, I just live close to the train station. Near Kibunehōjō dori. What about you?"

"Near the Kibune Yama." Her eyes lift in surprise, he lives more rural and closer to the mountains than she does herself. They live relatively closer to each other than she would have imagined. Though Hanawa believed she was just about well acquainted with the community. How could someone as refined as himself not slip into her line of sight?

Clearing her throat, she stands under the beaming lights of a local convenience store - rather angling her body towards the entrance of it. “I suppose I’ll just have to find a motel to stay in. I’ll see you around.” She states, moving to walk inside the store.

“You couldn’t suppose I could get your number?” He ponders, Hanawa stops in her tracks. She blinks once, then twice. She supposes he could, there was certainly no harm in giving her number to a pretty boy.

“San.” Mountain, she immediately thinks. Strong, dependable, beautiful. They sit together, side by side, in the subway - which is weirdly empty considering it’s only six o’clock in the evening. “Choi San.” He completes, a small smile rests on her tired face, she leans back in her seat, her head resting against the window. The shuddering of the train carriage has them bumping into each other, yet neither of them apologise as her cheeks tinge pink with embarrassment. Or excitement. It’s not everyday a handsome man takes the time out of his day to message you, wait for you at the train station to take the next train back to their village or even offer to walk you home. Hanawa was so sure chivalry was dead, but Choi San has proved her wrong.

“I have a cat named Byeol.”

“Like the stars.” Hanawa inputs, her knowledge of the Korean language stems from her avid interest in awful Korean dramas. He beams, somewhat impressed, dimples adorning his round cheeks. “We aren’t allowed cats at home.”

“I thought you said you live by yourself?” He questions, furrowing his eyes in confusion. Hanawa stares back at him, her expression mirroring his. She doesn’t quite remember mentioning her living status to him.

“I didn’t.” Hanawa replies, holding her bag closer to her chest. “Yes, I do live alone but when you grow up with certain rules, I suppose they just stick with you.” He merely hums in acknowledgment, the remainder of their journey was quiet.

00:01. It is somehow more depressing to read those numbers than watching the clock flip to stark midnight. The departure board stares back at her, no numbers or letters printing off it, mimicking her gloomy state. Hanawa grits her teeth, turning on her heel, as she makes her way to the exit of the train station; grunting as each heavy step she takes weighs down the surface of her limbs. Wearily, she stalks out of the train station, the psychedelic incandescence of the street signs blind her eyes. They droop, momentarily, her body drifting into the direction of the same old motel she finds herself, more and more, occupying.

"Hana!" She hears, their silken gentle voice floating into her ears, thrilling her sleep. It is hypnotic alone, her limbs are theirs to command, her muscles twitch in subservience. His footsteps pound down the cobbled path, twisting to meet his own body, her eyes widen in realisation. "You missed the train too?" He queries. Hanawa nods, folding her arms over her chest.

"I did. I thought you made it?" He shakes his head. Their conversations are full of fine movements and minimal words. "I read the ramen place stays open late," Hanawa said, her voice barely louder than the wind. San meets her eyes, his lips curling into a tired smile.

The streets of Kyoto were hushed beneath a velvet sky, the moon hanging low like a pale coin. Soft light spilled from the paper lanterns strung along the eaves of wooden townhouses, their warm glow catching in the reflection of nearby windows. The air smelled faintly of tatami, cedar, and something savoury drifting from far-off kitchens. Hanawa walked with her hands gripping mercilessly on her bulged bag, a restless twitch of her eyes as she sought her crumpled lab coat drenched with enough chemicals to create a new detergent. San was beside her, not quite shoulder to shoulder—just enough space between them for comfort.

A quiet buzz of cicadas filtered through the stillness, rising and falling like a memory. Their shoes clicked softly on the stone path. An uncomfortable and undemanding quietude hung in the air; a cat darted across the road - a fleeting smile touched San's lips as he remembered Byeol. Thank goodness he had left her with Yunho. With days of memorising Hanawa's schedule and tailing her through the city, he had come to learn of how overworked she was. A sense of penitence gnawed at him, her face carved of an innocence as she ambled down the street alongside him. A face that screamed someone who was unknowing of death lingering in the distance.

"It's down that street, I think." He nodded again, but this time there was something like a hollow smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes. They turned the corner together, the city folding around them in soft shadows and woodgrain textures. Temple bells chimed faintly in the background. Hanawa breathed in, slow and quiet. She liked how the night felt here: quiet but not empty. Full but not loud. San didn’t say much, he didn’t need to. Or rather, he was unable to.

Outside the ramen shop, a red noren curtain swayed gently. The windows fogged faintly from the warmth inside. They paused at the entrance. "You go first," he murmured, stepping slightly back. She ducked her head through the curtain without a word.

The interior of the shop was cosy, only a few other customers sat hunched over steaming bowls, the clink of chopsticks and muted radio music permeating the air. They found two seats at the end of the counter. The steam from the kitchen curled into the light like smoke signals.

Hanawa scanned the menu, though she already knew what she wanted. San rested his hands on the counter. “Tonkotsu?” She nodded, feebly impressed that he had managed to guess her order so easily.

Their knees brushed under the counter, just barely. Neither moved away. The cook took their order, and they sat in silence again, side by side. But it was a different kind of silence now—warmer, like the ramen they were waiting for. Clearing his throat, he shifted himself to meet her. There it was, all of that virtue shrouding the darkness that she had inherited. All of the raw, formidable power blind to his cursed energy which was warped by the stone necklace wrapped around his neck.

"What do you do for work, Hana?" San raises, tapping his fingers against the countertop. Before she can respond, the cook slides their bowls across to them with cutlery to accompany. They share grateful smiles, and gentle bows before she turns to raise his subject.

“I facilitate research in women's health.” He hums, impressed, raising the chopsticks closer to his lips. “So, we look at all sorts of things. Disease prevention, sex differences, understudied conditions. I don't know if you've heard of PCOS or endometriosis?" He nods his head profusely once more, feeling the shroud on Hanawa's armour slowly drift away.

"Yeah, so those conditions and cancer. There's a lot to do, especially because women are still substantially underrepresented in clinical trials for their own conditions." An annoyed grunt escapes her, as she starts digging into her own food, savouring the taste of the spices dissolving on her tongue. "I'm sorry, I feel very passionate about it.” Hanawa chuckles, more so to herself.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I grew up with an older sister, I can tell you I know most of the struggles my mother and sister had to go through. It made me realise how easy men have things.”

“Well I suppose you have the responsibility of being the primary proprietor.”

“No, many women have to do that too, raise their children, tend to the home. Many men don’t participate in carrying out those responsibilities.” He states, so casually as if men were capable of adopting those types of ideologies. “How unfair could the world be for making a woman do that?”

“I didn’t pin you down as a feminist.” Hanawa jokes.

“You can call me a feminist if you’d like but I don’t like labels.” He waves off, she narrows her eyes — just momentarily as if she could understand what he meant by that. She presumes labels would pin you down, and shape you around certain constructs that didn’t allow you to think outside of them.

Hanawa hums, staring thoughtfully through the silky noren. “Neither do I.”

“What I don’t understand is why your company is making you work until midnight, if they’re working on women’s health.”

“Would you believe my manager is a man?” She responds, rhetorically. San shakes his head in disappointment, muttering about how they were already failing at reaching for change. “What do you do for work?" She notices the slight disengagement of his countenance, his posture tightening before the subtle relaxation of his shoulders again.

"I'm a teacher at an underfunded private school." Hanawa grins, her cheeks aching from amusement. "I teach pretty much every subject you can think of." She wonders what keeps him in the school until midnight.

"Hence, the 'underfunded'." San nods, her expression bleeds onto his own perfect features. “Do you like your job?” There’s an underneath of uncertainty in her words, as if she is afraid of what he thinks of her question.

“Yes. I do. The stress is worth it because a lot of them graduate as good, responsible individuals. I think that's what matters to me the most." They finish their food in a comfortable silence, the type that does not need to be filled, laying down their bills. By the time they leave it is 01:30.

"Good lord, we've got three and a half hours until the next train." He exhales, leaning against the red-bricked bar when drunk students stumble in and out of. Hanawa, now with a bag that is less bulged but still heavy, watches him from where she is leant against the opposite wall.

"The National Garden is about fifteen minutes away from here." Hanawa proposes.

"Just exactly how many times have you done this?" He quizzes, following her as she leads them to the park.

"Oh, half a dozen." The silence between them begins to fill with aimless conversations about several things neither party had ever thought either one would be interested in. Politics, literature and art had been discussed on their way to the park.

Hanawa learnt San's favourite poet was Na Taejoo, and San had learnt she didn't have a favourite poet nor poem but did have a favourite Arabic quote.

"A University degree, four books, and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading. You wrote me 'good morning' and I read it as 'I love you'"

They both agreed Yoko Ogawa was indeed a critically acclaimed author.

It was subtle, the way San began to pry into her life - as if he hadn't known a majority of her family's history in concise detail. It first came as: what do your parents do for work? In which, Hanawa responded claiming her father was a businessman (which he was), and that her mother was a housewife (which she, too, was). Haein was still on maternity leave and would return to her job as project manager at their father's company in a few months. So, Hanawa began to deflect those questions back at him; naturally, San had responded with the responses that were written for him.

"My dad works as a Taekwondo instructor part-time whilst helping my mum with our restaurant. My sister works in corporate, like yours. They're still living in Korea." Hanawa nods, wondering if she herself should pry and ask him what he is doing as a teacher in Japan. "We rarely talk."

The bare branches of the trees sway with the billow of the wind, the leaves drift across the pavement in succinct swirling motions - the midnight pulls over the hollow skies. A puff of air escapes her lips, she shoves her fists into the deep pockets of her suit skirt, her gaze following down the winding road. The moon dips from the sky, the sun simmering along the horizon, draping the sky in soft pinks and yellows. They make their way back to the train station, with nothing more to say having spoken about every possible thing anyone could talk about in a lifetime.

By the time the pair reach the train station, the vehicle pulls up to the platform - it is still particularly empty save for the few salarymen who missed the last train. Their bodies slump down onto the polyester seats, carried back to the Kibune to finally lay down their souls to rest.

In the early hours of the morning, she is moving with practised grace in his dojo, her shinai twirling like the wind in the palm of her hand. Her cursed energy cascades down the bamboo, her attention focused solely on her movements; her body swirling through the dawn. Beads of sweat pool on her forehead, her bare feet sticking to the tatami mats. She doesn't notice a sorcerer watching her with careful scrutiny, his eyes peering from the doorway. Her tendrils are a dark purple, her eyes are lit purple too - it's potent. Destructive. Everything he must stray from, everything he must destroy. However, it is magnetic too. An ominous polarity was concentrated in his soul, something that simultaneously drew and repelled him towards her.

Hanawa notices a dark figure lingering by the doorway. Immediately, she snaps her attention to the entrance.

No one.

A gust of air filters into the dojo, as a heavy exhale escapes her lips.

Must have been the wind.

A look.

Two.

A figure rinses into her field of view, one bred from shadows leaning against the doorway. Its face is pale, eyes deeply sunken into its pockets, dark purple bags under its eyes. Its sentience is timid, almost youthful with the way he cowers under her presence. Long hair, drifting in sharp waves, vibrations of cursed energy emanate from it with little remorse.

"I will only ask you to leave. I don't intend to hurt you." Hanawa whispers, the cursed spirit merely nods. She is far from afraid of them, having spent the entirety of her life meeting them in the most peculiar of her places. Granted, as she grew older she became trained on how to assassinate them — despite her strange intent on keeping them alive. Her blood was not of one who was made to be a sorceress, thus she believed she was not respected for holding such morals.

"Stop." His deep voice echoes in the solicitude of her home. “Can you feel it?" There. Shimmering in the air, waves of potent energy loitering from afar, earthy and raw. Powerful enough to destroy, but not without leaving scathed.

"I've never felt that before. There's a sorcerer in this town?" The cursed spirit nods. "Why do I see so many of you?" She interrogates, placing her shinai back onto the stand.

"You're a powerful magnet for cursed spirits. You must be getting stronger." Ah. "Steer clear of sorcerers, they'll try to kill you." That much she knows is true. Remnants of her childhood was spent hiding in the cupboards when other clan members used to visit her father, offering bribes for her soul.

"Not if I end up murdering myself first." She recalls Zenjiro’s daughter, who had clawed out her own throat. Occasionally, Hanawa has lived through that dream.

"That too."

A quick, almost imperceptible flinch ran through her, her jaw tightening. Her father's cold, unruly stare bore into her - despite the heat clinging to her skin like glue, she felt the heat burn her body from the inside. Mr Hanawa, gulps, steely gaze hardening as he awaits for her answer. Impatiently, his foot taps against the floor in that scary rhythm that sends a wave of fear pummelling through her.

Hanawa hates her cousin, Mira. It is official. If only she had kept her inquisitions low and to herself not bringing herself walking out of the train station with San. A collective curiosity had stirred the group of women; slowly, every face turned to meet her gaze, their expressions a mix of intrigue and suspicion. Eventually, word had gotten out and reached to her father before she could even breathe. He snaps her name, and her skin leaps out of her bones, her tongue scrambling for words to masticate.

"He's a teacher. He works at a school and lives in the same neighbourhood as me." He lifts his head, as if mid-nod, his fixation on his daughter heavy and daunting.

"I see." He utters. "What are his intentions?"

"I think he's just being friendly." He snickers, before barking out a contemptuous laugh, throwing his head back as his chest heaves in beguilement.

"Friendly? Which idiotic thing would be daft enough to be kind to you?" His rhetoric haunts her, a tide of embarrassment flooding her skin - her cheeks heating up as her heart recoils under her father's autocracy. "I will reach out to this man, if he has enough pity on you, I'll see what I can do." Hanawa nods, when she leaves the room a breath of relief escapes from her lips followed by a piteous squeeze of her eyes. Her father has always been the one to take away the most meaningful things away from her. When Hanawa was a child it was toys, in high school it was friendships then it had morphed into something more insidious. It became freedom, movement, emotions. She had become rendered to a living machine - perhaps not even that machine still had its uses. Hanawa did not. Her reputation became beneath that of a servant or even an animal.

Her heels click in an ordered fashion against the tarmac, the streets empty, shades of orange and pink streaking the sky. She drifts into the expanse of the pillowy clouds, unbeknownst to the pounding of footsteps travelling towards her. “Hana!” He shouts, she stops dead in her tracks, throwing her eyes over her shoulder. Languidly, his face enters the light - streaks of sunlight scintillating within his dark brown eyes. A breath catches in her throat, Hanawa swallows her nerves with ease returning his courtesy. He falls into step with her, nothing but an awkward silence as he follows her in the direction of their homes.

It was two weeks ago when her father had pulled his connections to locate San and call them over to their home. Hanawa, who initially has no intentions in being involved in whatever plan her father had conjured, was convinced to stay at the home or rather locked away in her room as San participated in the family dinner with his grandfather. Haein had told her, after food he called them into his office and when they had left all three men were seemingly pleased with whatever outcome was in store for them. Since then, she avoided San like the plague; entering different carriages on the train home, dashing out of the train station and practically sprinting home. Avoiding longer working hours and opting to complete typing up her lab reports at home. Hanawa had thought that she’d succeeded in avoiding him. Yet his current presence beside her, clutching his messenger bag was a clear indication of her inherent failure.

He calls out her name, softly; she bites down on her lip. “I want you to know that I do not hate you in any way just because your father had called me over to his home.” In reality, it had worked out quite splendidly for San, who had the infamous Mr Hanawa under his and Gakuganji’s control. He was not subject to his tyranny like his daughter was. "I do intend to marry you." He blurts, she widens her eyes in realisation.

Oh.

Her fingers move to itch the back of her head, bewilderment prevalent in her expression. So that was it. Her father did not approve of courting, hell he had almost gone into a cardiac arrest when Haein‘s husband accidentally let it slip that they had been dating during University. A part of Hanawa wonders how on earth he expected contemporary couples to meet each other, then again the man was known for being exceptionally traditional. Their parents’ marriage was arranged, and purely transactional.

A beautiful laugh dissipates from him, his chest heaving as he stares down at her. "Oh Hana, I thought I made it obvious. I was going to court you but when your father reached out to me, his blessings made it seem like a sign that perhaps we should just get married.”

"We barely know each other." She breathes out. A throbbing ache pulses through her head. This was a method of her father’s inexorable control. “And I don’t want to get married just because my father won’t let me see you in any other way.”

“I’m not forcing you Hana, and your father can’t force me. Nor can my grandfather. I just want you to know that your family won’t ever change my perception of you.”

Through her peripheral vision, she found him looking at her, his vixen persona burgeoning with curiosity. Their wedding was small, with only their closest family and friends invited. San’s parents did not attend the wedding, for reasons that went undisclosed to her and for some reason her own father did not question. Haein had reassured her that he probably had the answer. Instead, he had invited a frail, old man he claimed was his grandfather and a few of his friends. Firstly, there was Mingi and Yunho who were both presented with contrasting demeanours. Yunho, who was the tallest of all his friends, initially presented as quite a calm, composed man with a pragmatic approach to his actions. He wore a sharp suit, with a clean-cut appearance exuding an air of logic and order. On top of that, he rarely smiled unless he was talking to the woman beside him, named Ishikawa. In contrast Mingi, despite the sharp appearance and occasional poise, was bubbly and jumping for joy at the wedding. He clapped loudly when the officiate pronounced the bride and groom as husband and wife. His wife matched his alluring countenance and stood beside him with a quiet confidence, moving to congratulate the young couple. Hanawa may have been intimidated by her, yet when Mingi’s wife opened her mouth she spoke as if they were old friends. The ceremony had gone by in a flash, most of its events flooding out in and out of her mind. San had organised a Photo Booth at the wedding, to which most of the guests (mainly Hanawa’s teenage cousins) had taken advantage of. When the guests had been drawn into their own conversations, San clasped her smaller hand within his and pulled her out of the room, yielding back the dark blue curtain.

“Won’t anyone wonder where we are?” Hanawa ponders out loud. San huffs, slumping down onto the seat, pulling his wife down with him.

“I couldn’t care less to be honest.” He leant his head against the wall, the small, bright light dazzling down at them. A pout forms on his pink lips, his wife grins.

He’s so cute.

They sit in silence, his eyes fluttering to a close whilst they listen to her teenage cousins giggling outside the drawn curtain. “Oh my god, let’s do it again.” They pull back the curtain, seeing the newlyweds inside. Then draw the curtain back again. “They’re inside the Photo Booth!” He lets out a small groan, moving to get up but this time Hanawa drags him back down.

“I never got a chance to use this today.” She claims, her hands reaching forward to press a button. “Ok, pose.” San grins, and they both move into synchronisation, holding up the peace sign, bunny ears, forging a heart with their hands. They’re all sorts of silly poses, until San begins to take matters into his own hands. Gently, he cradles her face, their cheeks being squished against each other, Hanawa’s lips curve into a wide smile. Perhaps the widest she has ever smiled. Then for the last photo, he presses his lips to her cheek, so tenderly as if the midnight breeze had circulated through her blood. Slips of rectangular card print out of the machine, he grabs them both before darting out of the booth.

The quiet rippling of the fluorescent stream hitting against the rocks permeates her ears as she is rendered to a thoughtful contemplation. Their fingers are dipped inside, the stream effortlessly cutting past the flesh. Hanawa turns her head, her gaze softens upon sight of her husband. San's eyes are screwed to the water, following it ebb amongst the quiet lands. Hanawa's love for him is quiet, gentle like a mother's hum, as she had apprised him of before marriage. Three months in and her heart yearns for him. Her hands are littered with extinct scripture of fervour - his name sewn upon the slither of her skin.

There must be a greater word than love, no? Was it devotion? So soon and so quickly? She could hear the thrumming of her mother's dark laughter in the pits of her lonely soul, ribbing her. Laughing. Was she not a vessel who rebuked notions of love? Was she not the barge that blemished any good thing that made its way into her life?

She barely meets her mother’s stare before subconsciously pressing her back against the door, hands fixed at her side.

Mr Hanawa moves his menacing glare over to her mother. “And who gave birth to our inauspicious child? Who gave birth to this wretched being AND TAINTED MY NAME?” His callous hands bunch her mother’s greying hair in the palm of his hands — yanking her head back. A breath is lodged in the crux of Mrs Hanawa’s throat. “Answer me!”

Her eyes swell with tears, watching as her mother gasps for salvation, her frail hands moving over her father’s. Tentatively, her hands crawl to her doorknob. “I did!” Her mother cries out.

Her heart wavers in desolation, in a knowingness that the ill-fated blood streaming down her veins may be the reason her relationship with her husband is doomed.

Stood, firmly, outside on the porch, her eyes cast into the back garden - the koi ponds simmering with the mild humidity; wind pushing through the leaves. Her head cocks to the side, as she notices a dainty omen looming behind the rose bushes, gesticulating for them to join her side. This time the cursed spirit is a young girl, maybe around six years old in human age, she sprints across the lawn, the grass tickling her feet with her movements. "What are you doing here?" Hanawa wonders, her hands brushing the smooth curvature of the cursed spirits cheek. Grade 4. Harmless.

"I was looking for you." The cursed spirit's voice is sweet and youthful, much like her appearance.

