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magnoliabutters · 11 months

Text

• STAY A WHILE •

pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: an unexpected guest tends to put a kink into things…

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; canon divergence, enemies to lovers trope, season 4 spoilers; first half is straight up porn, previous series parts mentioned, internal dialogue, hardcore vamp shower sex, blood, gore, y/n count: 2, fluffy fluff, trauma responses & bonding, physical fighting, (unprotected) p in v, grief, violence, etc.

word count: ~8.6k

reblogs & thoughtsies are so appreciated pweaze 👹

• stories of eddie munson • season two • previous part •

note: this is for you, anonymous ♥️✨some influence from true blood & other vamp media, i ain’t gonna lie! also here are some smut resources I used to up my game; instead of & this spencer reid edit (so fahking hot).

thank you to @nackrosor for taking the time to beta read this part! you and your thoughts are so so appreciated and you truly helped make this part 10x better. ii think we make a great duo and i am very thankful. my loves, please check her out - her stories and, particularly, her smut is to die for...

Ten minutes. Ten minutes have passed. Ten minutes have passed and the water remains heated. You find it baffling. A shower surprisingly still warm to the touch. It feels good, better than you had imagined. Just like how his arms are still wrapped so tightly around you. Tightening with every second that passes. It feels good, better than you had imagined.

Ten minutes have passed and his arms are still hot to the touch. He hasn’t moved his forehead from your shoulder. His breath still a light breeze against your back. Your cheek rests upon his temple, digging deeper into the comforting embrace. His hair smells of honey. It’s soft, softer than you remember.

“Kas,” you coo. Kas’ head immediately perks up, but his arms continue to grip around you. “Why does your hair smell like honey?” you ask with all sincerity. He smiles as he returns to his rest. You can hear the soft laughter before a slow inhale. “You know, I’m not really sure.” He finds the topic random, but enjoyable. He wouldn't expect anything different from you. He would do anything, any thing to help you feel better.

You look over your shoulder, pinning your chin against your muscle. He pulls away naturally. Your eyes rake over that gentle face, pausing at each feature - taking him in. “Did you find a conditioner out there or something?” you ask but a laugh interrupts you. An unspoken understanding of how odd the conversation topic is and yet, it’s better than talking about your new-found reality.

Kas huffs, truly thinking about the concept. “No,” he shakes his head. “I was more focused on food than my hair to be honest.” You gasp, making him jump. He chuckles at his startled reaction. “How could anything come before your hair?” you inquire. His smile matches yours as he places a kiss upon your shoulder blade. Your eyes close as his lips press gently onto your skin. You soak in the sensation as though it may be your last.

“Okay, maybe I found some gel somewhere,” he admits with a tilt of his head. His front teeth biting into his lower lip. You turn your head back to the faucets, leaning further back into his chest. “For the bandana, right?” you mutter. “Yeah, for the bandana.” He adjusts his hands, but pulls you in closer as you rest between his legs. The water now rushes against your stomach.

Kas tucks his chin into the nape of your neck. He places a peck on your skin before nuzzling in some more. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks hesitantly. You let the words float, contemplating a response. You note how your chest feels more open, that you can actually breathe. Your head feels centered and balanced, no longer light.

You could talk about it, if you wanted to. And yet, “Talk about what?” He lets out a breathy laugh as he hugs you tighter. Each squeeze gives you an ounce of your life back, an ounce of control. “Nothing, darlin’,” he says with another light kiss. You center your breathing, taking a deep exhale as you lean further into his embrace.

You stop - you feel something. It's not physical. It's not sweet. Your eyes closed and your heart opened, enough where you were startled awake again. You find comfort in him, in his hold. This time, fully aware, that these arms are not Eddie's. This chest is not his, nor these kisses. What you are loving, appreciating in this moment - these are Kas' actions. Kas is opening your heart...

“Should we-we should probably stand,” you suggest. Your hands reach the lipping of the tub. You push up as his arms fall to his side without retaliation. Kas follows behind with eyes to the shower’s floor. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles as he steps out. His soaked black jeans limit his movements almost comically.

You reach for his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it. The action not tethered to your conscious, but here you are having to explain it. His eyes land on your grip and then trace up your arm and to your face. “You can stay,” you whisper. His eyes slightly light up as he takes in a breath. “I-I need help getting my back,” you quickly lie. A smile pulls to his right side as he nods. “Of course.”

Kas leans onto his other leg, still being drenched by the water, but you quickly stop him. “Those must hurt. You should take them off,” you suggest. Your eyes lift to his. Innocence fills them, and that same innocence he sees. He likes this side of you. He nods before taking off his jeans and boxers. You could see where the denim had irritated his iridescent skin. With a deep breath, you quickly raise your eyes. "A-and your bandana too."

Something changed between you both. Why fight it?

Kas stands before you, completely bare as you are for him. Your eyes travel from his lips, to the nervous swallow of his adam’s apple, to his collar bone. Your body craves his skin, craves a bite and a kiss against those bones. You revel over Eddie’s tattoos. The spider that you aimed for any time you fell asleep on his chest. The light brown happy trail that leads to his finely groomed bush. Your heart races at the sight of his cock. You try not to let your emotions show, but you take in a sharp breath through your nostrils.

You missed his body. You have missed it every second since that night.

As you finally make your way back up to his eyes, you realize he has been watching you the entire time. A smile thick upon his face. Despite your blush, you grab hold of the soap and lather your hands. "You coming?" He softly chuckles as he takes a step into the tub. He faces you, awaiting your love. “Turn,” you instruct while guiding his body to turn around. You were not yet ready for any head on act.

Kas watches you through the corner of his eye while you massage his back. You recognize the little beauty marks you like to trace here and there. There was always one to mirror the other. A pair of beauty marks on his left shoulder blade. One at his mid-back, a mark on either side of his spine. But your hands stop at the rough surface of his lower back. The scars you do not remember. The scars that are not his. They are Kas’ scars.

Despite its healing, the wound remains pink with ripples of dark red. It rips around his waist and to his stomach. You have seen it, this huge break in his skin, but you haven’t been able to study it. To really see the pain that caused and followed the injury. You are careful to touch it, careful not to hurt him. He has been through so much.

You lower your hands onto his butt cheeks without hesitation. Kas lets out a sheepish giggle as he steps forward, as though he didn’t expect it. His reaction catches you off guard, leaving you with confusion and a chuckle. “You ticklish?” you ask as you grip against his cheeks again. He yelps as he presses his palms upon the tiled wall. You laugh alongside him. Did you find his weakness? His ass? “I just didn’t see that coming,” he murmurs out of breath. “I’ll move on I guess,” you lead as you tauntingly giggle. You crouch as your hands fall to his thighs and down to his calves. He drops a harsh breath as his finger taps against his outer thigh.

As you raise, your hand trails up his soft body. Your fingers light upon his skin as you trace them up to the crook of his neck. You step aside to allow the hot water to splash against his pinking back. Your hand still travels his body, slowly making its way to his devilish jawline. A fingertip lands at his chin, guiding his face back towards you. The smile has now disappeared. He peers down at you with a flat lip. His eyes scream for your attention, but you are stuck glaring down on his cock standing straight as ever. “So predictable,” you murmur as you step forward. His dick now resting at your hip as your finger brushes a curled lock behind his ear.

Your eyes return to his, expecting his sex gaze that usually ends with a leaned in kiss, but you are left surprised. His brows are perplexed as he places space between you two. No sex in his eyes. He looks at you as though he was finally able to see you, to examine you just as you had with him. His finger brushes against your right ribs which rips a wince from your lips. You turn down to see a purple, yellow bruise beneath your breast thickly spread across your side. His eyes turn to the side of your face.

His finger guides your chin to the right as he observes the harsh red line wrapping your neck. It is almost as though his attention pulled your own. The unfortunate act that now has you feeling every ounce of pain within your body. With a shift of your weight, you can feel all your joints screaming and on fire.

“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Kas mutters as he reaches for the soap. He rubs it across your chest, desperate not to make eye contact with you. His eyes are down like those of a child who’s done wrong. He lathers the soap across your skin gently. He pays special attention to the beaten parts of you. However, you could barely notice his level of care. Your gaze had deadened, blurred to all hell, once reminded of your injuries. Somehow, you find comfort in knowing that your pain matches his. That you two are tethered together. Your bodies telling the story of your combined tragedy.

He breaks your train of thought with five simple words. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says flatly. His touch still delicate on your body. This time you purposefully seek out his eyes, ducking down to find them. Once met and he could not longer hide, you can see the tears welling within them. You can stare into his brown, red flaked eyes without worry. Your hand instinctually floats to his cheek. Your thumb caresses him and he leans deeper into your palm. The silence feels comfortable, natural, enjoyable between you two, as though you have done this for years.

You lean into him with eyes closed. He watches you like a deer in headlights. Your lips lightly land upon his, a soft kiss that causes electricity to fire throughout both your bodies. The sweetness distinct as you open your mouth and take his tongue in. Its strong force thick upon yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and closer into you. He crashes even harder against you. His hands gripping onto your hips before wrapping around your mid back.

Kas pins you on the cool tiled wall. Your fingers dig into his back. He quickly tucks his hand beneath your thigh, hiking your foot up and onto the tub’s ledge. His moans reverberate upon your lips and you pull him deeper and deeper. Your fingernails digging into his skin. Both of your breaths hot, fast, and harsh.

“Kas,” you whimper as his kisses travel down your chin and onto your neck. Your hips rut against his throbbing cock. He moans above your skin as he grinds opposing your force. The water rushes between you two with such pleasure. Your hand reaches for him, tightening your fingers around his girth. A thumb brushing across the threshold of his tip. You bite into his bottom lip as he breathes heavily against you. He pulls back into a smile, ripping away and leaving blood in both your mouths.

You rush your movements, taking the sight of him in. Those furrowing brows. Those fluttering eyelids. That hanging mouth and rising chin as he feels every bit of bliss from your touch. You swear this breathing halts. He struggles to speak, inevitably licking his lips and forgetting his words. God, how you enjoyed turning this strong man into a puddle! His forehead presses against yours.

Kas' forehead presses against yours lazily. “Fuck, y/n,” he exasperates. You hastily pull away, almost throwing yourself against the wall. He stares back at you with widening eyes. His hands falling from your body just to raise slowly, in case he did something he shouldn't have. But he didn't do anything, it's the name. Your name that has suddenly become unfamiliar. A name to reference a life lived and a life lost. The name of a girl who only knew innocence and barely met love. A girl who died when her soulmate passed away saving the town and avenging the death of a friend.

A girl who no longer exists.

“Just-,” you start, unclear of where the sentence may end. “D-don’t call me that. Not anymore.” His head tilts as he attempts to place a comforting hand at your side, but you push his arm aside, refusing his coddling. His eyes fall again, taking a deep swallow as they do. “What should I call you?” he asks in a whisper.

Your brows pull, tight and furrowed. The question is perplexing. You have just realized that you no longer identify with yourself and now, what? You have to come up with a name? You shake your head, hoping to erase the memories like an etch-n-sketch. “Just keep calling me ‘darlin,’” you whisper. "You're good at that."

Kas hesitantly raises his hand to your cheek. At first, you dodge him with a quivering lip, but he decides to press forward, landing his palm upon your cheek. “Yes, darlin’,” he murmurs as he meets your gaze. He understood what was happening without another word needing to be said. You nod along exhaustingly. Your hand meeting his hip and trailing up towards his neck.

You pull him roughly against your mouth, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible. His tongue adamantly slides past your lips as your nails dig into him once again. His hand presses against your hip, pushing you harshly against the wall. You could feel his body tensing atop you. You cannot think of a better place to be.

Both bodies move with grace. Kas lifts you with strong hands at your ass while your leg curls behind his. His cock at your entrance as he slowly lowers your waist onto him. His breath on your face as you mewl from the euphoric sensation. He thrusts firmly, causing gasps to drop from your lips. His girth reaches all your crooks and crannies. He fills you up and you are dying for more.

Your back slides up and down against the wall. Your wet hair snarls together. He buries himself in you. Deep, dark thrusts that make you want to scream with pleasure. He heaves against you, struggling to sustain the kisses on your neck as your tightening walls pull his attention. His hot breath upon your skin leaves you aching, aching for something more. Something you don’t yet know.

“God, fuck,” Kas grumbles against you. His ruts become harder and harder. "You feel so g-good." Your nails dig deeper, ripping up his back without care. Eyes beginning to roll as he quickens. Moans fall from your lips as you press the crown of your head upon the wall. Your neck extends as you do.

A seething breath rips from Kas, halting his movement. He still holds you close against him, tightly wound as he’s stiff within you. “I-I,” he whispers as he pulls from your neck. His eyes turn up to the ceiling as he lets out a shaking exhale. You study him. How his mouth hangs open. How his body stills, tenses, and pulls away.

“No,” you plead as you bring him closer. He keeps his head away, trying so hard to keep his eyes up despite your strong pull. You loosen your grip at his efforts. “Help me understand,” you whisper. “I just need a second,” he answers quickly, finally closing his eyes. He takes another chilling and shaken breath. “It’s hard not to,” he mumbles. “Not to what?” Your eyes seek for the answer.

Kas slowly opens his eyes and leads his gaze towards your neck. He takes a deep breath before shutting his eyes and kissing the exposed, sensitive skin. You understood as soon as you felt his touch. He wants it. He wants you, but not in a way that anyone has wanted you before. “Do it,” you whisper, tilting your head to the right. Not a second thought runs through your mind. He raises from your neck, proud of himself before reacting to your words with worry.

“Come on,” you urge softly. He shakes his head with a stiff lip. Why is he making this harder on you? On him? With a huff, you pull him closer once more. Your hips simultaneously grinding upon him. The friction explodes between you two. You both moan into each other's mouths, dying from absolute pleasure. His eyes shutting tight before roughly opening back to yours. "Tell me what you want," he says sternly. "I want a reason to give it to you so badly."

A gasp escapes you in response to his abrupt demand. It forces you to finally acknowledge the burning desire to be consumed by him in a way that truthfully scares you to your core. “Bite me, Kas.” He stares into you, almost into your soul, to determine whether or not you are serious. And without a second passing, he pulls your hips harshly upon himself. He sends rough and quick thrusts, burying himself within, that roll your eyes to the back of your head.

As soon as your eyelids close, Kas sinks his sharpened teeth into your neck. You let out a gasp filled moan. The pain excruciating but it quickly subsides. You can feel the dense, warm liquid trailing down your chest. He rams harder and harder with each bite. His mouth and tongue delightful against your sensitive skin.

You could not imagine his touch feeling any better and yet the added light headed sensation pushes you closer and closer to exploding and reaching the high you desperately crave. “Oh god,” you choke out as your fingers rake through his hair. Your bodies bounce off of one another. A devilish and wet smacking echoing within the room. The now cold water feeling refreshing.

He pulls up for air, inhaling deeply, as he lays his love drunk eyes upon you. Blood drips from the sides of his mouth and the tip of his nose. It's crimson flows in tandem with the water and spirals its way down the drain. Naturally, you attempt to turn around, trying to offer what you consider is the best of yourself. “No.” He stops you with gentle hands at your waist. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Innocently, Kas brings a thumb to his fang, pricking it ever so lightly. He offers it to you while sustaining slow, powerful ruts that make your knees buckle. You open your mouth without delay. He places the finger at the curl of your tongue. You wrap your lips around him as you suck in his intoxicating blood.

With a hiss, he murmurs, “Take it like a good girl.” He slams his hips against you, and you swear you will have more bruises by the end of this shower. The euphoric feeling drops your head in the clouds, desperate for its never ending status but sadly, your body can only take so much. “Fuck,” you purr. “I’m gonna…”

“Wait, darlin’,” Kas hushes. “Almost - I’m almost…” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust and …. You feel his body tense against you. Incoherent words mumbling out as he curls into you, his head on your neck yet again, but “darlin’” comes out clear as day. You love the idea of his seed within you. The pulsing feeling pushes you to reach your high right alongside him, dissolving into pleasure. It sends shockwaves throughout your body, making you weak as you cling onto him with sinful screams.

Pornographic sounds leave both your lips as you collapse into each other. Both bodies slide down until they fall onto the tub floor. They land where they began, holding each other underneath the streaming water. Heaving breaths escape you both as you lean onto one another for support.

Five minutes. Five minutes have passed. Five minutes have passed and you rest against his chest, lying between his thighs as the water crashes upon you both. At one point, he had placed his still bleeding thumb against your bite marks. They have since healed. The water washing away the evidence. It washes away the transgression.

“Darlin’,” Kas whispers just before kissing your forehead. “I know, we should probably get up,” you mutter. You rest your weight on your hand as you raise from his hold. He watches you with adoration in his eyes. If his pupils could switch shapes, they would be pure hearts. You would be lying if you didn’t think the same of yourself. Something changed here in this shower. What if things go back to normal once you leave?

Kas stands beside you. He places gentle hands at your hips, guiding you up and ensuring you’ve gained your balance. He steps out of the shower, breaking the seal before you could stop him. You watch him with eyes of wonder, waiting for him to revert to the asshole he was.

But he extends his hand to you. You take it curiously. He grabs hold of a hanging towel and wraps it around your shivering body. He rubs his hands up your back, trying to keep you warm. “Thank you,” you say. He smiles as he reaches for the other towel. He wraps it around his waist and quickly returns his hands to your back, rubbing as he does.

“I’m feeling like a nap,” Kas grumbles as he guides you out of the bathroom. You hum in excitement at the idea of sleep. You forgot how much you needed it. The reminder hits you like an 18 wheeler.

Entering the bedroom, you’re reminded of the disastrous sight before you. “I don’t think I can sleep in Reefer Rick’s sheets,” you shudder at the thought. “Hold on,” he says as he determinedly walks to the bed. He rips off the cheetah print and the stained checkered duvet. He drops them onto the ground and begins to dig into the dressers.

“Ahah,” he exclaims as he shakes a roll of burgundy sheets your way. “You get that end?” you suggest with a laugh. He nods and shakes out the fitted sheet. You grab hold of your side, tucking it under the corners of the mattress.

Kas lands atop of the bed in celebration of clean sheets, but immediately begins to roll like a wave. “What the hell?” he mumbles with his arms spread out. You laugh as you land a hand against the bed. “It’s a water bed, Kas,” you giggle. “The fuck?” he asks, struggling to sit up like a cat stuck in water.

You lay down, grabbing the pillows and stripping their sheets. “Can you grab me the pillow covers?” you ask as you point towards the dresser. He nods as he fumbles out of the bed. You burst into laughter watching him drop onto the floor. “I’m good!” He reaches into the drawer and throws the cases your way.

As you switch them out, you peer outside the sliding door to the patio. The purpled, deep mist still thick on the water. “Do you think that fog will ever let up?” you ask as you pat his pillow down. “Let me see,” he says as he struggles to open the door. It clearly hasn’t been used in some time.

Kas walks out, carefully stepping upon the rotten wood. He takes in a deep breath as he looks out into the fog. You stifle your giggle, trying to understand what he was doing. He turns around with absolute confidence, nodding his head hastily. He closes the door and dives back onto the water bed.

You smirk, working on your own pillow case. “Well?” you ask with a chuckle. He peers up at you, his neck all twisted, as he rests on the mattress. “Darlin’, I have no idea.” You laugh alongside him. He reaches for you, guiding you beside him as he rests his head upon your chest. Your fingers naturally run through his hair, tracing little circles on his temple.

“You know, I might just be alright dying here with you in Reefer Rick’s bedroom,” Kas murmurs as he digs deeper into your embrace. “You know, I might not be cool with you dying,” you say with a bit of awe. He smiles, but remains curled against your breast. “I actually want you to stay for a while,” you mutter under your breath. Embarrassment fills your cheeks with hot red. His hand tucks underneath your hip, pulling you closer. “Always,” he replies.

You fall asleep, tight within his arms. His light snoring is music to your ears. His warmth and weight on your chest is the best weighted blanket you could ask for. Sleep with Kas is easy. You feel safe with him by your side.

A series of crescendoing knocks echoes from downstairs.

You jump at the sound, instantly putting Kas in defensive mode. Both of you startled from your 45-minute sleep. "Did someone see us?" you ask with panic in your voice. The words come out automatically. His eyes squint with furrowing brows. He slowly shakes his head as he pushes up from the mattress. "I don't think so," he whispers as he makes his way to the dresser one again. His hands plunge into the drawer until they find a pair of black cotton shorts, something Eddie would never wear. He slugs them on before walking out the door with determination.

You rest hiding in your sheets, wondering if you should stand. A few silent seconds pass and you roll yourself off the water bed. You look into the still opened drawer. You can see where his hand brushed through all the rolled clothing, unfolding it. A large graphic tee decorated by MTV's logo catches your eye. It flows over your head and shoulders without difficulty. You have grown quite fond of oversized shirts in the last few weeks.

As you raise a pair of jeans atop your hips to see if they would fit, you hear a loud bang downstairs. Your heart drops as your palms grow sweaty. You were halfway down the staircase before you realized you were running. The noises never stopped. It sounded muffled, like items being tossed to the ground. You didn't start rushing until you heard glass crash.

The sight before you left your body frozen. Kas had someone pinned against the wall. His palms pressed heavily against the intruder's inner wrists. Glass shards are trickled throughout the carpet. The living room was quite the mess before, the only difference being the now escalating altercation in its midst.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Kas yells. He raises the intruder's arm just to slam it back against the wall. You could barely see the person beneath him, but you try your best to grab a glimpse. "I-I-I," you hear stuttering falling from the smaller individual. Your hands' grip tightens against the banister.

Kas growls aloud as he pulls against the person's arm and drops them onto the floor behind him. He slowly turns around with a stone cold face you only recognize from the night prior. His eyes red, red once again, as he yells down at the intruder. "Tell me!" He gradually lands onto a knee beside the person's waist. His tightening knuckles gripping harshly at his collar.

Your eyes drop to the, now identifiable, boy as Kas straddles him. The curly brunette hair almost matched Kas', just a shade lighter. He is smaller, much smaller in stature and overall size. He cries, begging for him to stop. You hate yourself for not rushing to his aid but you are glued to the steps. Your body does not even give you the option.

As his head fell back onto the burnt orange carpet, the boy's baseball cap drops on the floor. You find yourself entranced by it, by its color. Kas lands a hard punch against his cheek when you finally make your way onto the carpet. You feel as though you were in a trance, as though the violence before you was just a blur in the background. All you wanted was to hold that cap, to take a better look. There was something about it. Something you didn't understand. Something that drew you to it.

You bend down to reach for it. The boy raises his hands, begging Kas to stop, but another punch lands against his face. The cap's hard visor rests between your two fingers. It's bright turquoise blue eerily familiar. As you turn it your way, you read "Thinking Cap" aloud. Finally, it makes sense and the whole world returns to its high definition.

Your raising eyes land upon Dustin Henderson and his bleeding, bruised face. Kas pulls him up by his collar just to plunge his sharp fangs into his neck. "Stop!" you scream as you lunge towards Kas. Your hands press harshly against his chest, pushing him off Dustin's body. Dustin gasps as he quickly applies pressure upon his wound. He inches away, fueled by adrenaline, but is still too weak to crawl.

As he stumbles back, Kas' eyes look through you. There was no emotion. No recognition. He was purely in a kill mode and nothing will pull him out of it. He reaches for Dustin once again, but you step in his way. "Stop," you lead. Your hands slowly raising. "We can talk about this." His gaze is stuck upon the cowering body behind you. "Do you know who that is?" he asks with a chilling tone.

You are forced to remember the stories of Dustin's betrayal. You try your best to keep in mind that you may not have had a reliable source, but those stories still make you sick to your stomach. "I know," you whisper under your breath. Kas scoffs, taking a step forward. "Then there's nothing to talk about."

You place your hand upon his chest - a simple gesture that you hope he will respect. He turns to look at you, this time with a look of disgust. Those red eyes pulling him further and further from the Kas that you have come to know. "Move," he demands with a chilling, deep voice. Your eyes begin to well as fear strikes your chest. Despite stifling your sobs, you shake your head in refusal. He pulls his eyes from you, scoffing as he peers down at Dustin.

With an abrupt movement, Kas pushes you out of the way with his hand. Your body crashes harshly against the glass display, cracking it behind you. You fall to your hands and knees against the shards thick within the carpet's fabric. Your blood rushing between your fingers. A whimper escapes you as you pull out the biggest pieces, but all you can hear is Dustin's breathless pleads. "Stop, Eddie, this isn't you." His voice quivers, terrified by the bloodied, murderous sight before him.

You wince at the sound of his name, knowing it would just cause more pain. Kas winds up a kick before digging it into Dustin's ribcage. An animalistic yell falling from his lips. You can hear sobs as the boy crumbles into himself. "Please," he whispers. The words almost as painful as the microscopic shards in your palm.

Despite the glass, you pick yourself up. Harsh exhales as you push off the ground. You know this isn’t Kas. Not the man who held you in the rolling hills, and certainly not the man who you’ve come to care for. No, this is a boy who only knows pain, loneliness, and abandonment. The boy with red eyes, who only comes out when brutally faced with memories of the past.

Your body moves independently, no longer connected with your consciousness. There is no guilt or second guessing. You need to protect Dustin, not for him or Kas, but for Eddie. You do this for Eddie Munson.

Your fingers wrap around a lamp post resting on a side table beside the filthy couch. You yank it from its place, pulling out its plug recklessly. With a single swing, you crash the lamp against the base of Kas’ spine. He falls down immediately, knocked out. His face flat and smushed against the floor across from Dustin’s. You still see his chest rising and falling. You hate the relief you feel from the sight.

“Dustin,” you whisper as you fall on your knees beside him. He is hurt, badly. You rush to apply pressure against the bite. You can feel his pulse beneath your finger tips. It’s strong. It gives you hope. He grumbles as you tilt him onto his back. “Dustin,” you plead. “Talk to me.” He lets out another sob, one that shakes you to your core. He turns back onto his side, reaching out for Kas’ unconscious body. “Eddie,” he cries softly.

You are hit like a tidal wave filled with emotions. Dustin’s cries have mirrored your own. You are terrified to think of what he will soon learn. How reality will hit him - hit him harder than Kas did.

“He’s okay,” you soothe. Your worried eyes peer back at Kas. His hair thrush against his face. His arms cross upon his chest as he sleeps off the hit. “Y/n?” he asks through sobs. His eye quickly swelling, only leaving him with his right. You take a deep breath, trying to stay in the moment with him.

“Yeah,” you let out with an exhale. In this context, your name feels right. "You found him," Dustin whispers with a hint of a bloodied smile. A breathy chuckle falls between you both. "He found me," you utter. His hand weakly falls from his neck. "He always said he would..." he trails off.

You drop your eyes to your hands. The pressure isn’t enough. It wasn't enough with his hand. You needed more, more than this. You can’t split your attention. He needs help. “Dustin, I need you to keep your hand right here,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it firmly on his neck. He struggles to remain conscious but manages to keep pressure where needed.

Quickly, you crawl over to Kas. You carefully raise his head and place it within your lap. “Kas,” you whisper as your hand taps against his cheek. Your fingers push back strands of dark locks from his face. “Kas, you gotta wake up.” Another tap and his eyelids lightly flutter. Excitement and relief pour over you as you look back at Dustin. You just might be able to save him.

His lazy eyes open and land upon your face. His chocolate irises warm your soul. A small smile appears on those delicate lips. The man you know is back. You hold your hand to his cheek, leaning down towards him with your own beaming grin. “Hey darlin’,” he whispers but winces at the sudden pain on the base of his skull. “Hi Kas,” you murmur.

Kas’ eyes light up at the sound of your voice. Slowly, you watch his memory return. A twitch of his brow and his breathing increases. He attempts to sit up but you hold him down with a hand to his chest. “Kas,” you say softly. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” You can feel his heart racing beneath your palm. His jaw clenches as he slowly nods.

You smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Dustin,” you say but he immediately pushes against your hand. With a quick inhale, you continue, “Dustin is here. I know what he did to you,” you whisper. “But we need answers. We need to know his side of things.” The reality is that Kas only knows what Vecna told him, as far as you know, and you both have already caught the skinless fuck in a lie. You need to know exactly what happened to Eddie. You deserve to know.

Kas takes in sharp breaths through his nostrils. You try to calm him by brushing your hand through his curls. “What do you need me to do?” he asks reluctantly. He struggles to hold on to his anger when you provide him with the comfort and love he has been craving since he woke up in this hellhole. “Give him your blood, like you did for me.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he pushes up from the ground. He sits up beside you, keeping his eyes upon yours. “If he’s anything like you, he’s going to pass out for days with how much he needs,” he mutters with annoyance. “Good,” you offer. “It’ll give us some time to talk.”

He shakes his head as he finally pulls from your gaze. He bites into his wrist as though he was being asked to complete the biggest chore. He quickly grabs your palms and squeezes his hand into a fist above them. Drops fall and you whisper your gratitude while spreading the blood upon your cuts. He then crawls over to press his inner arm against Dustin’s mouth. As soon as blood touches his tongue, Dustin begins to reach for Kas. He holds his arm tight at his mouth, sucking more and more.

Kas finally rips his arm from Dustin’s grasp. His limp body falls backwards without another word said. Kas stands and walks up the stairs without looking back towards you. You rush to the boy’s side, quickly checking his neck. It had already healed over. The swollen eye slowly returns to its normal state. He finally looks like the boy you always saw seated beside Eddie at the Hellfire table.

With a smile, you reach onto the couch to retrieve a pillow and blanket. You place it under Dustin’s head and carefully tuck his body in. You are too scared to move him, but thankful he fell far from the glass. He needs rest to recover. You just wish that Kas’ blood healed mental wounds too.

You rush upstairs, wanting nothing more than to talk to Kas. You are worried, concerned. There is like a flick to him, some switch that gets triggered any time he is met with someone from Eddie’s past. When those red eyes appear, you have learned that Eddie nor Kas is present. It's a trauma response, a different personality - you don’t know. You just know that the man with red eyes is dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

As you walk into the bedroom’s doorway, you find Kas staring out into the mist again. You stand beside him, just before the sliding door. Your arms crossed over your chest. “He’s alive,” he mutters. You nod, knowing better than to try to make eye contact with him right now. “Thank you.”

He turns to you. You immediately note the tears in his eyes. “I saved him for you,” he whispers. You give him a reassuring nod, placing your palm at his cheek. “I know, Kas. Thank you.” He leans into your palm with brows furrowed. “You know what he did to me,” he painfully whispers as his eyes fall. “He left you,” you answer, raising his face back towards you. “But why? We don’t know why.”

Kas pulls away, rushing back to his side of the bed. “Why should I care?” he yells. You follow behind him but continue to respect his space. “Because you don't know the whole story. That asshole might've spun you a bullshit tale, telling you he left you on purpose,” you start. He shakes his head, whispering “no” on repeat as he paces in the room. “What if he had to leave?" You brush a hand through your hair. You truly hope that the reasoning falls along those lines or else you might actually be an accessory to murder.

"You don't remember anything?” you ask with sincerity. “I don’t remember!” he yells as he kicks the dresser. The wood snaps and breaks into shrapnel across the floor. You gasp at the sound, covering your mouth with your hand, but slowly you lower it. His face is pained. His fingers tapping against his head as his mental state crumbles before you. It hurts to see him like this.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur. You slowly approach his pacing rhythm. Your moves are hesitant and careful, knowing that any wrong touch could trigger his upset. Only a step away and you can feel the heat resonating off of his skin. He whispers to himself as his fingers tug onto the roots of his hair.

Your hand reaches for his bicep. Slowly, desperately slow as you trail your palm up to the back of his neck. You guide his forehead to your chest as you wrap your arms around him. His hands crash around your waist as he falls into your embrace. “I don’t want to remember,” he whispers against you.

Your hand pushes through Kas’ hair, shushing him as he cries soft sobs into your chest. You take a quick breath and clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts through these intense emotions. “You don’t have to remember, baby,” you soothe. “You don’t have to remember. It's going to be okay."

You guide his head away from you so that you can hold his gaze. His eyes red and swollen from crying. You brush his tears away with your thumb. “You are safe. Here with me," you start. "But you have to let go of that anger and think for yourself.” He pulls away from you, sniffling as he does. “You almost killed him and you don’t even know why, Kas,” you plead. He throws his hand up, scoffing. "I've killed worse for less."

You aren't sure if he intended to upset or shock you with this statement. Regardless, you have decided to no longer accept the dangerous and disastrous emotions that a skinless chicken, Vecna, has decided for Kas. If he doesn't want to remember, that's his choice but he certainly doesn't get to act based off of emotions that a psychopath thinks he should have.

You grab his hand and pull him to a sit on the mattress. You recognize how lucky you are that he’s even allowing you to touch him, but you move confident and unbothered. “I understand not wanting to remember the bad stuff, trust me,” you mutter. “And that kid… if his actions lead to him not coming home, I-I would have no issues leaving him alone with you down there, but the fact is, he mattered.” You point to the boy through the floorboards, seething with your tears. “He mattered to Eddie and that is why we need to hear his side of things.”

As soon as you say his name, Kas’ head perks up again. His face turns into that familiar disgust as his lips pull and he begins a low growl. “Oh, don't start with that shit," you spit out. "Eddie talked about that boy like he was his fucking prodigy! He mattered.” He rolls his eyes, sucking his tongue against his teeth. “Why should I care who mattered to him?” he asks with revulsion.

“You care about me, don’t you?” you yell out hastily. You are caught off guard with the amount of vulnerability you threw to the wind. You accidentally put yourself in harm’s way, leaving yourself open for an attack. In this, you recognize that Kas can hurt you. He has the ability to hurt you to your core, something you did not expect or could have wanted. You are terrified of this situation, knowing how careless he truly could be with your heart. He could simply say "no" and your whole world would crumble.

Kas’ finger makes its way to your chin, raising it to his eye line. “Of course I care about you,” he murmurs. A twitch of a smile escapes you. You push away your happiness to finish your point, dropping the smile as quickly as it appeared. “Dustin mattered. Eddie wouldn't just care like that about anyone,” you say. “The why matters to me too.”

He takes in a breath, unintentionally pulling back and placing distance between you two. He slowly nods, showing his understanding. He may not like it, but he understands. It is just like that moment, when he could have let Vecna kill you. Eddie saved you that night, not Kas, and yet you'll never know.

“What do you need me to do?” Kas asks as he reaches for your hand. You gladly intertwine your fingers and bring both hands to your chest. “Let him tell his side. No more fighting. Just talking,” you plead. Your brows raise as you beg him to accept. He nods again, still not happy about the situation. “We’ll listen, and then I'll decide what to do with him,” he mutters. He pulls back his hand and stands, making his way to the door's threshold.

You turn, calling him back to you. “Kas.” Both your eyes meet in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. He leans against the doorframe. His body still and gorgeous. God, you wish you could take a picture of this moment. A keepsake to always remember his beauty. “I care about you too. You matter to me. I need you to know that,” you state plainly.

Kas pushes off the doorframe to walk your way. His hands are tangled in your hair before you feel him crash against your lips. A kiss so passionate you feel lightheaded, as if you could see the stars through the ceiling. He pulls away at just the right moment, leaving you dying for more, whimpering for his return. His lips only inches away when he whispers, “I love you too” just before walking out of the room.

As soon as he leaves, your eyes widen to an unmeasurable size. He loves you too? Your heart stills at the thought of him loving you. A hopeful feeling that raises your chest, but also makes you forget to breathe. It is a complicated feeling, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. Although, it's nothing compared to the panic you feel when you attempt to analyze the "too" part. Does he think you were telling him that you loved him? No, you were just telling him that you cared - that he meant something to you. Fuck, what if he's right. What if there is a "too?"

You quickly stand, shaking your head. A simple "nope" falls from your lips as you steadily make your way out the bedroom. This is not the time, nor the place to analyze your feelings. You make your way down the stairs with wide opened ears. Silence. You peer around the bannister and note that Kas sits upon the couch facing Dustin's unconscious body. He stares, not a blink to be seen.

Breaking his gaze, you purposefully walk before him while on your way to the kitchen. You happily feel his eyes upon you as you open one of the cabinets. Food will probably be difficult to find, but maybe you could find something edible. You reach up on your tippy toes to see the top shelf, fully aware that your oversized shirt raises up to your waist and exposes your panties. As you land back onto your heels, you look over your shoulder to catch his adoration. He coughs and quickly turns back to Dustin. You giggle, shaking your head.

Making your way to the fridge, you finally land upon an incomplete pack of Eddie's favorite brand of beer. Despite your crouch, you drop your head and take a deep breath. Tears well in your eyes but you blink, hoping they will disappear. With a deep breath, you stop to appreciate the sight. Eddie was here. He touched these beers and he touched this very fridge. "I miss you," you whisper to yourself. "Things may look a little weird from where you are, but I'm still crazy about you, baby. I will see you again."

With a sniffle, you reach for two bottles of beer - leaving three left for Eddie to finish somehow. You stand, slowly closing the door as you take slow inhales. You walk back towards the living room with both beers hanging between your fingers. Kas' eyes light up, a smile shortly follows. You sway the bottles, dancing as you do. "Oh yeah, darlin'," he encourages with a clap and a seated dance himself.

You hand him one, crashing beside him on the couch. Almost habitual, his hand reaches for your beer. He twists off the cap just as Eddie used to and hands it back to you. You take a sip without a second thought. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, leaning back into the cushions. His arm wraps around your shoulders as you burrow into his chest.

As your eyes land upon the black screen of the TV, just beside Dustin's sleeping body, you hum to yourself. "Wanna see what's on?" you ask, peering up at him. Kas shrugs while taking another sip. You reach for the remote on the table and click the on button. Two men appear on the screen wearing white opened suits and brightly covered undershirts. "Oh, Miami Vice," you call out. "Have you seen it before?"

When you turn back to him, his chin is tucked within his neck. He watches the two men in disgust as he takes a swig of his beer. You laugh uncontrollably at the sight, landing a hand at his chest. "They look like douches, but they're pretty cool - fighting crime and shit," you share. "Let's watch five minutes of it and if you don't like it, we can change the channel?" He huffs, nodding at the idea. "I'll be counting down the minutes," he mutters.

And there you two sit for the next fourteen hours watching Miami Vice. Kas is completely invested in Detective Crockett and Tubb's storyline. He almost didn't want to leave to get food with you, but he managed to pull away from the TV to hide in the shadows while you were in the store and walk you back to Rick's. You decided to clean up the shards, which then turned into the entire living room, during a few commercial breaks. However around hour ten, you struggled to keep your eyes open and fell asleep on Kas' chest. It didn't help that he was running his fingers through your hair as you cuddled upon his spider tattoo.

Dustin still sleeps soundlessly upon the ground, tucked in his blanket and pillow. Kas has steadily relaxed within his presence. You have even caught a small smile when Dustin stretches out within his slumber. The world finally seems alright. You are beyond thankful for this quick break from your new reality. This is the only pure happy thing that has happened since Eddie passed. You will enjoy every second.

note: what'd you think? what's gonna happen next? are they in love, or are they just stuck in some twisted vecna love triangle? is kas eddie or is eddie kas? and who's this red eyed demon and how do we feel about 'em? sooooo many questions & more parts to come...

next part • the spider queen •

comment or reblog to join the taglist! [join our kas cult]

taglist: @babeyglo, @dotslabyrinth, @wheaty-melon, @mattymurdocksbitch, @sammararaven, @onlyfengs22, @perle1990, @ms1oftheboys, @ghosttownwherenoonegoes, @tayhar811, @bbyhargrove, @hiscrimsonangel, @ali-r3n, @secretdryrose, @stranger-messenger, @ohmeg, @username7430, @seatnights, & @bit-of-a-timelord

• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

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a-mermaids-heart · 2 years

Text

someone, i tell you, in another time will remember us (part i)

Pairing: Vi x fem!reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, panic attack, death Summary: You meet your childhood crush again, years later.

Read part ii.

A/N: I wanted yearning and angst!! ***

Your evening routine goes like this:

You help your mother with her daily dose of shimmer, make your bed, and ignore the dead girl in the corner of your cramped room. She never says anything, but you know what she would say if she could speak, just like in your dreams.

It hurts less, to think of her as just a girl and not as your sister. On good days, you don’t see her, or she only appears in your peripheral vision.

But it never lasts long.

Your family had been bigger, once, but you don’t like to linger on that either.

Which, if you were honest with yourself, is hard to do. Everywhere you go in Zaun reminds you of them, and what you lost. The Last Drop had been a second home to you. You and your sister used to spend all of your time with Vi and Powder. You were a year older than Powder, and both of you being little sisters, had quickly bonded over that. You even confided in her about your crush on Vi. Unlike Powder’s, however, your big sister never let you come on any of their heists.

And then, the same night you’d lost everyone, you’d gotten your sister killed.

This evening, however, is different. You’re completing your last run through a back alley—

Pain tears through your left shoulder. Before you can react, you fall hard against the opposite wall. Your vision swims, the pain all consuming. You might have passed out, but the pain never fades.

After what feels like ages later, a blur—a person? Crouches over you. Familiar pink hair, blue eyes, freckles.

Of course. Of course you’d see her as you were dying. “Vi,” you try to say, or maybe you really do. You’re not sure as unconsciousness drags you under.

—

When you next wake, it is in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed. Fresh air flows through the open window. Gingerly, you sit up and feel your head, which still aches. Someone has changed you into your underclothes, but they’d obviously been washed. The room you’re in is cozy, round, with rough wooden floors and walls. There are trees outside.

But where are you? And—your mother. You were late—

The room blurs as your eyes fill with tears. Before you had passed out, you were supposed to deliver it within the hour. Your mother—what if she—

The dead girl, your dead sister, floats closer to your bed. She smiles and rests her hand on your cheek. You can almost feel it, her thumb stroking your cheek, just like she did when you were little. She speaks: “Mama is just like me, now.”

Between one blink and the next, your sister’s face disappears, replaced by—

Vi cradles your face in her hands. She’s saying something, and it takes a moment for the ringing in your ears to fade and for you to take in what she says. She’s repeating your name.

“Vi?” You ask, voice hoarse.

She smiles, leaning closer to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe with me.”

You tremble and cold sweat prickles down the back of your neck. You listen to the rise and fall of her breath, trying to match her rhythm. Dimly, you’re aware of other people leaving the room, leaving you and Vi alone. Vi hands you a glass of water from the bedside table. You gulp it down, wiping your face. She certainly looks different, and hasn’t given up fighting judging by her muscular arms.

Your throat tightens with tears. You grip the bedsheets to hide your shaking hands. What do you ask first? What do you say? All you can blurt is, “I don’t understand. You’re not dead?”

“I’m not. There’s a lot to explain.”

Numbly, you listen as Vi explains how that fateful night really went down, and why she couldn’t be here until now. She also explains how you’d ended up here—she’d fought with Sevika, who had crashed into you, causing you to fall against the opposite wall and hit your head. Vi and a new friend (she wasn’t specific on the details) carried your unconscious body and encountered Jinx before being taken by the Firelights. Your skin prickles at the mention of Jinx—you’ve never seen her, but she has a fearsome reputation.

You resist the urge to reach for Vi again, feeling like she’ll disappear. Get a grip, you think, it’s been years. She never liked you back, anyway.

“How long was I out?” You ask instead, dreading the answer.

“Just for the night,” Vi says. To your surprise, she reaches out and takes your hands, squeezing them tight. Her familiar rough hand wraps almost make you tear up again. She did the same when you were both younger, whenever you got scared. Her hands are just as steady now. “Ekko wants me to tell you that your mother is okay.”

The tightness in your chest eases. “Wait—I don’t understand, how does he know—”

“Ah, well, apparently he’s formed this group—the Firelights. They’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

Part of you is a little hurt that he never reached out, but another part understands perfectly why he didn’t, considering the line of work you do. Reluctantly, you release her hands, running your own through your sweaty hair and flopping back on the pillows, exhausted all of a sudden. You peek one eye open to see Vi gazing at you. Quickly, you close your eyes again, before you can linger at the bow of her lips or the warmth in her eyes.

“What?” You ask.

“You just look different. All grown up,” she says.

“I bet I look like shit.”

“You look tired.” Vi squeezes your knee briefly, then stands. “Rest a while longer—”

“Don’t go!” The words are out before you can feel embarrassed.

She brushes two fingers lightly along your cheek. “I’ll be right outside, I promise.”

You watch her leave, shame heating your face. Ridiculous. Seeing her once, and now you are just as flustered as you’d been when you were younger.

Vi is, indeed outside the door once you finish washing up. Your head still hurts, but your vision is steady, and you feel like a new person freshly scrubbed and in clean clothes.

Her face lights up when she sees you, but before she can say anything, the dark-haired woman beside her speaks, “You’re awake, then?”

“Yes,” you say. She introduces herself as Caitlyn, and you introduce yourself as well. “Thank you. For not leaving me.”

“Vi insisted. It was tricky carrying you, I’m surprised you’re not more bruised.”

“Oh,” you reply. It seems moronic to say “thank you” again. Her probing stare makes you uncomfortable. It doesn’t feel like she’s being outright hostile—maybe lugging around your unconscious body annoyed her? The small hallway steeps in awkward silence.

You’re spared another grueling conversation when three cloaked figures round the corner. Still feeling vulnerable, you step closer to Vi. Her hand, familiar and calloused, finds yours and squeezes. Blushing, you start to turn to her when one of the figures flips his hood back.

Deep brown eyes meet yours. You both pause to take in each other’s features—he looks so grown up. You run into his arms. Ekko laughs and squeezes you tight. “Hey, you.”

You pull back and hit his shoulder lightly. “I can’t believe you didn’t come find me!”

Some of his brightness dims a little in sadness. “I didn’t—I didn’t know if I’d be welcome. After what happened with your sister.”

You feel Vi’s stare boring into the side of your face, and hot shame tightens your throat again. You close your eyes so you don’t see your sister’s ghost. Ekko pulls you into another hug, and says so only you can hear, “I’m sorry.”

You squeeze him back and reluctantly let go. It’s so nice to see him again. “Thank you. For looking after my mother.”

“It’s no trouble. We’ll continue to, until you’re recovered. I’d like to bring her here but…”

You shake your head. “No. This is more than enough.”

You’re happy to avoid Vi and Caitlyn as Ekko shows you around, (though you can tell they’re both whispering to each other) explains how he founded the Firelights. Your aching heart is soothed a bit by the leaves and trees and more fresh air than you’ve ever imagined. You can scarcely believe that it’s real. Ekko finishes showing you around, and you make a beeline to your room to rest, to process.

It doesn’t take long for Vi to come in (though, hadn’t you locked the door?) you don’t look at her as you tug on a sweatshirt Ekko left for you. You’ve always run cold.

Vi sighs and runs a hand back through her hair, sitting next to you on the bed. You used to do this, when you were younger. You would mess up, and afraid of telling your sister, you’d go to Vi instead. And she’d either assure you it would be okay, that your sister wouldn’t be disappointed in you, or help you talk to her herself. You wished she could do that now, but having her here is enough. And you’d both sit, just like this.

Your hands are close enough that her pinky rests against yours, and it somehow feels scalding. There’s a loose thread on the black sweatshirt Ekko gave you, three of them actually— “You won’t look at me?” Vi’s voice breaks the silence.

Steeling yourself, you turn and look, and your pulse pounds in your ears anyway. She looks so achingly familiar and new all at once. You don’t want to talk about it, and you scramble for anything else to say, so you blurt out what comes to mind: “Do you trust Caitlyn?”

“She saved my life.”

That isn’t an answer, you think, but don’t say. “Are you okay? I mean, really okay, after Stillwater, after everything?”

Vi’s breath catches for a moment, and then she laughs wryly. “I have to be, don’t I?”

“You don’t,” you say. You want to follow it up with “because I’ll help you.” But what use would you be, really? When you were younger, any time you tried to help, fix something, you’d break it. And now, your best skill is running. Running away. You can’t even fight. Instead, what comes out is, “You can talk to me.” It feels like an empty offering.

Vi takes your hand and squeezes. “You can talk to me too.”

Your breath shudders, because you want to, all of a sudden everything feels like too much, like your chest is a floodgate. But you can’t because what would you say? My sister is dead because of me. There’s not much else to explain.

You’re not sure why it’s all coming to the surface now. Maybe because, Vi has always meant safety, has always meant home.

Keeping hold of your hand, she slips off the bed to kneel in front of you. You squeeze your eyes shut until her other hand cups your cheek. “Hey.” You open your eyes, blinking away tears. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

You laugh and wipe at your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

Shaking your head, you lean back from her touch. As much as you missed her kindness, it hurts too much. “I’m fine. It was years ago.”

Vi doesn’t move. Her gaze pins you and you’re helpless but to look at her. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, “Ekko filled me in. Just his side but it was enough for me to know—it wasn’t your fault. Shit, sweetheart, you were just a kid.”

Biting your lip against the tears, you shake your head again. This is too much. This isn’t even what’s important right now. Vi reaches up, thumb brushing the tears away from your cheek. Your breath catches in your throat as her thumb grazes your lower lip. She pulls away before you can do something stupid, and stands, collapsing on the bed beside you.

“Mind if I stay?”