"There's a lot of you looking for me." Hanawa replies. A faithful hum resounds in the air. "Do you know who I dreamt of last night? I dreamt of Hisa, Zenjiro's daughter."

"The one who killed herself." Hanawa dips her head in agreement, the girl watches her with doe eyes. "I don't think that is how you will die." Hanawa scoffs, something like an entertained smile dancing on her lips. Cursed Spirits were fascinating, sorcerers were just unable to understand how to work alongside the beings they failed to understand.

They sit in silence, the little girl joins her on the veranda staring out into the space. It is peaceful - which is ironic because could peace really be associated with a cursed spirit? "I should probably go now before your husband sees me." Raising from her seat, her tiny feet patter onto the grass.

"Oh, don't worry about that. He won't be able to see you." A look of sympathy flashes across her face, Hanawa's brows knit watching as the spirit's lips fall into a flat line. Did she know something Hanawa did not?

"Hana!" His silken voice reverberates, she calls him out into the back garden. He slips out of the sliding doors, his lean frame perched by the doorway. "Were you talking to someone?" Shaking her head, a soft grunt escapes as she rises from the ground. Her head cocks to the side, as a black velvet case appears from behind his back, his animated expression triggers the semblance of joy. He flips the case open and her eyes bore into an ostentatious silver chained necklace, with an antique pendant - within it the swirling essence of a black onyx. Lifting the chain from the box, he graciously twists her body, clasping the necklace around her, the pendant hanging just above her cleavage.

"You’re beautiful." He utters, his voice smooth like velvet, cutting through the gossamer airs like the pulses of energy he manipulates. Hanawa's guarded eyes bore into his own, arousing a bubble of disconcerting emotions, the essence of her soul simmering with a forlorn ache. Is this what it feels like to be seen? His cheeks tinge pink, flooding to his ears, he tucks out his white formal shirt from his black suit trousers, heading towards the entrance of the kitchen.

“No, don’t—,” She pauses in her words, the soft breeze fluttering strands of hair, soft lilac fabric bunched up in the palms of her hands. San stops in the doorway, his fingers ready to unhook the tie around his neck.

“Go on.” He urges. Gulping the lump in her throat, her lips part as words struggle to make their way through. A chuckle escapes from him as he, slowly, approaches her, sneaking the tips of his fingers underneath her chin. “Are you scared of me?” Her head shakes no, so quickly as if it was a programmed response.

“So then speak, I want to hear your pretty voice.”

“You don’t have to change out of the suit, if you don’t want to. I think…” She trails off, clearing her throat before continuing. Suddenly, the spoon on the kitchen countertop looks very interesting, “You look great in a suit, is all I’m trying to say.” She recalls the words having left her mouth, scrunching up her eyes in embarrassment.

Great, he thinks I’m an idiot now.

“Ohhhh.” He mocks, dragging out the syllable as if to tease her. “I see. You like men in suits, don’t you? Does something about me wearing one, do something to you?” He whispers, provocative taunts entailing into her ears.

“San! Go get changed! And check where Byeol is while you’re at it.” The last time she checked, the Siamese cat was lounging across her sofa, until she had shooed her off it, resulting in an inhospitable hiss from the cat.

“Well you see, I’m actually struggling with this tie—,”

“And my food’s about to burn, the tie can wait.” San throws his head back in laughter, as she dashes past to him to the ceramic pot nested on the hob.

“Real cute, Mrs Choi, but the gas wasn’t even on when I arrived.”

The teacher's lounge was situated in the crooks of Kyoto High, only established within the last two decades or so. Usually, the teachers would retreat to their own offices or huddle in an empty corner of the academy that was uninhibited by their students. As of its recent establishment, it was small - a little nook even, funnily a cupboard under the stairs. It was comfy, despite its minute appearance. Shoji screens adorned the walls of the lounge - the delicate light that poured through them was muted. Perched on a low wooden table in the corner of the room was a kettle, cafetière, a coffee machine with the drawers stacked with tea bags, tins of coffee beans, clean cutlery and then milk in the mini fridge beside it. Courtesy of their quiet but assiduous Ishikawa and Yunho. The woman herself sat on Mingi's beanbag scribbling away at essays left to mark with a stark on incomplete mission reports next to her. A cold cup of black coffee rested just by her feet, with a glance of sheer debilitation etched on her face. Ishikawa always looked tired, too tired - as if she was carrying the weight of Kyoto on her shoulders. She reminded everyone of the late Madam Maekawa.

San slumps down onto the beanbag next to hers, peering over her shoulder as she scribbles down the corrections and further prompts in the margin. "Your students are lucky to have you." He reveals, waning further into the comforter. Ishikawa lets out a low hum before throwing the last essay down before liberating an uncharacteristic groan. A deep chuckle passes through him.

"How's married life?" She questions, sparing him a single look. Ishikawa had heard of why he had married her in the first place. Of course it was all Gakuganji's doing, it had him written all over it. The wooden door creaks open, revealing Mingi and Yunho who gravitate over to the confectionery waving at the pair slouched on the beanbags.

"Yeah it's great. Hana treats me well." Ishikawa responds with an abashed smile, avoiding his gaze. Moving back to the mission reports she shifts her undivided attention to paperwork, allowing San to converse with his closest confidantes.

"Has anyone seen Iori, I wanted to confirm if conserving her energy was making Hana weak?" With her gaze averted, San looks to his peer. Earlier that week, he had gifted his wife a necklace - which she had kept around her neck constantly - one to concentrate her curse into an object he could destroy. Though, with every passing second her face paled significantly, her body became weaker and Hanawa could barely pass through the halls without stumbling.

"I'm sure Utahime mentioned she would be like that for a week or so, then she should get better. The necklace is supposed to be quite a powerful tool for conserving energy." San nods in understanding. "Are there any signs of her improving?" Yunho queries, his brows tight.

Hastily, she interjects before San can respond, "Why couldn't you have put the poor woman out of her misery and killed her? Instead you're toying with her feelings, fooling her into believing you love her whilst tearing her apart!" Ishikawa shouts.

Mingi freezes, his blood running cold, apprehensive to rotate his body in the opposite direction. Provisionally, Yunho steps forward his stance poised as if ready to diffuse the agitated atmosphere at any given moment.

The words hit him like a slap, despite the truth that laid within them. Hearing them out loud—he couldn't shake the humiliation that churned in his stomach. "What are you trying to say? That I don't care about my wife?"

"Wife? You dare call her your wife when the truth is you probably wouldn't have looked twice her way? She's cursed, San! Every one of us in this room was itching to get rid of her when we were at your wedding!"

"ISHIKAWA!" Yunho barks. Their heads snap his way, the door slams open, an anxious Utahime stationed at the doorway. "How could you say something like that? You heartless woman!"

"My heart hurts for her. To have a husband who wants to kill her is probably her biggest curse, not being a Hanawa." Her eyes dart to the stone necklace clasped around his neck, underneath his shirt — the emblem used to conceal his energy. Another reminder of his deceit. Grabbing the stacks of paper off her desk, she storms out of the room, her shoulder bumping into Utahime. The four of them stand in the stillness of the compact space.

The dining hall of the ancient Hanawa estate exudes a timeless elegance, the space is modest. Tatami mats are stretched over the floor, their soft, woven texture providing a comfort with the mild glow from the shoji screens lighting a collected atmosphere. The room bustles with thoughtful chatter, a storm of fabrics bleeding together as members of the clan and important Jujitsu delegates pass through the room carrying a fixed grace.

Outside, two silhouettes are gently lit by the pale glow of a paper lantern hanging from the eaves. Cicadas hum in the darkness, the breeze carrying through them as if they were the shadows of the night.

Hanawa Hisa suppresses a giggle as her lover guides her through the hallways of her own home, and out towards the secluded area of the veranda. Slipping his arms around her waist, her body is pulled flush against his own. “Oh my dearest, we’re getting married next week. Unhand me at once before my father sees.” Repressing another childish giggle, she gazes up at her fiancés eyes.

The odd sensation, brimming to fruition within her, began to bubble within her blood, speeding through her veins at rocket speed. Tearing from his embrace, Hisa stumbles backwards, a breath lodged in the crux of her throat. A wheeze escapes her, the whisper of malevolent shadows wrapping around the gleam of her neck like vicious tendrils of raw power. Her slender fingers clutch at them, like ropes strangling her — a gruesome scream permeates the air, sweat washing over her smooth skin. Her fiancé watches, his eyes wide in horror as her limbs fling around the dark porch, she sinks to her knees crying out for mercy.

Footsteps pound down the hallways, towards the corner of the Hanawa estate, Zenjiro rushes to Hisa’s side, his knees pressing into the floor where she has collapsed; convulsing manically. Gusts of black air crawl out of her mouth, cackling dispersing into the night. “Hisa! My child! Move your hands, move your hands at once!” He demands, her eyes gloss white her power gurgling beneath the surface of her skin. The ground begins to rumble, Zenjiro loses his balance, curling his fingers to tap into his technique. Hisa's fingers clutch into the caverns of throat, her nails gnashing at her skin - a roar of agony spills into the night. A dismal entity grips her elbows pushing her hands deeper into her skin, blood flows down her body like scarlet rivers, a necklace of rubies painting her figure.

"HANAWA!"

A dreadful scream rumbled in the evocative airs, followed by a cacophony of heaving breaths. Her heart dilapidated against her ribcage - incorrigible words spluttering from her lips like a broken engine. Enveloped into a strong hold, Hanawa sinks against his chest, tears streaming endlessly down her face. Her husband's docile coos entrail into her ears; his wife's arms clutch onto his sturdy shoulders - clinging onto them for dear life. His palm smooths down her hair, her fists balls up the fabric of his shirt. San's eyes move towards the black onyx, scintillating with her cursed energy. It seems more like it is taking a fragment of her soul rather than the ancient spirit who had cursed Hanawa's bloodline. Her trembling figure moves back to rest her head on his chest, her eyes constantly flutter in a state of unrest.

“I’m here. I’m with you.” He felt her fingers gently trace intricate patterns on his back. The moment had felt hauntingly real, deeply intimate to the point where San could have sworn he felt their souls confide in each other. Then came the weight of his mission, hitting him like a ton of bricks. The reason behind her anguish: him.

In contrast to any other day, the Hanawa household is bustling with chaos, the few maids they have running around wiping down the thin layer of dust off the furnishing, Mrs Hanawa, furiously, cutting through the flesh of vegetables - her chopping knife batters against the wooden chopping board. Her grandson runs around in circles, whilst the daughter of one of her workers chases him. Ha-ru’s mother is upstairs sleeping, an action that would have gone penalised had it been their eldest. Her melancholic gaze flits to the garden where both her eldest daughter and son-in-law sit on the wet grass.

Their sudden appearance at the home was a surprise to her, she had not the notice to clean the home and prepare a meal for them both. However, this came as no shock to her husband, who Mrs Hanawa knew was probably made aware and chose to conceal the knowledge. Obscuring her anger, she slides the vegetables in the pot, stirring the stew, gently, with the ladle. There were many amiable characteristics to her son-in-law. He was strong, compassionate and intelligent - being a teacher at a private school. His crescent eyes would linger wherever his wife would go, carving the length of the distance she walked intricately, as if he was lost and in need of guidance. San prioritised her, let her walk first, let her eat first, move first, talk first. To Mrs Hanawa, this came as a revelation for she had always lived her life coming second. Hell, she couldn't even remember the last time she had spoken at the dinner table.

Mr Hanawa is watching. He always is, his finger lightly drawing back the lace curtains, peering through the small window. A smile on his daughter's face. One he had not seen in a long time. When their eyes meet through the glass, a pointed look is etched onto his face. She moves on his command, tugging her husband back inside.

The couple move back into the kitchen, San stops in front of her mother, offering help. "Okaasan, would you like any help?"

"Could you reach for the lentils over there?" His eyes adrift towards the shelves in line with the extractor fan. Hanawa leaves her husband behind, moving into the front room where her father is sitting on the armchair, his eyes boring into a book. He definitely isn't even reading it, he just uses his intellect as a means of intimidation. Sauntering in, she seats herself on the sofa, closest to the door, as she has done since childhood. Quickest way of escaping.

"How long have you been married now?" He implores, his gaze fixated to the words scrawled across the page. God, if she had the strength to snatch the book from his hands, he would not even be able to tell what was written on it.

Clearing her throat, "Six months." A low sound, followed by a single look. Then his eyes move back onto the page.

"I suppose there will be no children. Your curse makes you barren, doesn't it?" Creasing her eyebrows, there is no remnant of emotion on his face. No twisting of his lips or softening of his eyes. Not even a minute tremor of a facial muscle to suggest he was even human. His tone was so cold, so dictatorial. For a few seconds, Hanawa looked back at her father, wondering how it was possible that someone as ruthless as him became a husband and a father. Words fall dead on her tongue, there’s a deafening silence suspended in the thick air. He’s waiting, calculatedly. He wanted her to speak, scream and shout. He thrives on her oppression like the sadist he is. "You are conniving. I will give you this much. You moved out of the home, you have a good job. You found a decent man to marry. All of that, yet at the end of the day: your blood is dirty and impure. After all of that, you are worthless and I hope your husband realises that."

Her palms curl into tight fists on her laps, her head dipping beneath her shoulders.

"My child." Her head snaps up, drawing half way across the room her fearful eyes meet his indifferent inclination. When was the last time he called her, his child? She had always been a product of her mother's mistake. "Does it hurt to know that within your freedom you had only found an entrapment greater than mine?"

"Mr Hanawa, that is enough!" A breath catches in Mrs Choi's throat, her mouth agape as her husband stalks into the room. Jumping to her feet, San's palm outstretches to her wrist yielding her behind his broad shoulders. "Do you think being a father entitles you to belittle your children? If that is so, I am shocked to see that a man as great as yourself could be so bigoted." He snarls, voice laden with fury. His calmness swiftly morphs into something darker, as his anger intensifies.

Yet for the first time, Hanawa sees the shock scrawled across her father's face. An undercurrent of trepidation circling around the edges of his eyes. He, too, stands up - his figure cowering under San's towering stature. "My wife and I are leaving, this instance." Clasping her shoulders, he urges her out of the room towards the foyer where he slips on his shoes, his hands reaching for the knob. Her mother rushes in from the kitchen, pushing past her as she tries to convince San with her dulcet words and false promises of her husband changing. She does not apologise for his actions. Neither does he.

His wife's feet are rooted to the cold floorboards, as tears well up in her eyes. "If you leave." A baritone enunciation circulates from the front room. "Then I am no longer your father. You are barred from this home forever, and should you ever seek my help the doors of this place will be closed to you." Tears spill down her cheeks, hitting the floor with a merciless thud. Her frame wracks with misery, her fingers twisting her lips as her sobs quieten.

Hanawa must not cry so loudly.

"Hana. Whether you choose to stay here or leave with me, I will not chastise you for it. First and foremost, you are my wife." His lofty step disperses from the entrance of the estate, she can feel Haein move closer to herself, from the staircase, her paces heavy with sleep deprivation. A hand moves to place, tenderly, on her shoulder, three burning gazes instil into her vulnerability.

He reached the end of the driveway and paused, hand resting against the cool metal of the fence. San felt a tight knot in his chest, unsure of what to do next, shutting his eyes - his mind hazy with frustration. Why did he do that? Defending her was not a part of the mission, all he needed was her cursed energy.

A soft rush of footsteps. The unmistakable sound of her breath — shaky, as if she was trying to steady herself. A pair of arms wrap around him from behind, her hands pressing into his chest, her breath warm against his back. He stood frozen for a moment, unsure of whether to pull away, but then he felt her chin resting against his shoulder, her body trembling. “Please” Hanawa whispered, voice thick with emotion. Her fingers tightened, as though she feared as if he would leave any minute now, if she did not hold tight enough. “Please, don't go.”

09:00. The hands on the grandfather clock twitch when it strikes 12, revealing the new hour of the day. The sorcerer's eyes meandered to the old man nestled on the sofa opposite to him, beady eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Gakuganji's jaw clenches, as if repressing a guttural groan signifying his aging character. San sneers at him, feeling his father's words echo in his mind - telling him off for mocking an old man. Other older men could get the benefit of the doubt, not Gakuganji.

"You didn't have to turn up at my house." San incites, a look of annoyance flashing across his features.

"I wanted to meet my granddaughter-in-law."

"You didn't have to mention the necklace."

"I thought my grandson had done a great job of choosing his wife a heartfelt gift." This time, San clenches his jaw, sweating forming on his palms. "Knock it off, Choi. It is not like she got the hint anyway. You've done a good job at pulling the cotton over her eyes."

"Do you know what I noticed?" The headmaster of Kyoto continues, rhetorically. "The onyx has drained her dry. It was bursting at the banks." His head bobs up and down - heart battering against his chest at a furious speed.

"Yes. I saw." He responds, plainly. Containing a deep sigh at his chest, he squeezes his fingers - an act which does not go unnoticed by his headmaster.

"Have you fallen in love?" A taut stillness diffuses into the ambience of the antique room, the scent of pine spills into the air. His eyes drift to the bookshelf situated behind Gakuganji, where there are books neatly stacked in alphabetical order. On the second shelf down from the top, is 'The Count of Kyoto' which San is still yet to read. Around three shelves below the second should be an arrangement of classical and jazz music sheets. The books here are an odd constellation, as if the statement 'Oh I read a bit of everything' was a person. He hates this meeting. He hates Gakuganji. Worst of all, San hates this mission. “Well? Do you love her boy?” Gakuganji commands, San holds his unwavering stare with a look of spite of his own.

“No.” His chest tightens, a foreign ache truanting through him. Ishikawa was right. The greater sin is having his wife be in love with him, not striking the iron knife through her dulcet heart.

Her limbs are wrought with exhaustion by the time she reaches home, flopping straight onto the plush blanket as she discards her bag at the foot of her bed. A haughty grumble leaves, welcoming her husband - it only triggers a snigger from him. Crouching, he reaches for her leather handbag on the floor, pulling out the lab coat, throwing it into the washing basket. Sluggishly, he promenades towards her, crawling onto the bed before flunking his larger figure on hers. A grunt followed by a breathy cackle filters out of them.

There was always something bewitching about San that Hanawa could not put her finger on. Whether it had been his eyes —the incredible understanding of them glittering with affection. Now, when he looked at his wife across the minimal space between them, there was an imperceptible shift. Something had tempered its pliability, around the edges of his eyes. A glint of a perturbing emotion had lingered a beat longer.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispers, crescent eyes drooping as he buries his face into her chest. He doesn’t wait for her permission, rather continuing as tiredness gnaws at his muscles, “I think I have a crush on my wife.” Heat rushes to her face, as her fingers carefully loop around a thick lock of hair. She says nothing, holding back a smile; head flopping to the side. Gently, his lips press to the crook of her neck.

“Really?” Her soft voice provokes, almost lulling him to sleep in the process. Goodness, her body is so warm he could just melt against it.

“Yeah, she’s pretty. Like so pretty and the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Mrs Choi is intelligent, she understands me, I don’t have to physically tell her how I feel: she already knows.” An ambiguous silence suspends in the air, her heart pounds furiously against her chest; she’s so sure he can feel it through where his head rests against it.

“I think I have a crush on my husband. Sannie is the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. I love his dimpled smile, I want to poke them but I’m not sure if he’d let me. I think he knows me more than I know myself. For that he deserves every part of me.” His eyes welled up with tears, words falling flat on his tongue. His bottom lip trembles slightly, his nose tickles with an uncomfortable sensation. Steadily, the black onyx scintillates in the darkness of their shared bedroom, gleaming at him.

I am sorry, Hana.

When he enters the kitchen, around five 'o'clock in the evening, San is rather surprised to see the kettle whistling and two fancy teacups from Hanawa's collection settled on the countertop. Her expensive teabags sit inside, waiting to collect the boiled water - a teaspoon beside them. To begin with, Hanawa never drinks tea around this time in the evening. She always eats her evening meal with him, and then tea before bed. There wasn't another unfamiliar pair of shoes in the foyer nor a bag, coat or scarf to suggest the presence of someone else. The second teacup would not have been for him either, San rarely drinks tea.

Cursed energy emanates in the tense atmosphere, its maleficence caressing his philanthropic core - his sharp eyes survey the setting. He steps out from the kitchen, onto the veranda where he knows his wife prefers to spend her time when the weather is not too cold. Curling his fingers to tap into his technique, a spirit filters into his line of sight — Grade 4. A young girl, even. She is stood by his wife’s body, draped across the wooden panels, almost lifeless despite the soft hurling of her chest. The child caresses Hanawa's cheek, painting a leer on her face. San does not see this as an act of fondness.

With a flick of his hand, the ground beneath him trembled. A deep rumble rolled through the earth, their figures shuddering. The spirit looks up at once, falling off the porch she takes a speculative lunge away from him. Hanawa��s eyes awaken, the essence of the potency running through the ground comparable to her own. With a sharp motion, San thrust his palm to the ground, and the earth responded. A jagged rock opened up from the ground, striking straight through the spirit's body. Hanawa's body shoots up, curling her fingers to summon her technique.

Manipulating the arms of the jagged stone, her body whips around pummelling the pillar straight into the large frame behind her. Once again, the earth shifted beneath her feet, creating a shield in which the stone dagger she had crafted, had lodged straight into. A concentrated burst of energy, cut through the boulder, sending a torrential thunder crashing through the air. Before the stone can shatter, crashing into the ground like meteorites, Hanawa dashes back to the Grade 4, her palms encasing the cursed spirit. The little girl moans, black liquid spilling from her eyes, innocent whimpers entailing into Hanawa’s ears.