You flop down next to her, both on your sides facing each other. You ache to move closer to her, to bask in her reassurance like you used to. It suddenly feels like every night of missing her comes back full force. But your eyes sting, and you’re so tired, you don’t want to cry anymore. She sees the sorrow in your face anyway and presses her thumb against the divot between your brows.

“I missed you,” she says, and, “you saved me. In there.”

You snort. “How so? I didn’t even try and find you.”

“With Powder, I knew I had to get back to her. You, I didn’t—” she pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know what happened to you. I knew I had to find you, or if you were gone—find whoever was responsible. It kept me going.”

You don’t know what to say to that, without spilling your heart out to her. Your hand twitches towards hers, and before you can take it, she grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together. Heat rushes up your face and you try to ignore it, squeezing her hand. “I missed you too.” You swallow, trying to find the words, wondering if there’s too much longing in your voice, if you’ve already given too much away. “I’m sorry you were stuck in there.”

She brings your hands a little closer, thumb tracing patterns on your skin. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

You watch her eyes, and when that becomes overwhelming, drink in the other features of her face—the new eyebrow scar, how her face has sharpened. You trace the line of her throat, the gear tattoo peeking out from her jacket collar. You wonder what you must look like to her, if her heartbeat quickens like yours if you stare too long. Your eyelids start to droop and you blink awake in time to catch Vi gazing at you, face soft.

Your gaze snags on her lips. I could kiss her.

“You can sleep,” she whispers.

You scoot away and sit up, trying to calm your racing heart. Heat flares through you, electric like always when you’re near her. “I slept too much already.” You pause, unsure what to say. You don’t know what the next step for her is. “You have to go, right?”

“I do.”

“Can I…” you’re scared. What if she says no? “Can I come?”

To your surprise, Vi’s lips almost quirk into a smile. “Of course. Let’s go.”

***

Read part ii.

#vi x reader #arcane x reader #arcane 2021 #arcane fic #reader-insert #fem!reader #fanfic #seemingly unrequited love #LISTEN I WANTED ANGST AND YEARNING #self-indulgent #vi #vi arcane #idk how tags work or how Tumblr works for that matter #Emma-Writes #arcane #arcane vi x reader

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runawaymun · 1 year

Note

🔥🤔🐉

(And for a special challenge how about making the last one not Elrond, or in addition to Elrond - that'd be easy mode for you!)

🔥 Give us your hottest Silm hot take.

anti Earendil hot take (SORRY)

🤔 Tell us one of your favorite Silm headcanons. Can be one that’s out in the wild or a personal one!

I have so many, but I'll do one that I don't think I've posted about before. It's been floating around in my head for a while and I don't think it's really living in my brain as a canon headcannon, if that makes sense, but it's something I like to entertain every once in awhile.

Listen, a lot of wack things happened in the Silmarillion so I'm not saying that it is implausible that Elwing got turned into a white bird by Ulmo and flew to be with Earendil in the sky, and they sailed to Valinor together-- but I'm just saying it sounds very much like the kind of thing you would tell a distraught six-year-old to get them to stop crying, or-- as a leader, would tell a disinhertened group of people in the wake of a massacre to try and ease the sting of the fact that you can't find a body.

Like I just think there's something juicy about it. Like the last time we couldn't find a body in the Silm it was because Fingon had gotten trampled in the mire of his blood. And I like the idea of everyone going no, not again, not her, she's too little, she's not even fifty years old, not the child we crowned too early. It feels like the way that humans in the real world mythologized saints who met grisly deaths.

And also I wouldn't put it past the Ambarussa, ok? @ellrond and I were chatting about this because like...the Ambarussa are canonically two of the most vicious and unhinged of the sons of Feanor, and were in some versions of the story absolutely chomping at the bit for bloodshed when it came to Sirion, and also were pretty messed up due to the Oath. Crazy, crazy shit went down at Sirion -- and Celegorm was their fav brother, and that's the daughter of the man that killed/humiliated him.

And again idk I just think it sounds like something you'd tell a pair of distraught six year olds. There's something I very much like about "no, no you're fine omg please stop crying your mom's ok! your mom's ok i promise she uhhhhhhhhhh she jumped in the ocean and Ulmo turned her into a bird and she's with your dad in the sky!! Kano please get them to stop crying--"

🐉 A lot of figures in the Silm have weird Eldritch powers or possibly biology. Tell us about your headcanons for one.

fine, fineeeeee

IDK how to explain this one very well in terms of biology, but I love taking things Jirt gave us about characters to the most literal extreme I can, and that includes Maglor "Kanafinwe". I think aside from Elrond, my headcannons about Maglor were my first exploration into my system of Songs of Power and what it all looks like/what's possible from a Music standpoint. Again, not really sure how to explain it so here are some excerpts from And the Stars Shine the Same and Boundless Sky

A shout pierced the night. A shout full of power such that Glorfindel had not heard in an Age. The shock of it knocked three legions of Orcs off their feet as the very earth trembled. Glorfindel's eardrums popped. The Champion's blade actually froze mid-swing and a figure launched through the air, sword gripped in two bandaged hands, glowing gold. Black hair glimmering in the starshine, storm-gray eyes swirling with the light of Valinor, a Song rising from his lips which pained the Champion as much as any weapon.

An ear-splitting Shout cracked through the air: a slide of dissonant notes loud as an avalanche. The wolverine snapped back the opposite direction as if yanked by a rope, slammed into a nearby rock, then went limp. Maglor stumbled for a second, out of breath, and Elrohir had to catch him before his legs buckled.

“He’s panicking. We need to get him home.” Maglor’s voice had taken on a whip-crack quality that neither of the twins had heard before, but obeyed without thinking. Elrohir bent to collect the scattered remains of Thalionel’s knapsack, and Elladan found himself starting up the hill to pack up their things before he was even aware he’d begun to walk.

I just love thinking about these legendary figures and thinking how legendary are they, really? Like on the one hand this is probably not what Jirt meant when it came to kanafinwe, but I think it's Neat. I love the idea of Maglor's Voice and command of Music being so strong that he can cause physical damage. Hell, I mean, from a scientific point sheer volume can kill someone. But I think it's more along the lines of not only volume, but also a uncanny ability to take someone's Theme and confuse it/yank it out of tune, or to find a kind of music that sounds so Wrong to them that it drives them to pain/madness (like Dissonant Whispers in DnD, you know?)

And then there's the makalaure angle - which I read as like, okay sure his voice is gorgeous, but how persuasive is he? To the point that you don't even really realize it? Playing your mind/body like an instrument to do exactly what he needs/wants you to do in that moment? No fucking wonder he was terrifying and earned his epithets.

I love wet pathetic woobie baby apologetic minstrel Maglor as much as the next person, but also give me terrifying Maglor. "Gold-cleaver" Maglor who can rip people apart at a molecular level with his voice. "Commanding" Maglor who can write his own intentions into your Musical Theme itself. Unhinged and powerful and terrifying.

And then let him miss when he was young, in Valinor, and was using that golden-tongue to sing lullabies to his baby brothers and sappy love-songs to adoring/exasperated audiences, instead of using it to kill.

silm ask meme

#the silmarillion #elwing #maglor

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fandom-imagines · 3 years

Text

Sweet little darling~

Fandom: House of Wax (2005)

Pairing: Bo Sinclair X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, domestic abuse (abusive relationship; not Bo) Kind of out-of-character Bo, depends on how you headcanon him for liking someone! Also not proofread yet.

Words: 2.55k

Summary: Kindness can get you killed, but it can also get you out of a sticky situation.

Part Two!

To anybody that saw their relationship, it was evident that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Perhaps it once had been, but it no longer was, and for good reason.

“You fucking bitch!” The scream echoed throughout the building, one body looming over a small, cowering young woman.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, doing her best to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. “Please don’t hurt m-“ her pleas were cut short as a tight hand grasped her arm and tugged her onto her feet, a harsh slap hitting her cheek shortly afterwards.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he cruelly laughed, mimicking her frightened and desperate tone. “How pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,”

With one final laugh, her boyfriend tossed her to the ground.

Laughter filled the truck the group of friends were currently seated in, music blaring through the speakers of a radio one of them had brought but their drunk selves were unable to remember who.

Four of the friends engaged in conversation about anything their clouded minds could think of, whilst the final friend lay against the side of the car, desperately avoiding the demanding gaze her boyfriend was giving her and had been giving her the entire night.

It was clear what he wanted.

Eyes fixated on the green of the grass beneath her, Y/N noticed an approaching truck. Choosing not to say anything, she silently waited for somebody else to notice the vehicle.

“Guys,” Lucy, a close friend of Y/N’s boyfriends, called. “Who is that?”

By now the headlights of the truck were focused on the gang who were circled around the campfire, narrowly avoiding Y/N’s figure.

“James, do something?” Y/N winced as she watched another of the girls grasp onto her boyfriends muscular arm, her blonde hair rubbing against his bare chest.

“Can we help you?” He yelled over the sound of the roaring engine, their music having been paused the second they had notice the driver. “Look dude, this isn’t funny. Just fuck off!”

James’s final sentence was one that made his girlfriend cringe, body remembering the way he had hurt her the night before using that exact same tone; it almost made her cry.

Deciding to stop him before this escalated any further, Y/N made her way towards James before placing a hand on his chest to signal him to back down. This seemed to only anger him further, something that was clear by the way his hands balled into fists. Nobody noticed, except one other person.

“Leave it,” she whispered into his ear, hand dropping from his body to hopefully ease his anger.

James’s hand reach out to her, grabbing his own with a bruising force and tugging her into him as he leaned down to her ear, ignoring the whistles from his friends who assumed he was saying something sexual.

“Just you wait till I get you alone,” James snarled in her ear, unaware of the way an unknown man glared at him before driving away.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” James spat, smashing his hand against the cars hood. “It’s busted, the fan belt is fucked.”

His anger seemed to put everybody on edge as they all fell into an uncomfortable silence, something that was uncommon for them.

“You needed a new one anyway,” Y/N mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Don’t you fucking start,” while his words were directed towards his girlfriend, the others assumed it was aimed at the car in sarcasm; ignorance is bliss after all.

“I can help y’all.” A seemingly kind voice yelled from behind them, having heard the entire conversation. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear ya. There’s a town not to far from here. A guy, Bo, runs a gas stop, I’m sure he’d have some.”

Before James could rudely decline this man, Y/N decided to respond. “Do you know how to get there?”

“I’ll drive ya! Truck can only fit two of you though,”

“That’d be great!” She gave the unnamed man a gentle smile, one which he gladly returned. “When are you ready?”

“Now is good,”

She simply nodded, rushing towards the car without giving James a chance to say anything, only leaving him time to follow her, but not before a “fuck sake,” left his lips.

“Thank you so much, Lester!” She grinned once again as she hopped from his truck.

“It was no bother, pleasure to meet you Y/N,” he smiled back at her, ruffling her hair slightly before realising the angered look on James’s face. “And you of course,” he nodded awkwardly whilst his hand dropped back to his side. “You two take care now,” and with those words, he drove away.

“Fucking slutting yourself out to weird men, typical,” James spat as he tugged Y/N’s hand so that she was following him into the town, ignoring how she almost tripped in the process.

“I’m sorry, I was just being nice. He was helping us!” She all but yelled, silently praying for him to loosen his grip so that she doesn’t have to use all of her concealer hiding, yet another, mark from him.

“Sure he was. He didn’t just want to get into your pants or anything, huh?”

Ignoring his hurtful words, Y/N began to look around the town.

It was quiet, too quiet. But when she began to think, it was Sunday and there was a Church up ahead at the end of the road which would make more sense, especially considering how early in the morning it was.

“There’s the garage,” James said, dropping her hand to instead point at the small garage not far from them. “Let’s go,”

Y/N followed him, quickly striding to keep up with his large legs.

“There’s nobody here,” she sighed, watching as James just barged his way into the unoccupied garage. “You can’t just go in there! That’s rude.”

“Do I give a fuck? Wait out there for all I care,”

So she chose to do just that.

“Oh, hi!” A tall man in a suit gave Y/N a bright grin, accidentally startling her slightly. “You need something?”

“O-oh, hi! Uhm, my boyfriend is in there, I’m sorry I told him not too, he needs a fan belt? I have no idea what one of them is but I-“

The man chuckled, smiling once again as he put his arm around her waist to guide her inside. “Don’t worry, darling. I got ya,” his words were somewhat calming, as though he was offering to protect her from James, despite not knowing what was going on, or perhaps he did.

“You finally grew a p-“James’s words fell short as he turned to see a man, who was significantly taller than him, stood beside his girlfriend. “Hello?”

“Hi, names Bo,” Bo’s tone was a lot blunter than the charming one he had been using previously. “You need something?” He repeated his previous words, instead this time to James and less kind. “You are in my garage after all.”

Despite knowing that Bo could easily subdue him, James chose to get angry anyway. “You got a problem with me? Don’t leave it unlocked if you don’t want people coming in,”

“James leave it,” Y/N gently pushed herself between Bo and James as James began to try get into his face. “Just ask him for what you need and let’s go.”

“Fine, we need a fan belt. Fifteen inch.”

“I might be able to do that, but you’ve already had a look so let me know what I’ve got,” Bo smirked at the angered expression on the mans face at his words.

So maybe he did have a problem with James, a problem neither of the couple knew of.

“Not a fifteen,”

“Then they’re back at the house,”

“The house? Why would they be there?”

“Deliveries are delivered there, easier for everyone really.”

Y/N watched as the two men interacted, Bo incredibly calm whilst James was boiling with anger. Part of her was scared of how he would react, his threat about ‘waiting till they’re alone’ floating around in her mind, yet some strange part of her felt safe knowing that Bo was there. Perhaps it was the fact that he could fight him with ease, or maybe that James would, most likely, never harm her in front of another person.

“Let’s just go,” She pleaded, desperation swimming in her Y/E/C orbs.

“No, I’ll stay, you go.” James seemed pleased with this idea, smirking at the way his girlfriends body tensed; he enjoyed the fear he caused her.

“That’s fine with me,” Bo chimed in, offering Y/N a smile. “That fine with you?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

“Let me just lock up,” Bo said, leading the visitors out into the street, much to James’s dismay, before locking up. “Let’s go then.” He gave James one last sarcastic smile before leading Y/N away from him.

“Do you live with anyone here?”

Y/N and Bo had been talking for a while now, having chosen to take a slow walk instead. He was nice, to her anyway. She felt as though he understood her, despite not knowing a thing about her.

“Nah, I live with my brother,” Came his response, winking at the girl as he ran a hand through his dark hair, enjoying the way she blushed under his gaze.

She knew it was wrong, finding him both attractive and sweet. But he was both of those, and James was neither, not to her at least. Maybe it was because he was the first person to be this kind to her in a long time, or maybe it was the feeling of safety she felt around him, but she was enjoying his company more than anyone else’s.

“Oh, that must be fun!”

Bo chuckled at her enthusiasm, “I suppose so,”

The pair walked up to Bo’s home, guilt filling the girl’s chest each time she let Bo’s hand brush against her own. She simply enjoyed the sparks flying throughout her body, forgetting about the pain she would receive later as a punishment.

“We’re here,” Bo’s words pulled Y/N from her thoughts, almost tripping over a rock as she came back to reality. “Easy there,” Bo shook his head whilst smiling as he caught her, sneakily pulling her body into his own without her realising it was not an accident.

“Thank you,” she blushed, unknowingly allowing herself to melt into his touch, feeling the need to savour every kind and gentle touch she was getting from a stranger.

“No problem, darling,” he smirked, once again enjoying the way she blushed at the nickname he had given her.

Hand still around her waist, Bo guided her into his home.

“Take a seat, I need to get out of this horrible suit.” His words caused a giggle to leave Y/N’s lips, her head nodding as she took a seat on the faded leather couch, watching Bo leave the room to go change.

“Sorry to keep ya waiting, Darl.” Bo’s voice startled Y/N, her body jolting in a way that made Bo feel slightly guilty, something that he rarely felt. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay. It was my fault,” she offered him a weak smile, twiddling with the hem of her short-sleeved t-shirt when he seated himself beside her.

“That looks painful,” his hands cautiously reached out to gently take her hand, fingers lightly running across a hand-shaped bruise that had began to form. “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that,” Bo’s spare hand reached up to her face, hand cupping one cheek which made her flinch, Bo frowning at the action.

“S-sorry,”

Bo had no idea why she was apolgoising to him. It had been him that touched her, but it all made sense in his head.

“Does he hit you?”

Her lack of response was enough for him to understand to full situation.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be, darling.” He sighed, hand moving from her cheek to her neck to pull her head towards his lips, planting a soft kiss on it, something that made her almost cry along with his sweet words.

“Thank you,” her own arms wrapped around his torso, grateful to be given affection without it feeling forced.

“You took your time,” James spat as Y/N walked towards him, Bo having quickly headed to the gas station for something that she couldn’t remember the name of. “Were you shagging him or something?”

“N-no,” the nervousness in her voice was something that caused Y/N to cringe, knowing that he wouldn’t believe her.

“Oh, you were.” James’s hands balled into fists as he stalked towards her, ready to attack.

“No, I had to get changed,” Bo’s deep voice startled both of them, James’s fists unclenching immediately.

“Sorry, man. Can’t be too careful with girls like these, can you?” He laughed, trying to play off his previous words as a joke.

“Can’t be too careful with men like yourself either, can you?” Bo’s words seemed innocent, despite having a deeper meaning.

“What?” James snapped. “You told him about us?” He yelled as he turned to face Y/N whose breathing was becoming laboured in fear. “You little bitch!”

As James began to march towards his girlfriend, a tight hand grabbed his fist, spinning him to face the holder only to not be able to see because of a hard punch hitting him in the jaw. The only thing he could hear was a gasp from Y/N and the ringing in his ears as he dropped to the ground.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Bo sniggered. “You can hit a woman but the second a man touches you, you’re out cold. Pathetic,”

Y/N stood frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react.

She hadn’t expected Bo to attack him. In fact, she hadn’t expected him to do anything at all to him or about her situation. Those who knew didn’t care, so why would a stranger?

“You fucking dick!” James screamed, climbing back onto his feet to throw a punch at Bo, one that he barely reacted to.

“Leave him alone!” Y/N yelled, darting between James and Bo, shoving James away from him to the best of her ability.

“You fucking whore. I should’ve known this is what would’ve happened. Actually, I guess I already did.” His words were fast, but his fist moved towards her faster.

Bo was quicker however, grabbing the man’s fist and twisting it behind his back before kicking his legs from beneath him, effectively knocking him to the ground again.

“Vincent!” Bo yelled. “Got one for ya,” both Y/N and James were confused at his words, fear filling them both as a masked man came running out into the street, knife in hand.

Bo took Y/N’s hand, pushing her behind his hand so that she couldn’t see the horror that Vincent was committing to her boyfriend in full glory.

“Y-you killed him…” Her words were quiet, watching from one eye as the man, who she assumed to be Vincent, tugged away the lifeless body. “Are you going to kill me too?”

“You’re safe here, Y/N.” Bo’s words were quiet, praying nobody else heard his true self speaking. “I’ll take care of you. Nobody will ever hurt you again, my sweet little darling.”

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jbuchanan-barnes · 3 years

Text

as long as we have each other

Summary: While on a mission, something unexpected happens to Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2,359

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mention of illegal weapons dealing, blood. This is the first time I'm posting something that I've written, and I'm very nervous. I feel like that should be a warning 🙈

A/N: Hi! This is for @wkemeup 's 9k writing challenge - Character A cleans Character B's wounds after a rough mission. [A]'s fingers linger over scarred muscle as they finish wrapping the bandage.

Congrats on 9k Kas!! Also, thank you to @thefanbasewhore for proof reading!!

divider credits to @bwbatta

After coming back from a two week long solo mission in Warsaw, you were just about ready to take a nice long bath and sleep for a week. As you walked off the quinjet, it was no surprise to see a certain metal armed super soldier waiting for you with his arms crossed.

As you close the space between you, his eyes rake over you from top to bottom to check for injuries. “I was starting to think your mission would never end,” Bucky says, smirking down at you. “And by the looks of it, I think you thought the same thing.” “Shut up,” you respond with a halfhearted glare. His smirk melts into a gentle smile as he pulls you into his arms. “I missed you,” Bucky replies as he buries his face into your neck. “Two weeks is too long to go without seeing you.” You hum in agreement as your hands travel to his hair. After a few moments of standing tangled together, you break the silence. “As much as I’d love to hug you forever, I’m dying to get out of this suit.” Bucky pulls out of your embrace, kisses you on the head, and gently takes your hand. You let him lead you through the compound towards your room, but before you’re able to make it past the kitchen, you’re interrupted. “Oh! Y/N, Barnes!” Tony exclaims, “Just the people I needed to talk to.” You groan just as Bucky responds. “Can it wait, Stark? Y/N just got back from Poland.” “Unfortunately,” Tony replies, “I need you both to Brazil tomorrow.” “There’s a guy who has been harboring stolen SHIELD tech since the incident at the triskelion, and he finally popped back up on our radar,” he elaborates. “You can’t send someone else?” You inquire, your lips turning down into a frown. “I’m afraid not,” Tony sounds apologetic as he responds. “I need all hands on deck for this mission. I’m even pulling Steve out of retirement.” Tony winks at you. “Luckily for you,” he continues, “This mission requires us to stay at one of the fanciest hotels in Río.” Tony glances at his watch before adding “I need you two in the briefing room by eight am tomorrow so we can go over the details before we depart. Until then, go rest Y/N.” You take a deep breath and nod as Bucky agrees.

As you finally enter your shared room, Bucky jokingly says “We should have snuck in through the back way.” “It’s fine,” you tell him dejectedly. “Tony would have found another way to contact us. It is what it is.” Your long bath would have to wait.

As you rush to take a quick shower, Bucky returns to the kitchen to make you something to eat. When he comes back, you scarf down the leftovers as Bucky takes his turn in the bathroom. By the time you’re finished, Bucky is all ready for bed. While you brush your teeth, he takes the opportunity to climb into bed and check his phone. When you walk out of the bathroom, you can’t help but take a minute to admire your boyfriend. Although he looks very attractive sitting in bed shirtless, your heart flutters at the peaceful look on his face. Bucky has been through so much, but with you, he’s totally at ease.

You’re broken out of your reverie by Bucky’s soft voice. “Hey,” he says with a gentle smile. “C’mere, doll.” You crawl into bed and let Bucky pull you into his arms. As you lay your head on his chest, Bucky idly traces random patterns onto your back. Just as you’re starting to drift off, his voice pulls you back. “How are you feeling about the mission tomorrow?” “Honestly,” you drowsily respond. “If Tony is okay with giving us all the details the day of, it should be pretty easy.” Bucky hums in agreement. “Why?” you continue. “You’re not worried about it, are you?” “Oh, no!” Bucky denies. “I just wanted to make sure you aren’t worried about it since you aren’t getting a break.” “I’ll be fine,” you say, pretending to be annoyed. “If my boyfriend will be quiet so I can sleep.” Bucky laughs and kisses your forehead. “Okay, okay!” he yields to your teasing. “Good night, sweetheart.” As you start to fall asleep, you sleepily respond. “Good night Buckaroo. I love you.” Just before you drift into unconsciousness, you hear Bucky’s quiet voice. “I love you too, doll.”

The next morning, when you arrive in the briefing room, Tony is too chipper for eight in the morning. While you would rather be in bed, he seems as if he’s already had two cups of coffee (at least). Bucky appears to be neither tired, nor overly energetic, while everyone else falls somewhere in between.

“Antonio Silva is the guy we’re looking for,” Tony begins by showing everyone a picture of the man you need to find. “He is originally from Campinas, Brazil.” Tony takes a moment to pull up a picture of the map. “Based on our intell, he is planning on making a sale tonight in São Paulo.” “You said he has stolen tech?” you inquire. Steve takes the opportunity to speak up. “He actually worked for SHIELD before it fell. Well, hydra technically.” He turns to Natasha. “Did you see his name anywhere in the files you released?” Nat shakes her head. “No. I don’t think he was important enough to have in the files.” “I guess that explains why he turned on them and stole tech,” Sam laughs. “Either way,” Tony directs everyone’s attention back to the mission briefing. “He’s planning on selling to black market weapons dealers at the ten year anniversary gala of the hotel, and we need to stop the sale, arrest Silva, and capture the weapons dealers.” Tony pulls up a map of the hotel. “Steve will be disguised as a bartender, and Sam and I will be flying above the hotel, should anything go south. Y/N and Barnes, you two will be disguised as a mob boss and his wife looking to purchase some weapons. As soon as you make contact, make the arrest. Natasha, I want you floating around the room taking inventory of the weapons dealers in the room. A team of agents will be joining us to assist with taking people into custody should they not be compliant. Since Silva has the weapons in storage somewhere, as long as we have him and the dealers in custody, taking back the weapons should be easy. We just need the guy who knows where they are. Does anyone have any questions?” A series of no’s are heard as everyone responds. “Then everyone go pack, and be ready for the quinjet to take off in an hour.”