“Hanaw—,” Her croak is cut off, as a fragment of sharp stone hammers into her skull. The spirits figure drops to the floor, with a thud, Hanawa sinks to her knees as her body disintegrates into purple mist with nothing but the rubble as a reminder of the subsequent events. Her head whips around, her reticent stare glowering into a familiar set of eyes.

“YOU BASTARD—,” A breath is lodged into the crux of her throat. “San?” Her voice trembles under the weight of shock, her mouth agape as she struggles to register the severity of the situation.

She almost killed her husband.

Her husband almost killed her. No, her husband just executed a cursed spirit. Her vision became cloudy, breaths exhilarating as the silence suspended between became thicker with the weight of anger, betrayal and confusion.

When Hanawa bestows her stare upon him again, she finally notices the underlying sentiment resting on the edges of his siren eyes. It is wrought with the truth she was blind to, and stripped bare of every ounce of devotion he had ever felt towards her.

His eyes are cold now, artful. Much like Mr Hanawa's who had spent the entirety of her childhood inflicting tethers of abuse. To think she had finally escaped her father’s wrath, to think she had met freedom by marrying a man of her choice, by keeping as far away from him as possible. Oh, how wrong she was. All this time, thinking she had won but she had lost before the game had even started. She could hear his devious laugh in the whistling wind, echoing in the chirping of the cicadas, his jurisdiction in the humidity lying on her, thickly.

Does it hurt to know that within your freedom you had only found an entrapment greater than mine?

Oh, how cruel could the universe really be? To think, to feel the wild emotions of lovers. To have thought that his touch was sincere and his words were genuine. To have thought that for the first time in her life, she had magnetised this resplendent soul, settling her life at his feet. How stupid could she be? She is the vessel who repels.

He is a sorcerer. She is a curse.

Hot tears spill down her cheeks, tickling her jawline before they patter onto the earth beneath her feet. Painful wails permeate the air, her pharynx is wrought with suffocation as she can barely breathe under his subjugation. Thunder cracks through the air, the clouds become heavier, bestowing its own gloom onto the earth. The coarse rain batters against her supple skin; the sound of her crying is drowned within the earth's own tempestuous heart.

For a long moment, San watches her from where the rain soaks through his shirt. Then he turns, walking away from his wife, leaving her submerged in hurt and betrayal.

After all, she is a curse. He is a sorcerer.

The faint vermillion hue of the hearth radiates her skin, Hanawa’s emptiness is enveloped by the desolation of the front room. Wrapping her arms around Byeol, her hands run up and down her fur, bringing her closer to her chest — warped by the solitude she has been plunged within. The cat mewls, a desperate attempt to wrangle herself away from Hanawa. Great, even the cat does not want her now. A door creaks open in the far distance, the pattering of footsteps ascends her way, just missing her and heading to the kitchen instead.

Despite the heat, a ripple of goosebumps flood her skin. She watches as her husband’s shadow moves into the living room, seating himself just behind where she was sat. His lips part to say something, anything, but they fail to pour from his tongue.

“Why did you marry me?” Her inquisition cuts through the silence with a knife, his eyelashes flutter at the blunt nature. Finally, her neck cranes to meet him - her eyes red and puffy with dejection.

“You’re a curse, Hana, everyday it grows stronger and stronger. So, we thought if you can remove your energy and destroy it would protect both you and the future of your clan.”

“And so marrying me was your only shot at containing this disease?”

“I married you, to protect you from hurting anyone else.” Scoffing, she shakes her head in disapproval. “That necklace I gave you? We were using that to contain the energy.” Her hand flies to the necklace wrapped around her throat, holding the pendant up between her fingers. Unclasping the chain, she throws it down onto the low wooden table, the black onyx glimmering in the darkness.

“I can sense your energy now. I couldn’t before?” She raises, and he untucks the stone pendant from his pocket. It was used to dull his power, so even from their first meeting she was never able to suspect him. “And when you said you loved me?” Her voice trembles, yet she remains steadfast in her confrontation.

He loved her, didn’t he?

“I never said I loved you,” He pronounced flatly, his voice colder than what he wanted it to be. San could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each word felt like a knife raking into his vessels. “Maybe you thought I cared, but at the end of the day you were just a mission to me.”

“Everything was a part of the mission? Walking through the city together, taking the train home? Marrying me? Was it all an act?” San remains silent, averting his gaze to the black onyx on the low wooden table. Somehow it is much worse than him saying any words at all. Hanawa rises from the floorboards, sauntering over to him. Her trembling hands cradle his face, her fingers digging into his skin as she forces his chin up, making him meet her stare - eyes locked, desperate and raw, as if each passing second between them might tear them both apart. "Please don’t tell me I didn’t mean anything to you, Sannie. I had given you my heart at the altar. I left my family for you - believing, knowing, that you were all I needed. My soul is in that chain. After everything we’ve been through, you cannot stand there and tell me I was just another pawn in your game. Not when you’ve been in my soul, not when you’ve claimed me." The tears she’s been holding back finally slip free, hot and unrelenting, streaking down her face. Her ache refuses to subside, her body wracking with agony.

“Tell me, my beloved, that you love me. Your silence is breaking my heart.” Hanawa's voice cracks, leaving only the rawness of her pain in the room, her lip quivering with the weight of what he could so easily strip away. "Tell me this is just a sick, sick joke."

How foolish of her to believe he could ease her of her pain, provide the comfort that she is a single beat away from begging for. You don't beg to be loved, to be held, to be seen. Yet here she stands, her fingers firmly holding his gaze, as if the weight of them burgeoning into his beauty could possibly help him comprehend the depth of her heartbreak.

"I am sorry, Hana." Her heart shatters in her chest, a void seeps into the crevices, dimming the light he had brought into her. San surges from his seat, reaching for the black onyx. He reaches for her worth. An object. But not for her.

The house is empty when San’s brown eyes flutter open, the sunlight streams in through the slit of the drawn velvet curtains. On instinct, his hands outstretched for his wife’s warm body, to find he is flapping his arms out in space. Her side of the bed is neat, her phone is not on the bedside table. When he sits up in his bed, a few products from her dressing table are missing, her purple fluffy slippers are still tucked under the stool but San knows better than to hope that Mrs Choi is roaming the home.

She’s gone.

No note on the kitchen fridge, but the home is clean as if the chaos of the night before did not cease to exist. Some of her clothes remain in the wardrobe, hanging like her reappearance is a promise that one is unsure if will be fulfilled. The fridge is stacked with her home cooked food, his eyes latch onto the strawberry cake she must have baked for him, yesterday. He bites down on his lip to stop it from trembling, slamming it close before he leaves from his home.

He searches for her on the train, a hopeless act carved out of his desperation; his mind wracks for all of the places she could be. He was not aware of any friends she had and San was also sure the doors to her childhood home would be closed to her. Unless, Mr Hanawa was feeling benevolent towards his eldest daughter. He continues his search, even through the city, as he makes his way to the academy.

‘I searched for you in the masses, my eyes preaching you in the aftermath of my coldness that I bestowed on a poor soul, such as you.’

The door to Ishikawa’s office creeks open, she shuffles in throwing down the reports onto the table; before slumping down on the chair. Her eyes flit to San, who is scouring his eyes down a page, cooped up on the chair. “What are you reading?” She questions, organising the chaos that is her table. Snapping the book shut, he flashes the front cover, she nods. The Count of Kyoto. “Good one, wait until you reach the end. You’ll be scratching your head for days.”

“Either that or outright sobbing.” They both snigger at the recollection of Mingi crying over the ending.

“How is your wife?” Such a simple inquisition and San had felt as if his heart had been shot stone cold dead. “San. Have you at least tried to contact her?” Guiltily, he shakes his head in denial. Ishikawa bites the inside of her cheek.

“You’ve got cursed energy within you, Ha-ru.” Hanawa comments, his doe eyes stare up at her in wonder. He babbles, in response, with no clue what his auntie has just said to him. “Not cursed like mine.” Her fingers run through the strands of his hair, he emits a low whine before sliding off her bed to scuttle to the front room. On his way out, his little body passes his mother, who stands by the doorway watching her older sister stare into space.

Early in the subsequent morning after she’d left San with the black onyx, Hanawa had packed her basic essentials and dispersed from the home. A part of her could no longer reside where he was, not when she knew that he did not really love her. Not when she knew that giving him her heart had all been in vain. She knew she could not go back home and give her father the satisfaction of knowing that he had been right all along.

She turned up at Haein's home, and despite the subtle disparity between them — she had eagerly welcomed her elder sister back into her life. “Ane, what time did you say your train was?”

They set off towards the train station, around an hour later, with her luggage tucked away in the boot. Haein’s mother-in-law is sure to leave her with a spiteful comment that surpasses Hanawa’s ears. Whatever helped the hag sleep at night.

The engine is cut off as Haein parks opposite the train station. A tense silence diffuses in the air, Hanawa wonders if there will ever be a day when the two sisters can share a normal conversation, or even an interaction. “I miss you, Ane.” Haein admits, scared to look in her sister’s direction. “I wish life hadn’t happened. That our parents were not so eager to shelter me from you.”

“I could never hate you for what our parents did to us. I always wanted our relationship to be stronger but these things happen, I guess.” Hanawa responds, unbuckling her seat belt. “I just have one question. Did you know? About San?”

Haein turns to face her sister, a lips pursed into a flat line. “I did. But only after that day you left our parents house. I wanted to tell you, even then but our father threatened me.” Haein’s eyes gloss over with the recollection of the fear she felt. “I’m sorry, Ane.” Hanawa shakes her head.

“It’s ok, I would have feared for Ha-ru had he been mine.”

The home is as vacant as she had left it, his shoes are empty on the stand — he must not be at home yet. Leaving her luggage in their shared bedroom, Hanawa ambles towards the fridge furrowing her eyes at its barrenness. Huffing, she shuts the fridge door, slipping back out of the home.

A loud sigh escapes his pink lips, he tears off his shoes at the entrance. The house had always felt like a sanctuary, but now it felt like a prison. A vast, hollow space where his wife’s laughter had once echoed, and the soft shuffle of her footsteps had been a constant melody. On instinct his feet had dragged him to the kitchen, staring through the window where he would have caught her sitting on the porch talking to a cursed spirit that she thought he could not see.

Opening the fridge door, his eyes furrow in confusion. It was full, eggs unpacked and nestled in moulds on the fridge door, beneath it were bottles of milk and juice. Fruit in drawers, bread and other ingredients. His heart palpitates in his chest. Swiftly, San moved out into the back garden - the sliding door gliding smoothly under his hand, and walked aimlessly, his feet light against the wooden planks.

The distant sound of trickling water gnawed at his attention. His pulse quickened as he made his way down the stone path, leading to the stream at the edge of their property. The soft murmur of the water, the quiet rustle of the trees above —everything seemed so peaceful, so still.

Then he saw her.

There she was sitting at the edge of the stream, her bare feet dipped into the cool water, the soft ripples breaking against her ankles. Though she wasn’t looking at him, he wasn't sure if she noticed his presence. Her eyes were closed, head tilted slightly upward, as if trying to catch the last of the evening light before it slipped behind the hills.

Her hair was down, flowing like dark ink against the green of the trees, and for a moment, it almost felt as though nothing had changed. Yet the absence of her smile, the strict tension in her shoulders was enough to remind him of how far they had drifted.

“Hana” he pronounced softly, his voice nearly swallowed by the stillness. Hanawa did not flinch, or move. There was no sign that she had even heard him, her chest rose and fell in succinct motion - untouched by the cruelty of his presence. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” he asked, tone tinged with frustration.

"I don't know. I suppose I needed to come back. For myself." For clarity, to filter out the emptiness in her heart. To rinse her deluded assumptions that it was all just a horrible dream, and beneath the façade of indifference there was a semblance of the San she fell in love with.

“I know I messed up,” He began, the words heavy on his tongue. He knelt down beside her, his knees brushing the cool earth. “I… I’ve thought about it every day, Hana. Every single day since you left.” She turned her head slightly, enough to meet his eyes. The faintest hint of emotion tugged at her face, but it was fleeting — gone as soon as it came.

“I don't blame you for not being in love with me.”

“I do,” he said, his voice breaking just a little. “I blame myself for every moment I deceived you. I was selfish. I took you for granted, and I—”

“I know. I know what you did to me, very clearly.” She interjected, her voice stronger now. Pulling her feet out of the stream, she sat cross-legged on the stone path, her fingers trailing through the water. “You did deceive me. But, with my father? I don't think you could ever fathom how much that hurt me." San studied her for a long moment, the pain reminiscent in her words, her face. Though there was an undercurrent of newly founded strength. As if she had learnt to live without him. That terrified San.

The silence stretched between them, neither of them willing to break it. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, pepper her face with gentle kisses. Ease her of her pain. He had already done enough, he did not know how to tell her that he was struggling to do so much as breathe without her. Slowly, San sat beside her, the cold stone beneath grounding him in the moment.

"You don't take care of yourself properly." Hanawa stated, referring to the fridge in the home which she had restocked before his arrival. He bit down on his wobbling lip, holding back a choked sob - he buried his face within his palms.

"I lied, Hana. I lied when I said I didn't love you." His voice cracked, the tears streaming down his face. "The first thing I did after the morning you left was reach out for you, and it hit me when you weren't there. That I had truly lost you." Hanawa felt her heart waver, tucking up her knees to her face, she craned her neck to finally meet him.

"I searched for you on the train, I looked for you in every crowd. Every night I came home, I waited for you. I hoped that you would turn back through those doors." He whispered, the words raw but seldom true. "I called Haein everyday, I begged her to let me see you."

Hanawa shut her eyes. She knew, for everyday she listened to Haein argue with her husband over the phone. Telling him to stop calling her, threatening to block to his number. He even turned up at their door, god knows how he even found Haein's location. San pleaded for a glimpse of her face, but her sister would shoo him away at the door.

"I know." She whispered back.

"I'll wait. I'll keep waiting however long it takes."

She smiled, but it was different this time. Gentler. “Maybe one day I will forgive you.” She said, "For now, the distance is what we need to keep us from breaking." For the first time in months, he believed her. The stream continued its quiet song beside them, the sky dimming overhead. Mr and Mrs Choi sat, side by side, for a very long time watching the ripple of the water hit against the rocks, the leaves swaying mildly with the breeze.

"You know, ‘Hanawa’ and ‘San’… they’re not so different after all, are they?" San's voice became steadier beside her, lingering with intention.

"No." She whispered, the wind lifting strands of her hair. After all, they were the mountains. Though separated by rivers, valleys, and seasons, they were still connected beneath the earth. Perhaps it had meant something, that despite their differences - they could meet each other again.

Hanawa sought her eyes over his features once more.

His hands were littered with extinct scripture, her name carved upon slither of skin.

He is mine as I am his.

My husband, the sorcerer.

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘hanawa’ meaning mountain ‘hana’ meaning flower 'hisa' meaning a long time loved/enduring

A/N: this fic went through so many redrafts but oml am I happy it’s finished. for the first time it was so difficult to write san the way I did 😭 also lmk if you like the direction these jjk fics are moving on, I’d say hongjoong’s and yeosang’s are like a trad jjk episode, whereas san and seonghwa’s are like a little bit different.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @devilzliaison @barbielibra @asweetblueberry2 @arilevenatz @xdannix @yuyamihi @l0vjoongie @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @wooyoungsbrat @matchahintonagar @byeoltton

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aomiiine · 11 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈

jujutsu kaisen w HIGURUMA HIROMI format. headcanons + scenarios warnings. fluff + nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. oral(reader receiving). fingering. pretty tame and domestic stuff. summary. unorganised thoughts ab higuruma.

author’s note. this is literally just me yapping ab all the possibilities w higuruma cs i love the man and i’ll probably reblog this w a continuation of my thoughts + non-sorcerer au so he’s just an overworked lawyer here

PART 1

Similar to nanami kento, he’s a busy man, perhaps even busier since he’s a lawyer. Being at the office most of his time made him a stranger to the mundane pleasures of dating—especially so when you suddenly barged into his life.

A stranger as he is, he tries his best. Sending delivery flowers to your own workplace when he finds himself staring at his phone, waiting for a lightbulb to go off in his head to find an idea on what to do or say to you after hours of no contact.

He wanted to talk you, he truly did, but he didn’t what to talk about exactly. He was the best at the finding the big words to get his point across when presenting something to the judge in court, and yet here he was, as speechless as ever with you.

If it wasn’t flowers, then it’d be a short voice message that he begrudgingly made when he finally had the words to say to you at the busiest of moments he was in. As deep and dismissive his voice may be, his words expressed enough when you heard him say your name. In fact, you would always notice how he keeps calling your name in the audios he sends you, like if he was yearning for you and lazily keeping it under wraps. He was too unbothered to truly hide his affections for you, admitting to whatever accusation you made on him.

You thought he was down bad? He won’t deny it. You called him out for his lack of subtlety of being infatuated with you jokingly? He’d say yes to it immediately without realising you were just teasing.

He picks you up from work whenever he could but most of the days he’d come home later than you do so you’d have to go home on your own. Though when he gets home late at night to you, he’d take off his suit jacket and have his sleeves rolled up, ready to curl you up in his arms and drag you to bed with him.

He’d have one arm firm around your waist, his hand hold your side once he has you on top of him on your shared bed. His cologne would wash over your nostrils, making you playfully complain why and how he still smelled so good after so long at work. It’d make him scoff, his eyes closed and the corner of his lips curled to a smirk.

Once he has you in his arms it’d be hard for you drag him out of it. You knew for a fact he was baiting you with his closed eyes, ignoring all you excuses and pleas to get out of bed and shower, maybe even have dinner you kept for him. Higuruma would ignore them all, waiting for you say the magic words—i’ll bathe with you.

Only then would he finally release you from his grasp, loosening that arm he had around you, patting your hip as he got up from the bed with you.

With a tug on his tie, he’d take slow steps into the bathroom, watching you walk into it first and the lights open. He’d tilt his head to the side slightly, a faint smile of amusement making it’s way to his face at the sight of you failing to hide that hint of excitement as you got the faucet on your bathtub running, your movements quick and rigid despite your best efforts to act natural.

PART 2

The silent process of helping him undress was awfully suffocating, the tension and stolen glances with only the sound of water running in the background making you hold your breath against your will. Your hands up against his chest untying the now loose tie around his neck made your body heat up, the soft yet short breaths leaving your lips not going unnoticed by either of you. Looking up at him was impossible but also so fucking irresistible. You’d flicker your eyes up at him only to find out he was already looking you, the sight of his own gaze fixated on you alone made your thighs rub against one another, the slick of your arousal beginning to coat your panties.

You finished untying his tie and took steps back, checking up on the bathtub that was now near full of water. While you went to close the faucet filling up the bathtub, higuruma would start unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and carelessly letting it fall to the floor. He’d innocently tease you by making the sounds of the metal on his belt louder than it should be, purposely making you hyperaware that he was stripping.

Finally, he’s naked and bare in the bathtub with you. He’d have his head thrown back against the curved rim of the tub behind him, letting out an exasperated sigh that he knew would catch your attention. When your head finally turns to him and your pretty voice utters his name, he lift his head off the cold rim of the tub, leaning forward to you and slithering his arm around of stomach under the water. He’d give you a short hum, his voice hoarse yet still curious.

While you went on talking about your day at work all that he’d be thinking about if how perfectly your soft body fits against his hard one, like a puzzle piece he’d been missing for the entire day, and the years he lived before you. He’d have his thumb gently rubbing the side of your rib, nuzzling his chin onto the top of your head and letting you feel the reverberations of his gravelly voice through his neck that he had so close to the back of your head, his adam’s apple bobbing and all whenever he acknowledged you.

Higuruma would have his hands wandering as you speak, you words progressively being reduced to incoherent mumbles when you felt his fingers moving down your tummy, fingers rubbing circles on your pelvis before slipping lower to the fold between your thigh and your hips. His calloused fingers would be cupping your heat under the water in no time, his eyes following his hands and looking down at you with soft hums to keep you thinking he was still paying attentions to your mutters. Higuruma’d point out how your voice was getting quieter and quieter with each second that passed, exhaling a brief chuckle when you retorted him in return, blaming him for distracting you.

You’d have your legs spread further in the water, your thighs pressing up against his to give him access to your cunt, shivering when he scissored your folds, his middle finger making slow strokes up against your slit. Higuruma would have the length of his middle finger ground up against your slit while he teased you, revelling at the sight of you squirming in the water between his legs. Fuck, he was tired, he’ll admit. But what would be better rest than the sleep he’d get after fucking you, after making you feel good.

PART 3

Sundays. A day that was supposed to be his day off was spent by being in his office completing paperwork and sorting documents from last night. Being the menace you were, you bothered him. Coming in and out his office, whining and complaining about how he should spend some time with you on his day off.

After hours of convincing, he gave in. Higuruma thought that maybe if he gave you what you wanted so bad, you’d be sated and leave him alone for a while. But oh fuck, he was so wrong.