The flight is relatively quiet, interrupted only by Sam giving out some last minute instructions. However, as soon as the jet lands, everyone is thrown into go mode.

By the time you make it to the hall where the celebration is being held, the party is in full swing. You watch Natasha silently slip into the room in total spy mode. She glances over at you and nods slightly for you and Bucky to make your entrance. You make your way to the bar for the next few minutes as you watch Nat float around the room.

After about ten minutes, she walks up to the bar and asks Steve for a drink, discreetly informing you that all of the weapons dealers are here. Steve signals for all of the agents to fall into place as you and Bucky turn to approach Silva. Before you make it to where Silva is, he takes one look at Bucky and bolts. That’s when all hell breaks loose. Agents start drawing their guns left and right, while the dealers begin pulling out their weapons to fight back. As the gunfire starts, Tony and Sam join the fight, shield flying, while Bucky takes off after Silva. As soon as you know that they’ll be fine without you, you take off after Bucky. Once Bucky and Silva are in your line of sight, you can tell that Bucky is struggling. It’s apparent that Silva has found some way to disable Bucky’s vibranium arm. As Bucky does his best to fight one handed, Silva punches him in the nose before pulling out two knives. Before you can reach them, you watch in horror as Silva thrusts a knife into Bucky’s thigh, while slicing at his throat with the other knife. Bucky barely dodges the second blade, but not before the tip catches his collar bone.

As soon as you get to them, you tackle Silva to give Bucky the chance to reset his arm. You’re able to block a few of Silva’s attempts to stab you, and kick the knives out of his hands before Bucky joins the fight again.

When it’s apparent that you and Bucky have the upper hand again, Silva pauses. “I really didn’t want to do this to you Barnes, but you left me no choice.” Before you have time to wonder what Silva is talking about, he continues.

“Sputnik.”

Before the word is even out of his mouth, Bucky goes rigid and keels over. As he collapses, your whole world collapses with him. Shock, confusion, and panic roll through you as Steve arrives just in time to handle Silva. You rush to Bucky’s side, and as you find his steady pulse, your anxious heart settles just a little. There is chaos all around you, but you don’t have time to care as you focus on Bucky. As soon as Silva and the dealers are in custody, Sam and Steve help carry Bucky back to your hotel room. After they leave, you take the opportunity to pull out your first aid supplies. Just as you’re finishing collectiving everything you need, Bucky begins to regain consciousness.

“What happened?” His confusion is evident, even in his groggy state. “I’m not entirely sure,” you tell him, hesitantly. “Silva said a word and it was like it just flipped your off switch.” Bucky stays silent as you carefully help him sit up. “I need to clean your knife wounds,” you say gently. “Which means we need to get you out of your tactical gear.” Bucky helps you undress him to the best of his current ability, but he seemingly can’t let the situation pass without playfully making light of what’s happening. “You know, this would be a whole lot more romantic if you lit a few candles.” You snort in response and reply, “It would be a whole lot more romantic if you weren’t bleeding on the sheets.”

Once Bucky is stripped to just his boxers, you help him lean back against the headboard. Bucky silently watches as you pull out the butterfly bandages and antiseptic wipes. You’ve done this so many times that you don’t even bother to tell Bucky that it might sting. He knows the drill, but that doesn’t stop you from doing your best to be gentle. During his seventy years of being tortured and brainwashed, too many people have been rough with him and have treated him harshly. You know he’s not fragile, but you can’t help but pretend that each gentle touch will replace each bad memory of painful touches. Bucky doesn’t flinch as you wipe the cut on his thigh with the wipe. He simply watches as you move to apply the butterfly bandages in the absence of stitches. You wrap the cohesive bandage over the wound and around Bucky’s thigh, but you both know it really doesn’t matter. His wounds will stitch themselves together within a day or two anyway. As you move up to clean the cut just above his left collarbone, your eyes trace the marred scars where metal meets flesh. After you clean and bandage the cut, you let your fingers lightly trail over the scars. You follow the trail of your fingers with soft kisses before looking up to meet Bucky’s eyes. The way he’s looking at you could only be described as adoration, and he gently grabs the back of your neck to bring you in for a kiss. The kiss is soft, but no less toe curling. Like Bucky is using the kiss to convey the way he feels, without knowing how to put those feelings into words. When you break apart, you’re reminded that you need to tend to the small cuts and bruises on his face. You wipe the blood off and apply the antiseptic onto some of the smaller cuts before moving on to the bridge of Bucky’s nose. After cleaning the wound, you smile slightly as you run your finger down his nose. The action makes Bucky scrunch his nose slightly, and you laugh lightly at his reaction. The silence is comfortable and you’re both at ease with each other enough to not always require words.

You help Bucky settle into the bed before cleaning up the first aid supplies and moving to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As you finish up in the bathroom and climb into bed, Bucky breaks the lingering silence. “I’m not sure what happened earlier.” You can hear the concern in his voice. “I thought Shuri removed all the trigger words, but apparently there was a fail safe buried deep in my head.” You ponder his words before responding. “We can start looking into it tomorrow. I can call Shuri and see if she has time for us to go see her.” “For right now,” you continue, “let’s just rest.” Bucky nods before tilting your chin up so your lips can meet. He kisses you softly and slowly before pulling away. “I love you.” He tells you with conviction, like he doesn’t know what might happen tomorrow. “I love you too, James Buchanan. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.” Bucky smiles slightly while pulling you closer to him. You may not have all the answers, but you have each other. As you both drift off to sleep, that’s enough.

#kas9kwc #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Note

feysand prompt (+ smut request!)

(either modern au or canon)

feysand experiment with blindfolds/handcuffs/teasing BUT they have a long conversation about it first and establish that both of them are actually okay with it

when they do it (idk if this would make sense) feyre starts on top but then afterwards rhys takes control so they both get to try being dom/sub

Oof okay there's a lot in there and this has become very very long without me even getting through everything I have to say!! I know this is not the approach you had in mind but it's what came out in the end... also I have stolen a line from Suicide Squad.

Lessons

It is the first anniversary of their mating and after a year, Feyre sometimes thinks the frenzy of the new bond is finally abating.

Rhys will smile and laugh as Cassian jostles her shoulder at dinner, will twinkle his eyes at Mor when she smooths a stray hair back from Feyre’s face.

Other times, it’s in full force. Rhys waits until they are back in the privacy of their own room, and then he glazes over with lust and confesses his every envy into Feyre’s skin as he pounds her into the mattress (the floor, the wall, the bathtub).

Either way, a year is worth celebrating, and Feyre walks by Rhys’s favourite lingerie shop on her way home. The shop clerks know what day it is, and are already a-titter. Feyre blushes and says she wants something special, even though she knows Rhys has gone through this store several times over. She picks out something in the shade of red that he likes, but when she collects the bag it is heavier than she expects. The clerk winks at her. Something special, they whisper. When Feyre gets home, she tips the bag out on the bed and a pair of leather and brass handcuffs fall out.

Rhys walks through the bedroom door before she can register her surprise, and he stops at the sight of them. One eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitch upward, and Feyre says, "They were a gift from the shop."

Rhys comes up behind Feyre and slides his arms around her waist, planting a kiss on the back of her shoulder as he surveys the contents of her bag. Over the course of the year, Rhys has delighted in discovering the ways he can turn Feyre on. One of the very lovely things about her is that she gets so pliant in his hands. Today, he has a different idea for her.

"How would you like to be in charge today, Feyre darling?" Rhys purrs against her neck.

"In... charge?" Feyre asks.

"Yes," Rhys says. He kisses his way up to the nape of her neck. "I think you could do it."

Feyre bites her lip, and leans into the warmth of his body. "Will you show me how?"

"Of course," Rhys agrees. "You can be in control for, say, twenty minutes. And then we'll swap. Okay?"

From the air he pulls a hourglass filled with what looks like black smoke, and a floating silver ball. When the time is up, the ball will drop and ring against the glass.

"Okay," Feyre nods, with only a little nervousness. Rhys sets the timer on the nightstand.

"Alright," he said. "But first." He pulls back and looks at her, and his magic vanishes her clothes. He spends long seconds drinking in her naked body, before carefully dressing her in the red lace set. When he is done, he sits down on the end of the bed. "So how do you want me?" he asks her. And the smoke the in the hourglass begins to move.

Feyre tilts her head, and a blush steals over her pale cheeks. Although she knows Rhys knows what she likes, she's not used to vocalising it. "Shirt off," she whispers, and is gratified by Rhys's jacket hitting the floor, and his shirt being pulled slowly over his head. Rhys's eyes never move from hers. He holds his wrists out to her, and very shyly, she fastens the handcuffs around his wrists.

"And now what?" Rhys asks her softly.

Feyre steps between his knees and kisses his mouth. She raises his cuffed wrists and puts his hands behind his neck, and then sits on his lap to straddle him. It makes him hard in an instant.

"Like this?" she asks Rhys, putting her hands on his chest.

"Like how ever you want my love," Rhys says. But he lifts his hips a little, because he knows what Feyre likes.

Indeed Feyre's fingers close a little tighter on Rhys's shoulders, and if it's all about what she wants, it turns out what she actually wants is to be able to grind in his lap like this. Usually, his hands would pull her hips against him but they're stuck behind his head, so Feyre has to make her own rhythm. She lets her head fall back and her eyes close, but then Rhys says, "eyes on me."

She snaps her eyes open, and Rhys is grinning.

"That's it," he tells her. "Use me the way you want to. Make sure you watch while you do it." So she continues moving on him but this time looks into his eyes, and finds here a sparking lust that tightens across his face with every pass of her hips. A hot pride curls in her belly- that she can make him feel like this, and Rhys is right. It is worth keeping her eyes open for.

Feyre places her hands around Rhys's throat like he sometimes does to her, and the groan rumbles through him. Excitement flares in her chest, and she wonders what else she might do to him.

"Use your words," Rhys tells her next. "Tell me what you want."

"I want..." Feyre licks her lips. "I want you down on the bed."

"Okay," Rhys says. "So push me down like you mean it."

Feyre places a hand on the solid planes of his chest, and after only a moment's hesitation, she shoves hard. Rhys falls back, his hands still behind his head, and chuckles softly. "That's it," he encourages.

Feyre removes his trousers and Rhys is naked on the bed. She crawls up his legs, and while he watches her, she licks her tongue up the length of his cock.

Rhys's hips twitch, but he can't move his hands to her. He hums in his throat. Feyre smiles, and licks him again. Slides her hand around him while her lips shape over his head. Rhys's breathing starts to shallow, and it does beautiful things to the muscles in his torso. This time, she takes the whole of him into her mouth and Rhys groans long and low on the bed.

"That's it Feyre," he says again. "Like you know that I'm yours."

The words go to Feyre's head like heavy wine, and then she's running her nails down the flat of his stomach while her mouth works his cock. The sounds she wrests from him delight her, and every so often she glances up to see the way his triceps twitch. She knows he wants to put his hands in her hair, knows he wants to push her head down the way he wants it. But he can't, because his hands are bound behind his neck.

When Rhys starts to get loud, Feyre lifts her mouth from him and slides up his chest. He groans in complaint, and this thrills her. She wants him to want her. She lays her body over his, and nips at his lips. He's trying to kiss her properly, but she just snaps her teeth and laughs above him.

"Are you having fun darling?" Rhys asks her. Feyre bites down on his chin and nods. Her eyes dance and Rhys is smitten. He rolls his hips beneath her, but is powerless to do more while he is hand cuffed, and Feyre laughs again.

"Oh so if you're in charge, all you want is to tease?"

Feyre shrugs at first, and then moves a little lower to slide her hips on his. He lifts up off the bed to meet her, and her eyes are wide with joy. She slides over him again, and as he jerks under her she is giddy with the feeling of having so much effect on him, of being so in control of his pleasure. She wonders briefly if this is what it feels like for him when he doms, and then the thought fades away as the back and forth motion starts to heat her core, too.

She's just starting to lose herself in it, has just let her eyes slide closed in pleasure when the silver ball in the hourglass hits the glass and the sound peals out like a bell.

Feyre stops, looks at Rhys, and watches his eyes go wholly black.

"My turn," he whips out, low and dangerous, and then his magic flares and the dark gutters and suddenly Feyre is on her back beneath Rhys. She tries to reach up to him, but her wrists are shackled to the headboard.

"Submission is not weakness," Rhys told her. They had been mated only a few weeks and sometimes the need for him, her desire for him took over her so completely it felt like she was out of control. Over time, Rhys began to take the lead. Began to hold her tighter and tighter so she felt contained and grounded, until she needed his grip on her hips and his teeth in her skin. Feyre was relieved as she was mortified. Rhys noticed, and sat her down in the middle of the bed and told her that she only ever needed to submit to him when she wanted to, and when it fed her, and when she felt him worthy.

Rhys's shoulders move like a jungle cat, and a rolling purr slides from somewhere in his ribcage. Feyre finds that his weight is pressing down everywhere, and she can't move at all, and his cock is a pulse between her thighs.

"Possession is fragile but desire is divine," Rhys said. "Desire becomes surrender and surrender becomes power." He got to his knees and put her fingers to his lips.

Feyre feels the heat of his skin over every inch of her, and she relaxes into his touch. As fun as it had been to tease him, this is where she could truly let go, this is where her mind could finally stop, this is where she was free. And despite the heavy muscle that pins her to the mattress, she feels light as air. Rhys puts his mouth on her breast and pulls her nipple through his teeth, slow and viscous. He scrapes his fingers down her sides as his takes bites out of her neck, her collar bone, her stomach. He finds the knife edge of pain and adrenaline rushes through her on a wave of goosebumps, but she is never afraid.

"I promise you that I will always be in control so that you don't have to be. I will be your scout and your servant and your guard. If you let me. If you want me to. I just need to hear it from your lips."

"Yes Rhys. I want you to."

Rhys's tongue darts between her legs and unlike her playful, teasing movements over him before, he is sure and slow and thorough. He's pushed her underwear to one side, and now tears if at the seams. Feyre is molten beneath his fingers, and then one of his hand snakes up her body to softly squeeze over her throat. Feyre's core clenches and her moans lose their sound as the ecstasy floods in.

"Now you need to make me a promise. If you ever feel unsafe. If you ever want me to stop. If you ever change your mind. I need you to say the word 'yellow' to me, and then I will know to immediately stop. You can also tap me or a surface three times, if you cannot speak."

Feyre nodded.

"What's the word, Feyre?"

"It's yellow."

"Good girl."

Rhys rises before her, and does not take his hand from her throat as he rubs the head of his cock over her pussy. Feyre's hips buck off the bed, looking for more, but Rhys just holds her down and continues his motion.

"Don't you like being teased, Feyre darling?" Rhys asks her. "Not as good when you're on the receiving end?"

Feyre can't form words, is still trying to wriggle herself toward more friction. Rhys moves up her body and pushes his cock between her lips and down her tongue instead, deep as she had wanted it where he was before. She moans around him, and tries to touch herself, only to remember she is bound.

"Take it just like that," Rhys croons. "Show me what your pussy would be like." He thrusts into her mouth again, and she sucks hard against him. "Mmmm that's so good Feyre," Rhys tells her, and spends a minute watching her head move before he relents and settles back down over her.

"Are you ready to be fucked yet?" he asks her. Feyre nods soundlessly, and grinds her hips upward. Rhys slides himself tortuously slow up and down her slickness, and the shocks of pleasure light up her spine. She moves her knees up to his sides to try to get more contact, but although his head nudges at her entrance, he just continues to move back and forth over her.

"Does that feel good darling?" Rhys asks. "Shall I just stay here for a while?"

"No," Feyre moans. "More Rhys, more."

"Where are your manners, mate?" Rhys snaps. He reaches round to spank the side of her backside.

"Please!" Feyre blurts. "Please, please, please please," she begs. Rhys kisses her neck with his tongue, and the tip of him is pushing inside her. "Yes," she moans.

Then he pulls away, ducks his head and licks her roughly instead.

"No!" Feyre cries, while at the same time her hips buck up against Rhys's mouth. He sucks against her clit and flicks his tongue over and over it, before returning his hips to hers.

"Please," Feyre whispers. "Please, please."

He lines himself up again, his cock head just inside her as he kisses up her sternum. And now his hands are squeezing over her breasts and his thumbs stroke over her nipples through the sheer lace of her lingerie.

"Fuck," Feyre moans, arching her back to him. "Please Rhys, oh gods please, please." She strains against the leather cuffs, and the bed head creaks under the pressure.

Rhys sits up on his heels, and surveys with deep pleasure the writhing mess that Feyre makes on the bed. He can read her need for him like his name is inked on her skin, and there's nothing he loves more than the sight of her like this.

Except maybe being seated all the way deep inside her.

Rhys glides his hands down her skin and grips her hips as he finally, finally sinks himself all the way into her. The moan that Feyre makes is more than worth the wait.

"Rhys," she breathes out, and he fucks her lazily now, a slow rocking because he likes to take his time with her.

But Feyre has has enough. She plants her feet on the bed and pulls against the handcuffs for leverage, and she begins to fuck herself on his cock. For a minute Rhys just lets her, but the image is so gorgeous that he has to fuck her back, and then they're colliding hard and Feyre is coming before he even has the chance to tell her to do so.

Feyre bites her bottom lip hard as she climaxes, and Rhys watches it hit her like a wave cresting. After a minute, it begins to slow, but Rhys is not done by half. So he tosses one of her legs over his shoulder, holds his thumb over her clit, and speeds up the pace of her hips until her first orgasm bleeds into a second. He is relentless, will not let her come down until his own release is sliding down his spine and when he comes his hands grip the headboard hard enough to crack it.

Rhys bends to kiss her belly, her throat and then her mouth before he removes the handcuffs and rubs her wrists gently. He pulls the blanket up over Feyre as she lies there, spent, and then continues to press his lips behind her ear and in her hair as he curls his body around her.

"You did so good today," he whispers.

"Even when I was on top?" Feyre asks sleepily.

"Especially then," Rhys assures her. He eyes the red mark on her shoulder where the lingerie strap has been sitting tight, and he takes it all off with his magic. He likes it when she sleeps naked anyway.

"I love you," Rhys says against her back.

"I love you too," Feyre murmurs, and within seconds she is asleep.

****

Yeah look this is a bit of a mess because I was trying to fit a lot in. Normally I could actually go a bit harder on the kink but since we're supposed to be trying a little switching and delving into conversations, I spent time doing those things instead? Maybe should try to focus on just one in future. Or, not be so post-happy and actually edit my shit. Anyway I hope you guys still like it lol.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

#asks #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #acotar #smut #mine #hoo boy that's a long oneshot

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alia-turin · 3 years

Text

As I said I will update that fairly quick...I did edit this chapter probably 30 times so i do apologize.

Fic Title: Somewhere in Time (Chapter 2) Previous Chapters: 1 Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Caranthir/F/OC Warning: Canon typical violence for this chapter AO3 Link

Aine watched as the man walked out of the room and her body sank all the way down on the floor, her back painfully dragging against the stone wall behind. Her breathing became laboured even if there was nothing obstructing it, she was gasping as if she was drowning. Somehow even the events from today did not seem as terrifying as that encounter. She didn’t dare blink as every time she closed her eyes, even for a second, she could see his face imprinted in her mind. He had not hurt her, not the same way he did in the woods, but the way he had looked at her, as if she was an animal to be sold was even worse in a way. She had to get out of here, one way or another she had to leave.

Just then the door opened and Aine could feel her heart stop, did he change his mind? He forgot he actually meant to kill her and now was coming to finish the job? Fortunately it was just a human servant who brought food, wash basin and clothes. Aine tried to get on her feet but her muscles just refused to listen, her legs barely moved and she fell again, shaking and terrified.

“Wait!” she shouted after the human as loud as she could but the woman just turned around and gave her an annoyed look and then closed the door as she walked out. Aine wasn’t surprised, nothing new in the look she received really, hoping a human would feel any kinship to her was optimistic at best.

She forced herself through the pain and fear and ran toward the door, but the moment she grabbed the handle she couldn’t push it down. No matter how hard she tried even hanging her full weight from it nothing happened it was like the thing was nailed together. She sat on the cold stone next to the door wanting to cry but she couldn’t even force herself to do that anymore.

The events from today just couldn’t stop running through her head. What did she do to get herself into that? Why her? From all the creatures on this earth why hear? She was a...nobody and bothered nobody. Then her mind went to him...he terrified her. The way he looked at her, the cold eyes, his voice, his touch...

She must have fallen asleep without realizing, fear and stress could do that. When she woke up it was already dark. Aine was grateful for a dreamless sleep, maybe she was so exhausted that her brain couldn’t even recreate anything worse than what had happened, but it could have been worse, way worse and she knew that. She pushed herself up, her body screaming in new unknown pains due to the uncomfortable position she had fallen asleep in. She saw a match on the table and lit the candles around the room. The space was bigger than any bedroom she ever had, probably bigger than some rooms in her father’s mansion but considering she was in the castle in Tir na Lia she assumed that was just how things were.

She lit the final candle that was placed on the vanity just across from the bed. Aine could barely recognize the face that looked at her from there, dirt and blood was smudged over her skin, her hair was a mess and her whole neck had turned purple and blue with bruises. She could see the marks of his gauntlet printed clearly on her skin.

Aine turned her back at the mirror not willing to look at her broken reflection. Her eyes fell on the washbasin and the clean clothes neatly placed on one of the chairs. Crippling, she found her way there and started taking her clothes off. Everything hurt, and there were more bruises and friction burns on her arms and legs, touching her back revealed it wasn’t significantly better. She started cleaning the dirt and blood gently but at some point that became frantic scrubbing as if trying to just erase memories from her skin. Once she was as clean as it was possible she put the clean clothes - riding pants, fitted shirt and a sleeveless vest to go on top of all that. It wasn’t what she would wear but it was all nice and comfortable. Fine leather and fabrics, ironically they fit well as if made for her.

She sat on the bed and started thinking. Aine couldn’t open the door and the window was way too high. Also what was that thing he said about her being a mage? That was a game he was playing to throw her off, but why? Wouldn’t she know if she had any power? All her life everything she ever wanted was to be left in peace and for the most part she had managed to do that until now. She needed to leave, preferably alive and not hurt further than she already had been.

Caranthir watched as Imlerith fed the dog food scraps under the table. His mind however was somewhere else, his food and drink were untouched for hours now and he had not spoken a single word. His mind just couldn’t stop thinking about her. He knew the feeling of attraction, he had felt it before and it ended in pain. It was silly to call it attraction now however...to what? Curiosity, she was a puzzle and he wanted to solve it. Pretty little puzzle he can play with and then...he had no idea what then.

“You are Aen Saevherne. I need you to take Crevan’s place in court.” he didn’t even notice when Eredin had walked in or even sat on the chair across.

Caranthir didn’t respond. His mind was too occupied with other things, Eredin would get what Eredin wanted so why even ask him? But he wasn’t asking, was he? It was a statement.

“That is a terrible idea.” He didn’t say no, nobody told no to Eredin and even he wasn’t sure how far he could push the man. The king was his friend, or at least Caranthir considered him as such, he was also his mentor in a sense, he wouldn’t be where he was if it wasn’t for Eredin, in every meaning of that word. “Your nobles won’t be happy.” The king shrugged and that was the end of the discussion. He hated court, but he was going to do it for his king.

Tir na Lia was fragile after Auberon’s death. Eredin had the power, but there were still some who disapproved. Some who thought they could do better than him. Imlerith and Caranthir had both advised for their heads to be taken off and solve that problem, but somewhere Ge’els managed to win the argument against.

“How is your mare doing?” Imlerith asked with a smile.

“I need a new crop.” the king said after he drank from his glass. “Which reminds me...I heard an interesting rumor.” Eredin’s eyes stopped on Cranthir. “You got yourself a trophy from your little escaped humans hunt.”

Caranthir raised an eyebrow. He didn’t want to talk about it. He also did not want to think about it, but it was all that was in his head. The storm of feelings that was just destroying almost every rational thought he could hold right now.

“I will tell you everything about it.” Imlerith was grinning at him. “Pretty face, he must have found it especially pretty because he stopped me from nailing her in the ground.” he laughed so loud Carathir winced. Eredin looked as curious as if someone had just told him he can conquer other worlds.

“It’s not about that.” Caranthir got up, he was not in the mood. “She is half human and she can use magic, that could be dangerous.”