It’s been God knows how many minutes know and he still had his face buried between your legs, your skirt hiked up to your hips and your body sprawled on his desk. He had your legs hung on his shoulders, your heels burying into his back whenever his hooked nose ground against you clit, your hips rolling forward to seek more friction from him however you could.

His desk was a mess now, your hands flinging and pushing some stacks of his well-organised files off the table unintentionally. You muttered some apologies but he shut you up with deliberate strokes of his tongue up for entrance, lapping up your juices shamelessly. His eyes remained as stern before, though they were more fixated on the view of your body that he saw from his perspective. He loved it, the sight of you with your back arched and writhing for him, your hands gripping onto whatever you could of the table to use as an outlet for the onslaught pleasure he was giving you.

Higuruma would have you cum on his tongue once and continue on his assault on your sopping wet cunt with his tongue all up until he made you reach the brink of another orgasm only to pull away, sitting upright in his chair and licking your juices that he had smeared on his lips, using the back of his hand to wipe your cum dripping down his chin. He’d leave you panting and aching for more, mewls and pleas leaving your lips to let you cum just one more time though you knew he wouldn’t—he’d break your pretty mind instead.

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gunilslaugh · 1 year ago

Note

hii ! can u write ab fluffy fluff xh with shorter gf? cs i think it would be so cute😭 but dw you can do it on your free times or when you feel like writing :D

have a nice dayy and thankyouuuww 🫶

Hii! Have a nice day as well ✨

All members _/ • ~ • \_

Summary: How Xdinary Heroes are with their short girlfriend. (idol/non-idol au)

WC:~1.2k

Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

Gunil thinks you are absolutely adorable. He adores your height. He doesn’t really tease you much for your height. The farthest his teasing goes is using you as an armrest. The two of you could be waiting in line for something then you feel the weight of his arm pressing onto your shoulder. If you don’t react he happily keeps his arm there, but if you send him some type of disapproving look he pulls you into a hug instead. Gunil is actually quite considerate of your height and won't place things he knows you need on a high shelf. Although sometimes he does want you to ask for his help, so he may accidentally put an item just out of your reach. When you do ask for his help in reaching something he does one of two things. One being he simply reaches it for you. Two being he lifts you up, so you can reach it yourself. Both end with asking for kisses. Finally he loves to back hug you. Holding impossibly close to his chest and resting his head on top of yours. Expect him to be reluctant about letting you go.

Jungsu

He thinks that your height is cute, but he doesn’t actually pay much mind to it. In fact he tends to forget how short you are. If you need his help with reaching something he is actually shocked sometimes that can’t reach it.

“Jungsu, can you grab that bowl for me? I can’t reach it,” you asked.

“You can’t?” He looks at you surprised.

“No, I’m too short.” You stuck your arm up showing how you can’t reach the bowl. Jungsu comes over to get the bowl for you, still feeling a bit baffled. He places it on the counter in front of you and places a kiss on your forehead. Pda makes him a bit shy, however he finds that when you’re out in a more crowded area he naturally wraps an arm around your waist, tucking you into his side. Feels content feeling your warmth against him and your head resting on his shoulder. If you ever steal one of his hoodies and he sees how much it swamps you he is once again reminded of how small you are. He can’t help but find the sight to be adorable and sneaks some photos.

Gaon/Jiseok

He’s not the tallest either, but he is taller than you. Does tend to tease you about your height fairly often, either through actions or words.

“Can’t reach?” He looked at you menacingly as you failed to grab a mug from the top shelf.

“Shut up and help me,” you tell him.

“Mmh, what’s in it for me?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Just grab the mug for me please?” you asked. Jiseok comes over and reaches for the mug. Before he hands it to you he holds it out of your reach. “Jiseok,” you complain. He puffs out his cheek signaling for you to kiss it. You sigh before lifting yourself up to peck his cheek. Jiseok smiles victoriously and gives you the mug. He loves cuddling you. He thinks that you’re the perfect size (and it makes him feel bigger). He really likes it when you lay on his chest and he gets to wrap his arms around you. He’ll joke that you're like a puppy or kitten, but if you go to pull away because of his comment he’s quick to tighten his hold around you and not let you up.

O.de/Seungmin

He adores your height, but also isn’t afraid to tease you about it. He doesn’t really tease about it often though, only when he’s feeling a bit mischievous. Likes to deny you kisses when he’s feeling like this. You’re standing on your tiptoes, but still can’t reach him? It almost makes him melt. Key word being almost. He likes to stop right before he kisses you. He either pulls away completely or changes direction and kisses your forehead or nose instead. When you pout at him or show another form of annoyance he actually melts. Ushering a quick apology, leaning down and kissing you like you wanted. Sometimes does the “where’s y/n?” thing. Where he looks over your head, acting like he can’t see you. However with a quick smack to his chest he’s quickly embracing you. He stares at you so adoringly when you’re not looking. He stands slightly off to the side behind you with a hand resting on your waist in public. He definitely feels protective over you. He liked to kiss the crown of your head and sometimes playfully nuzzle his nose against the top of your head too.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeongjun would hardly ever tease you about being short. Your small stature just ends up in him calling you cute. You’re standing on your tiptoes maybe even giving a small jump to reach something? His heart swells with warmth and a smile graces his lips. He enjoys it when you need his help to get things. It makes him feel needed and a bit more manly too. He sometimes forgets about your height too. It will be moments where you’re curled up into his side or being the little spoon while cuddling that he realizes just how small you are. He thinks you’re precious.

“You’re so cute,” he would mumble.

“What did you say?” you asked, not catching what he said. Hyeongjun would dismissively shake his head.

“Nothing.” He pulls you closer to him. When you back hug him and snuggle your face against his back his heart malfunctions. He is glad that you’re behind him, so you can’t see the blush on his cheeks. He is scared of losing you in public, so he holds your hand or walks right behind you with a hand or hands over your shoulder(s).

Jooyeon

You will not forget that you’re short when you're with Jooyeon. Even if his words about your height aren’t in a teasing manner they still find a way out of his mouth.

“You’re so tiny.” He pulls you against his chest and rocks you both side to side.

“I know,” you let out, not feeling very amused.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” He stops rocking you both and pulls away from the hug. “I mean it’s endearing. Your height is perfect for me.” He resumes the previous hug. He does mean perfect too. He loves the way you fit against him. He thinks you two are matching puzzle pieces.

He likes to ruffle your hair. Helps you fix it though, usually while laughing. Makes jokes about how you should grow taller when you can’t reach things or say things like “What would you do without me?” Likes to use getting things for you as an excuse to get kisses from you. Sometimes he wants a kiss, but feels kinda shy about asking for one, so he’ll put your favorite snack on the top shelf just to get a kiss from you before he gets it for you.

Taglist: @purplelady85 @odesonnets @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses

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princess-and-the-swan · 1 year ago

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CS Fic Recs: Bridgerton-Inspired AU

While I anxiously await the arrival of the second half of Bridgerton S3, I'm absolutely DEVOURING these 3 Bridgerton-inspired CS fics I've found:

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? by @kmomof4

Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires? Complete. Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's story, this is the fic that sent me into my Bridgerton-fic frenzy. While there is a little bit of Liamma in the beginning, this is very much a Captain Swan fic and it's so much fun to follow along with the evolving relationship dynamic between the two.

A Mistress to No One by @kmomof4

Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process. Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds? Complete. I will admit, that I have never read Benedict Bridgerton's story, so I had no idea what to expect. This story reminds me of Cinderella but if Cinderella and her prince had an actual connection beyond a single dance.

The Duke and His Swan by @hollyethecurious

Dearest Reader, the ton is abuzz with speculation that the new Duke of Ironhook will be remaining in town for the duration of the Season. Second born of the illustrious Jones family, Killian Jones has quite the legacy to live up to now he has inherited the dukedom from his late elder brother. Also entering Society for her first season is Miss Emma Swan, ward to the Viscount Nolan’s family. Gifted with a respectable dowry, Miss Swan’s financial worth and uncommon good looks will surely make up for her rumored prickly disposition in the eye of more than one fortune seeking suitor. Stay tuned, Dear Reader, for this author has it on good authority His Grace and Miss Swan shall cause quite a sensation, perhaps even resulting in… scandal! Complete. If you haven't already read this fic, I HIGHLY recommend it. Loosely inspired by Daphne Bridgerton's story, this is very much a friends to lovers trope that so many of us adore. After I read this fic, I binged several of this author's other works as well because her writing is absolutely addictive :)))

These fics are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires and I really hope more Bridgerton-inspired fics will begin to pop up--especially a Colin Bridgerton-esque fic to commemorate the Polin season! If you've found any others that you enjoyed, please please please let me know! Happy reading!!

#ouat #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #cs fic rec #captain swan fanfic #daphne bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #regency era au #bridgerton au #movie/literature

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veveisveryuncool · 2 years ago

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so, i was wondering about that mirror AU. first off i wanna say, i really like the designs. but i did have a few questions.

So first off, for Magolor, you say he's basically blind but it looks like he has an eye in his mouth like the original soul version. Is that not an eye or am I just going crazy?

Secondly, You mentioned how Adeline is the most normal of them. So are all the characters basically insane and if so, how would you say they rank on the sanity scale?

And finally, and I just have to ask this being a fan of both these characters, but you mentioned that Magolor has someone to help guide him, being blind. Is there by any chance that this seeing-eye jester you mentioned happens to be Marx?

ohhh hi!! tysm for asking about this! i'm really glad people took an interest in those mirror world counterparts, it means a lot :]]

ok, to start, i'm gonna talk about adeleine and sanity :D (since the two magolor questions tie in with each other and bc i like talking about her)

here is the "sanity" scale! i put this in quotes because they are all a little bit insane in their own ways <3

adeleine is the "most normal" here, not because she is mentally sane, but because she basically lives the same life she had pre-DL3 (living alone in cloudy parks, surrounded by her living discarded WIPs, having various temper tantrums). obviously, she still plays a role in the mirror-world version of 64:CS, but she let the whole "shiver star oh my god. earth is dead. humans are gone and i'm the only one left" thing completely take over her psyche. she stays up in the clouds, desperately trying to remember life on earth, and maybe– just maybe, convince herself that she's not alone.

magolor is doing surprisingly okay here?? like, sure he barely managed to scrape his way out of purgatory, and now has the remains of his wrongdoings etched into his body, but he's taking it like a champ 👍👍 he denies what happened to him was his fault (even when it totally was), and because of it, his AD experience was ramped up to 11. he feels no remorse for his betrayal, and instead no longer fights kirby simply because he gave up trying. he's also got the whole..eye and crown thing going on. so.

elfilin is next, with him basically being confined to the Pickle Jar. he's trapped in his own mind (forever wandering the isolated isles) and just kinda floats there, waiting for something to save him from an eternity of chaos. i put him above adeleine because of the situation that leads him there in the first place. since the initial splitting of elfilis/elfilin was a lot more messy, it means that they're stuck in a yin-yang scenario. instead of completely good, elfilin is mostly good, and that sliver of darkness increased his susceptibility to fecto forgo, drawing him to lab discovera. the beast pack captures him and tries to fuse him with forgo, but because of the discordance, it's taking a lot longer. the "good" part of elfilin hangs on, trapped in his dreams and slowly losing his grip, which is represented by his constant crying of the blood cell-like orbs from chaos elfilis' fight.

ribbon is. not doing so hot here. not only is she on the verge of breaking (mentally and physically), she has essentially isolated herself to complete an impossible mission. since the crystal was smashed into thousands upon thousands of pieces, she'll likely spend the rest of her life searching for each shard. she wallows in guilt and self-depreciation (even though it's not her fault!!), and is also fighting off dark matter possession at any given point. her will is strong, but how long can she last?

okay!! magolor time!!

magolor's seeing-eye jester is indeed marx! (though he will kill you if you call him that) while mirror-marx is even less of a good choice to befriend than normal marx, their friendship still upholds :]

while yeah, magolor does have a huge-ass eye in his mouth, it's not him that's doing the seeing. the visual information goes straight to the master crown, if this makes sense.

the master crown's power has dulled, now forming a symbiotic relationship with him. magolor provides the crown with a body to host, and the crown's magic allows him survive AD, basic perception (he's not gonna run into a tree anytime soon, but can't read or see faces), and a huge ego boost.

#cw body horror #just in case #i think about these guys a lot #put them through the blender #mirror marx is in there but barely #anyways this is a marx with zero inhibitions. normally his pranks are harmless if not self driven. but mirror marx wants blood.#hes also oddly polite here #kirby series #adeleine kirby #ribbon kirby #elfilin #magolor #marx kirby #ask

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beckettj · 1 year ago

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1 Year Repost: There's No Harm in Repeating (A CS oneshot)

It's been a year since I posted the oneshot I probably had the most fun writing so here it is again!

Summary: Killian Jones has lived in apartment 204 for a year and has never exchanged more than ‘hellos’ with Emma Swan in apartment 205. That is until a run-in with her son, Henry, results in the boy doing some unintentional matchmaking. For how else do you find out what a woman thinks of you, if not through her four-year-old son?

A Captain Swan as neighbors au featuring Captain Cobra moments.

Words: 4432

Read on AO3

A flask of coffee in hand, Killian Jones stepped out of his crappy apartment, into the just as crappy hallway, to the oh-so-familiar sweet sound of arguing travelling up the stairwell from the entrance hall below.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Emma? You have no right to stop me from seeing my own son!”

“Look at yourself, Neal! You can barely stand! You’re hardly in any fit state to look after yourself, let alone a four-year-old boy!”

Emma Swan. The irritation was clear in her voice, as it travelled up the pungent staircase that Killian started to take down, yet it was her voice which reminded him of the single reason why he hadn’t moved the hell out of the crappy apartment building at any point in the last year. Even when shouting, screaming at her dickhead of an ex with all her might, her voice was as captivating as a siren’s song, drawing him in as the rest of the world fell away around him.

“Every fucking time, Emma! There’s always something with you, isn’t there? You can never just hand him over without causing a scene.”

“Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that you are never able to turn up sober. You need help, Neal.”

“Leave off! I’m perfectly fine.”

“I’d almost believe you, if it weren’t for the slurring.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe this! No, in fact, I can! I can totally believe this! This is textbook you, Neal! You get his hopes up and then you let him down.”

“Let him down? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and utterly shit-faced, you damn asshole.”

Killian chuckled to himself, having heard enough of their arguments through the building's thin walls to be invested enough to back Emma over her alcoholic ex. He’d also overheard enough to know that when Emma resorted to cursing, she was well and truly pissed.

Commotions were a frequent occurrence in the apartment complex. Day or night, the residents just did not care. Killian had quickly learned that the best way to cope with it all, was to just treat the whole thing like a soap drama; it was almost more compelling than the ones on television. It wasn’t just Emma and Neal; there was enough drama in the building for him to develop his own soap drama television show if he wanted. If it wasn’t Emma, his lovely neighbor in apartment 205, arguing with her ex, it was the guy in apartment 101 making direct complaints over noise levels, someone accusing the pickpocket in 219 of theft, the guy in 117 finding a megaphone through which to broadcast his crazed ramblings that no one could make any sense of, or the young man in 301 hosting his midnight raves which attracted all the youth in the city like the bloody Pied Piper.

Yes, life in Enchanted View apartments was just charming. And extremely entertaining, in a guilty pleasure kind of way.

The arguing continued as Killian made his way down the stairs, obscenities and insults getting thrown back and forth as Emma went for it in giving Neal a piece of her mind. Killian had to hold back a cheer of satisfaction that she was finally doing such a thing; making himself realize just how invested he had gotten.

He stayed quiet, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He hoped to get by unnoticed, to slip out onto the street, and go about his day, leaving them to their dispute. It was only when he reached the bottom step that he determined such a feat to be impossible for Emma Swan stood in the building doorway, blocking his way. Or rather, preventing her tool of an ex-boyfriend from gaining entry to the building. Neal was bladdered; completely and utterly bladdered. Killian had known, from his slurred words, that he was drunk, but the man stood before Emma was well and truly hammered, incapable of standing still, staggering around the doorstep. His movements were slow and shaky, resulting in any attempt he made to get past Emma looking weak and pathetic. The only danger there was of Neal getting over the threshold were if he were to fall flat on his face. Killian chuckled lightly to himself, amused by such a scenario playing out in his head.

“I promised I’d take him bowling so I’m damn well going to take him bowling.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you chose to go heavy on the booze for breakfast. It’s not happening, Neal.”

“I’m not leaving ‘til I see him. Where the hell is he? Henry! Henry!”

“Cut it out, Neal. You really don’t want him to see you like this.”

“Oh, lighten up, Emma.”

Killian moved off the bottom step, with the plan to slip out through the back door which led into the side alley. Yet, as he began said plan, his eyes fell on the very boy at the core of the adults’ argument. Henry. The four-year-old sat patiently on the bench, positioned opposite the out-of-order elevator, a book open in his hands. Peter Pan, Killian read from the cover. Henry’s head was buried in the book, avidly inspecting the colourful pictures within it but, every now and then, whenever his parents’ voices rose or his name came up, the boy’s head would shoot out of the book, sending an apprehensive glance towards the doorway in which his equally unrelenting parents stood.

Killian thought back to his own childhood, to all the times his mother argued with his drunk father. He recalled how much he hated it, how he always found a way to blame himself for their arguing, and how useless he had felt every time; the urge to help his mother conflicting with the fear of how his father may react if he did. Killian couldn’t help but see himself in Henry but with one key difference; Liam had been there for Killian, right by his side, throughout every argument. Henry had no one, an only child, sat alone on the bench, just a book for company.

Killian wondered over to the young boy, taking up the empty space on the bench beside him.

“What have you got there, lad?” Killian asked, nodding to the book in Henry’s hands.

“A book,” the four-year-old responded with the obvious.

Killian chuckled to himself; ask a stupid question.

“That a good book?” Killian tried again, determined to strike up conversation to distract the lad from the scene behind him.

The boy shrugged, lacking enthusiasm, “It’s okay.”

Henry’s head turned to the entrance again, just in time to see his father attempt to force Emma’s arm out of the way, only to stumble backwards and fall into a pillar.

“Do you want me to help you read it?” Killian offered, successfully drawing the boy’s attention back onto him.

“That’s okay, thank you,” Henry politely declined his offer. “I look at the pictures and make up my own story.”

“Do you now?” Killian replied. “Care to tell me one?”

Henry smiled at him and nodded enthusiastically. He pointed to the picture in his book, a crocodile circling the waters around the Jolly Roger.

“Once upon a time, Peter Pan took a girl called Wendy to a place called Neverland and they flied there but actually, properly flied, not on an aeroplane, with, like, magic and stuff, and it was an island but there were no animals on the island and Wendy was sad because she loves animals,” Henry began to tell his story.

“Oh, why were there no animals?” Killian asked.

“They went in the water with the crocodile,” Henry answered.

Killian wasn’t quite sure what the four-year-old was implying with that statement.

“So, they all went to live in the water with the croc?” Killian checked.

“No!” Henry protested, looking at him like he was stupid. “The crocodile ate them all up!”

“Well, that’s not very kind,” Killian responded.

“Duh, he’s the bad guy,” Henry said.

Killian laughed; that told him.

“Good point,” he conceded.

“Are you going to let me tell the rest of the story?” Henry asked pointedly.

“Sorry, lad, sure, go ahead,” Killian encouraged.

“There was also a very, very, very bad guy on the island and his name was Captain Hook! He was a pirate who got everyone’s treasure and didn’t like Peter Pan or Wendy,” Henry continued, putting a great level of emphasis on certain words. “Peter Pan and Wendy didn’t like Captain Hook because he was naughty and didn’t have kind hands or kind words so they went to fight him. With swords! And a tyrannosaurus rex! And a dragon! But Captain Hook was really stronger and a gooder fighter and he pushed the tyrannosaurus rex and the dragon and Peter Pan and Wendy into the water and the crocodile ate them all up!”

Henry grinned, looking really proud of himself for coming up with such an exciting story. Killian raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t the good guys supposed to win?” Killian asked.

“But that’s boring!” Henry defended his story.

“True,” Killian conceded with a chuckle. “And I must admit, it was a twist I didn’t see coming. You’re quite the storyteller, lad.”

Henry beamed at him, completely distracted from the argument raging on behind him.

“That’s what I want to do when I’m bigger!” Henry spoke enthusiastically, bouncing up and down on the bench. “I want to be a story maker!”

“I’m sure you’ll make a fine story maker,” Killian encouraged, smiling at the boy.

“I’m going to make stories about castles and princes and princesses and space and pirates and dragons and dinosaurs!” Henry told him eagerly, speaking at a hundred miles per hour.

“Wow, that’s a lot of stories,” Killian remarked.

“My favorite dinosaur is the tyrannosaurus rex,” Henry segued slightly, once again impressing Killian with his pronunciation.

“Good choice, lad. Those are the big ones,” Killian replied.

“But they’re all extinct now,” Henry spoke matter-of-factly.

“That’s a big word you’ve used there,” Killian commented as the four-year-old continued to impress him with his vocabulary. “Do you know what it means?”

“It means they’re all gone,” Henry answered confidently. “They died and turned into fossils which is good because if they weren’t died they would eat us all up!”

“You’re just full of knowledge, aren’t you?” Killian mused.