Imlerith and Eredin exchanged looks and they both smiled, he guessed he should be grateful it wasn’t full blow laugh.

“Did I just hear your frozen heart beat, Caranthir?.” Eredin pushed further. They all did that, making fun of each, but he just wasn’t in the mood for it now.

“I’m going to sleep.” Caranthir got up, his drink still not touched. It wasn’t their mockery that bothered him, he was used to it, he had done worse to them and he knew he could receive worse. He didn’t need his emotions to betray him.

In his bed he laid awake for hours. He was trying to arrange his thoughts in a way that was not just floating aimlessly, but more he tried the harder it became.

The logical part of his brain, partially, recognized the problem. The minor physical similarities had made him think about a different person. But this part of his brain could not provide an explanation why he still felt unable to just make a decision about the girl’s future.

His thoughts went to her face, the memory of her, picking the traces from both races. He wondered about the eyes. Was that a defect that happened from mixing the races or it was carried in the family? Was she more like him - just an accident marking or something inherited. But it wasn’t really a defect, was it? His face was a grotesque abomination, while hers was perfect in its imperfection. Maybe that was what got him. In a sense she was like him, just a play of nature, but unlike him, she turned out better.

There was more to that. He could imagine someone half elf half human not having place anywhere. Humans probably despised her because everyone treated her better than them, but knowing his fellow Aen Elle he could imagine they did not accept her either. Explained why they found her where they did. That also reminded him of his own faith. Sure, nobody ever looked down on him, but he was just Avallac’h’s experiment. If it wasn’t for his powers he wouldn’t belong anywhere.

Aine spent the night awake, too afraid to even roll in the bed. Her mind was going to the worse possible scenarios of what would happen to her next. She jumped as she heard the door opening, fearful of what was coming. The man from yesterday walked in again but next to him was a servant girl. The girl looked down, she was terrified, but Aine couldn’t decide if it was of him, or just that was the way she was. Humans had a reason to be scared of the Aen Elle, so in a way she sympathized. The servant left a tray on the table and stopped in front of the man. He waved her off with annoyance. Aine had never seen someone being so happy to leave a room.

It was the two of them now, she was sitting on the bed, her hands digging in the sheets hoping a hole would open and swallow her in the ground. He was just standing by the door, his relaxed posture sharp contrast to hers. He had a book in his hand which she found odd, but kept her thoughts to herself.

Caranthir watched her just being frozen with fear. He was impressed that despite the stress she was under she did not manifest her power even for a moment, more to his little pizzle to solve. He liked challenges. The clothes the servants had brought her yesterday fit perfectly and he caught himself staring for way too long instead of doing what he was supposed to do.

“Food is there.” he pointed at the table, but she looked at him with alarm and confusion. “If I want to kill you, poison is not going to be the way.”

“There are worse things than death.” she jumped off the bed and walked toward the table picking the path that was as far as possible from him. She was right of course, knowing what he was capable of, poison should be the one she hoped for. Carathir just observed. She was limping, he could see she had a hard time bending her knees. Imlerith swiping the floor with her must have done it. His teeth grinded against each other and his jaw clenched at the sight. She slowly sat on the chair, her eyes still fixed on him as if expecting him to attack her any moment.

Caranthir stepped toward the other chair she was still watching him but to her credit she did not run. He sat, the two of them just looking at each other. One thing he had to admit she was not avoiding to look at his face, or whatever she could see from it. Her eyes just reflect fear which could be for a number of reasons including the way he looked. He ran a finger through the strands of hair that usually covered the worst damage - still covered, hidden as much as possible. He liked to pretend he did not care about what people thought when they looked at him, but he always did. For some silly reason, especially now.

“What is your name?” he was going to start small. He also reached for the food just to show her he was not trying to kill her. Caranthir had made his mind that he won’t harm her, unless provoked. He hoped he could keep with that.

“Aine.” she responded quietly as if giving him the name would hurt her in some way. It meant light. Caranthir found something oddly amusing in that considering everything he and Imlerith managed to drag her through yesterday and somehow he still saw beauty.

“Do you have family?” she didn’t respond. “This is going to be way easier for you if you answer my questions.” he knew he sounded threatening but he didn’t really mean it like that. He was curious.

“My father is an elf, my mother is a human. She was a servant in his house.” Caranthir smiled, servant was a nice way to say slave, which most humans here were.

“Where are they now?” Through the years he had learned who his parents were, but he had decided he wanted nothing to do with them. Why should he? Both of them had agreed to be Avallac’h’s test rats and to leave their son. He was the only one who never wanted to be involved in that and there he was. Probably the same could be said about her. Half elven half human child, that couldn’t have been an easy life but nobody had asked her if she wanted to be alive or not. Just like him they were both victims of their parent’s stupidity, different types of stupidity of course, but painful nonetheless.

“I don’t know.” She was lying to him. The way her eyes shifted, the sound of her voice trembling. He let her have that one small victory and he would figure it out later.

“My name is Caranthir Ar-Feiniel.” They were going to spend some time together and might as well be polite. He didn’t get a reaction as he spoke his name. He usually did, people were impressed or scared, her level of fear did not move from what it has been so far, he could have told her he is the castle baker. He couldn’t decide if he was offended or even more amused.

“Would you let me go, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel?” there was innocence and naivety in her voice, but it was honest. Caranthir knew the answer was no, it wasn’t responding that made him think. The complete untainted innocence in her words and the way she spoke surprised him. Reminded him of something he had lost years ago or maybe something he never had, just imagined he did.

Aine’s heart was beating so fast she thought she would just drop dead any moment from the anxiety. She knew the answer of her question, but what choice did she have? Fighting him was impossible, even if in some unimaginable way she could go past him, what then? There were guards probably every ten feet in the castle. Fall on her knees and beg him? Her pride meant very little to her right now compared to her life, but what would be the point if that would get her nowhere. No, if she wanted out she had to be smart about it, and hope that she managed to stay in one piece until she figured it out.

“That is for you.” he didn’t answer the question, he didn’t have to. Caranthir placed the book he was carrying on the table. Slowly she reached for it and took it. It wasn’t thick, the cover was fine white leather. She slowly opened the book almost suspicious of his intentions.

“Foundations of Magic.” she read the tile. “ By Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha”

“Dull writing can bore you for sure, but it will help you understand how to use the power within you.” he got up, but didn’t walk away just looking at her as if he had something else to say or was just...studying her. Aine looked down at the book again trying to avoid the intensity of his cold eyes. “Tomorrow, based on all you have learned you will move that.” as he finally spoke he pulled one of the rings from his hand and placed it on the table. “Using magic.”

She looked at the ring and she looked back at him again. Why was he so determined? What was his obsession? She couldn’t use magic and no amount of books was going to change that. She could probably read the whole Tir na Lia library and that won’t change the fact she couldn’t use magic.

“What if I cannot do it?” Caranthir ignored her question and started walking toward the door. “And what if I can do it?” she tried to change the question just to determine which option would be more...painful. His face or actions did not betray anything. He just opened the door, but stopped right before walking out.

“I will see you tomorrow my little canary.” he stepped out and Aine just stared at the door. She knew she couldn’t open the damned thing so why even bother getting up if that was also going to cause more pain than it was worth it.

“Canary” she repeated out loud. It was suitable in the most petrifying way.

#my writing

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bioticgoddess · 3 years

Text

Summary: "Never said the plan wasn't complex, only that it'd work." - Nymue, a warlock, as she works on some paint touch ups to her ghost Merlin's shell.

Warlock Nymue, her Fire Team, and their friends within the Tower are several flavors of done with watching the slow and painfully awkward waltz that is Saint-14 and Osiris in a post-Sagira world. What else is there to do but hatch a plan...or several...to convince these (very) Old Men to do something other than continue on with their stumbling.

Pairings: Osiris/Saint-14 (O14) [Canon]

I. Outside the City, Mid-Afternoon:

She ambushed him. Dragging the senior Warlock out beyond the wall to a cliff overlook not far from the protection of the wall. It had served as an escape route for the then-lightless Guardians and civilians during the Red War. Despite being relatively unsheltered, it was- thanks to the patrol of her fire team - a safe place for now. Her ghost floated close enough that they could have rested on her shoulder. Voice filled with the smile it couldn't give, the ghost spoke, "Nymue, the others confirm, coast is clear."

"Thank you Merlin," she hadn't taken her glowing green eyes off the older Warlock. “Give Iothane and Verity my thanks.” The ghost bobbed like it was nodding at her. Iothane was a broad shoulder but bookish Awoken Titan. Their Hunter, Verity, had a penchant for getting into trouble - the kind that earned accolades and titles and an obscene amount of glimmer. Both had agreed without a second thought when the Warlock relayed her plan.

In his typically composed and regal way, the older Guardian didn’t balk beneath the younger woman’s glare. Behind the scarf that served as a facemask, he returns his own piercing glare. Golden-brown eyes locked with her own and were only visible beneath his Phoenix helm because of their height difference.

Her ghost dissolved away with the kind of groan that accompanied rolled eyes, disappearing for the time. Though they were likely gone to find Glint and Crow aboard the HELM. To warn them that one of the quiet Hunter’s favored Warlocks was going to be in a foul mood.

"I am going back to the City," Osiris snapped, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. He didn’t move or even pretend like he was going to. He remained rooted in place, challenging the younger Warlock to further explain herself. A challenge she’d expected.

“No, you’re going to hear what I have to say first,” she countered, arms folded over the black and violet of her robes. “Or I can get Iothane to come and set up a barrier until my persistence wears you down old man.” It wasn’t a threat, the gentle jibe at the end as glaring as the sunbeams that reflected off his helm.

Snorting he continued to glare, jaw tense. Nymue was certain that, if she squinted, she could see him grind his teeth. “Fine.”

“We’re worried about you. Saint, Zavala, Ikora, Crow, Amanda, our ghosts, all of us. Everyone whose lives you’ve touched is worried about you. None of us can even begin to imagine what you’re going through without,” she caught the narrowing of his gaze and the straightening of his shoulders before Sagira’s name left her lips but said it anyway. “Sagira. She was a part of you and there with you in a way that maybe Crow and Glint comprehend. But...you also broke every rule of temporal mechanics that I can think of in order to save Saint. I didn’t get to see you two together before losing her but...the way Verity describes it...well, she is fond of saying that she wants a partner who looks at her the way you and Saint looked at each other when no one was watching. Or at least when you thought no one would see.”

He swallowed and hung his head. Nymue persisted. “It’s not going to be easy, but...you can’t shut everyone out. It’s only going to hurt more in the long term. At least...don’t shut out Saint. No one can deny what and how deeply you feel for one another.”

The silence returned with the sun’s continued trek towards the horizon.

The Great Osiris stared down at his feet, presumably mulling over how to respond and if making good on his threat to storm off back to the Tower was the right plan all along. There was nothing she could do to stop him, not really, and the both knew it. Yet he stayed there, the focus of the younger Warlocks’ gaze while he (hopefully) thought further on what he could or would say and where to even begin.

Raptors called in the distance, hunting some rodent or warning other birds to stay out of their territory. He’d been doing that for months - posture and snapping at some of the other guardians in the tower. The Old Man’s way of pushing back those closest to him, keeping them away. Nymue had had enough after overhearing the conversation between Saint-14 and Osiris about the corruption that had seeped into the Trials. Sure, Saint had insisted that it wasn’t anything to be worried about but the way the Exo had shifted on his feet told another story. He was more upset, more concerned, than he dared share - with any of them.

Voice heavy and shaky enough that it sounded like he was crying or was about to cry, “I’m going to die Nymue. One day, I will die a final death and leave him alone. There is no Ghost in all the system who can bring me back when that day comes.” He toed the ground with his boot, “Saint is my everything. The only person who understood me half so well was Sagira. She kept me from despair during my exile and again when I did not think he could be saved and now…” He trailed off, hands floating up to hide his shaded face.

“Osiris,” this time the younger Awoken’s voice was gentle, “Talk to him. You know Saint better than any of us.” She rested a hand on one of his forearms, careful not to get caught in any of the wires on his gauntlets. “Let him be there for you. The both of you deserve the chance, no matter what the end may be.”

Head and eyes tilted up to her face. “When did you become so wise,” Osiris wondered. His brows relaxed and eyes, through red with tears that threatened to spill forth, no longer contained the storm that had been brewing for the last several months. It even looked as though he might have let a smile cross part way over his features behind that scarf of his.

“I had a good teacher.”

---

II. The Hangar Bay

He’d nodded. He’d agreed to be less closed off. Every time he looked in the hanger and saw Saint, however, his throat closed and heart hammered in his chest. It threatened to break free of his breast bone and ribs. How had Nymue convinced him to unburden himself out in the wilds? How? What damn fool sorcerery did the girl know that he’d missed in all his centuries!? Oh but she’d been right, damn her. He needed to talk to Saint, he owed him that much and more. No matter how long he had, he needed the Titan in his life. He always had. Then he caught his gaze, cheeks turning a deeper shade of brownish-red when his husband looked up in his general direction. Not for the last time was he thankful for the cover of his scarf.

Like a child caught in Ikora’s severe gaze, he gave a stiff about face and marched off back towards the market and his now Vanguard former pupil.

“Third time today; you owe me glimmer,” Verity grumbled from her perch atop her drop ship, watching Osiris scurry away regally. If he’d had a Hunter’s cloak to billow behind him it could have been comical. Instead his retreats bordered on depressing.

Turning her head up and to the left to see her team-leader, legs stretched out along the wing of the drop ship, the warlock grinned wryly, “Not yet. Crow and I have a plan.” Her Awoken skin sparkled with her air of confidence.

“You need to take your own advice when it comes to him,” the hunter rolled her eyes.

Iothane chuckled, raking a hand through his short cropped navy-blue hair, “She’s got a point. Talk to him.” The Titan was laid out on a work lift beneath the same wing serving as their Warlock’s chaise, fidgeting with a wiring harness.

Snorting and rolling her eyes, she glared, “First, shut up both of you. Second, I’ll think about it, after we fix this.” She waved her hand between where they could see Saint-14 and where Osiris had been.

Their ghosts floated overhead, looking between one another, shifting in what resembled shaking heads.

Crow and Nymue leaned conspiratorially against Amanda Holliday’s work station in the Hangar. The Hunter occasionally looked over his Warlock companion’s shoulder to see if Saint-14 had moved or if Osiris had returned to the Hanger Bay. “You sure this will work,” he asked the blonde shipwright.

She shook a hand dismissively, not looking up from the interface, “I don’t tell you how to fight, you don’t tell me how to reprogram the Transmat System. Alright?” Her tone was slightly indignant, offended even.

“Yes ma’am,” he stammered, elbowing Nymue when she laughed behind her hands.

After a few minutes of tapping and swiping her fingers across the screen, Amanda warned, “You two don’t want to be anywhere near the City when they get out of there y’know.”

“Got that covered,” the Warlock grinned. “We will be running a recon mission on Nessus with my Fire Team.” Crow nodded, straightening as he kept a vigil watch out for the two senior Guardians.

“And you’re sure Ikora and Zavala are okay with this,” the woman turned finally, rolling her shoulders several times to stretch back out from her stooped position over the console. A confirmation request screen glaring up at her, the work her co-conspirators had tasked her to complete not yet finished.

The Awoken woman rattled, hands waving as she recounted her last interaction with the Vanguard Warlock. “Zavala? No clue. Ikora, well, she said something about turning a blind eye before winking at me, which was weird, and going off to her Library with both Ophiucus and Geppetto.”

“Well, alright then,” Amanda chuckled, her attention returning to the screen. With a few final taps of the console, she finished her work. “We’re good to go. Good luck.”

III. The Tower Library: A Private Study

Saint-14 Pushed on the door again. It wouldn’t budge. His ghost Geppetto was nowhere to be found, he’d called for her several times in the hope that she could help them - Osiris and himself - find their way out of the room. To maybe go fetch Zavala or Ikora or anyone of the others and see if they could open it from the other side.

“It’s no use Saint, this room is like Ikora’s library - only one way in or out. Transmat,” Osiris sat with a huff in one of the plush chairs.

“Yes, Yes, but then surely we should be able to Transmat out of here,” the Titan countered. Then the it hit him, like an arc-grenade to the face, that was the problem. They couldn’t Transmat. “Oh no,” he whispered softly, raising one of his big hands to his face. Someone had set a trap and the two of them had walked right into it. He let silence fill the room, occasionally punctuated by a pensive huff or hum coming from his husband’s seat next to the tall skinny window - their primary source of light. It was, upon further assessment as he finally turned around, too skinner for either of them to hope to squeeze through.

Feet hitting the throw-rug laden floor heavily, Saint strode from the sealed mockery of a door to the chair opposite Osiris. Pulling off his helmet as he sat, the Exo asked, “So how were you lured into this trap?”

“Nymue,” The man groaned, his own helm perched like a bird on a stack of books to his left. Saint’s came to rest on the sad little window sill, half balanced on the table between them. “There was some text she and her Ghost were having difficulty with. One day,” he shook his head and sighed, “I’ll learn just how crafty my students can be.” It was applicable to Ikora as well, and every other warlock or Guardian he had mentored over the years.

“Her Titan friend Iothane,” he chuckled, recalling how the stocky Awoken man had come to him earlier in the day with a research request of great importance, or he speculated as such, to the City’s Titan. One that could only be filled by Saint, or so the younger Guardian had said before taking off at what was - in hindsight - a suspiciously brisk pace. How gullible he’d been, letting himself be pulled into such an obvious trap. “The boy has a silver tongue, convincing enough that I believed there to be something of great importance to Titans here.” He snorted.

Osiris laughed. It was a light laugh, not as sharp and dark as it had been of late. “I’m having a hard time picturing that,” he shook his head, “That boy is clever but he is not, as you said, silver-tongued.”

“He must have practiced then,” he was stroking his chin in thought, keeping his eyes on Osiris who sat at an angle that kept them from looking at one another. Some of the lines that had developed over the last many months were fading, thinning. He’d been furrowing his brow less and he seemed, from the other Old Man’s voice, that he wasn’t clenching his jaw so much. “Ay, not that it matters. We are still stuck here, the two of us.” Tentatively, his left hand slid across the table top, closing enough distance that if Osiris put his hand on the table they could meet half-way.

Nodding, his husband added, “Yes, I suspect we have to bide ourtime before the “children” are content to let us out.”

“You don’t think they did this on purpose do you?”

“Absolutely. Nymue ambushed me the -,” he stopped, voice knotting in his throat and body going rigid. Saint had felt the change in him before the Warlock’s shoulders squared and he knotted his hands in his lap.

To hell with this. If they were stuck in here then he was going to make the best of it.

The Titan stood, pivoting around the table so he could stand before Osiris. His shadow loomed over him, even without the cut of his helmet’s fin, he could be more imposing than Shaxx, Zavala, and Saladin combined. Despite his kindness, Saint-14 had earned a reputation on the battlefield. Shaxx’s nervousness over a decades old glint-debt hadn’t been without cause. His hands came to rest on the feathered pauldrons of the Warlock. “I should have been there,” voice soft, “Perhaps Sagira would still be with us.”

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated the well-worn refrain, “If you had been there it was just as likely we would have lost them both,” he spoke of Geppetto. Swallowing he shifted anxiously, pulling down the scarf so his closely shaven silver-white beard was visible. Brown eyes flitting up to meet Saint’s luminescent ones, “I told you, I am not willing to let time take you again.”

Giving a shrug of a nod he continued, “Very well, but you do not need to be an island my love. Is that not what you said to me once?” His head tilted to the left as he studied the other man’s face, making one of a hundred-thousand mental imprints of him. The sag of his face as grief that had been left to marinate pulled his lips into a sharp frown and attempted to drag his whole head so that he wasn’t able to meet the Exo’s intense gaze.

Still rigid, Osis nodded. The tightness of his body found its way into his voice, “But what if I do? What if I already am?”

“Then I will be the sea that surrounds and defends you and you will not be alone,” the Titan countered. Brows raised as he shook his head with a loving smile. In the time before Sagira’s loss, it would have made him laugh and earned the Titan a kiss from his husband. The kind that would have had both their Ghosts teasing them in the way that only they could. This time, all he caught was the briefest smile. It quickly disappeared and, voice sad but still kind, he implored, “Osiris, please, look at me.”

The Warlock slowly tilted his head up so his eyes were no longer locked on Saint-14’s chest. As if the movement had been his cue, the Exo’s palms skated across his shoulders and up his neck until they cupped Osiris’ cheeks and lower jaw. “You are not alone. How many times must I remind you of that? Or that I will always support you hmm? No matter how much time we have, you taught me that my Phoenix. And together, there is no obstacle we cannot overcome.”

Voice cracking, the tears he’d held back finally spilling over, Osiris asked, “Even when time takes it’s payment and I…”

“Especially then,” Saint was kneeling now, no matter what anyone ever said he was graceful when he wanted to be. Wedging himself between his husband’s knees so their foreheads could rest against one another he continued, “You will not lose me to time and I will not let you seal yourself away for grief. Sagira would never forgive us.” His nose bumped Osiris’ affectionately. “Besides, we should take advantage of what time is given to us.” He smiled broadly when the other guardians’ hands came to rest over the backs of his own.

The tears trailed down Osiris’ cheeks. His smile shaking as he spoke, “Then we do that. I will endeavor to be as strong a support to you as you have always been to me.”

“You do that every day,” Saint pressed a kiss to his nose, “We do this together then, hmm?”

“Together, habibi.”

#destiny #destiny 2 #osiris #saint 14

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calligraphist-artemisia · 3 years

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This Could Be the Start of Something

Written for the Kidge Spring Event!

Prompt 4: Rose or Carnation | Free Day

Summary: AU - Canon Divergence. Pidge hears the sound of voices late one night and creeps downstairs to investigate. Who would have thought that would lead her to a new friend?

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Katie felt as though she had only just laid her head down to go to sleep, soothed by the sound of her father reading a bedtime story, when all at once she was wide awake. She laid in bed, mystified over the reason why she was no longer asleep and was about to close her eyes when she heard an unfamiliar voice coming from downstairs.

As quietly as she could, Katie slipped out of bed and padded across her room, gently pushing the door open so she could hear more clearly. Maybe it was just her parents listening to TV? They usually turned it down for the night, but it could be that they forgot. She held her breath as she listened, picking up first on the voice of the stranger and then, a little more clearly, her father responding.

There was someone else in the house!

But why? It was so late at night. They never got visitors that late!

Katie looked down the hall at her brother's room, wondering if she should go and wake him up, but quickly decided against it. Matt could be kind of grumpy when she woke him up before he was ready. He'd probably think she was being silly.

She would just have to solve the mystery on her own.

She crept down the hall to the stairs and slowly made her way down, listening all the while to make sure none of the grown-ups were moving around. It sounded like they were in the kitchen, which was perfect for her because she could even look in from the window cut-out at the bottom of the stairs and see who was there without getting seen herself. (She and Matt had practiced a few times to get the angle right, so she was pretty sure she could do it.)

Katie stayed close to the wall and very slowly moved into position until she could see her mom and dad, as well as a strange man with dark hair all sitting around the kitchen table. She listened for a moment to try and figure out what they were talking about, but it all sounded kind of boring and adultish.

She was about to turn around and go back upstairs when her mother said: “Travis, I wish there was some way we could help you and Keith, but we're too much in the public eye to take him in if anything were to happen.”

Keith? Who was Keith? Why would they need to “take him in”?

Katie tried to see more into the kitchen and find out if there was anyone else in there with them but wasn't able to see anything else from where she was. It would be risky, but she would have to crawl beneath the window and peer around the wall instead.

The question was: was it worth the risk of getting caught?

Katie took a minute or so to decide and eventually figured it was worth taking a chance. What was the worst that would happen if she got spotted? Maybe a brief lecture while her mom took her back upstairs?

She was about to make her move when she heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. She froze in place, her heart beating hard in her ears, as she heard a quiet, indistinct voice ask... well, something that she couldn't make out, followed by her mom saying: “It's just up the stairs, dear. First door on the left.”

Katie nearly tripped over her feet as she turned and hurried back up the steps, avoiding the spots she knew would creak and alert her parents. She probably wouldn't be fast enough to avoid being seen by whoever was coming up the stairs, but if she was in bed and pretending to sleep, then no one could prove that she'd been up. (She felt only slightly bad about lying, but it wasn't like it was a bad lie! She wasn't hurting anyone. She just didn't want to get lectured.)

She made it to her room and began to shut the door, but at the last minute left it open just enough that she could see who was coming upstairs.

It turned out to be someone who looked to be around her age, wearing a sweater with a deep hood that obscured their face from view. They stopped at the top of the stairs and looked to the left where the bathroom was located and then, as if they could sense that Katie was watching, looked directly at her door.