Henry grinned at him, seemingly appreciating the compliment. Killian was just happy to have lifted his spirits slightly, even if it was only temporary. The commotion in the doorway was bound to end eventually and he couldn’t pretend to know how things would proceed from there. In the meantime, Killian was more than happy to keep the lad company; it was far better than the boy sitting on his own, listening to every word his parents exchanged.

“My name’s Killian, by the way,” he introduced himself.

He had seen the boy around the apartment building on multiple occasions. They had even nearly bumped into each other several times; the energetic boy didn’t have the best spatial awareness. They had smiled at each other, waved on occasion, and Killian had exchanged the odd ‘hello’ with his mother, but no official introductions had ever been made. Killian suddenly realized that his conversation with the boy meant that he had had more interaction with young Henry than with the boy’s mother. As good company as the boy provided, something had gone seriously wrong with that one.

“I’m Henry,” the boy introduced himself in return.

Little did the four-year-old know that Killian already knew his name. The apartment walls weren’t exactly thick, and Henry wasn’t quite as well behaved behind closed doors as he was when out in public. There were a few times each week where Emma got forced into resorting to shouting her son’s name to get him to listen to her.

“Nice to meet you, Henry,” Killian smiled at him.

The boy smiled back in return and Killian took a pause from the conversation to take a swig of his coffee whilst thinking of the next question to ask to continue his distraction attempts.

Henry spoke up first, “My mommy says fucking hell.”

Killian spluttered and choked on his coffee as it went down the wrong hole. He promptly recovered and looked at the boy beside him who was looking up at him with such sweet, innocent hazel eyes. There was no way, Killian decided, that such a young boy had said what he thought he had just heard.

“Sorry, kid, I missed that one,” Killian told him.

Henry replied, assured and matter of fact in what he was saying, “My mommy says fucking hell.”

Bloody fucking hell. Killian was out of his depth the second he had struck up a conversation with the boy, let alone when he found himself having to deal with a four-year-old cursing.

“I don’t think you should be repea-”

“That’s what my mommy says to my daddy.”

Killian couldn’t help himself and let out a loud laugh. He glanced at Neal and took in the man’s inebriated state; the way he staggered as he tried, and failed, again, to force his way past Emma who stood strong in the doorway, continuing to refuse to relinquish her position. A series of slurred insults poured out of Neal’s mouth, all directed at Emma and none of them harbouring even a slither of truth.

Killian turned back to Henry, his own chain of choice words coming to mind when he thought of Neal.

“Honestly, lad, I don’t blame her,” Killian remarked.

Henry glanced down at his book and absent-mindedly flicked through a couple of pages, barely glancing at the pictures. Killian took the momentary pause in conversation as another chance to take a swig of his coffee.

“Killian?” Henry spoke up again.

“What’s up, lad?” Killian returned.

“Are you going to have a sleepover with mommy?” Henry shot a random question at him.

Killian frowned, wondering where the boy could have possibly gotten that question from, before answering, “Not that I know of.”

“Oh,” Henry’s shoulders slumped, radiating disappointment.

“What makes you ask?” Killian questioned curiously.

Henry sat up straighter and set his book down on the bench. He turned back to Killian, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Once upon a time, I had a scary nightmare at night-time and it was really, really, really late because it was really, really black out my window,” Henry delved into what Killian feared for a moment was going to be another story ending with everyone getting eaten up, rather than an answer to his question. “And because I was scared, I wanted my mommy and I found her in the living room and she was drinking wine!”

“Did she drink it all up?” Killian asked.

“She drank loads of it. Mommy says wine is really nice but I don’t know because she won’t let me try because I’m not big enough. She says it’s a grown-up drink,” Henry said, instantly making Killian regret asking, distracting the boy from the original point. “Mommy says too much wine make you silly like Daddy, and not in a good way like a clown, but she said she needs wine sometimes to deal with Daddy. She says Daddy drives her round the bend.”

Killian laughed and made a mental note to watch every single thing he said around the boy, picking up on his habit to repeat things he heard. He guided the lad back to the original point, “What were you saying about a sleepover?”

“Oh, yes!” Henry grinned at the reminder. “Mommy was drinking wine with her friend Mary Margaret and I heard Mommy say that she wanted the man next door in her bed. That’s you.”

Killian knew it was him before Henry had even pointed it out to him, given the resident in apartment 206 was a woman. He smiled to himself and looked knowingly across at Emma. She still had her back to him, too caught up in dealing with Neal and was probably totally oblivious to his presence there. She wasn’t, however, oblivious to his presence in the apartment next door; her kid had just made that much clear to him.

She may have been drunk at the time of Henry’s earwigging, but drunk meant free of inhibition which meant there had to be some level of truth to her words. It had been a year since he had moved in, and it was the first hint he had ever received that she was at all interested in him. With nothing but passing exchanges of ‘hellos’, Killian had assumed otherwise but, after talking to Henry, he put the pieces together, realizing that she was essentially a single mother, single-handedly bringing up a four-year-old with a pathetic excuse for a father, which undoubtedly left little room for dating. If he wanted to be more than neighbors exchanging the odd polite hello, he was going to have to make the first move and, armed with the knowledge Henry had given him, he was suddenly extremely eager to do so.

If only Neal would give up already. The man was still arguing his case to Emma.

“So?” Henry spoke up, forcing Killian to take his eyes off Emma and return them to her son. “Are you going to have a sleepover?”

“We’ll see,” Killian responded, trying to be as careful as he could with his choice of words.

‘Killian wants to have a sleepover with you’ coming out of Henry’s mouth was not the way he wanted to approach asking Emma out.

“Are you going to be my new daddy?”

Killian was so glad he wasn’t drinking his coffee in that moment for he would have choked on it again. He stared at the kid, unsure if he really wanted to find out where that question had come from and yet, he was curious.

He couldn’t help himself, “What makes you ask that?”

“When Mommy said that she wanted you in her bed, Mary Margaret said that you would make a better daddy for me than my daddy,” Henry recalled then sighed, dropping his head and inspecting his shoes. “My daddy’s rubbish. He never does anything he says he’s going to do.”

Killian made a mental note to thank Mary Margaret, if he ever met her, for dropping him in it with that one.

“Your daddy’s not rubbish, Henry,” Killian reluctantly forced the words out. “He just needs… a bit of help.”

A lot of help. And Neal needed to accept that fact too.

Henry frowned, looking slightly disappointed, “So… you’re not going to be my new daddy?”

“You’ve already got a daddy, Henry. And maybe, if he gets that little bit of help, he’ll be able to be a good daddy. And if not, maybe in the future Mummy will find you a better daddy,” Killian replied carefully, not at all sure he was saying the right thing; he was so far out of his depth. “For now, though, I can just be your friend.”

A small smile crept onto Henry’s face, “Friends?”

“Friends?” Killian returned the question.

“Yeah!” Henry nodded enthusiastically.

The boy’s smile broadened into a huge grin, one which Killian couldn’t help but return. As they fell into a comfortable silence, the heated exchange in the doorway was the only sound which filled the room.

“You want to see your son?” Emma snapped. “Sober the hell up and get some help. I’m done playing these games with you.”

“Fine!” an exasperated Neal shot back.

“Fine!”

Killian watched as Neal turned and staggered off down the steps back towards the street, amazed and slightly disappointed to see him do so without falling flat on his face. Emma slammed the door on him, the loud bang making little Henry jump. She let out a heavy sigh, and took a moment to compose herself, before turning around to find her son. Her eyes landed on Killian and she narrowed them, confused and surprised by his presence, watching him inquisitively as she walked over.

“Hey there,” she greeted.

“Hi,” he returned.

An exchange of hellos.

Henry jumped up from the bench, bouncing enthusiastically on his feet as he grabbed Emma’s hand.

“Mommy, Mommy, this is Killian, the man next door. He’s my new friend. He’s very nice. He sat with me whilst you and Daddy were arguing again,” Henry told her excitedly.

Emma glanced to the door and there was a harder look on her face when she looked back at Killian, “You heard all that?”

“I heard all the stories your boy was telling me,” Killian responded, choosing not to acknowledge the argument that she didn’t seem too thrilled about him overhearing. Something told him she hadn’t realized just how thin the walls were in the building, and just how many of her behind-closed-doors domestics he had also heard in the past. “He’s got quite the imagination.”

“Did they end with everyone getting eaten?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“They did, indeed,” Killian confirmed with a nod. “Quite the thrilling twist.”

“Predictable if you listen to too many,” Emma warned.

“That, I look forward too,” he returned.

She smiled slightly then spoke, with some of the sincerest words he had ever heard, “Thank you, Killian.”

“It was my honor,” he returned, matching her tone. “That’s one fine boy you’ve got there. He’s a real credit to you.”

Even if he has been dropping you in it.

Emma looked down at Henry beside her, ruffling his hair. When she looked back up at Killian, their eyes locked, his blue ones meeting her green, captivating him, drawing him in just as her voice did. Henry’s words echoed in his mind; I heard Mommy say she wanted the man next door in her bed. That’s you. It was him. Emma wanted him and man, did he want her. Not necessarily in his bed (though he certainly wouldn’t protest) but even in general; he wanted her there, with him, beside him, around. He wanted to be hers and, lost in each other’s gaze, he had the chance to take a step in that direction, to ask her out.

“Where’s Daddy?” Henry spoke up first, beating him to it.

Damn it. Bloody Neal.

Emma’s eyes left his, dropping down to her kid once more and Killian followed her gaze. Henry was looking towards the closed door of the apartment building, no Neal in sight.

“He said we were going bowling,” a disappointed Henry sighed.

“I know, kid,” Emma crouched down to his level, pushing the hair away from his eyes before taking his hands in hers. “But Daddy had to be somewhere. He’s really sorry. Maybe in a few weeks-”

“Let’s do it,” Killian spoke up, cutting her off.

Emma looked up at him, frowning, “I’m sorry?”

“Let’s do it,” Killian repeated. “Let’s go bowling.”

Henry gasped, his eyes immediately lighting up as he started excitedly bouncing around again. “Really?”

“If your mum doesn’t mind…” Killian hesitantly trailed off, realizing he probably should have spoken to Emma about it first.

He looked at her. The sharp look he received back from Emma told him he most definitely should have spoken to her first.

Bloody hell.

Had he put his foot in it the very first chance he had gotten? Had he screwed things up before they had even begun?

Emma stood up. She encouraged Henry to take a look at his book whilst she discussed some plans, and then pulled Killian away from the bench and towards the door. Her touch was light and her skin smooth against his arm. He was hit by a pang of disappointment when her touch left him, desperate for more. She folded her arms, guarding herself.

“Look, Killian, I appreciate-”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, cutting her off before realizing he was developing a bad habit of doing so. “I should have spoken to you before saying anything to the lad. He just looked so disappointed.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Killian, but all you did is delay the disappointment, probably even increased it. I can’t take him bowling,” Emma told him with an exasperated sigh. “I’m living pay check-to-pay check as it is and we’re only just scraping by. I can’t afford to take him bowling.”

“It’s on me,” Killian told her.

Emma gaped at him, “Why would you do such a thing?”

The question had multiple answers, as far as Killian was concerned. He could spend all day answering that one. After all, why wouldn’t he do such a thing? He decided to keep his response as concise as possible in an effort not to appear all gushy.

“Because your son is quite the charmer, in his own little way,” he told her. “And it’s about time I asked you out on a date and I can’t wait a week and I don’t expect you to find a babysitter on such short notice. So, Emma Swan, would you and your little prince care to join me on a bowling and pizza adventure?”

“You know my surname?” she didn’t miss a trick.

“I may have peeked at your mail,” he confessed.

“That’s crafty, Killian Jones,” she smirked at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her own crafty confession, “Is that a yes?”

“Hey, kid!” Emma avoided answering, calling over to Henry instead, whose little head shot out of his book like lightning. “Wanna go bowling?”

“Yes!” Henry exclaimed.

The four-year-old tossed his book aside on the bench and jumped to his feet, racing across to Emma and Killian before once again returning to his excited bouncing.

“Killian’s treating us to bowling,” Emma told the boy. “What do you need to say?”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Henry exclaimed.

Without warning, the boy charged at him, running straight into his legs, and wrapping his arms around them. The action knocked Killian off balance and he would have fallen were it not for Emma grabbing a hold of his hand and steadying him, saving him from that embarrassment. With his balance restored, Killian gratefully ran his thumb along hers as he let go.

“That’s quite alright, Henry,” Killian replied as he gently patted the boy on the shoulder.

“Come on then, kid, go fetch your book and we’ll set off,” Emma prompted.

Henry released Killian from his tight grasp and ran off back to the bench, doing as he was told. Killian’s eyes met Emma’s once more as she smiled at him, a gesture he automatically returned.

“You just made his day,” Emma told him.

“You just made my year,” Killian returned.

Tags: @teamhook@laianely@booksteaandtoomuchtv@exhaustedpirate@anmylica@hollyethecurious@kmomof4@winterbaby89@undercaffinatednightmare@resident-of-storybrooke@tiganasummertree@stahlop@lfh1226-linda@darkshadow7@fleurdepetite@captainswan-kellie@motherkatereloyshipper@soniccat@jrob64@whimsicallyenchantedrose@jonesfandomfanatic@myfearless-love

#cs ff #captain swan #there's no harm in repeating

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childotkw · 2 years ago

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hi! if you dont mind sharing, (in the hadrian breaks into canon au) you already said how canon harry would see his cs counterpart, but what do you think he would think of cs riddle? like, first impressions, and then second impressions once the shock has worn off sorta?

Hello! I think I vaguely mentioned it in a post way back when but I can't find it now so I'll just try and remember the rough wording hahah

First impression would be fear and anger - even if just for a second, because Harry's experiences with his Voldemort are very much not good. So seeing Tom Riddle would have that instinctive rush of adrenaline hitting him hard.

But after a while, Harry would find CS!Riddle uncomfortable to be around, in large parts because he's a reminder of everything Voldemort could have been in his world. It's like looking at a warped mirror of someone he knows, and in the quiet parts of his mind, Harry can't help but feel cheated. Because Voldemort could have done so fucking much for their people - for children like them, who grew up hated and feared and alone - but instead he chose power and selfishness.

CS!Riddle isn't perfect, and there's a lot about him that Harry absolutely opposes morally - but he's better. He's sane in all the ways that count, and seeing him be all charming and charismatic and commanding hurts in the same way staring at the moon does. The impossible distance, the entrancing beauty, and the firm knowledge that you'll never get to touch it.

Harry knows that if this was the man he had been fighting, he wouldn’t have been able to hold out against him.

And that scares him.

#anonymous #HP #Shadowed Smiles AU #hadrian breaks into another universe au #harry potter #tom riddle

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thisonesatellite · 2 years ago

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20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by the amazing and infinitely talented @voylitscope. Thank you so much! 💕💕💕

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

607,929

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now primarily stucky /MCU.

i got started with CS /OUAT (which i no longer write for), and have also ventured into dramione /HP (where i will go again as soon as i have some time).

i also wrote one Leverage fic, which --- guys, i don't know what happened there. It just knocked on my door and demanded to be written. 🤷‍♀️

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is interesting. i would have thought the OUAT fics would grab all top 5 spots, because they've been around the longest, but actually---

we build our lives out of chaos and hope - dramione

Burn To Shine - stucky

The Unexpected Life - CS

break me - CS

if you live by the word, you die by the pen - CS

If you're counting by fandom, well -- i mean, i have exactly five stucky fics so far. That's the top five right there. 😂 (There will be more soon, and then we can see who grabs the brass rings.)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

ALWAYS. Always always always. i love comments. They make my day.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

OK. Like. i don't write angsty endings, OK? i may or may not put my characters through the fucking wringer during a fic, but i ALWAYS HEA them, you feel me.

Having said that, i think militae species amor est (CS) is the one with the least openly stated fluff at the end. (Then again, the title is a quote i ripped off Ovid which means "love is a kind of warfare". Take from that what you will. 😂)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh, all of them? i happy end HARD, ok?

If you're going to make me pick, for stucky it's probably a tie between Burn To Shine and a handful of dust. (So far. There will be others.)

For all of my fic across fandoms, it's everybody knows (CS). Which is also by far the most complex emotional character arcs for an OTP i've ever wrapped around an impossibly complicated plot line. And angst abounded here. Such abounding. The ending had to make up for it and consequently will rot every last one of your teeth.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not so far. i once had someone tell me in great detail why they didn't like my writing style, but while i did wonder why they bothered to read my fic in the first place if my style wasn't for them, i don't count it as hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ah. The eternal question. No, i don't. i don't know how. i don't think there's anything wrong with smut at all, but i can't write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i don't write crossovers. Lots of AUs, but no crossovers. i don't like to cross the streams. 😂

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that i know of, knock on wood.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! My lovely and wonderful friend @mariakov81 translated her birthday fic ad extremum terrae into Ukrainian. i may have cried when she told me.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes. The Sword and The Heart - with the amazing and talented @ohmightydevviepuu. It was one of the hardest and yet one of the most rewarding experiences of my writing life and i strongly recommend the process to every writer out there. The things you will learn about yourself and your writing are immeasurable, and you will emerge a better writer for it.

Also, it was so much fun.

(All the credit here goes to @ohmightydevviepuu, whose patience was infinite every time i went and did A Thing with the plot and the characters. She is the reason we have a fic at all.)

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

i think stucky will always have a place in my heart. (So will many others, some of which i don't even write for, but stucky is my fave, i think.)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

None. i am a very linear writer. i write one fic at a time. Therefore i never have any additional WIPs cooking, and so i do finish everything i start.

i know. So annoying. 😂

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character development, realistic dialogue, action. (Also probably plot underpinned by emotion. While i'm patting myself on the back here.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

SMUT. i cannot write it (as stated above). Which means there will always be a sense of the explicit lacking in my fic, and i'm sorry for that. But i can't change it.

And certain popular tropes--- some of them perennial favorites--- do nothing for me, so i am also unable to write them.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i have utilized the fact that i speak more than one language, and have several good friends who speak other languages, in some of my stucky fics. But i will say that sometimes it's hard to keep true to the characters in a different language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Once Upon A Time (OUAT). It's the one that started it all. i was never going to write, you know. And then, one day, i--- did.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

OMG. You're going to make me choose? Between all the blood, toil, tears, and sweat on every page? Yes, i'm being dramatic.

My favorite fic (IF i HAVE TO PICK ONE) is probably we kill the flame (CS). It plays in my favorite sandbox -- cyberpunk dystopia -- and i built an entire world for it. In painstaking detail.

My favorite stucky (so far) is probably despite all my rage - for much the same reasons: World building and cyberpunk dystopia. Also because it has my favorite Sam and Clint.

Honorable mention has to go to Burn To Shine (stucky), which introduced me to the pure and unadulterated fun that is Grumpy!Bucky (who is now my favorite chew toy), as well as the disaster muppet combo that is Scott and Clint, and we build our lives out of chaos and hope (dramione), because i went on a thinly-veiled political tear halfway through it and still cannot believe i got away with it.

Absolutely zero pressure tags for @sparkagrace , @cable-knit-sweater, @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy, @wistfulcynic, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @mxaether 💕

#tag game #ask game #asked and answered #thisonesatellite #personal

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jrob64 · 2 years ago

Text

Never Leave Me - NOW WITH A NEW ENDING!

I recently reread this story and realized I could write one more, very important scene to add to the end of it. If you've read it before, I hope you like the addition. If you haven't read it, I hope you'll give it a try. It's a CS Modern AU hurt/comfort story and is rated M for a couple of smutty scenes.

Special thanks to @sotangledupinit for the picture manips of Emma & Killian and to @hookedmom for her beta skills.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a firefighter at the same station where Killian Jones works as a paramedic. Their love for each other burns as bright and hot as the fires Emma works to put out, but with both of them having demanding and potentially dangerous occupations, will he be able to keep his promise to never leave her?

Words: 10,003

Also on Ao3 and ffn

The story starts right out with smut, so it's under the cut.

*********

“It’s nice when our schedules sync up,” Emma Swan said, rubbing her foot up and down the calf of her boyfriend’s bare leg, as they lingered in bed.

“Aye, that it is,” Killian Jones agreed, tugging her a little closer and burying his nose in her tangled nest of blonde hair. “It’s even nicer when our shifts don’t start for another three hours.” He turned onto his side and reached down with his right hand to grip her hip, pulling her against his prominent erection, their bodies still naked from their amorous activities before going to sleep the night before.

“I can’t start a twenty-four hour shift already worn out,” she protested weakly, craning her neck despite her words, to allow him better access for the trail his tongue was blazing.

“I’m allowing some time in the schedule for recovery,” he mused, before twirling his tongue around her nipple then sucking it into his mouth.

“You…uh…you're setting a schedule…for sex?” she mumbled through the haze of pleasure he was bringing her.

“Mmhmm, including our shower to clean up afterwards.” His tongue continued its wicked path down her soft skin, briefly dipping into her belly button.

“Fuck, Killian…”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, my love. Just give me a few minutes to make sure you’re ready.” His fingers reached the apex of her thighs before his tongue did, finding her already wet and responsive to his touch. “Mm-mm-mm, you woke up aroused as well.”

“Sleeping with you naked…always does that to me.”

“I know. That’s why I do it so often,” he smirked up at her. “Tell me what you want, Darling. You know how much I love hearing your dirty requests coming from that sweet mouth.”

Emma tugged lightly on his hair. “Get me to the edge with your fingers, then fuck me with your cock.”

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned, then slid two fingers through her glistening folds, while nudging her legs further apart. The moan she emitted as his fingers entered her was positively indecent and he tore his eyes away from the sight to look up at his love. Both hands gripped his hair and her head was thrown back against the pillows, giving him a wonderful view of her pert breasts.

The wet sounds he was pulling from her told him she was nicely lubricated and would be ready for his fully erect cock when she gave him the signal. He pumped in and out, willing her to get there soon, since he was more than ready himself.

“More,” she gasped, and he obliged, adding a third digit on the next pass. Seeking friction, he used his left hand to position her calf under him, so he could rub his length against it.

“Play with yourself, Love,” he requested, because her fondling and squeezing her breasts never failed to turn both of them on even more.

She threw him a sultry look and released her grip on his hair to do his bidding. Her movements were seductive and the sounds she was making made him impossibly harder.

“Gods, Emma, please tell me you’re nearly ready,” he groaned, grinding his thumb against her sensitive nub in hopes of getting her there more quickly.

“Almost…”

Unable to wait any longer, he lowered his head and sucked hard on her clit, producing the desired result of her shouting his name and thrusting her hips up at him. He knew from experience that when she did that, she was very close to climax.

He slid his fingers out completely, smirking at her curses, and scrambled to his knees on the bed, reaching behind her to pull her upright against him. She understood his intention and tucked her legs over his hips, gripping his shoulders and lifting her pelvis.

His tongue plunged into her mouth as his cock plunged into her down below. Emma planted her feet on the bed and Killian gripped her ass firmly, giving him leverage enough to drive into her at a punishing, but highly pleasurable, pace.

She came almost immediately with a long, loud moan of his name, causing him to stutter momentarily, before continuing to thrust with rapid strokes into the lava of her center. Emma closed her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulder blades, creating sweet pain that spurred him on even more.

Their frenzied pace reached a peak as her walls clamped more tightly around him, rippling along his member, until it undid him. Streams of his release shot into her, their bodies clinging fiercely to each other as their sweat slickened bodies shuddered and jerked.

Killian eased Emma backwards and collapsed on top of her, licking at the salty moistness in the hollow of her throat. “I…will never…get enough…of you,” he panted.

“Mmm, me neither,” she agreed, sifting her fingers through his damp hair.

They lay tangled together until the rush of blood in their ears abated and their heart rates returned to normal. He knew by now that she relished his weight resting on her after making love. Early on in their relationship, he was always afraid of crushing her and would quickly withdraw and roll to the side, but she soon made it clear she wanted him to stay inside and on top of her as long as possible. It made her feel secure, she confided, like he would never leave her; which he assured her he would never do, but he understood. Her entire life, people had pulled away from her and abandoned her. He would do whatever it took for her to believe him, when he said he would never be one of those people.

“What’s next on the agenda, Babe?” she teased.

He chuckled into her skin. “I believe it’s time for that shower, my love.”

They barely had time to pour coffee into travel mugs and grab a couple of bagels, before running out the door. Leaving him with a quick kiss, she got into her yellow VW bug and backed out, the bagel clenched tightly in her teeth, before waving and heading to the fire station.

He shook his head fondly and hopped into his Chevelle SS, following her out of the parking lot to go to the same destination.

*********

They met nearly two years before, when Emma had just become certified and inducted as a firefighter, assigned to the station where Killian worked as a paramedic. The second she stepped through the door of the break room, he was a goner. She was tough, intelligent, beautiful, and not afraid to put men who gave her any guff, in their place.

He would never forget how she reacted when Will let out a wolf whistle upon seeing her. The next second, she was nose-to-nose with him, index finger planted in the middle of his chest. “Are you and I gonna have problems?” she had asked through gritted teeth.

Will turned eight shades of red, before replying, “N-no, ma’am. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she had replied, sweeping her eyes around to encompass every man in the room.

Most of them uttered their affirmation or shook their heads, but Killian just sat slack-jawed, in awe of the blonde fireball.

Weeks of working together reaffirmed his analysis of her toughness. She was perfectly capable of performing all the duties expected of her job, and wouldn’t stand for any of her colleagues jumping in to help her when it was something she could do herself.

Killian’s admiration and respect grew every day he worked with her. He also felt a growing attraction to her, which he tried to tamp down, knowing she probably had a boyfriend already or wasn’t interested in dating someone with whom she worked so closely.

So he nearly had to treat himself for shock five months after she started at the station, when she boldly asked him out. Killian jumped at the chance to get to know her outside of work, and soon they were dating exclusively. A year later, they found an apartment close to the station and moved in together.

Killian had lost his mother and brother, with no recollection of his father, and Emma had been in foster care her entire childhood, until she was adopted as a pre-teen, opting to keep her self-chosen last name of ‘Swan’. They surrounded themselves with friends who became like family, and created a home together, something they both craved.

It wasn’t always easy. Emma was headstrong and stubborn, Killian would become stoic and refused to talk when angered, but what they had was worth fighting for, and they knew it. He understood her abandonment issues and reassured her with his words and actions that he would never leave. She understood his need for nurturing and intimacy, and let down the walls around her heart to allow him in. He was the only person who got to see her soft, vulnerable side and vowed he would never take that privilege for granted.

Their jobs were demanding, but satisfying, and they didn’t let their relationship affect their performance at work. If anything, they were more efficient when on the same rescue runs, because they seemed to be able to read each other’s mind. Their co-workers admired the professionalism they exhibited, and didn’t tease them too much when they snuck in an occasional embrace.

For the first time in both of their lives, they were truly, completely happy.

*********

They arrived at the station ten minutes before their shift started. Killian parked beside Emma, grabbed his travel mug, and met her as she exited her bug. Even though their shift began at the same time, they learned by experience that circumstances could easily keep them from ending at the same time, so they always drove separately.

“Ten bucks says Scarlet is late,” she quipped, as they walked through the open overhead doors.

“Give the guy a break - he’s a newlywed,” Killian replied.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe he talked someone into marrying him.”

“Belle is good for him.”

“You mean she’s too good for him.”

“Oi! I heard that!” Will piped up from behind them.

“Ten bucks. Pay up, Swan,” Killian smirked, holding out his hand.

“You never agreed to the bet, Jones.”

“I’m sure she’ll pay you back some other way. If I were you, I’d insist on sexual favors,” Will said, winking and nudging Killian with his elbow, then walking more quickly to put distance between himself and Emma.

“If you were him, I’d be seriously rethinking my life choices,” Emma retorted, rolling her eyes.

Killian laughed. “I really don’t understand how the two of you work together all the time.”

“She loves me, don’t you Savior?”

“Would you stop with the ‘savior’ crap? I push you out of the way of a falling timber one fucking time and all of a sudden I’m your savior. I should have let it fall on you.”

“It could have done major damage to me head!”

“That hard head? I’m thinking it would have only improved it.”

Will grabbed Killian’s sleeve to halt him in his tracks. “Ya gonna let her talk to me like that, Jones?”

Killian shrugged. “What can I do? You set yourself up for it every bloody time.”

Emma giggled and turned to go into the kitchen, punching Will in the shoulder on the way by. “Shoulda known you’d take your woman’s side,” he groused, rubbing his shoulder as he followed her into the room.

“Aye, you really should have,” Killian grinned.

“About damn time you showed up, Jones,” Mulan Fa greeted him as soon as he walked in.

“You don’t clock out for another ten minutes, so shut it,” he grumbled. “Busy night?”

“Only two runs, nothing major,” she answered. “Car accident and a drunk who fell and knocked himself unconscious.”

“Sounds delightful,” Killian mused, selecting a donut from the open box on the counter.

Emma reached around him and grabbed it out of his hand. “You already had a bagel this morning, buddy.”

“Aye, but if you recall, we worked off enough calories in the past twelve hours to allow me to indulge a little,” he said, attempting to take it back.

“In that case…” she grinned, taking a huge bite before he finally managed to wrestle it away from her.

“Please do not tell us how you worked those calories off,” Regina Mills, Killian’s paramedic partner growled, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Ew, yuck!” Emma grimaced. “Seriously, how can you like jelly filled? They’re disgusting!”

“Serves you right for trying to eat my donut,” Killian replied, around a mouthful of the gooey confection.

“Good morning, everyone,” David Nolan greeted, strolling into the kitchen. The fire chief was Emma’s brother through adoption and one of Killian’s best friends. After being acknowledged by the assembled firefighters and paramedics, he announced, “I want to remind you that we have a group of third graders coming to tour the firehouse this afternoon at one o’clock, so we need to spend the rest of the morning making sure everything is in tip-top shape.”

“Are they third graders or a bloody group of inspectors?” Will groused.

“Just for that, you can be in charge of rolling hoses today, Scarlet,” David said.

Will dropped his head back and groaned. “I hate that fucking job.”

“That’s what you get for complaining all the time,” Emma commented with a laugh.

The crew going off-duty bid everyone goodbye, while those starting their shift finished their coffee and donuts. Then they left the kitchen to start checking supplies and equipment, and cleaning the vehicles.

*********

“What a boring shift,” Emma sighed, dropping down onto the couch when they got home the next day.

“Boring is good, Swan,” Killian said, opening the refrigerator to check the contents. “We should go to the grocery this afternoon. This is looking pretty bare.”

“I’m sleeping first,” she mumbled grumpily.

“Of course. Do you think I’m insane enough to ask you to go grocery shopping without sleep?”

“You’ve been known to try.”

“Once, and that was enough to learn my lesson. I was afraid I was going to have to bail you out of jail.”

“Wasn’t my fault. People who block the aisles shouldn’t be allowed in grocery stores.”

He closed the refrigerator and joined her on the couch, lifting her feet into his lap. “Dave told me Mary Margaret invited us over for dinner tomorrow night,” he said, beginning to rub her arches.

“Yeah, he told me, too,” she replied, laying her head back against the armrest and closing her eyes. “One less night to cook is always good.”

“As if you do the cooking,” he scoffed.

“You’re glad I don’t cook.”

“That’s because you set the smoke detector off twice the first week we lived together. It wouldn’t look very good for the fire department to have to put out a kitchen fire in the apartment of one of their own.”

“The stupid thing is too fucking sensitive,” she grumbled. “Ugh, that feels so good. You have magic fingers, Babe.”

“So you’ve told me,” he grinned. “Although most of the time, it’s not because I’m using them on your feet.”

“Mmm, very true.” She yawned widely. “Are you gonna get some sleep with me?”

“I’m not very tired. I think I’m going to finish reading that book I borrowed from Dave.”

Dropping her feet to the floor, she pushed herself up to sit beside him. “Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, feel free to join me.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, hearing a satisfying crack from her spine.

“Would you please bring me the book from the nightstand, Love?”

“For a price,” she teased, turning to walk into the bedroom.

“I just gave you a foot rub, you know,” he called after her. “Besides, you still owe me from our bet yesterday morning.”

Re-entering the room with the book, she handed it to him and bent down to kiss him. “I told you it wasn’t an official bet, but if you insist, I’ll pay you back after I take a nap.”

“How?” he questioned.

“For once, I agree with Scarlet’s idea,” she said with a wink, then headed back to the bedroom, adding a little extra sway to her hips.

“Bloody woman is going to be the death of me,” Killian mumbled. Her answering laugh let him know she heard his remark.

*********

The next week when they were both on duty again, a call came through in the middle of the night for an injury at a warehouse close to the docks. Killian drove the ambulance, as Regina took down the information while riding in the passenger seat.

A man met them outside the building to direct them inside. He explained that two employees got into an argument, resulting in one of them injuring the other, knocking him unconscious.

As they moved through the cavernous warehouse, Killian smelled smoke. “Is there a fire somewhere?” he asked the man.

“I don’t think so…” he began, then his eyes grew wide as he spotted something. “Holy shit! He wasn’t kidding!”

“What are you talking about?” Regina asked.

“Before Jefferson tore out of here, he said he was gonna burn the place down. Looks like he started a fire,” he explained, pointing to a spot where they could now see an orange glow.

“Where’s the injured man?” Killian asked.

“In the office right there,” the employee answered, pointing just to the left of the fire.

They hurried to the area, realizing there was more than one small fire burning. Regina immediately used the radio to call for the fire department.

Stepping into the small, windowless office, they saw the injured man lying prone on the concrete floor, a large gash to his forehead. “Jefferson bashed Leroy’s head into the wall,” the man explained. “Always did think that guy was mad as a hatter.”

Killian knelt down and opened the medical kit. “Is there anyone else in the warehouse?”

“Just a few guys outside on the docks. There were just the three of us inside.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of Leroy. You need to get yourself out of here.” The man nodded and quickly exited.

After Regina reported the fire, she went to grab the stretcher and brought it into the warehouse. “Let’s get him outside and then we can evaluate him,” Regina said.

“Good idea,” Killian agreed, shining his penlight into the man’s eyes to check his pupils. “Did you bring a neck brace?”

“No, I’ll go grab one,” she threw over her shoulder, on the way out the door.

She was gone for less than a minute when Killian heard a crash, followed by a whooshing sound. His head jerked up to look out the door and was astonished to see the fire was spreading rapidly. “Bloody bastard must have used an accelerant,” he cursed. Getting to his feet, he hurried to the doorway, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw the office was completely surrounded by flames.

“Regina!” he called through the walkie talkie. “Don’t try to come back in. The fire is spreading fast and we’re trapped!”

She acknowledged his statement and told him the ETA for the fire department was five more minutes.

“Fuck!” he growled, trying again to see a way through the flames, but the exit appeared to be blocked. He knew he couldn’t risk pushing the stretcher with the injured man through the fire, and he couldn’t leave him behind.

Slamming the door shut, he looked around the cramped office, searching for something to stuff under the door to help keep the smoke out. When he couldn’t locate anything, he took off his jacket to use it. Knowing there was nothing else he could do for the time being, he knelt down beside Leroy to begin working on him again.

*********

Emma was in the jump seat behind David when the call came through the radio, saying the injured man and a paramedic were trapped by the fire inside the warehouse.

“Which paramedic?” she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the sirens.

David looked back at her over his shoulder, his forehead creased with concern. “Regina is the one who reported it, so I’m assuming it’s Killian.”

Emma felt like she was going to throw up.

*********

By the time the fire trucks made it to the warehouse, flames were shooting through the roof. Wooden pallets stacked outside were smoldering, and thick, black smoke was pouring out through the large overhead doors.

The trucks came to a stop and the firefighters flew into action, donning their oxygen tanks and masks, hooking up hoses, and raising the ladder to get water down on the fire from above.

Emma worked at a frenzied pace with her heart in her throat. As she waited for Will to hook up the hose the two of them would be manning, she approached David, who was speaking with Regina.

“Have you been in contact with Killian?” she asked.

Regina turned to her. “Yes, he’s been on the walkie. He and the injured man are in a small office about fifty yards from the doors, on the left-hand side.”

“Are there outside windows to it?” David asked.

Regina shook her head. “No windows at all. It’s concrete block with a metal door.”

Will came running up with the hose and Emma started to leave to help him, when she felt the sleeve of her coat being grabbed. She looked back to see David eyeing her earnestly. “Use your head and not your heart in there, Emma. Don’t get reckless.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, then pulled her mask into place and picked up the hose.

*********

Despite his best efforts, the smoke was beginning to fill the room where Killian lay on the floor beside the still unconscious Leroy. Regina had reported the fire trucks were there, so he knew help was on the way, but his eyes were burning and he was coughing uncontrollably. He had put the oxygen mask from the medical kit on the injured man, and every once in a while, would take a couple of deep breaths from it.

He determined that Leroy’s injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening, but they weren’t the biggest threat to his well-being right now. Killian knew if the firefighters didn’t get to them soon, they were in danger of becoming asphyxiated from inhaling the smoke.

*********

Emma stood behind Will, helping direct the spray of the water onto the raging flames in front of them. Her eyes strained to see through the smoke, hoping to locate the office Regina had described.

It seemed like hours until they were twenty yards into the building, the sweeping spray of water taming the fire enough to make a little progress. She could see another pair of firefighters to their right and a stream of water coming from above. The entire team was working hard to knock down the flames, but it wasn’t happening fast enough to suit her. Every minute spent fighting the fire was another minute Killian was trapped.

Finally, she could make out a metal door about ten yards ahead of them. “Over there!” she shouted at Will, pointing over his shoulder. He immediately directed the hose where she indicated.

“Hold on, Killian. I’m coming,” she thought.

*********

Killian tried desperately to remain conscious, but he felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Despite laying flat on the floor to stay under the smoke, the entire room was almost filled with it.

“Please get to us in time, Swan,” he begged.

*********

When they reached the door, they hosed it down thoroughly, then Emma rushed forward to open it. As soon as she did, she fell to her knees beside Killian with a strangled cry. She shook him by the shoulders, shouting his name. His eyes fluttered open and she saw him trying to speak over the noise of the fire. Leaning down, she put her ear as close to him as possible and heard him say, “I love you, Emma. I need you to know that.” Then he began coughing deeply.

She took off her oxygen mask and put it over his face, shouting, “Don’t talk like you’re not getting out of here!” Fumbling for her walkie-talkie, she reported, “I found them! The injured man is unconscious. Killian is conscious, but barely. We need to get them out of here!”

As Will continued to spray the flames to keep them at bay, Emma stood and grasped Killian under his arms, beginning to drag him out of the stifling office. She felt someone come up beside her and looked around to see David in full gear. As the fire chief, he usually stayed on the outside to direct operations, only suiting up when it was absolutely necessary, or maybe, Emma thought, when his best friend’s life was on the line.

He started to take Killian’s arm, but she shouted, “I’ve got him! Go get the stretcher with the other guy on it!”

David hesitated for just a second, before nodding curtly and running toward the office.

Emma continued moving backwards, adrenaline propelling her at a faster pace than normal. Looking over her shoulder, she could just make out the outline of the large overhead door, when she heard a loud creaking sound and looked up to see a metal girder breaking away from the catwalk directly above.

She flung herself over Killian’s body to protect him. Seconds later, she felt an excruciating pain and let out a scream. Looking back, she saw the end of the beam across her left ankle. “Fuck it all to hell!” she cursed, attempting to pull her leg free. Suddenly, she felt the pressure decrease, and looked up to see Will lifting the girder off of her.

“I’ve got you, Savior,” he shouted.

“Take Killian!” she directed, as she grabbed her mask to put it back on. “I’ll get myself out.”

Will moved around her to pick up Killian, hoisting him over his shoulder. Emma tried to push herself to her feet, but found she couldn’t put any weight on her leg. Cursing, she looked around and saw a push broom leaning against the wall. Hopping over to it, she used it as a makeshift crutch, hobbling toward the doorway.

When she was finally outside, she saw Regina working on Killian and limped over to them. Flinging off her helmet and mask, she dropped down beside him. “How is he?”

“Alive,” Regina said curtly. “We need to transport him immediately. Another ambulance just arrived and they’ll take Leroy.” She glanced up at Emma. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Might have broken my ankle, but it doesn’t matter, as long as Killian is okay.”

“They’ll check you out at the hospital. You can ride in the back with us. Mulan got called in and she’ll drive.”

Emma bent down to place a kiss on Killian’s forehead. “Hang on, Babe. Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.

*********

Killian remained semi-conscious on the ride to the hospital, coughing frequently. Emma allowed Regina to examine her ankle when she was sure the paramedic had done everything she could for Killian. Regina also suspected it was broken and informed the hospital that X-rays would be necessary upon arrival.

Emma sat next to Killian the entire way, brushing his sooty hair out of his eyes. “I keep telling him he needs a haircut, but he hasn’t done it yet,” she murmured, fighting back tears. Regina looked over at her, but didn’t comment, simply patting her knee in sympathy.

“Five minutes,” Mulan called to them from the front seat, sending Regina into action to prepare for their arrival at the hospital.

“I know you’ll want to stay with him,” she told Emma, “but they will have to take him for a battery of tests, so you might as well get that ankle taken care of while you’re waiting.”

Emma gave a slight nod and leaned over Killian. “You know I would stay with you if I could, but as soon as they take care of me, I’ll be with you again. Then I won’t leave your side. I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, above the elastic band holding the oxygen mask in place.

As soon as she straightened up, he had a fit of deep, wracking coughs. She squeezed his hand helplessly, listening to his labored breathing when the coughing finally subsided. Not taking her eyes from him, she asked Regina, “He is going to be okay, isn’t he?”

“You know as well as I do that smoke inhalation is very serious, and people react to it differently,” she answered carefully. “All I can say is, he’s young, healthy and strong, which are important factors for recovery.”

Emma eyed her gratefully. Regina had been Killian’s partner for nearly three years and, even though they constantly made snarky comments to one another, the two of them worked well together. Emma could see the concern in Regina’s face and realized his injuries were affecting her, too.

“Yeah, that’s true. He’ll be okay.” Emma looked back down at him, his skin pale under the layer of soot. “He has to be.”

*********

When they pulled up to the Emergency Room, Killian was quickly unloaded and whisked off to be examined. An orderly helped Emma into a wheelchair and she was taken to Radiology for X-rays.

An hour later, with her broken ankle set and in a cast, she was taken to an area to wait for news about Killian. As soon as she entered the room, Mary Margaret stood up to greet her.

“Oh, Emma, are you alright?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Emma received her sister-in-law’s hug with a sense of relief, having dreaded waiting by herself. “Mostly. I found out that steel is harder than bone. Did David call you?”