Their eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, not unlike a cat.

Katie held her breath for a moment, wondering what they would do next, and was somewhat disappointed when they continued on to the bathroom and shut the door.

What next?

Her curiosity was far from satisfied – she still didn't know if they were the “Keith” mentioned by her parents or why they would need to take him in. Why were they visiting so late at night? And what was with wearing a hood while inside?

There was only one way she would be getting answers to those questions and that was by asking, so Katie opened her door and took one step into the hall, where she waited for them to leave the bathroom. She wouldn't stop them if they didn't want to talk, though she'd be really disappointed if they went back downstairs without saying anything to her.

She stood up a little straighter when she heard the toilet flush and then the sink turn on. Nearly a minute later, all sound stopped and the door opened.

“H-hi!” Katie squeaked, suddenly overcome by nerves.

They stopped and stared at her. “Why are you watching me?”

“I'm sorry!” Katie blurted out. “I didn't mean to! I heard voices and I was curious... Mom and dad don't get visitors this late. I, um, I'm Katie.”

They seemed to relax a little at her response. “I'm Keith.”

So he was Keith. That was one mystery solved, but she still had so many questions! Katie fidgeted, not wanting to blurt them all out at once and scare him away. She'd heard other kids in her class talk about it enough, sometimes saying it directly to her face, and she knew she needed to slow down and give others the chance to understand what she was saying, but it was hard!

“I should go back,” Keith said, though he made no move towards the stairs.

It struck Katie as odd at first, but then she wondered if he was just as curious about her. “Or you could stay here,” she blurted out. “With me. We can talk. Or play a game. Or... I mean, we could just hang out. It would be kind of like a sleepover, but not at the same time. I don't know. I've never had one. I mean, I've got Matt, but he's my brother so that doesn't really count, you know?”

“Uh...”

Katie sheepishly ducked her head, feeling the warmth of a blush spread across her face. “Sorry, I know I talk a lot. You don't have to stay here with me.”

“I've never had a sleepover either,” he said, much to her surprise. “I don't think... I'm not allowed to. I should go downstairs.”

Thinking quickly, Katie said: “But if your dad's asking my mom and dad to take care of you, then that means you're allowed to have sleepovers with me!”

Keith tilted his head to one side as he mulled over what she'd just said. “Maybe? It's just... I'm not... I'm not normal.”

“You look normal to me,” Katie said with a dismissive shrug.

When she looked back on that night years later, Katie would always identify that statement as the one that truly paved the way towards a momentous friendship capable of withstanding any hardships thrown its way. At the time, however, it was just a single step towards getting to know the mysterious boy who was a little lonely, just like her.

Keith joined her in her room, where they sat on the plush rug in the very center, and Katie showed off the glow-in-the-dark stars that were plastered all over the ceiling. To her delight, Keith recognized some of the constellations that her dad had painstakingly mapped out, and was even able to name them!

“My dad takes me out to go stargazing sometimes,” Keith admitted shyly.

“You can't tell anyone, but sometimes me and Matt go sit on the roof with his telescope to try and see more stars. It's kind of hard here in the city, but we manage,” Katie told him. She bit her lip as a new question floated to mind. “Do you know why your dad is here talking to my parents?”

Keith nodded. “Uh-huh. It's 'cause he's a firefighter. He was just doing desk work for them for a while, but they want him to go back out and help people and he agreed. But it's dangerous and if anything happened to him, there isn't anyone around who can watch me.”

“What about your mom?”

“She's... gone.”

Katie picked at the long fibers of the rug, unsure of how to respond to that. “Well, what if I talk to my mom and dad and tell them you should stay with us! I know they said we can't, but I don't see what the big deal is.”

Keith said up suddenly, both hands raised to keep his hood in place. “I told you, it's because I'm not normal.” He paused for a few seconds. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course I can,” Katie responded as she sat up as well. She held out her right hand with all fingers except her pinky curled in towards her palm. “Pinky promise!”

Instead of looping his finger with hers, Keith pushed back his hood in a fluid motion. He slowly twisted to face her, his eyes downcast as he waited for her reaction.

For a moment, Katie was rendered completely speechless. She'd been ready to protest that of course he was normal, but that was proven wrong in an instant. His skin wasn't only dark, it was purple and he had a pair of vertical, pointed stripes rising up from the underside of his jaw. His eyes really did reflect gold in the dim lighting and she wished she could see what color they really were, but that thought flitted away when she noticed his pointed, almost elvish ears, and the fact that his hair faded out to a brighter shade of purple near the ends.

“You're an alien?” she whispered. “Omigosh, this is so cool! I've always wanted to meet an alien, but all of the kids at school say they aren't real! This is the best secret ever! I promise I won't tell anyone else. Not ever!”

Keith lifted his head, his eyes wide. “You really don't mind?”

Katie emphatically shook her head. “I think it's really, really cool! Can I ask you some stuff? You can say no if you don't want to tell me.”

“I, uh, don't really know that much,” Keith said, sounding flustered. “I grew up here on Earth and my mom didn't talk a lot about what it's like, you know, out there. I know she liked it here because of how peaceful it is. I think... I think there's some kind of war happening, but it's really, really far away, and that's why she had to leave. She's out there. Somewhere.”

Katie wasn't going to let the news that he grew up on Earth dampen her spirits. He was still an alien! Or, well, half alien, which made him super awesome in her opinion.

As she asked whatever question popped into her mind, they slowly laid back down on the rug. Questions gave way to sleepy remarks and jokes that left them both giggling until slowly Katie drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

Keith turned his head to watch her, marveling over the fact that he had found someone who wanted to be friends. And slowly, he too faded off into the realm of dreams.

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #kidge spring event 2021 #fanfiction #in which pidge and keith meet as children

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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The Christmas Wish: 1/4

Merry Christmas, @snowbellewells ! You have become such a sweet friend to me, so I wanted to gift you with something this holiday season. Since we were talking about Hallmark Christmas movies the other day, I thought the perfect gift would be writing you a Captain Swan version of one! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

Many thanks to @kmomof4 for being my beta when I know this week is busy with your family. Thank you so much, my dear friend!

This has four parts and one chapter will be posted each day this week, with the last one posting on Christmas Eve. It is loosely based on a Hallmark movie starring Jessie Schram, funny enough, called The Birthday Wish. This fic is set in 3b, but sticking to canon didn’t work at all with what I wanted to do, so it ended up being canon divergent. I think the only canon part that remains is Zelena. There’s no Rumple, no Neal, no cursed lips, no time travel. Yeah, I know, not much canon left, haha. Let’s just say this is more character driven . . . .

Summary: Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. "I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me?" Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out. The "answer" to her wish had to be some kind of trick, however. After all, it wasn’t as if anything in the vision she received could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook, the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

Rated G for Hallmark movie levels of fluff and Christmas feels

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @teamhook @xhookswenchx @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @hookedonapirate @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @spartanguard @let-it-raines @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @scientificapricot @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @ohmakemeahercules @hollyethecurious @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @wellhellotragic @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @lfh1226-linda @carpedzem @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @cutieodonoghue @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @juliakaze @thisonesatellite @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @profdanglaisstuff @killian-whump

Chapter One: The Vision

“Mom, come on! It’s already started!”

Emma hadn’t seen her son this excited since they left New York. Henry was standing in the open door of their room at Granny’s, shifting with nervous excitement from one foot to the other. Emma was on her hands and knees with her head halfway under the bed. Where the hell had her other boot gotten to? It couldn’t have just disappeared. Then again, this was Storybrooke . . .

“Everything alright, lass?”

The sound of Hook’s voice made Emma jerk backwards and smack her head against the bed frame. She scowled at the pirate who was now standing at Henry’s side as she sat up on her knees rubbing the lump that was rising on her head.

“Where’d you come from?” she muttered as she rose to her feet. A dust bunny tumbled from her messy hair, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.

“Sorry,” Hook apologized with a slight smirk that made her think he wasn’t all that sorry.

“I can’t find my damn boot,” Emma snapped at him, almost as if it were his fault.

“Want me to help you look, love?”

“Mo-om,” Henry whined.

“Actually,” Emma replied, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand so she could look at the pair in her doorway - one on the cusp of adolescence and the other looking far more handsome than he had a right to in those ridiculous pirate clothes. Anyone else would look like they were headed to a tacky Halloween party. “Could you take Henry down to the Christmas carnival?”

“I thought we were going together!” Henry exclaimed.

Mom guilt slammed into her at his crestfallen expression. Between figuring out this new curse and trying to stay one step ahead of this wicked witch (Wicked Witch of the West? Seriously?), Emma knew she had neglected time with Henry. It was so different from what he had been used to in the life they had built in New York, and she hated letting him down. Not to mention that at twelve, Henry wouldn’t be wanting to hang out with her for too much longer, and she was missing it.

“I’ll be right down. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” She really needed to buy an extra pair of boots, but frugal habits born of so many years on the streets didn’t go away easily.

“I’ll guard him with my life if necessary,” Hook swore to her solemnly.

Henry rolled his eyes. “First off, I’m twelve, not two. Second, it’s a Christmas carnival. What’s going to happen? I get hit in the head with a candy cane?”

Hook just arched a brow at her, and she shook her head ruefully. Little did Henry know. Sometimes his lack of memories stabbed her with even more feelings of guilt. She waved him off.

“I know, I know. Just get down there and teach Killian how to overdose on Christmas sugar.”

“Will do,” he told her joyfully as he shot off towards the stairs, Killian hurrying after him.

Emma collapsed onto the bed for a minute once they were gone. She’d told her mom

that having a Christmas carnival on Main Street was a bad idea with the Wicked Witch still out there. On the other hand, she had yanked Henry out of school, dragged him away from his friends and the life he had known, and brought him to this bizarro town. Now he was having to celebrate Christmas here, too. They didn’t have a tree or the Christmas decorations they had bought together last year. They hadn’t made cookies and hot chocolate for their annual viewing of Home Alone. Of course, technically, it was only annual in memories that weren’t real, but that was beside the point. The point was she was now ruining her son’s Christmas too. Ever since he heard about the Christmas Carnival, he’d set aside his Nintendo DS and his cell phone for the longest span of time since they’d arrived here.

Emma got up and resumed her search for that elusive right boot. She finally found it wedged beside the TV, hidden by the window curtains. She yanked both boots on, then turned to glance at her reflection in the mirror. She frowned at her tangled hair and grabbed a brush. Once her golden hair was glistening and smooth, she grabbed her lipstick and reapplied it. It wasn’t until she was touching up her mascara that she scowled at herself in the mirror.

Who exactly are you primping for, Emma?

She refused to answer her own subconscious as she tossed the mascara angrily onto the vanity. It bounced and slid into the sink, but she just left it there and marched out the door.

The Christmas Carnival was literally on her doorstep, filling the street in both directions from Granny’s patio. A choir of children from the elementary school stood on a stage near the post office belting out Christmas carols, led by someone who looked a lot like Mary Poppins (she probably was Mary Poppins, Emma thought with a chuckle). Leroy and some of the other dwarves had gathered around a booth where you were supposed to toss as many bean bags as you could into the mouth of a giant wooden snowman. Merry Men cheered and laughed as they took turns trying to pop balloons in a dart game. There were plenty of other typical carnival games: ring tosses, coin drops, wheel spinners, and one of those “go fish” games where kids tossed a clothes pin at the end of a string over a blanket and one of the nuns from the convent attached a bag of Christmas candy. There were also merchants with booths selling all sorts of handmade Christmas gifts, and food booths offering everything from hot chocolate to corn dogs to cotton candy.

She found Killian and Henry fairly quickly. They had found David at the strong man game. She chuckled to see her father spitting on his hands and rubbing them together before lifting a mallet and slamming it down. A bell went flying up, ringing loudly and impressively as it almost reached the top of the strong man game. With a smirk, her father offered the mallet to Killian. Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t look away as Killian took off his coat. He really needed to go without that long coat more often, she liked the figure he cut in those tight leather pants -

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She turned to see Mary Margaret shaking her head as she watched the men.

“That is just unfair,” she continued. “I know your father is wary of Hook’s feelings towards you, but to challenge him to that game . . . “

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know . . . “

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her mother with a scathing look. “Know what?”

“He, um . . . well, that is, he only . . . “

“Only has one hand?”

“Well yeah.”

Emma arched a brow and gave her mother a smug grin. “I think Killian can handle himself.”

Right on cue, Hook swung the mallet with his good arm, and the bell flew up. It didn’t make it as far as her father’s swing, but it was still damn good. Emma smiled as she watched her father slap Killian on the back.

“Killian is it?” her mother asked pointedly.

Emma turned to take in her mother’s curious stare. She tightened her arms further around herself. “Uh, yeah, that’s his name. It’s the name we use around Henry, so you know . . . “

“Okay,” her mother teased, a smirk of her own teasing her lips. She changed the subject, however, by lifting a plate holding a cupcake into Emma’s line of sight. “Happy Birthday!”

Emma cocked her head. “Birthday?”

Her mother sighed. “I know it was almost two months ago. Yet one more moment I missed. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“It’s okay, really.” Emma took the plate and looked at the cupcake. It was chocolate with white icing and blue sprinkles. “It’s not really Christmas-y. Where did you get it?”

“A cupcakery opened along with the new curse. Felicity’s.”

“Is that her real name?”

“It is.”

Emma snorted loudly. “Cute.”

Mary Margaret grinned. “I know.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and steered her towards a group of picnic tables set up beneath some fairy lights. Emma let her mother pull her to the table and sat down with the cupcake between them. Mary Margaret pulled something out of her pocket with a proud smile. “Felicity even gave me a candle and some matches!”

“Really?” Emma asked with raised brows as her mother stuck the candle into the cupcake. It was sparkling blue with a star on top.

“Mhm,” her mother said, “I told her it was for you and how I missed your birthday, and she wanted it to be special. The cupcake is special too, she said. It’s her Sugar Plum Fairy cupcake, and she was almost sold out. This was the last one.”

Emma spun the cake around, eyeing it. She had obviously been in town way too long if she was suspicious of an innocuous cupcake. The woman owned a cupcakery, for heaven’s sake! She had to sell the damn things. And what better way to drum up business than to pay extra special attention to Snow White? Emma let out a breath as she told herself to just relax and enjoy the cupcake. The bright pink and glittery decorations may not be her style, but it was chocolate, and you couldn’t go wrong with chocolate in Emma’s opinion.

Her mother lit the candle, her eyes sparkling as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Emma squirmed, never comfortable with such attention, praying no one else heard the song.

“Make a wish!” her mother exclaimed.

Emma bit her bottom lip as she suddenly remembered the last time she had made a wish on a cupcake. She had wished that she didn’t have to be alone on her birthday, and seconds later, Henry had knocked on her door.

So Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me? Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out.

“Hey, where’d you get the cupcake?”

Emma opened her eyes to see Henry standing beside her. Behind him were her dad and Hook. Even as her son eyed her cupcake jealously, he shoved a forkful of funnel cake into his mouth. She chuckled.

“I didn’t buy it at the carnival,” Mary Margaret explained. “I bought it at a bakery specially for your mom.”

“Why?”

Her mother, who had the world’s worst poker face, went slack jawed and stammered as she looked at her daughter. Emma calmly removed the candle, licked the icing off, then started to peel away the wrapper before she answered her son.

“Because I helped her set up her baby registry the other day, and after two hours of agonizing over strollers, high chairs, and onesies, she owed me.”

It was only half a lie. Emma had helped her mom register at Storybrooke’s only baby store. Named, naturally, The Stork’s Nest. And it was also true that the experience had been torturous enough to earn her dozens of cupcakes.

She still wished she didn’t have to lie to her son - even half lies.

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

When Emma awoke the next morning to blurred surroundings, she wasn’t alarmed at first. It always took her a minute to fully awake and adjust her eyes to the morning light. But when she couldn’t see well enough to even find her phone on the nightstand, worry gripped her. She sat up abruptly in bed, trying to blink the sleep away. She squinted, and still all she could see was a white blur that she assumed was the sun streaming through the window and around it only blurry gray. She groped in the general vicinity of the nightstand, knocking over the lamp. She swore loudly as it crashed to the floor.

“Mom!” Henry shouted as he burst through the door.

Emma turned towards his voice, assuming that the moving brown blur in front of her was her son. “I’m . . . fine,” she lied, not wanting to alarm him. “Just go downstairs and ask Granny’s help to go get your gr - I mean, David.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She pressed her lips together and took a sharp breath in through her nose. “Just go, Henry, okay?”

She heard him grumble something under his breath about how he wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she heard the door to their rooms open and close anyway. While he was gone, she rubbed at her eyes, then opened them again, but still she couldn't’ see a damn thing.

“Swan?” Hook’s alarmed voice cried out as he burst into the room.

“Killian?” She squinted at the big black blur in her doorway that she assumed was the man in question.

“I know you said to get David,” came Henry’s voice as a smaller brown blur joined the larger black one, “but I ran into Killian in the hall, and I know him better, so . . . “

“It’s okay, Henry, just give me and Killian a minute.”

“I want to know what’s going on!”

“I know, kid,” she said, her voice softening, “and I’ll explain in just a minute, I promise.”

Henry made no reply, at least none she could tell. She heard the door to her bedroom shut and sensed Hook drawing closer.

“What is it, love?”

“I can’t see,” she confessed softly, reaching out a hand for him.

“What?”

She could clearly hear the strained concern in his voice. Her hand found his, and she used him as leverage to stand up from the bed. He was closer than she had anticipated, and she awkwardly bumped against his chest.

“I mean, except for a light blur over there, and a dark blur I assume is you, I. Can’t. See.”

Emma thought ironically of those black frames with the clear lenses she had worn for

merely fashion reasons back when she was a teenager. They seemed incredibly stupid now.

“How long has this been going on?” Killian must have bent his head closer to hers because his breath was hot against her cheek.

“How long? I just woke up this way!”

“This must be some kind of sorcery, love. You don’t just lose your sight overnight.”

Do you? Emma wondered. She vaguely remembered some movie she had seen once where a woman woke up suddenly blind. It was probably a Lifetime movie, though, and she wouldn’t call those medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, she gripped Hooks arms tighter and shook her head.

“Maybe it’s magic, maybe not. Either way, get my phone, call my Dad, and ask him to drive me to the doctor, okay?”

“That will waste too much time. Maybe I could -”

“You can’t drive, and I don't’ think this warrants a 911 call.”

Did Storybrooke even have 911? She should look into that.

“As you wish,” was all Killian said, his voice solemn. The words took her back to a hot jungle, his lips on hers, and his hand tangled in her hair. She swallowed thickly as she pulled her hands away from him. He reached around her, and then she heard the familiar beeping sounds as he opened up her phone. She was glad she had given him that cell phone crash course the first time he’d watched Henry for her.

“And Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Can you explain this to Henry for me? Without freaking him out?”

“Of course.”

Then he brushed a kiss across her brow and swept from the room, leaving her flustered. He’d done it so swiftly, without hesitation, as if it were something he did everytime he told her goodbye. Maybe it had been unintentional?

Needless to say, it had been a weird morning.

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

“Is your sight coming back?” her father asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice as he drove through the streets of Storybrooke.

Emma squinted out the window of her dad’s truck. “That really bright blue to my right is the ocean I’m guessing?”

“That’s a no, then.”

A strained silence fell between them, but what could Emma say? She hated to worry him, but there was no denying this was really, really bad.

“You sure we shouldn’t go straight to Regina?”

“Not yet,” Emma told him, “let’s rule out a physical cause first.”

“I don’t know if that’s any better than a spell.”

“Believe me,” she muttered, “I know.”

“Your mom Googled it already -”

“That’s never good.”

“- and people with green eyes are at higher risk for eye cancer and macular degeneration.”

“Not helping, Dad.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “It is good to hear you call me Dad again, though.”

Emma’s eyes blurred even further with her sudden tears. “Sorry I can only seem to say it in crisis situations.”

“Hey, all in good time. When you’re ready.”

He released her hand, and Emma resisted the urge to grab it again. She was so thankful to have him with her. How many times had she fantasized about parents who would take care of her when she was sick? Though she would have preferred something less dramatic than sudden blindness. A cold and some chicken soup, maybe.

“I know I’m not the best judge of this at the moment, but aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I’m not taking you to Storybrooke General. An optometrist arrived with this second curse, and I think I trust whoever it is with my daughter’s eyes more than I trust a possibly drunk Dr. Frankenstein.”

Emma chuckled at the wry sound of her father’s voice. “I bet mom wishes an obstetrician came with this curse too.”

“You have no idea.”

Her father slowed the truck and made a right turn. He assisted her out of the vehicle, and she slipped her arm through his as he guided her to the door of the clinic. She felt him freeze suddenly beside her once the door swung closed behind them.

“You!” he exclaimed in a suspicious voice. “I know you! What the hell is going on? I thought you were a baker!”

“No,” another voice calmly replied, “that’s my sister Felicity. I’m Avery, the receptionist for Dr. Liv Lachesis, the optometrist. Which I should also explain -”

“Welcome,” a third voice spoke up, “how can I help you today?”

“Triplets?!” David exclaimed.

One of the women - Emma couldn’t tell which one - chuckled lightly. “Yes, triplets. It always throws people.”

“Well,” her father sighed, “I have a twin, so I can relate. We’re here for a bit of an emergency, though. My daughter woke up this morning unable to see.”

“That is an emergency. Emma, why don’t you come with me?”

“How do you know my name?” Emma asked suspiciously as the doctor gently touched her elbow.

“Everyone knows the Savior.”

Dr. Lachesis’ words were gentle and soothing as she guided Emma into the exam room and helped her sit.

“Now just lean back Emma, and try to keep your eyes open. I’m going to put these drops in. It may sting a little, but it shouldn’t hurt. Okay?”

Emma nodded her head. Even though the optometrist had a soothing bedside manner, she still felt her stomach knotting with nerves. Dr. Lachesis gently held Emma’s right eye open, squirted two drops of liquid in, then repeated the procedure with her left eye. Emma blinked, hoping to see more clearly. She panicked when instead of blurry splotches of light and dark, before her eyes was nothing but inky darkness.

“It’s going to be okay,” the doctor soothed, as if reading her thoughts. “Lean forward and look into my phoropter.”

Emma had no idea what that was, but she leaned forward anyway. The doctor guided her face forward, and Emma felt cool metal pressed against the skin around her eyes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

Emma heard a click while the doctor adjusted the machine’s settings.

“Look again.”

Dr. Lachesis’ voice was almost hypnotic, and Emma blinked once again. The black nothing before her faded, and she could once again see fuzzy splotches of color. The fuzzy splotches then cleared, and objects took shape before her. She was outside, dressed in a sweater, boots, and all the normal winter outerwear. Snow crunched beneath her feet and the air was crisp and cold against her cheeks. She blinked again, and tilting her head up saw that she was standing in front of a beautiful blue Victorian home with a welcoming porch, and a turret with windows nestled on one side. It reminded Emma of a doll house she had admired in a store window one Christmas as a child.

Emma then realized there were voices and laughter behind her, and she turned to see a man standing in front of the sliding door of a black minivan. He was bending over, buckling a toddler into a car seat. He straightened and turned towards her, and Emma froze in shock.

“Look, Graham, Mama’s got your shoes.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, wondering even more what kind of crazy contraption a phoropter was to make her see what she was seeing right now, but when she opened her eyes the scene hadn’t changed. Captain Hook was buckling a toddler into a minivan. What the hell?

His eyes sparkled with mirth and he was smiling in a way she had yet to see. He gestured with his hook towards her.

“Swan? The shoes?”

She looked down to see that she did indeed have a tiny pair of brown boots dangling from the tips of her fingers. As bizarre as the whole scenario was, she shuffled forward and handed Hook the shoes. He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a beat before turning back to the child before him. He chatted amiably with the child, making him giggle as he slipped the shoes on his feet and tied them deftly with one hand. Emma stared at the little boy of about three, cataloguing his features. He had the same shade of eyes Emma had - a cool, pale green. He had a little dimple in his plump chin, much like her and Snow. His hair was thick and black, curling over ears that pointed in an almost elf-like way. Emma felt her jaw drop as she looked from the child to Killian and back again.

“Mama?” Emma startled when a little girl popped up from behind the little boy. “Mama did Daddy really almost burn down Granny’s when he got you a Christmas tree?”

The little girl looked so much like Emma, it was downright eerie. Except she had bright blue eyes. Eyes that looked really familiar . . . but it couldn’t be!

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, in my defense, I was new to the entire concept of electricity.”

Wait a second - did this girl just refer to them - she and Hook - as Mama and Daddy? Then Emma took in Killian for the first time. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and a motorcycle jacket instead of his pirate garb, yet that wasn’t what really surprised her. What surprised her was the charcoal wool beanie on his head. Captain Hook wearing a beanie? Surely this was some sort of hallucination. Emma then glanced down at herself.