“He sent me a quick text to meet you here. They’re still fighting the fire.”

“They’ll probably be there for a while. We heard on the scanner that it’s now a four alarm fire.”

Mary Margaret parked Emma’s wheelchair between the doorway and a row of cushioned chairs, sitting down in the one closest to her and reaching over to take her hand. “How is Killian?” she asked quietly.

“He…” Emma started, but her throat constricted and she wasn’t able to go on.

Mary Margaret wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling her against her side. “It’s going to be okay, I just know it is. That man loves you and he’s going to fight to stay with you.”

“I h-hope so,” Emma sobbed. “But what if…if he…”

“Stop that, right now,” Mary Margaret interrupted firmly. “We’re going to think positive thoughts. Anything negative isn’t going to help him.”

They fell silent for a few moments, before Mary Margaret began telling stories about her pre-school students, obviously trying to distract Emma from slipping too deeply into worry for her boyfriend.

Emma tried to pay attention, but her mind kept straying to what might be happening to Killian. She stared at the door, silently willing someone with news to walk through it, occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall, which seemed to be standing still. She wished she could pace the floor to work off some of her nervous energy, but the cast on her leg reminded her it wasn’t an option.

Mary Margaret offered to locate some bottles of water, leaving the room with the assurance she would return soon. Emma idly pushed the wheels on the chair back and forth, bumping it into the wall over and over.

She didn’t often pray out loud, but in her jumbled mind, she thought maybe God would hear her better if she did. “Dear Lord, please, I’m begging You, please let Killian be okay. I need him, God. Please don’t take him from me.”

She no sooner said ‘Amen’ when a doctor with a shock of bleach blonde hair entered the room. “Ms. Swan?” he inquired.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she replied, sitting up straighter in the chair.

“I’m Dr. Whale. I was told you were waiting for word about Killian Jones. Are you family?” he asked, as Mary Margaret returned with a small bottle of water in each hand. She immediately sat down, dropping one of the bottles into her lap so she could take Emma’s hand.

“He’s my boyfriend. We live together, and he doesn’t have any other family,” Emma explained. “How is he?”

Dr. Whale pulled a chair over and sat down facing her. “He inhaled a lot of smoke. We’ve got him on oxygen and we’re going to observe him for the rest of the night. If he continues to cough and sound raspy like he does now, we may have to do a bronchoscopy later today, to determine how much damage has been done to his lungs, and to suction out some of the junk he has in there. He’s sleeping now, which is good. His body is working hard to heal and a lot of rest is going to help that process.”

Swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, Emma managed to ask, “When can I see him?”

“You can visit him right now, for a little while,” Dr. Whale began.

“No,” Emma stated emphatically. “I’m not visiting him for a little while. I’m going to stay.”

“Ms. Swan…”

“I don’t care what you say, I WILL stay with him, and nothing or no one can stop me!”

“Calm down, Ms. Swan,” Whale soothed, holding a hand up placatingly. “I wasn’t going to say that you have to leave. I was going to tell you that I’ll have him put in a room with a recliner, so you can sleep in there.”

“Oh,” Emma said, a bit sheepishly. “That would be great, thank you.”

“Anything for our first responders.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Mary Margaret asked, looking at Dr. Whale for permission, which he gave with a slight nod.

“If you don’t mind,” Emma answered.

“Of course I don’t,” Mary Margaret said, standing up and nudging the wheelchair away from the wall so she could get behind it.

“It will be a few more minutes until they get him moved into a room on the third floor,” Whale said, also standing. “Someone will be down to get you when they’re done.”

“Thank you and I’m, uh, sorry about…”

“Think nothing of it. I understand the stressfulness of the situation and wouldn’t expect you to respond any differently.”

After shaking both of their hands, Whale left the room. Emma blew out a long, slow breath, trying to keep her emotions under control. “I was hoping he would be awake so I could talk to him.”

“You heard what the doctor said,” Mary Margaret responded, patting Emma’s shoulder reassuringly. “His body is just trying to heal itself.”

“Sometimes people don’t recover from smoke inhalation,” Emma whimpered.

“Killian will,” Mary Margaret said firmly. “You have to believe that, Emma. You have to have faith and stay hopeful.”

“I know. I’m trying. I just need to see him.”

Mary Margaret handed her one of the bottles of water. “Drink this. Oh, and I bought this for you. too,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan sweater and pulling out a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. “Chocolate and peanut butter makes everything better.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but accepted the candy appreciatively.

*********

Ten long minutes later, an orderly came to guide them to Killian’s room, which was right across the hall from the nurses station, giving Emma confidence that he would receive prompt attention. The orderly pushed the door open and held it so Mary Margaret could wheel Emma through it. Killian lay propped up in the bed, his dark hair in stark contrast to the white pillow. The heart monitor beeped softly and oxygen hissed.

Emma brought a hand to her mouth to catch the sob trying to escape. He was so pale and still, it nearly broke her heart. Her Killian was vibrant and energetic, always grinning and laughing. She had trouble reconciling the fact that this man in the bed with an IV dripping into his hand, was the man she loved. Even though their jobs could be dangerous, she never allowed herself to imagine such a scenario.

Mary Margaret pushed her to the side of the bed. “Talk to him, Emma. Even though he’s sleeping, his subconscious may still hear you.”

Emma took his hand between her own, stroking it lovingly. “Hi, Babe. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. The doctor says you need your sleep because your body is trying to heal, but I really need to see those gorgeous eyes I love so much, so hurry up and heal.”

Pulling his hand up, she pressed a kiss to the back, a tear dripping onto it, too. She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who offered her a small smile.

“We all want you to get better very soon, Killian,” she said. “We love you.”

They sat quietly beside his bed for almost twenty minutes, before Emma said, “You don’t have to stay, Mary Margaret. I’m going to try to get some sleep. I think everything is beginning to catch up with me.”

“Okay. I’ll send you a message when I hear from David. I’m sure he’ll want to stop in when his shift is over to check on both of you. Do you want me to help you get changed before I leave?” She brought over the set of scrubs one of the nurses provided for Emma.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to have to learn to manage by myself. At least until Killian…” Her voice cut off as she looked over at the still form of her boyfriend.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said, “but you’re thoroughly exhausted right now. Why don’t you let me help so you can get to sleep sooner?”

Emma sighed. “Okay, I would actually appreciate that.”

*********

Even though she was completely drained, Emma found it almost impossible to sleep. Nurses came in frequently to take Killian’s vital signs, her ankle throbbed, and it was difficult to get comfortable because of the cast. Most of all, she couldn’t keep from worrying about Killian, wondering how long it would take him to recover, and trying not to let her mind wander to the possibility that he wouldn’t.

Finally giving up on sleep, she slipped from the recliner and stood at his bedside. Bending over him, she pressed kisses to his forehead, eyelids and temple, then whispered in his ear, “I love you, Killian. Please at least let me know you can hear me. Squeeze my hand, or open your eyes - anything.”

She waited expectantly, the seconds ticking by slowly as he remained completely still. Pulling a chair closer, she sat down and rested her head on the bed beside his right hand. “You have to get through this,” she said in a broken voice. “You promised you would never leave me.”

Minutes later, she gave into her exhaustion and fell asleep.

*********

Emma awoke with a start when Dr. Whale arrived mid-morning to examine Killian. “I’m sorry, Ms. Swan. I didn’t mean to startle you. How are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer him for several moments, too busy looking intently at Killian to see if he had woken up yet. He remained still, though she had heard him cough periodically throughout the night.

“I’ll be fine when I know Killian is fine,” she finally answered.

“Well, let’s see how he’s doing then,” Whale said, stepping up to the other side of the bed to check the monitor for the data the nurses entered over the last several hours. “His vitals look good and it says his cough is productive.” He listened to Killian’s lungs and heart, and checked the reaction of his pupils. “His breathing doesn’t sound quite as raspy, so we’ll hold off on the bronchoscopy for now.”

“When is he going to wake up?” Emma asked.

“Should be any time,” Whale assured her. “When a body has been through trauma, sometimes sleep is the way to give itself a break, until it’s a little stronger.”

“Would you say he’s out of the woods?”

Whale gripped the ends of his stethoscope and rocked back on his heels. “As a firefighter, you’re well aware of the hazards of smoke inhalation. It can lead to pneumonia and other problems with the lungs or heart. We’ll continue to monitor him and test his blood, but right now, we just have to wait and see.”

Emma inhaled sharply. She wasn’t surprised by the answer, but she had been hoping to hear him say he was certain Killian would be alright.

Whale walked over to pat her on the shoulder. “Try not to think the worst. He’s young and in good shape. Those are factors in his favor.”

He left the room and Emma slumped down in the chair. As much as she wanted to hold onto the doctor’s positivity, it was difficult to keep the what ifs from creeping into her thoughts.

She took Killian’s hand into hers, and was tracing the back of it with her thumb, when she felt a slight squeeze. Her eyes shot up to look at his face, but his eyes were still closed. “Do it again, Killian,” she whispered, and was rewarded with a harder squeeze.

Tears blurred her vision and she used her free hand to wipe them away, just in time to see his eyelids flutter open. Pushing herself up to balance on her good foot, she leaned over him. “Hey, Babe,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.

She could barely hear the words over the hiss of the oxygen and through the mask, but they were music to her ears. Pressing kisses to the areas of his face not covered by the oxygen mask, she couldn’t stop her tears. Pulling back a little, she commanded, “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“So demanding,” he said, grinning slightly.

“And you love me for it,” she giggled.

“I do.” He was unable to say anything else because he began coughing. When it ceased, he brought his left hand up to rub at his chest.

“Are you in any pain?” Emma asked, concern etched in her face.

He shook his head, but she could tell by the sound of his voice his throat was raw. She was sure his chest probably hurt, considering the smoke he breathed in and all the coughing he’d done.

Without thinking, she put some weight on her left foot and grimaced with the sharp pain that shot through it. Killian noticed, his brows furrowing. “You hurt?” he whispered.

She sighed, aggravated at herself for causing him to worry. “Just a broken ankle. Nothing too major.” Her fingers smoothed across the creases in his forehead. “It’s really a good thing, because now we can recover together.”

He started coughing again, gasping for air between each bout. Emma stood by, wondering what she could do to help. A nurse entered the room, approaching the bed quickly. Emma noticed her name badge identified her as Ariel.

When his coughing subsided, he opened his watery eyes. “Ah, looks like someone decided to wake up,” Ariel commented. “Would you like a few sips of water, Mr. Jones?”

He nodded, appreciation in his eyes. The nurse left the room, returning soon with a pitcher and plastic cup. She filled the cup half full of water and added a straw.

“May I help?” Emma asked.

Without hesitating, Ariel handed the cup to her and lifted the oxygen mask. Emma held the straw to Killian’s mouth and he took it between his lips eagerly. “Slowly,” the nurse reminded him.

After taking several small sips, he released the straw. “Thanks,” he rasped.

“Feel better?” Emma asked, setting the cup on the tray table.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, then tried to clear his throat, but ended up coughing again.

Ariel did a quick check of his vital signs and entered them into the computer. “It’s going to take some time to clear everything out of your lungs and throat,” she said. “Coughing is actually a good thing to help get it all out.”

“It’s wearing you out though, isn’t it, Babe?” Emma asked him, receiving a nod of confirmation.

“Better get some rest in between your coughing spells, then,” Ariel instructed. “Do you need anything else?” When he shook his head, she added, “Alright then, just push the call button if you need me.”

She left the room, letting the door close behind her. Emma sat back down in the chair, keeping her eyes on her boyfriend as if she was afraid he would disappear. His eyes were closed again, his dark lashes in contrast to his pale skin.

She laid her head on the bed against his hip and felt his hand move to rest against the top of it, his fingers tangling in her hair. “I love you so much, Killian, and I need you. Don’t leave me, okay?”

“I won’t,” he croaked. Very soon, they were both asleep.

*********

Killian remained hospitalized for another three days and Emma barely left his side. David, Will and Regina stopped in to visit, as did Mary Margaret, who tried to convince Emma to go home and get some sleep. She refused, stating it was too much trouble getting around with her leg in a cast. What she didn’t admit to her sister-in-law was her fear that if she left Killian, something bad would happen to him while she was gone.

She was still fearful that he could die, despite Dr. Whale telling her he was steadily improving. Every time she managed to drift off to sleep, she would suddenly jerk awake, heart racing. She could only relax once she determined he was still breathing.

He was discharged with a tank of supplemental oxygen and a list of care instructions. By that time, Emma was getting around fairly well on her crutches and insisted she could take care of him by herself. David drove them home, where Mary Margaret was waiting with a casserole. The married couple departed once they helped Emma and Killian into their apartment and made sure they had everything they needed.

They spent the rest of the day sitting on opposite ends of the couch, binge watching a show on Netflix. Whenever Killian tried to start a conversation, Emma would answer him curtly, then turn her full attention back to the television.

When they went to bed, he expected her to snuggle up against him like she always did, but she stayed on her side with enough distance between them to fit another person. He turned onto his side and encouraged her to move closer, but she explained that her ankle was hurting and she didn’t want to accidentally hit him with her cast.

This went on for two days, and by the morning of the third day, he’d had enough.

After breakfast, Killian dropped down onto the couch and tugged Emma down beside him. He nuzzled into her neck, leaving small kisses there.

“None of that, now,” she said flatly. “You’re still recovering.”

“I think I remember the doctor saying sex will help with that,” he murmured, his voice still rough and scratchy.

She lightly elbowed him, trying not to smile. “Nice try. When you can make it through a whole night without coughing, then we’ll talk about it.”

“Talking isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Have you forgotten I also have a damn cast on my leg?”

“We’ll just have to get creative,” he smirked. “We might find a position we haven’t…” His words were cut off by a bout of coughing.

“See?” she said, once it subsided. “You’re proving my point.”

He flopped back onto the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “You’re killing me, Swan.”

When Emma didn’t respond, he uncovered his eyes to look at her. She was turned away from him, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“Are you okay, Love?” he asked, gently pulling on her shoulder to turn her toward him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was pale. “Don’t even joke about being k-killed,” she muttered. “It’s not funny, especially when I almost lost you.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I said that.”

After just a few seconds, she pushed herself away from him and picked up her crutches. “I should, um, I need to…”

“Hey,” he interrupted, grabbing her hand to keep her from standing up. “Don’t brush this off. Talk to me.”

She swallowed hard, not looking at him. He patiently waited, figuring she needed time to process what was on her mind. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You promised you would never leave me.”

“And I won’t.”

“But you almost did. When I saw you laying in that office, barely conscious, I realized I could be alone again. I…you know how hard it was for me to let you into my heart. If something happens to you, it’s going to shatter into a million pieces.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Her eyes shot up to look at him. “You don’t know that for a fact.”

“No, but you could walk out the door tomorrow and get hit by a bus.” She rolled her eyes and started to speak. “All I’m saying,” he cut in quickly, “is that we don’t know what the future holds, but we can’t live our lives in fear of losing each other. It’s a risk to love someone, but it’s worth it. At least, I think it is.” He paused to cough and take a drink of water. “If it’s a choice between loving you or playing it safe, I’ll choose loving you every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

She didn’t respond, but he could tell she was thinking by the way she kept dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Emma,” he asked quietly, taking her other hand, “is our love worth the risk for you?” He hardly dared to breathe, afraid of her answer. Before the fire, he was sure of her love for him and her commitment to their relationship. Now, he questioned whether she would truly be able to move past her fear of being abandoned yet again.

“Yeah,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on their intertwined fingers. “I know you would never leave me willingly, and I don’t…I don’t want to do that to you. Just,” she raised her eyes to meet his, “promise you’ll be careful.”

He enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. “You have my word. I love you and will do everything in my power to stay with you. Will you do the same?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I love you, too.”

“I’ve missed having you in my arms,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting,” she apologized.

“Shh, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been pulling away when you needed me the most. I’ve been a terrible girlfriend.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Love,” he soothed. “You were dealing with a lot.”

“That’s no excuse. I’m supposed to be with you in sickness and in health.”

He chuckled into her hair. “Those are wedding vows. We didn’t get married while I was asleep, did we?”

She sat up and looked at him. “Would that be so bad?”

The look on her face was one of uncertainty, even though he had been teasing. “What? Being married?” he asked, his brow lifting high on his forehead.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve never really talked about it seriously. Is that…do you ever see that for us?”

He shifted in his seat so he could look directly into her eyes, wanting to prove his sincerity. “Emma, I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of my life, so of course I see us getting married someday,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But since I’m not prepared to propose tonight, perhaps we can find another way to express our commitment to each other.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. “The doctor said you were supposed to take it easy.”

“He also said I could resume normal activities as long as they weren’t too strenuous.”

She arched a brow at him. “And you don’t think having sex is strenuous?”

“Not if I let you do all the work,” he grinned.

“Have you forgotten I have a broken bone? That’s gonna make it even more challenging.”

“You know I love a challenge.” When she continued to glower at him, he added, “Emma, I’m fine. Dr. Whale said I could have a cough for several weeks. Do you really want to wait that long to make love again?” He tried, and failed, to stifle another cough.

She hesitated and he nuzzled his nose behind her ear. “I miss you, Love. I promise I’ll take it slow and if I feel any discomfort, I’ll stop.”

“So there’s a possibility you’ll get me all worked up, then leave me unfulfilled?”

“Oh, I would never leave you unfulfilled, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “Have you forgotten that I know plenty of ways to pleasure you?”

He could feel her shiver at the combination of his words and his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, and knew she was about to give in.

Turning her head, her mouth found his. “Fine,” she mumbled, between kisses. “You win.”

“I think you’ll find we will both win,” he grinned.

She laughed as he pushed himself up from the sofa, then reached down to pull her up beside him. “I need my crutches,” she said.

“Not when I’m around.” Killian wrapped his arm firmly around her waist and began moving toward the bedroom, Emma hopping along beside him.

They quickly divested of their clothes and slipped into bed, their hands already beginning to roam over bare skin before they even laid down. It had been less than a week since they were intimate, but it seemed much longer with all that had happened.

Soon, Emma was on her back, writhing with desire, while Killian hovered over her, sucking small marks into her breasts and rutting against her wet heat. “Are you ready, Love?” he asked.

Her glazed eyes tried to focus on him. “Yeah. Are you alright?”

He slowly pushed his cock inside her, before asking, “Does it feel like I’m alright?”

“Fuck, yes,” she moaned.

He chuckled as he leaned down onto his elbows, licking and kissing the sensitive areas on her throat. Her right leg hitched up over his hip and he heard her huff of annoyance that she couldn’t do the same with her left.

“Move, Killian,” she groaned. He obliged, repeatedly pulling back, then pushing in a little deeper each time, adding a grind of his pelvis against hers. He could tell that he wasn’t at full strength and wanted to bring her to climax as soon as possible, even though he hated for it to end too quickly.

Moving his hand down between them, he found her clit and began rubbing small circles over it. Her leg tightened over his back, as her walls tightened around his cock. He doubled his efforts and got the desired response almost immediately.

She cried out his name as she came, her body jerking against his. He thrust into her a few more times, then joined her in bliss. Collapsing on top of her, he coughed deeply a few times. She started to try to wriggle out from under him, but he wrapped his arms around her to keep her in place.

“I’m fine, Love,” he assured her, his voice raspy and his breathing heavy. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it,” she replied. “I told you that you shouldn’t overdo it.”

He kissed her cheek. “I didn’t, I promise.” Feeling her body relax a bit, he laid his head on her shoulder, relishing having her nude form pressed against him. “I love you so much, Emma.”

“I love you, too, and I always will.”

Raking his fingers through her hair, he said, “We have a lifetime together, Emma. I have no doubt we’re going to grow old and gray with each other.”

“Well, I may grow old, but my beautician will make sure that my hair doesn’t turn gray.”

He laughed. “I hope you don’t mind if I do. I don’t intend to prevent it from happening.”

She played with the long strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I think you’ll make a very sexy silver fox, Babe. I just hope I get to see you that way.”

Raising himself up to look at her, he said solemnly, “I told you, Love. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you.”

She framed his beloved face with her hands. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she said softly. Then she sealed that promise with a kiss.

*********

Both of them were granted two months off from their jobs to recuperate, and despite the circumstances, they savored all the time they had together. Killian had respiratory therapy twice a week and Emma worked out the best she could at the apartment’s fitness center nearly every day, not wanting to lose the muscle tone and strength necessary for her job.

One evening, almost two weeks after the accident, Killian was in the kitchen getting himself a bottle of water, while Emma scrolled through their watchlist on Hulu. “Can I bring you anything, Savior?” he called.

“Dammit, Jones!” she retorted. “You know I hate it when Scarlet calls me that. I don’t need you to start doing it, too!”

He peeked around the corner and smirked when he saw her glaring at him. “You did save my life, though. That makes you my savior.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed, “You can call me Swan, Love, Emma, whatever, but please don’t call me Savior.”

“How would you feel about me calling you Mrs. Jones?” he asked, stepping fully into the living room to see her reaction.

Her eyes grew wide and darted from the televison to land on him. “Wh-what do you…are you…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Aye, Love,” he answered softly, pulling a ring box from behind his back and kneeling in front of her. “I already call you my lover, my best friend and my life. Will you marry me so I can call you my wife?”

“I should say no since you just made a terrible rhyme.”