“What the hell am I wearing?”

“Wowds, Mama!” the toddler - Graham? - laughed, kicking his little feet.

“Mama, you have to wear the tree shirt to go get the tree,” the little girl added. “It’s ta-dition.”

“That’s tradition, Hope, now buckle up so we can get going,” Killian instructed.

Suddenly, a golden blur rushed past Emma, and she let out a surprised shout as a golden retriever jumped into the van.

“Sorry,” Killian apologized, “the kids begged to bring Nana along. I didn’t think it was a problem since the tree farm is outside.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied her. “Are you okay, love? I can drive if you want. I know your morning sickness still bothers you some.”

Then the strangest thing of all occurred when Killian Jones - Captain Hook himself, put a hand to her belly then brushed a kiss to her lips. It was the kind of quick, familiar kiss a couple shares when they’ve been together a long time. Emma looked down where his hand rested, and sure enough, her belly was swollen beneath her sweater. Her hideous red sweater covered in a garish Christmas tree with pom pom balls for ornaments. She swayed on her feet.

“Emma!” Killian cried in alarm, his arms going tighter around her.

Everything went blurry, again, then dark. Emma blinked her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the optometrist office looking through a metal contraption that must have been the phoropter. She jerked away and leapt up, her gaze darting wildly about the room. Well, at least she could fully see again.

“What kind of crap was that?” she yelled at Dr. Lachesis. “What kind of spell did you put on me?”

“It was my sister who cast the spell. I merely completed it.

“Completion is my area of expertise, sis,” Avery spoke up from the doorway.

“Okay,” the doctor sighed with a roll of her eyes, “I showed you the middle. It’s what you wished for, after all.”

“Emma,” David cried out as he pushed his way into the room, “are you okay? What did they do?”

Emma shook her head, unsure of how to even describe what had happened. Not to mention her father’s reaction if she told him she’d just seen herself knocked up with her third child with Hook of all people.

“Nothing, Dad,” she muttered, “let’s just get out of here.”

After all, it wasn’t as if anything in that vision could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #christmas fluff #a captain swan hallmark christmas movie #for snowbellewells

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magnoliabutters · 1 year

Text

• RETURN OF THE BOY •

pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: is he really there? was it really eddie all along?

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; vampire related gore, blood, and violence (think true blood); canon divergence, complex feelings, possible second hand embarrassment; rough, kinky, and dirty sexy time, fingering, oral (m receiving), lots to do with one's throat & neck, p in v (rough), smut or porn - you choose, lack of proof reading, etc.

word count: ~4.7k

stories of eddie munson series • season two •

note: this one goes out to @bbyhargrove & @secretdryrose for loving this series' eddie as much as I do! i appreciate you both for encouraging me to keep going with this. so incredibly thankful you stumbled upon my stories. i hope you enjoy. ps, note to all - consider mental preparation before starting this rollercoaster.

Flashes. All you feel and all you see are flashes. Flashes of his fingers deeply entangled in your hair as he pulls your head back. Flashes of his lips pressed against your mouth, cheek, neck, collar bone … Flashes of his hands ripping off your sweats. Strings of cotton flying everywhere. His strength worried you, but also pulled you closer. You somehow feel sure that he would never use it against you, never to hurt you. His body in between your legs, stuck there. Your thighs glued around his.

“Oh god,” you moan as your chin raises. He presses himself fully against you. You can feel his rock hard cock against your inner thigh. His hands float to your back as they rip the fabric of your shirt. You gasp as you lean into the cusp of his neck. Your love bites barely even piercing his skin. He groans as he pulls back to admire his work. Your eyes stuck on his as he rakes over you. You feel the cold wind finally hitting the delicate skin of your stomach. Your naked breasts resting before him. Absolutely his. All of you, now his. Always his.

You swear you can see him salivate before you as he runs his tongue over his sharpened canines. His eyes meet yours while his hands land amongst the tops of your thighs. You know what he is asking. Where his eyes are leading him. And fuck, were you not going to deny him. You tilted your head to your right as you eyes stay upon his reddened auburn brown. His brow raises as his tongue is pressed firmly against the the roof of his mouth.

Without much notice, Kas’ palm presses against your hardened nipple. His mouth against the crook of your neck with sweet kisses that make you laugh breathlessly. His other fingers pressing lightly against your clothed clit. Gently brushing back and forth with ease. You gasp as you feel the tops of his fingers dancing against you. Your thighs tighten around him as your head rolls back with ease. “Oh god,” you moan as you rut your hips up towards him. With a laugh, he leans up to your ear. He kisses the lobe before whispering lightly, “God’s got nothing to do with this.”

As quickly as his fingers play with your clit, Kas’ teeth sink deeply into your skin. You initially let out a quick yell. Your hand tightens it’s grip around the bottom of the counter. He sucks against your skin, leaving you lightheaded. Pleasure courses through your veins as the pain mixes so well within it all. You let out a moan as you grind against his fingers and cock. Your hand grips tightly against the curls behind his head, pulling him in closer, forcing him to bite harder.

As your head falls back, you could feel blood trailing down your collar bones and breasts. You could feel the dizziness float against your transgressions as you willingly accept them. Your fingers tense as they gather more hair for a firmer pull. You push him harshly against your neck, feeling the pain once more. God, it feels so euphoric. Moans fall from your mouth rhythmically and loudly as you rub against his fingers. His grip onto you shakes as you feel him grind against his own fingers.

Kas lifts from your neck for a deep breath. Your nails begins to dig against his back. You pull at his shirt, desperate to pull it off. He groans, slightly in pain as he leans back to look at you. His mouth opened, filled with crimson red, yet he still looked absolutely beautiful, absolutely himself. A smile forming upon his face. The blood trickles down your chest as your hands pull him back onto you. His eyes now down, focused on his fingers. Watching the space where your skin and his meet. Catching his gaze, you quickly pull your panties down.

His breath shakes as you grab his fingers and guide them to your hole. Without much convincing, Kas thrusts his fingers in. His eyes open with innocent excitement as he watches you take him whole. Your mouth just as open as his as you place your forehead against his. “Fuck, y/n,” he whimpers. “You’re so tight around my fingers.” His breathing deepens as he watches his two middle fingers easily slide in and out of your wet, throbbing pussy.

You rut your hips up to him once more as your head hangs back. Your breathing shakes as you feel his fingers course in and out of you. Your body bounces along with the movement as you let sloppy moans fall from your mouth. His twitching cock rests powerfully within your thighs, desperate to come out. Your palm immediately falls to cup his firm dick along his pant side. A heavy breath falls from his lips as he looks down at your hand. "Dirty girl," he whispers with a smirk as he quickens his fingers within you. You gasp, enduring the thrusts as he fucks you silly on the kitchen's counter.

The harder each thrust became, the faster, you begin to lose your grip on reality. Your appendages weak as Kas' fingers curl within you. You manage to get your arms over and around his neck. He places his forehead against yours this time as he sinks deeper into you. His eyes observe you as he watches your every gasp for breath when he makes you feel good and good, over and over. His blood pools at his cock, desperate so very desperate for you. "Are you going to cum for me, darlin'?" he asks, mimicking your hardened breaths. You nod tirelessly as you lay weak before him. "Cum for daddy?" he whines.

"Cum for me, y/n," he says sternly. His hands suddenly at your neck. His finger and thumb pressing against your carotid. The placement of his thumb carefully above where he previously devoured you. Without warning, he quickens his movements once again. His fingers flying in and out of you, yet somehow curling against your g-spot. You feel the pit in your stomach screaming at you to snap. Your screaming moans fill his head like the most beautiful music he has ever heard.

Your body tenses, your brain devoid of oxygen. Your entire skin on fire, yet deliciously pleasure filled. "I'm cumming," you whine as your grip on that rubber band lessens and lessens with each of his movements. Kas feels you tighten around his fingers. An excited breath falls from his lips as he pulls you closer onto him. Without even a chance for a breath, the rubber hand snaps and your all your neurons fire up with absolute, undeniable pleasure. He holds you tight against his body as he feels your hips rut against his fingers. Your body instinctually moving his fingers just how it wants.

Kas about cums in his pants, but breathes deeply through it as you come down from your high. Your tired little eyes fall upon his. A sweet and simple smile spreads across both your lips. Not a word is release between you two, but all that needs to be said is already done. The love between you two is undeniable. It's untouchable. Not even death can keep you two a part. You are meant to be in this man's arms for all of eternity. Even if it scares you a little.

"Kas," you breath as your head slumps against his shoulder. Sweat presses the smallest hairs against your forehead. "What do we do now?" Kas' hand finds its way to your chin. His bloodied smile grows as you crumble into his hand. With a swift movement, one of his arms held you close. The other holding you up at the back of your knees as he cuddles you against him. Your head rests heavily against the spider tattooed into his peck. Your exhausted and euphoric naked self pressed firmly against his bare chest.

Kas walks out of Alberta's diner without any difficulty. His feet remain careful, navigating against the dark vines as he holds you effortlessly. You feel the cold air push against your cheeks as he makes his way back towards the house. You shudder at the cold, digging deeper into your safe place - his chest. Your hand instinctually brushes against his chest looking for his necklace, something you would usually stim with any time you were pinned against his chest. Yet, you could not find his peck. You take a better look to note the lack of chain. Your mind wonders where it has gone, but places it as an afterthought as you watch him kick down a door.

Your eyes open wider as he carries you through the threshold of a house. This house is surprisingly not as toxic. Almost as though Vecna's reach could only make it through the first floor. You must be on the outskirts of the town you once called home. But none of that matters now. Not when a bed lays before you and the devilishly strong man holding you. You slowly look up to him to see his eyes fixated on the bed before you. He looks stuck, as though he wants to move forward but something holds him back.

You watch him with an abundance of curiosity. With a pat to his shoulder, you slide your way out of his lowered hands. You gently entangle your fingers with his as you attempt to gain his eye line. You place another hand over his, pulling him closer towards you. When you pull him far enough to take a step, his eyes float down to your hands and back up to yours.

You give Kas a smile of reassurance as you lightly guide him towards the bed. His feet slow to follow. While your eyes remain on his, you sit down on the side of the bed. Kas stands before you. His body chest mostly bare, with a few curls here and there. Your eye line falls down to his sternum, his sweet stomach, and that happy trail you love so much. His jeans still tight against him.

Without much thought, your hands reach for his belt. His hand quickly reach your wrists as his brows pull in concern. "You don't have to," Kas whispers as he looks down onto your beautiful face. "I want to," you whisper back with a smile. His hands let go gently as he continues to stare at you. Biting your lip, you unbutton his jeans and unzip his jeans. Revealed beneath is black boxers that perfectly outline his engorged cock. "That must hurt," you say softly as you tug his jean's waistline down. "It does," he says emotionless. Your eyes flick back up to his as you pull his boxers down. His hardened cock flips back onto his stomach. You watch as his nostrils flare, his breath shakens, looking down at you so daringly close to his dick.

Your hand gently grasps around his staff. Kas lets out a soft gasp, never taking his eyes off of you. You have grown very fond of this part of Eddie's body. That doesn't change now that someone slapped the name Kas onto it. You press the head of his cock against your closed mouth. Your lips laying gentle kisses around his most sensitive area. Slowly, his eyes close and his head holds back. His body calm and collected, or desperately trying to appear that way. You rub your thumb against the base of his shaft as your tongue lightly licks at the precum forming at his tip. "Shit," he whines as your tongue becomes more of a powerful force against his bits.

Kas' hand slowly falls to the back of your head. His hands once again deep within your hair, but this time pulling you closer. Pulling you deeper onto him. He looks down on you, watching you take in more and more of his cock past the threshold of your lips. Your eyes remain on his despite the passionate grip against the base of your skull. "Y/n," he moans as you begin to suck at his head. Your lips now past the head of his cock. Your thumb and hand guide him further past your lips, encouraged by every single noise that falls from his mouth.

"I love those eyes," he mumbles between moans. He struggles to keep his own eyes open. "Keep them on me." Your hand movements flow up and down. The grip of his cock tighter against your palm each time you descend onto his shaft. His other hand reaches down to carelessly hold your breast. His appendages weaker than he imaged with his cock down your throat. He squeezes your nipple between two of his fingers. A sharp breath lets out against his head. You begin to rut your wet pussy against the sheets of the bed. Your hips dig deep, applying pressure against your aching groin.

"Take all of it, darlin'," Kas whispers. "I want to see how much you can take." Up for the challenge, you take a deep breath and slowly lower your mouth onto his vein, blood-filled cock. You keep your eyes on him as long as you possibly can, watching him whimper as you go deeper. A gag crumbles your throat as you take in more than you ever had before. You wanted all of him, all of it inside of you. He immediately presses against the back of your head again, encouraging you to take more. "That's my dirty girl," he mutters. You struggle to keep him all inside. Your eyes watering as you take more and more, way more than you are sure you can handle.

Suddenly, you feel his curls brush against your nose. His shaft fully twitching and pulsating deep within your throat. Right where you like it. Loud moans escape as he feels the warmth of your mouth. You are sure he will cum within your mouth. You want him to. You take in another breath from your nostrils, praying that you'll last with his throat in your mouth until he is done. You don't want to miss any of it. But he did something else.

Kas pulls his cock from your mouth, actively pulling your hair and head back. Strings of saliva connect you both together. You watch him, gasping for breath as he looks down at you. He lets go of your hair, just for his hands to fall at your waist. He proceeds to throw you against the bed, harshly. You welcome the pain. It presents as a welcomed alternative to the overwhelming waves of pleasure convulsing your body. Like a breath of fresh air. He lands his knees against the mattress.

Slowly, he climbs over your naked body. His tongue floats through your sternum and over your nipples. You whimper at his touch. He pulls his head up to see your fucked out face. His blood-stained tongue resting lightly against his bottom lip as he bites into your neck once more. You let out a gasp before welcoming his entire body upon you. Your hand harsh against his head as you pull him harder against your neck. His thick cock lightly poking against your clit.

Kas pulls from your neck with a gasping breath. Blood staining his chin, mouth, and up to the tip of his nose. Those sharp teeth draining everything from you. Everything that is his. Everything that you are. You willingly let him. A smile sprawls across his bloodied lips as he quickly grabs your hips once more. He flips you both, where he rests on his back and you hover lightly above his cock. His fingers now rest lightly against your hips. He gives you the autonomy to choose whether you would like him or not.

Your hands rest against his chest as you attempt to focus your eyes upon him. You begin to struggle in your battle with the lightheadedness, but quickly shake your head about to regain control. You peer down, grabbing his shaft and guiding him to your hole. With a slow movement, you sink onto his cock. Your mouth hangs as your gummy walls take all of him in. You let out a moan as you slowly grind against his hips.

Kas props his head over his arm as he watches you in absolute adoration. His breath heavy as his eyes fall to where you connect. The slapping of your bodies makes him harder within you as you begin to bounce on his cock. "Fuuuuccckkkk," he elongates as his grip tightens at your waist. "Oof, daddy like it when you ride his cock," he whimpers. Between deep breaths, you murmur, "Yes, daddy." Kas' eyes roll to back of his head as his eyelids flutter. He bites his lip, enough to make blood seep.

"Keep bouncing," he demands as both his hands grab hold of your tits. "Shit, you feel so good." You whine as your fingernails dig into his chest, desperately clinging on to something as the tip of his cock continues to hit an unholy spot. You collapse against his chest as you back your body onto his cock. His hands scramble to your ass as your tongues dance around each other. The copper taste now becoming familiar as you suck against his bottom lip.

You quicken your movements as you slide backwards onto Kas' cock. Your hands grip harshly against his skin as you pull away from his lips. Your breathing heavy against his ear as you feel the rubber band pulling in your stomach once again. Abruptly, his hands are tight at your sides. He lifts you both up and pile drives his dick deep within you, repeatedly. You scream in pleasure as the pit in your stomach feels as though its about to burst.

You feel his breath loud in your ear. He moans your name over and over. The name said with so much vulnerability you forgot exactly who rested under you. You remembered him. You remembered Eddie. You haven't been this close to him in what feels like weeks. The body beneath you never felt more like him. He whimpers your name once more. Eddie leans his head against yours as you hear and feel his breath harden against your cheek. Your entire body begins to convulse as you hear him cum inside of you. Your entire body concaves onto him, holding him and never letting him go.

Eddie, the sweet boy, who loves you more than anyone has ever been loved. He returns to you. He finally rests in your arms as your chin quivers against the nape of his neck. The overwhelming feeling rushing through your body, as he slows his thrusts within you. "Y/n," he whimpers lightly in your ear once more. He gradually pulls his head up. His eyes meeting your teary. A slight pull appears to the side of his beautiful mouth. His gentle fingers push strands of sweaty and dirty hair from your face. "I never knew love," he whispers. "Not until now."

You pull him into a deep and passionate kiss. The kiss you would imagine planting on him when you saw him again, truly saw him again. Eddie is finally in your arms. Your arms wrap around his neck. His tongue heavily pressed against yours. Your body resting fully against him. He supports you, he holds you without issue. His strong body beautifully against yours.

As you gasp for breath, Eddie holds your face before his. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he whispers. He pulls you close for what you think is a kiss, but is actually a brush of the tips of your nose against each other. It is enough to bustle a giggle through your chest. He smiles at your face before him. "I am yours," he says softly. His eyes almost like a trance. They draw you in, filled with adoration and love. "And you are mine," he whispers. You nod, happily, as he lowers you for another passionate kiss...

After what feels like hours of passionate kissing, some how making up for lost time, you finally rest against his perfect chest. Eddie's heart beats loud in your ear as you curl tighter under his arm. His breath stable and comforting. "Promise you won't leave," you plead against his soft skin. Your finger lightly tracing hearts against his sternum. He pulls you close, planting a gentle kiss against your hair. "I promise I will never leave you, Y/n," he coos against your locks. You cuddle against his peck as your body finally succumbs to its exhaustion.

He laughs, his chest rising and falling, pulling you from your rest once more. "I think I left the oven on," he says softly. You laugh alongside him. "Those poor pancakes," you whisper against his skin. "I love you," Eddie whispers. You fall asleep with a smile to your face. He watches as your closed eyes transition into unconsciousness. He watches you rest peacefully as he runs his fingers through your hair.

Your eyes slightly open from your rest. The moon's glow flooding through the curtains that hang just above the strangers' bed. Comfort, desire, and trust flood your body as you feel his body beneath you. Your mind recollects the beauty of last night, remembering his last words before you fell asleep.

"I love you, Eddie," you say softly. The words fall carelessly from your mouth, naturally. As though these three words and his name are meant to be repeated for all of eternity. The sweet, ethereal words floating through the air as you raise your head up and your palm collapses against his cheekbone. The most beautiful eyes you have ever seen, peering back at you with sparkles within them. If you ever doubted your love for this man, you could always think back to this moment. This moment that you rake over his face, seeing every new line on his face, every new detail and to know, deep within you, that you will never let him go. That you love him with every thing that you can muster. You love him with every single minute atom within you. That no matter what situation, what world you find yourselves in - the two of you are meant to be. Perfect puzzle pieces that have finally found each other, once again.

What you will also remember is those same sparkles fading from his eyes. His pupils returning to a normal size despite his sights set on you. You won't forget how that beautiful smile falls from his face. How his brows pull together to make this cute, yet unnerving faint line upon his skin. As his hands, chest, and body no longer feel inviting, but tense at your touch. You can instantly recall the slow motion capture of his heart sinking into his gut as he repeats the words back out to you. How you could feel the exact moment when he started to pull away from under you.

"You love Eddie?" Kas asks sternly and slowly. He lays beside you, his eyes on anything but you. Your entire miracle future of a life with this man immediately snaps into reality. Your brows pull, just as his did. You start to stutter as your hand reaches for his, but he pulls away before your fingers could brush. "You told me you didn't know me," he starts but stops just as quickly. "Him," he states deadly as he pulls his chin to his chest, almost as though he was correcting himself. His head shaking as he pulls away even further. The space between you filling so quickly, so painfully. So incredibly painful, as though you both had strings attached to each other and he was ripping off each one by one. You are losing him again.

"I-I lied," you admit, despite your voice catching in your throat. You feel warmth against your cheeks, trailing down and off your jaw. "I needed to be with you," you say as you reach out for him. Kas stands up from the bed. His bare body glistening against the moonlight. He looks beautiful, as beautiful as you remember. "You lied to me, y/n," he says quietly, almost as though he was confirming the statement for himself. As though he was tasting how it feels in his mouth. Disgust. Painful. "You told me you didn't know him," he yells as he turns back towards you. You instinctually shutter at the sudden change of volume. Your hands pulling the covers over your chest as your bottom lip trembles.

Kas immediately notes your reaction. Tears well in his own eyes as he pulls his sight away from you. Almost as though this image is too much for him to bear. His hand raises to his mouth. He rubs his finger and thumb against the side of his mouth, ending with the rubbing of his jawline. His chin now wobbling as he hides his eyes from you. "Please," you plead tearfully. You raise from the bed, crawling closer to him. He quickly takes a step away from the mattress, far enough where you could not easily touch him. "Please look at me."

He turns to you. All of his pain written deep within his body language. He is gutted before you. Your entire body aches to comfort him, aches to hold him. But you calmly remind yourself that you caused this pain. You did this to him. To fully accept the punishment, you memorize every detail of the scene before you. To the top of his messy curls, to those pushed brows, to the eyes welled with tears, to those tears falling from the sides of his jaw and onto his chest, to his chest rising up and down as he struggles to hold a stable breath, to his bare and naked body, down to his sweet feet.

"You left me?" the man before you asks weakly through his tears. Sobs stifled in his throat as he struggles to breathe. In that moment, you knew this was no longer about your lie. That was not your greatest sin, not in his eyes. He thinks you left him. Left him like Dustin did. Left him to die. You quickly stand before him. Your hands to his shoulders as tears rush down your face. "No, no, no," you repeat. "No, I never did that. I would never do that to you! Baby, please!" You fall to your knees. Your hands tracing down his arms until they land loosely at his wrists. "Please, baby. Please remember," you push through sobs. You catch your eyes falling to his feet as you crumble before him. "Please, I wasn't there. I didn't know!"

The man before you pulls his wrists from your grasp gently. Your eyes rush back towards him as you begin to beg even harder. "Please, no!" you say as you watch him walk out the bedroom door. You stand, rushing behind him. You rush towards his jeans, keeping it tight against your chest, praying that he wouldn't leave without it. "Please, don't do this," you beg as his eyes trail from yours and down to the crumpled cloth against you.

Without any expression, he turns to the front door. You rush behind him once more, but were not quick enough to barricade yourself against its surface. With his palm around the nob, he twists it and takes a step outside into the rancid town. "Please!" you yell again, as you fall to your knees. He slowly steps down the porch's stairs. He looks out to the darkness before him. His eyes dead, void of any emotion now. The last emotion rests within the tear that slowly falls from his cheek.

"Please, Eddie, I can't lose you again!" you scream bloody murder as you sob against the wooden planks below your feet. The man before you turns around. The tear streaks against his cheeks now partly dry. You are struggling for breath beyond your sobs but you stare into the physical hardened truth before you. Slowly, his eyes fall upon yours. You cannot help the last sob that you attempt to stifle in your throat as you stare into his beautiful eyes.

"Eddie is dead," he says plainly before walking out into the darkness, leaving you in a pool of your own tears.

note: jesus h christ. idk if i'm way too high rn, but i feel like this is one of my best. lmk.

next part • i’ll make it quick •

comment to be added to the taglist! kas wants more of you for his army...

• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson smut #eddie kink #eddie kas theory #eddie smut #kas eddie x reader #kas vampire eddie #kas eddie munson #kas eddie x you

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do-you-have-a-flag · 3 years

Text

Destiel shippers come get ya’ll juice!

SO @deadwright and I were inspired by Some Tumblr Posts and the twitter Roadhouse Wedding stuff and keep writing headcanons about Thee Destiel 2021 Married Ever After S16 SPN Romantic Event Of The Season, so here’s that.