One of his brows shot up. “I did?”

“Yes,” she giggled, “but I don’t care. I’ll marry you anyway!”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. Now, let me see the ring.”

He grinned and flipped the lid open, revealing a square cut diamond with two small rubies set into the twisted, white gold band on either side of it.

Emma gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, Killian! It’s…it’s too much!”

“Nothing is too much for the love of my life,” he responded, taking out the ring and putting the box aside. “May I?”

She nodded and held out her trembling hand, watching as he carefully slid it onto her fourth finger. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “How did you know what size to get?”

“Mary Margaret told me you wear a half-size smaller than her.”

“So David and Mary Margaret know you were planning to ask me?”

“I asked David for his blessing.”

“You’re so old-fashioned,” she laughed.

“Call me whatever you like, Swan, as long as you promise to call me your husband someday soon.”

Emma threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. “I can hardly wait to keep that promise,” she said, before kissing the man she could now call her fiancé.

*********

Tagging: @hookedmom@kmomof4@cs-rylie@qualitycoffeethings@grimmswan@wyntereyez@the-darkdragonfly@ultraluckycatnd@paradiselady19@xarandomdreamx@motherkatereloyshipper@julesep3026@courtorderedcake@lfh1226-linda@pawshapedheart@vampcoffeegyrl23@tiganasummertree@captainswan4life85@bluewildcatfanatic@eleveneitherway@elfiola@kday426@julieenchanted-swans@gingerchangeling@andiirivera@djlbg@jonesfandomfanatic@snowbellewells@huntressandlioness1@anmylica@booksteaandtoomuchtv@pirateherokillian@cocohook38@ilovemesomekillianjones@laschatzi@zaharadessert@jennjenn615@yasbio2015@lyssapup27@nachocheese-itsmycheese@singersdd@mie779@undercaffinatednightmare@winterbaby89@xsajx@jackieorioncat@teamhook@bdevereaux-blanche@soniccat@searchingwardrobes@jarienn972@apiratewhopines@softkilly@goforlaunchcee@kymbersmith-90@captainswan21

#csff #never leave me #jrob64 #art by jrob64 #manips by sotangledupinit #new ending #reposting #cs smut #cs hurt/comfort #ouat captain swan fic #firefighter emma #EMT killian

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snowbellewells · 2 years ago

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Let's spread some love 😘. What are some of your top five favourite cs fics?

Okay Anon, so I genuinely haven't been ignoring your question, and I truly do LOVE to sing the praises of our many, MANY talented CS and OuaT fic writers, but it is so hard to have an answer of only 5!!! I would honestly say it is pretty much impossible!!! (Krystal @kmomof4 did force me to give her a Top 5 list this summer, but I only did it because she insisted it was necessary ;p and I'm still not sure it would always be the same five, depending on mood and what I'm JONESING for - ha ha, that pun was unintentional! - at the moment!)

In all seriousness though, even at that, I had to make up multiple brackets, like "normal" people do for the NCAA Sweet 16, to try to narrow down my choices. For real! I had several different sheets just to try to narrow it down somewhat: One Shots, Two or Three Shots, Short MCs, Long (Epic) MCs, Enchanted Forest fics, Modern AU Fics, Missing Moment/Canon Compliant Fics, Canon Divergent Fics, Whump and Hurt Comfort fics, you get the idea....It went on and on!

Still, in the effort to at least attempt to answer your question, and highlight some great stories and authors, as @booksteaandtoomuchtv did a few days ago, here's a sampling from my shorter story favorites (in no particular order, and certainly not complete or extensive)

Some AMAZING shorter works:

"One Jump Ahead" by: @andromeda3116

"A Charm of Powerful Trouble" by: @spartanguard

"It's Not Your Eyes" and "Round and Round" by: @killians-dimples (on ff.net that's the username anyway)

"Hold My Heart"// "All for Love" /// "Lessons Learned" /// "A Place Called Home" by: Montana-Rosalie (again, sorry it's ff.net, but sometimes I've loved them long enough that's the only place I can find them! And if you thought her MCs could be devastating, well, she can do it in one shots too!!)

"With You" by: @seastarved

"Protective" and "Monster Tamer" by: @vickyvicarious

"Every End is a New Beginning" by: @drowned-dreamer

"Moonlit Comfort" by: @imlaxdris71 (Just FYI - this is technically Irish Swan Trio)

"Slipped Away" by: @niniadepapa

"A Light to Fight the Shadows" and "Breathe Out (so I can breathe you in)" by: ladybonehollows

"Double-Edged" by: @iverna

"Saudade" by: @apiratewhopiness

"Raging Fire"// "My Pleasure"// "Hope for the Orphans" // "An Education in Southern Gothic" // "Blackbird" // "Something Beautiful" // "Better than Chocolate Cake" by: @searchingwardrobes

"Hope is the Thing with Feathers" by: @searchingwardrobes and @hollyethecurious

"Somewhere Out There" and "In the Viper's Den" by: @kmomof4

"Flicker from View" // "Never Nothing" // "the Swan and her Handler" // "The Promises We Keep" by: @elizabeethan

"Drift" and "Leaving Las Vegas" by: @thisonesatellite

*** Okay, this got away from me Nonnie! And I'm gonna have to come back with another post - this is already super-long, and it's just the shorter ones, and I know I've left out many authors I simply adore! I'll be back with longer ones, maybe I should try to make it a Friday habit. Hope this answers your question at any rate! :)

#cs fic love #favorites list #and these are just short ones #way more than top five #it's an impossible ask #we are a blessed fanfom!#snowbellwells answers asks

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searchingwardrobes · 6 months ago

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Scarborough Fair: 11/?

I'm so excited, ya'll! This is it - the wedding chapter! And the wedding night, which means sexy times. I don't write smut, so it's super steamy and then fades to black. Buuut this may just be the steamiest thing I've ever written. So, enjoy!

And a reminder of Emma's wedding dress:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you wish to be removed or added): @snowbellewells@teamhook@kmomof4@jrob64@xhookswenchx-reads-blog@thisonesatellite@welllpthisishappening@spartanguard@ohmakemeahercules@tiganasummertree@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jamif@undercaffinatednightmare@onceratheart18@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jonesfandomfanatic @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda

Chapter Eleven

“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” Ingrid slammed her palm against the steering wheel as they drove back home.

“It isn’t your fault Ingrid,” Killian assured her. “I think it was that amulet he wears. When he touched it, something happened to me. My thoughts got muddied, and I was drawn towards him.”

Ingrid shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line. “You withstood him better than I did,” she looked over at Emma, “you both did.”

Emma’s brow creased. “You’re right. Maybe it has something to do with what my mom and Belle both said about true love.”

“What did they say?” Ingrid asked.

Killian cleared his throat. “Just that the love Emma and I have for each other can be protection against Rumplestiltskin.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughed, looking back at Killian with pride sparkling in her eyes. “My mom seemed very relieved that I had Killian, and Belle said that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t counting on Killian being in the picture.”

“She said he hated me,” Killian clarified.

“Don’t listen to him,” Emma told Ingrid, “he’s basically my hero.”

Killian scoffed even as his cheeks pinked, and Emma laughed.

“Emma,” Ingrid scolded, “how can you be so flippant about this? I told that horrible man things about our family. I invited him to the wedding! He could ruin it somehow.”

Emma shook her head. “He won’t. I don’t think he even can. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”

Ingrid glanced at Killian’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He shrugged back at her. Emma was humming the tune of “Scarborough Fair,” of all things, looking contentedly out of the window. How their visit to the mental hospital could possibly have encouraged her was beyond him, but he loved her all the more for her sudden optimism.

Ingrid’s phone started to ring, and she answered via her bluetooth.

“Hey babe,” she told Liam.

“Hello, love. I’ve got great news!”

“We can use as much of that as we can get. What is it?”

“That professor of agriculture got back to me. According to him, we can take a kernel of corn and grind it down. Then we add that corn ‘powder’ to something fine, like flaxseed, and sow that.”

“Will that count?” Emma piped up.

“He thinks so,” Liam said. “Apparently there’s some legend in . . . Wales? Scotland? I can’t remember, but anyways, in the legend a father won’t let his daughter marry the man she loves unless he can sow an entire field with just one kernel of corn. This was how he accomplished it.”

“You didn’t tell him about our situation, did you?” Ingrid asked with concern.

“Of course not! I told him I was thinking of publishing a second book about the song ‘Scarborough Fair,’ that’s all.”

“Okay, well, at least that’s one thing.”

“Elsa is doing some data analysis to figure out how fast Emma needs to plow before the tide comes in.”

“Now we just have to find this town no one knows.”

That was what worried Killian the most. None of them had any idea how to go about the second riddle. And after their visit to the mental hospital, it was more clear than ever that the future of many people, not just Emma’s, was in the balance.

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

The next week and a half flew by, and before Emma knew it, she was sitting in front of Ingrid’s vanity mirror in her wedding dress. Ingrid was applying her makeup, and Anna was using a curling iron on her hair. They all yelped when the door flew open, but it was only Liam.

“What’s with all the people downstairs?” he demanded.

Ingrid straightened up to look at him, a stick of eyeliner gripped between her fingers. “We’re having a wedding, dear, the living room is filled with guests.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that. But I counted two priests, a rabbi, a baptist minister, a Buddhist monk, and some woman waving a gourd around.”

“The gourd is part of a Cherokee ritual to ward off evil spirits,” Ingrid explained as she leaned down to apply eyeliner to Emma’s eyelids, “and there’s only one priest. The other is an Episcopalian minister.”

“Ingrid, what’s with all the holy people, that’s what I’m asking!”

Ingrid sighed as she straightened once again from her task. “I invited an evil imp to this wedding by accident, okay? So I’m trying to counter that with anything and everything I possibly can!”

Liam sighed. “That’s sweet of you, darling. Eccentric, but sweet.”

He stepped forward and placed a kiss against his wife’s cheek as Emma and Anna laughed. He left after promising for the fifth time that day to keep Killian downstairs.

“Do you think he noticed the crystals you lined up on the fireplace mantel?” Emma asked when he was gone.

Ingrid chuckled. “Probably not.”

Anna let out a frustrated groan as she released another limp curl from the curling iron. “I’m not good at this!”

“I told you to use hot rollers,” said Ingrid.

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want my hair too overdone.”

Anna gave Ingrid a weighted look. “If only Elsa were here. She’s the only one who can do that loose side braid you love.”

Suddenly, Ingrid’s walk-in closet burst open. “Did someone say they needed my help?”

Emma squealed with joy at the sight of Elsa stepping out of the closet. She jumped up and threw herself into her older sister’s arms.

“I’m so glad you’re here!”

“And I’m glad to finally get out of the closet.” Elsa looked over Emma’s shoulder and scowled at her sister and her aunt. “I thought you two would never say the code word!”

“We didn’t know Liam was going to interrupt!” Anna retorted.

Ingrid just laughed. “Sorry we hid this from you, Emma, but we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it, either,” Elsa explained, “so we didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Emma shook her head, dabbing carefully at tears that threatened her makeup. “I don’t care, I’m just so happy to see you! Will you be my second bridesmaid? You can wear the dress you have on - this wedding is very informal.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Elsa assured her. “Now, are we going to do something about your hair or not?”

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

Killian stood in front of the fireplace in the Jones family living room, his brother standing at his side. He kept fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other.

“Nervous?” Liam asked him.

“No,” he answered without hesitation. He barely noticed all the people, most of whom he swore were strangers, crowded into their home. He didn’t feel he was giving up his freedom or being burdened, or any of the other cliches people used for grooms. He just wanted to see Emma descend the stairs. He wanted to pledge his life to her, slip the ring in Liam’s pocket onto her finger, kiss her, and then begin their life together.

Liam’s friend and colleague, shoved into a tiny corner with his keyboard, began to play the processional, and Ingrid was the first to descend the stairs as Emma’s matron of honor, a tiny bouquet of white daisies clutched in her hands. Elsa, then Anna. followed Ingrid down the stairs. Killian strained his eyes for Emma. She wouldn’t be escorted. She had said it was unnecessary, and she wanted Liam to be Killian’s best man.

Then, suddenly, there she was, and the music changed. She seemed to float down the stairs like a vision, her dress trailing the ground, her bare shoulders glowing under the lights, and her golden hair in a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. Her hair was threaded with baby’s breath and Queen Anne’s lace, and she clutched a simple bouquet of white roses tied with a white satin ribbon. Her eyes were searching the crowded room, but she didn’t seem to be able to see him.

Then, suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs, she faltered. She reached out one hand to grip the banister tightly. Her skin went suddenly pale. She seemed to be staring at something no one could see.

What Killian couldn’t see, what no one could see, was the man at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on his cane. Only Emma could see him. Her breaths became shallow, and she suddenly felt dizzy. Panic gripped her heart.

“You want to run,” Rumplestiltskin told her, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “You don’t want to get married at 17. You don’t have to. Just turn around and go back upstairs.”

Emma began to shake. What was she doing? He was right! She was too young to get married! Why was she getting married again? Who was she marrying? Something wasn’t right. This man made sense - she should just run back upstairs.

“Emma?”

Rumplestiltskin jerked his head towards the sound of the young man’s voice. The boy didn’t see him, of course. His spell had seen to that. But why was there such strong magic emanating from the lad? Rumple recoiled, feeling a sudden, sharp, physical pain. The shirt! The stupid boy was wearing the shirt Emma had made with no needle or seam. The wretched shirt that solved the first riddle. No one could see it; he wore it beneath his shirt and tie. The boy must be sweating in the heavy felt, too. What had possessed him to don the thing? Curse him! Rumple stumbled backwards, the magic of true love overpowering him. He turned and ran, his glamor spell starting to wane, and his skin burning. He almost fell down the steps, but when he reached the sidewalk he turned and steadied himself, smoothing down the front of his suit coat.

“No matter,” he snarled up at the house and the people inside. “I may not be able to touch you yet, but I will, mark my words, I will, and soon!”

Inside, the sound of Killian’s voice had broken the spell that had held Emma frozen at the bottom of the stairs. She looked down into Killian’s gentle smile and sparkling blue eyes, and every doubt and bit of confusion fled. He held out his hand.

“Don’t be afraid, Emma,” he told her softly, “we’ll walk the aisle together.”

She took his hand and descended the last few steps. She tucked her arm into his and beamed up at him.

“Why would I be afraid?” she asked him, and she would never remember the strange man at the bottom of the stairs.

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

Emma giggled as Killian carried her over the threshold of the house they would share, at least as long as the professor who owned it was on sabbatical. Killian set her down, brushed her lips with a kiss, then stepped forward, his arms spread wide.

“So, what do you think?”

Emma stepped slowly into the room, taking in the small foyer and the modest living room to the left. To the right was a stairwell, and down a short hall in front of her was a small eat-in kitchen. It was a narrow, two story Victorian, even older than the home she grew up in with Ingrid. Emma wrapped her arms around the post of the stairway banister and looked up at the decorative stain glass panel above the front door which was so common in Victorian homes. It cast shafts of colored light onto the flowered wallpaper.

“It’s not very big, I know,” Killian told her, “but the man who owns it is a bachelor, after all. The upstairs is better, though. He renovated it to just one huge master suite with a really modern bathroom. It’s got a double shower!”

Emma caught his gaze at that, and a teasing smile lifted her lips. “Really?”

Killian swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He’d never heard that one word sound so laden with sensual promise. Emma bit her lower lip as she regarded him, still draped across the banister.

“I could . . .” he stuttered, “give you a tour. Of the house, I mean.”

Emma grinned slyly, then gazed up the stairs. “I only want to see the bedroom.”

Killian swallowed again, “Oh - okay.”

Emma stepped closer and took his hand. She said nothing, just gazed at him in a way that took his breath away. He took the stairs, leading her by the hand, every nerve in his body on high alert.

The stairs led them straight into the master suite, with no door separating the two. At the back of the room was a sitting area surrounded by built-in bookshelves. A TV was mounted on the wall so it could be seen from either the sofa, rocking chair, or bed.

The bed. It was a queen size, four-poster bed situated in front of a beautiful round window of colored glass. It dominated the room, or at least it seemed to right now. Emma walked to it slowly, running her hands along the quilt that lay across it. When Ingrid had seen the house, she said the quilt was another sign that fate meant them to be together. The pattern of interlocking circles was called a wedding ring quilt.

Emma wrapped her arms around one of the bedposts, just like she had the banister downstairs, and looked at him shyly. Two spots of color tinted her cheeks. Killian scratched behind his ear and gestured to the door to his left.

“Do you, uh, want to see the bathroom?”

“Killian,” Emma said gently, “why are you so nervous?”

He was able to laugh, just a bit, at her words, but he didn’t know what to say. Emma took one step forward, took him by the hand and pulled him closer. To her and to the bed. She ran both hands up the front of his shirt and began to undo the buttons. His heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.

Suddenly, Emma paused. “What’s under your shirt?”

“The one you made. To solve the first riddle.”

Emma laughed as she worked off his tie and undid the rest of his buttons. “Oh my God, you must have been burning up!”

“You have no idea!” He laughed too and peeled the scratchy, insanely hot shirt up and over his head. He sighed in relief as he tossed it aside, then ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He caught Emma staring at him, her cheeks now bright red. He wondered if she would get nervous now, but instead, she turned her back to him.

“Unzip me?”

Her back was almost completely bare already in her halter dress. The zipper didn’t start until her lower back. He could scarcely breathe as he slid it down, revealing her lacy underwear.

“And untie the halter?” Emma’s voice was thick, and he was thankful he wasn’t the only one obviously shaken by desire.

Killian did as she asked, letting his fingers dance along her spine after he finished. Emma sucked in a sudden breath at his touch. He stepped closer, encircling her waist and pressing his chest to her back. Still holding the front of her dress to her chest, Emma leaned back into him, and he trailed kisses along her neck.

“Are you even wearing a bra?” he asked against her skin.

Emma turned to face him, still holding her dress up. “It’s hard to wear a bra when it’s a halter,” she said, then she let go of the dress, and it fell with a soft rustling sound at her feet.

For a few heated moments, he took her in, glorious in nothing but a pair of white lace panties. Then he surged forward, pressing her bare breasts against him and devouring her mouth with deep kisses. Emma moaned as he maneuvered her to the bed, and her hands fumbled with the zipper of his pants.

After kicking aside his pants, he covered Emma with his body, nothing between them but that tiny scrap of lace. His hands roamed, as he sucked on her neck, and Emma panted as she grasped his back. He pulled back for a moment, tenderly cupping her cheek.

“You asked why I was so nervous.”

“Mhm,” Emma replied, her lips pressed together, and her eyes wide.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his hand drifting down to caress her breasts.

“A little,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he confessed, “because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Emma pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I know you would never hurt me.”

He ran his thumb along the waistband of her panties, and she shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut.

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes opened and held his as she lifted her hips and guided his hands.

“Do I look scared to you?”

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

The window above the bed scattered beams of light in various shades across the quilt that covered Emma and Killian. They were both still naked, and Emma was tucked against him, running her hands through his chest hair. He ran his hands along her bare arm and kept brushing kisses to her forehead.

Emma let out a contented sight, “That was amazing. I want to do it again and again and again.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I was so worried, I even asked Liam for advice.”

Emma twisted so she could look into his face. “You talked to Liam about us having sex?” she yelped.

“Not like that, just . . . I wanted to be sure I was sensitive to what you’ve been through. He understood that and was really helpful. I read that some guys are really rushed and insensitive without meaning to be when it’s their first time, and I didn’t want to do anything stupid.”

Emma nodded, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Well, whatever he told you, I need to send him a thank you card, because . . . wow!”

Killian laughed. “Now, that would be awkward.”

Emma suddenly grew quiet, and her hand stilled in its exploration of his chest.

“Emma?” he asked tentatively.

She sighed and rolled over next to him on her back. For her to lie there next to him, her breasts uncovered, made him feel so honored to receive that vulnerability. Still, something told him she was insecure about something.

“Did I disappoint you, though?” she asked.

Killian rolled closer to her as he exclaimed, “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, I doubt you imagined a woman with this kind of figure for your first time.” She ran her hand over her baby bump, which still wasn’t incredibly noticeable, to be honest.

“Emma,” he said softly, turning her chin to face him, “you are the most beautiful, exquisite thing I have ever seen in my life. I thought I was going to internally combust for a moment when your dress hit the floor.”

Emma chuckled at that, but he could still see the insecurity in her eyes. He decided to show her instead. He gently ran his hand down the length of her body, stopping at her rounded abdomen. He caressed it gently, then leaned down and placed a lingering kiss right beside her belly button. To his surprise, he felt a small thump in response.

Emma gasped, and Killian’s head snapped up. “Did he just -”

“Yes,” Emma laughed, “he just kicked you.”

Killian lowered his lips again to Emma’s belly. “Hello, little one,” he said, “it’s me, your daddy.”

He kissed Emma’s belly button again, and Emma dug her fingers into his hair. When he looked back up at her, tears were shining in her eyes. He pushed himself up and kissed her, gently at first, and then with more passion. Emma broke the kiss, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Didn’t you say something about a double shower?”

Before he knew it, she was out of the bed and darting to the bathroom door. With a growl, he jumped up and chased after her.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #lieutenant duckling #cs au #cs impossible au #impossible au #modern fantasy #angst #cs angsty august

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