Arranged in order of marital chronology and cutting out us keysmashing too much:

oh man imagine all the burgers they get catered for the reception dean got it done himself he would’ve been so particular about the catering bridezilla cas would probably be THEE bitchiest bridezilla

it's also definitely that trope where all the other hunters ect KNOW that that many of them and the wedding party are essentially a target for trouble so everyone spends the 24 hours leading up to the vows taking out every beastie who shows up on a revenge kick out of sight because they'll be damned if they let ANYTHING stop this wedding and Dean and cas are both having their marital jitters oh god im not good enough what if something goes wrong about mundane things while monsters are getting their ass kicked outside AWWWWWWWW for sure for sure, they’re hunter royalty this wedding is a big deal like half the attendees are nursing injuries but grinning widely

they don't do the can't see eachother before the wedding thing because you KNOW dean would be fixing cas' tie last minute

dean wears a blue pocket square to match cas' tie cas wears a FLANNEL SQUARE

I’m obsessed w the idea of cas giving dean a little bit of his grace in a small bottle on a chain for him to wear or like a wing feather or some part of him god the grace in a bottle breaks me every time in fic dean probably builds cas something but every time i try to think of something specific i choke up

i was thinking like what if trading grace is as close to a romantic gesture as angels have and he's like..... technically i left some grace behind in your mark when i dragged you from the pit and dean is like ARE YOU SAYING WE'VE BEEN MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME?

they are so sweet i’m on the verge of tears the ability to do anything by halves in their relationship was burnt out by like the second return from the dead moment they are too insane to be anything less than All In And Then Some

at one point someone was like hey cas do you want to run your vows by someone as practice? and he started reading what he'd prepared and it devolved into Biblically Grand Statements Of The Power Of Love And The Redemption Of - ect ect ect and it's because unlike the confession scene he's had TOO much preparation and overshot into uncanny angelic vibes he makes some edits because he know the expressions he gets when he reads it aren't what he intended

dean writes page after page after page of unused drafts, none of them are particularly floral

he does the cliche of ripping up his vows and improvising at the altar, something he gets mercilessly teased for because he swore he wouldn't but it classifies as a chick flick moment

THAT’S SO PEAK HIM OH MY GOD and you knoooooow you just KNOW it’s beautiful and emotional and everyone is crying

god the NOVELTY of dean being emotionally honest in front of people......im gonna faint YEA yeah... ONE TIME ONLY DEAL he thinks loudly at Sam's smug expression

anyway, at the wedding dean is the one who spends the whole ceremony with like crying cat meme eyes after the confession scene i’m pretty sure the minute the vows start cas is in the same boat USELESS HUSBANDS dean gets passed a handkerchief for his tears and immediately goes to use it on cas' face and they both laugh sob love the idea that everyone individually thought they were too tough to cry but they all broke at various stages yeah sam definitely starts to choke up just standing up there with his brother sam chokes up before the ceremony even started, like probably when he was pinning on dean’s corsage

anyway, Jack dancing with his two dads at the reception CAS’ BEST MAN / FLOWER BOY FLOWER MAN let him heelie down the aisle with the flowers LITTLE MAN GO NYOOM who makes him a little flower crown he wears with a proud lil smile? claire ofc, with those hair braiding skills? she makes it BEAUTIFUL flower crown: on nails: painted dads: MARRIED!!!!

when they say i do and kiss and everyone is cheering you can't convince me that someone doesn't let off what is either a gun or a dubiously legal firework in celebration jack pops a few lightbulbs in his uncontrollable joy

Dean and Cas can't let go of each other, it's at LEAST one point of physical contact for the rest of the reception PERIODT

CAN YOU IMAGINE THEM DANCING TO AIR SUPPLY

they definitely didn't do the wedding gifts thing but a few mysteriously show up anyway; discuss waffle iron from sam bc he remembers the becky incident meanwhile claire gets them flavoured lube because she’s an insane little mean girl she gets them a sampler package with like novelty flavours, gotta spring extra for a wedding PIE FLAVOURED LUBE

it’s gonna be the party of the century omfg you KNOW it! that dancefloor going OFF the BAR is FLOWING

dean gets dragged up onto the bar to make a speech and there's a moment at the end where he drags cas up there too and they're being playfully yelled at not to scuff it and there's hooting and catcalls as dean and cas kiss and dean gestures rudely before almost falling backwards off the bar before cas grabs him and climbing down is less romantic or dignified but he couldn't care if he wanted to

meanwhile sam and claire are outside defacing the impala with silly string and lewd graffiti and tin cans tied to the bumper for the going-away oh it is one hundo percent a just married atrocity there's enough condoms hidden in the car that they're still finding them months later

anyway wanna hear my disgustingly soppy honeymoon roadtrip concept? YOU KNOW I DO OKAY SO

you know at some point dean must have said some sad thing like for the longest time he never thought he'd live long enough to get married and the only circumstances he could imagine was hooking up drunkenly with a stranger at some vegas wedding scenario like that's the best he would ever get and he thinks it's mostly forgotten but then during their cross country honeymoon roadtrip castiel does in fact navigate them to las vegas and quietly mutters that the legal veracity of the little chapel on the city limits is dubious at best and they're already married so it couldn't do any harm and they get officiated by an elvis impersonator and a woman wearing more sequins than fabric throws cheap confetti over them

and after that they stop into every venue they can find that would be friendly to them to pretend they're eloping and at one point dean even pulls out the fbi id badges and the officiant is under the impression he's facilitating some sort of covert workplace romance

one place is a kitchy little house that's clearly just the couple who run it opening their strange home to anyone who needs it and have been since the 70s and Castiel thinks for a moment when they're asked to pin something to the collection of stuff on the walls and ceiling before pulling the receipt for the pie they'd shared earlier in a dinner out and scrawling his and dean's name on it to be added to the clutter

and at one point they stand ankle deep in a pond while some old hippie lady wraps their clasped hands together with soft fabric and chants something that dean knows isn't real magic but hey he's not going to tell her that and after the ceremony they sit on the grass and feed each other sweet bread to complete the binding or whatever and it's nice but it doesn't compare to the ranch where they both tossed their cowboy hats in the air and were given a horse to ride to their camp site

i thought about riverboat gambling for point one seconds and now i know in my bones that one of their many weddings was on a riverboat, they made the captain officiate after cornering him on deck in like five minutes, the crew sent them complimentary champagne and they threw fries at the birds following the boat while sharing it straight out of the bottle

if destiel can go canon multiple times they can get married multiple times CHANGE MY MIND THEY GET MARRIED SO MUCH the MOST married i just want them to get gay cowboy married

eventually i want them to end up at the beach bc dean has canonically never been to the coast their road trip is to get to the other coast

they send just married postcards back to sam from every stop sam stops feeling hurt he was left out of their vegas elopement wedding by the third wedding postcard he recieves sam saves them ofc bc GOD can you imagine them looking at the postcards on their 30th anniversary or s/t 🥺 showing their grandkids and recounting the story of each wedding there's a seashell taped to the last one

cas gets a terrible sunglasses tan and dean gets burnt on the tips of his ears and there's sand on sand on sand in all their clothes and at one point dean is blinking away salt water and cas is gripping his arm and saying something about the coral by them in the water and dean thinks that he likes floating beside cas a lot better than flying

dean has cas pick ice cream for them from a truck and hustles at carnival games enough to win them both big novelty foam hats and they both go back to their room and pass out immediately post shower sprawled across the bed and still smelling like sunscreen and salt water

dean tucks a little cocktail umbrella behind cas’ ear

cas spends most of the next day in dean's zepplin shirt and a pair of shorts they only picked up once they got there because neither of them thought to bring beach clothes, they sit on the balcony and dean sips his beer and idly plays with the ring on cas' finger and they play a game of what fictional monsters could they beat in a fight

cas’ true form is the size of the chrysler building he can fight king kong easy that's what he says and dean's like okay but what about mothra and castiel is like how would YOU defeat mothra and dean just goes "bugspray." GDJSGSHSGSHDSJ DEAN WOULD

in honour of misha putting his whole pussy into the role, cas wears a dress in at least one of their weddings

it's at one of those theme parks that's just historical re-enactments and people get their vows renewed there and there's costumes for the photobooth and the staff are like how long have you been married? castiel says two weeks, three days, eighteen hours, and twenty five minutes................ approximately. and the photo is cas in a classical wedding gown and dean is wearing the veil with his old timey suit and there's a moose head on the wall behind them wearing the top hat he was given and they send that print with an arrow pointing at the moose with sam written next to it

i keep thinking bitch!!!! you KNOW WHAT!! you KNOW that dean is the type a guy who's heart races every time he feels his wedding ring/is always fiddling with it in the weeks after the wedding, like an anchor to remind him they really got married this is real he would NEED that physical reminder that he can have good things

he’s never ever going to take it off, the tan line will be permanent

how funny it would be if dean gets injured on a hunt and the monster guy is about to kill him and then the lights blow out and the monsters are like what was that and dean is just like "[spits blood] that's my husband." and nek minnit cas has just ripped through them thanks to teleporting in angel style and is just like Cas: [heals dean] "you're late for movie night" Dean: "Well if you'd gotten here earlier i would have been on time." Cas: >:| [kisses him]

cas is like i didn’t burn the popcorn this time you BETTER be alive to see it

#destiel #supernatural #long post #supernatural season 16 #twitter roadhouse wedding about to pop OFF #destiel wedding #deancas

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cutieodonoghue · 3 years

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the edge of hope (3/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1, 2

Third chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Passenger

It had been a long time since Omera had last ridden a speeder bike, but it almost felt as if it was just yesterday that she was entering races. She used to love the adrenaline rush; used to crave the feeling of living on the edge, tempting fate as she pushed her skills. With age and experience came wisdom that encouraged her otherwise.

On their way back to the Razor Crest at Mos Eisley, Omera kept her speeder alongside Din’s. It gave them the chance to exchange words every so often, something that helped keep her mind focused on the long journey.

“When did you race speeders?” Din asked. He kept his voice tempered, even over the engine noise.

Omera laughed from behind her scarf. “I was a few years older than Winta. Made me very popular.”

Din chuckled. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who would race.”

“We’re all young once.”

On Din’s side, she saw the Child tucked into a pouch of a bag, his ears flapping in the wind as he excitedly felt the rush of the ride. It had been a smooth journey, but they still had a ways to go before they would reach the hangar.

“Get behind me.” Din gestured with his head to what laid ahead of them. “Looks like a tight squeeze up there.”

Omera saw the formation of rocks just ahead and slowed enough to put appropriate distance between their speeders. A valley this tight would likely slow Din down just a bit for sake of caution, so she made sure to stay a few lengths back.

Just as he reached the opening of the rock valley, she watched with alarm as his speeder went vertical. There was a trap.

A group of bandits emerged from behind the rocks nearby, guns drawn.

Omera brought her speeder to an all out stop, careening sideways with dust gusting around her and Winta in a big cloud. They narrowly avoided the explosion of Din’s speeder as it crashed onto the ground. Everything that had been loose on board had been flung skyward, including the Child.

From where she was, she couldn’t see the baby, and she hesitated to put both she and Winta further into the situation. There were four bandits, all of them working together, and they seemed focused on getting Din distracted.

He fired his gun at one of the marauders, but the weapon was hit out of his hand. He was able to knock one of them unconscious, but the victory was short-lived when a pair of the enemy teamed up on him with fists.

Meanwhile, she noticed the smaller of the bandits with a rifle, pointed straight at the otherwise distracted Mandalorian. Quick on his feet, Din shot out a grappling hook from his wrist and pulled the rifle straight into the pair trying to assault him.

The bandit with the rifle changed his tactic, instead approaching the tiny boy, who she now saw toddling forward, stumbling slightly.

Acting on an automatic impulse, Omera brought her speeder toward the bandit and used her weight to lean the bike closer to the ground, enough that it spooked the bandit to scrambling away while she plucked the Child up into her arm.

“You okay?” Omera asked the boy.

The Child giggled, his smile wide. She couldn’t help but smile because of it as she brought her speeder around in time to catch Din knocking the thief onto his back with a blast from his gun.

He nodded in Omera’s direction, a signal that it was safe to approach.

“So much for my speeder,” he lamented.

Omera shook her head as she brought them in close. “I wish I could’ve done more to help.”

He studied her for a second. “When we get back to the Crest, I’ll give you a gun.” Din bent down to grab the satchel that had been the Child’s seat for their journey. “Peli will need a payment. I’d hoped we could give her the meat from the dragon.”

Omera climbed off of the speeder. “That I can help with.”

It took them a little while, but they were finally able to secure everything they needed onto the speeder bike.

Winta held the Child, and Din sat in the drivers’ position, leaving Omera to squeeze in behind him. She wrapped her arms around his middle as she got comfortable. They were closer than they’d been since that night on Sorgan. It made her heart race just a bit to recall the memory.

The Mandalorian glanced over his shoulder at her. “Okay?”

Omera nodded. “Just don’t drive like a maniac, and I think we’ll all survive.”

Din chuckled, a real laugh that she couldn’t help but adore. “Hang on tight.”

She did as he requested and he started up the bike, sending them forward at a steady pace.

There were no other bandits along their path, something Omera was very grateful for, and when they returned to the Crest, the worker droids explained that Peli had retreated to the bar for the evening.

On a sigh, Din turned to them, “Why don’t you and Winta get ready to leave while I go settle things with Peli?”

Omera nodded. “Fair enough.” She turned to Winta and smiled. “You ready to get going, my love?”

“There’s so much sand here,” Winta complained, not for the first time. She wore a grimace on her face as she tried to get it out of her hair.

“I know. We’ll get you a bath as soon as we land on our next planet.”

Omera shepherded Winta up onto the ramp that led into the Crest, and with the Child hanging from the pouch off of her side, she grabbed for what else of their belongings remained on the speeder bike.

After settling the rest of their things on the floor of the cargo hold, Omera lifted the Child into her arms and laughed when he reached out to touch her face.

“What?” she asked him playfully. “Can you try to say my name? Omera. O-mer-a.”

The Child merely tilted his head in curiosity, giggling as his fingers finally found her cheek.

“Here. Why don’t you and Winta play?” She settled the boy down onto the floor of the Crest. “I have to go check the speeder one more time.”

As Omera stepped off of the ship, she could hear Din and Peli exchanging words, making their way from the bar back to the hangar bay. The speeder bike sat just beyond the bay doors, and she made sure to check each crevice of the sidecar one more time before she was ready to bid it farewell.

“What’s the cargo?” she heard Din ask.

Omera made her way towards the ship. Din stood just outside of it, facing Peli and a pink frog-like creature. A woman, by the look of her dress.

She croaked an answer out to Din and Peli nodded once. It was interesting: just that morning, Din had been the translator. Now, he needed one of his own.

“It’s her spawn,” Peli said.

She gestured to the backpack that the Frog Lady carried. It was cylindrical, a tube of a sort, with blue liquid and what appeared to be eggs floating by the dozens.

“She needs her eggs fertilized by the equinox or her line will end. If you jump into hyperspace, they’ll die. She said her husband has settled on the estuary moon of Trask in the system of the gas giant Kol Iben.”

“She said all that?” Din asked dryly.

Peli shrugged. “I paraphrased.”

She heard Din sigh softly as she came alongside him. Peli glanced her way with a tiny smirk on her lips, like she had a quip ready to go should the moment arise.

“Is she sure there are Mandalorians there?” Din asked.

Peli croaked in the Frog Lady’s language and received an answer. Turning to the Mandalorian, she said, “She said her husband has seen them.”

For a few seconds, Din hesitated. It seemed he didn’t want to help this woman, whose need was desperate. His need was desperate, too. The Mandalorian they’d found wasn’t truly a Mandalorian.

“We can help bring her to her husband,” Omera said, speaking on Din’s behalf.

Peli’s face brightened. “See, I knew I liked you.”

The Mandalorian sighed heavily but said nothing.

Peli clicked her tongue against her cheek and gave Din a side-eyed glare. “Cranky Pants here was about ready to walk away from a good deal.”

Omera chuckled beneath her breath, looking at the Mandalorian. He had an annoyed stance, his hands on his hips and his head canted just slightly to the side.

“He’s had a long couple of days. He was almost eaten by a sand dragon.” She and Din stared at each other as she spoke. “Forgive him for being cranky.”

“I’m not cranky,” he said with a cranky edge to his voice. “I’m doing due diligence.”

She and the Mandalorian stared at each other for a few seconds. An argument brewed between them in silence. It was the right thing to do, but it wouldn’t be the safest thing to do. She understood that. Din probably did too, but he was too stubborn to admit it.

“I think this job will be rewarding for everyone involved.”

Din sighed again. He nodded his head and gestured outward with one hand toward the Frog Lady, resigned. “Fine.”

When Omera shifted her attention back in front of them, Peli wore a coy smirk on her lips and folded her arms against her chest. Her nose scrunched up when she spoke, “I don’t know where he found you, but I’m glad he did. He’s better for it.”

Her belly flipped on its own accord, but instead of responding to Peli, Omera smiled at the Frog Lady.

“I’m Omera. Come with me. You should meet our children.”

Gently, she waved her hand toward the ship and the Frog Lady followed after her with a curious little noise. Together, they climbed the ramp, and Omera smiled over at their new companion.

From somewhere beyond, she could hear Peli say to Din, “You keep staring at your lady friend like that and you’ll burn a hole straight through her.”

She couldn’t help but smile to herself. He hadn’t changed his ways all that much since he came to Sorgan for the first time.

In the cargo hold, she found Winta giggling with the Child in her arms, both of them sitting on a crate along the wall.

“My daughter and I are traveling with the Mandalorian,” Omera explained, even though the Frog Lady had nothing to say in return. “Winta, we have a guest joining us for a little while.”

Winta perked up, her eyes bright, and she nodded. “Hello. I’m Winta.”

The Frog Lady chirped, a pleasant sound. She seemed pleased to meet Winta and a little curious about the Child. The Child’s eyes went to the cylindrical backpack she carried and extended one hand outwards as he babbled.

The sound of Din’s boots on the ramp followed, quickly joining them in the hold. He sighed heavily, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

“Omera, can I speak with you in the cockpit?”

She nodded. Looking at the Frog Lady, she smiled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

When they both stood inside the cockpit, Din waited for the door to close before speaking. “We don’t have a lot of space for more passengers.”

“I heard Peli say that she could bring us to more of your kind.”

Din gave a resigned sigh. “Traveling sublight is dicey at best. I don’t think we need pirates or warlords on our tail.”

The concerns were valid, but her desire to do good weighed heavier than any fear of what might happen to them did. He was Mandalorian, and she knew now just how good of a fighter that made him. She had faith that he could carry them through any struggle that might come of helping someone in need.

“How far is the journey?”

In the silence he took to consider his answer, she took notice of how close they stood together. There wasn’t much space to stand in the cockpit, so they stood nearly toe-to-toe.

“Half a day. Likely longer.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Omera smiled at him. “Well, I know you’re a good pilot.”

Din sighed softly. He seemed a little less frustrated.

It was then that she realized: he was unable to deny her. He must have felt something for her far greater than simple companionship. The thought made hope bloom wildly within her chest.

The Mandalorian kept his feelings to himself, and sometimes she wondered if the feelings she felt were at all reciprocated. It was good to know that there at least was a chance.

“I don’t speak her language.”

Omera couldn’t help but smirk. “Feeling a little taken down a notch after your heroics these past few days on Tatooine?”

He sighed again. “No.”

She bit on her lip, thoughtful, and put her palm on his chest over his heart. “Well, Winta and I can sit in the cargo hold with her if that will make it an easier trip.”

He brought his hand to hers on his chest and held it for a few seconds in silence before he replied, “Alright.”

Omera’s eyes closed on their own volition when he lowered his forehead to hers. In her mind, it was as close to a kiss as she would probably ever get from the man she loved. The intimacy of it always filled her chest with the most overwhelming peace she’d ever known.

When Din pulled away, he still held her hand and walked with her out of the cockpit, only releasing her in the instant before she began the climb back down the ladder.

When they gathered with the rest of their crew, the Frog Lady instantly looked away from whatever story Winta was telling her, instead focused on the Mandalorian. She croaked, her words falling on ears that could not understand.

“We are about to take off,” Din said. “I’m gonna ask you to stay strapped in as best you can whenever you’re seated. Especially you, Winta.”

Winta nodded. Omera had to smile at the care in his voice for her daughter.

“I’ll take him.” Din gestured for his son. “It’s gonna take a while. I recommend all of you get some rest.” He looked at the sleeping nook that was built into the back wall and added, “If you want to lay down, feel free.” His attention went to Omera. “Any of you.”

Omera nodded to him. He was doing all of this for her, and she hoped he knew she appreciated it. “Thank you.”

From the cockpit of the Crest, having just set the navigation to automatic, Din settled into his chair feeling just a little bit guilty. He was exhausted, having spent a good part of the day fighting off a krayt dragon, then dealing with bandits during their journey back to Mos Eisley.

The last thing he wanted was a journey like this one, but he did need to find his kind. This was his only lead.

Beside him, the Child cooed, reaching out for a button on the console.

“No touching,” Din chastised. “Nap time.”

The Child looked at him, tilting his head to the side with his ears perked. He reached for the button again and Din sighed heavily.

“What did I just say?” He pulled the Child’s hand away from the button and held it. “Aren’t you tired?”

Din lifted the boy from his spot on the console and into his arms instead, recalling with fondness how Omera had rocked him to sleep by the fire, her voice gentle and beautiful. The depths of her seemed to be never ending.

“Try to sleep, kid.”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep with the memory of Omera’s lullaby.

The next thing he knew, the communicator beeped at him.

Suddenly, he noticed two X-wings on their tail, moving up on each side of the Crest.

On a deep sigh, he straightened himself. So it wasn’t just pirates he had to be worried about. He also needed to contend with the New Republic.

“Come in, Razor Crest. Do you copy?”

Clearing his head, Din held the Child closer to himself. He answered, “This is Razor Crest. Is there a problem?

“We noticed your transponder is not emitting.”

And it was for good reason, too. If he turned it on, they’d be in far greater danger. Just moving as slow as they were had seemed risky enough as it was.

“Yes, I’m pre-Empire surplus. I’m not required to run a beacon.”

For a second, he thought they bought it.

“That was before. This sector is under New Republic jurisdiction. All craft are required to run a beacon.”

With a slight grimace, Din considered his reply. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get right on it.”

“Not a problem. Safe travels.”

They were New Republic, and he didn’t want to raise any flags with them. If anything, he wanted to get on their good side, so he said, “May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you.”

A pause.

“Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna need you to send us a ping. We’re out here sweeping for Imperial holdouts.”

Kriff. There wasn’t any way out of this, was there? He was going to be figured out, and everyone on board would be at risk. The Child, Omera, Winta… their guest. The Crest had been in some tight spots before with the New Republic. A particular prison breakout came to mind.

“I’ll let you know if I see any.”

“I’m still gonna need you to send us that ping.”

He glanced down at the dash, at the unit that could perform the task as requested. “Well, I’m not sure I have that hardware online.”

“We can wait.”

Din paused, pretending to tinker with it, thinking maybe they’d buy it. “Yeah, I… Doesn’t seem to be working.”

“That’s too bad. If we can’t confirm you’re not Imperial, you’re gonna have to follow us to the outpost at Adelphi. They’ll run your tabs.”

It seemed he would be unable to escape the New Republic this time.

“Oh, wait. There it is.” Din flipped the switch. A ping was sent to the pair of officers. “Transmitting now.”

In his arm, the Child made a noise, a gurgle that lasted longer than his typical cooing.

“Shh.” Din shifted the boy in his grasp. “Be quiet.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, nothing. The hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold.”

The pair of officers took the call onto a separate channel and that was when Din decided to tuck the Child back into his seat. He buckled him in, already knowing that he was about to run.

The pair of X-wings both extended their wings as if they knew what was coming.

“Was your craft in the proximity of New Republic Correctional Transport, Bothan-Five?”

And there it was. They’d caught him.

Having absolutely no choice but to flee the scene, Din took control of the Crest, ignoring the New Republic officer’s voices as they chased him down. He supposed it was lucky that the patrol had come alongside him right on the edge of a planet he could try to use to lose them.

“That thing’s gonna break apart in this atmosphere,” one of the officers said over the comms.

With no other choice but to keep pressing forward, Din did as his gut led. From beside him, the Child let out a noise or two, but kept otherwise silent. He could only imagine how the rest of his traveling party were fairing.

The Crest dropped low, free falling through the clouds of the upper atmosphere of the planet. He hoped that the passengers down below were strapped in tight.

Once they were clear of the clouds, Din grabbed tight control again. The planet was icy on the surface, with canyons like a cracked foundation that were deep enough to fly into.

“He’s headin’ down into that canyon.”

The icy world was unfamiliar, and it was downright impossible to keep the Crest flying steady with two X-wings on him like a couple of pests.

“I got ‘im. Target computer active.”

Nope. Nope. Nope.

It was then that he saw an opportunity. He hung a right and the duo followed, but lost him the instant he lowered the Crest into a tighter cavern.

The ship collided into an ice wall and Din directed it into a tight space, enough that he could hear the hull scraping as they made the maneuver. They bounced off another wall before skidding along the floor until the ship finally stopped.

Each bump and jolt of the vessel made him grimace, but they were hidden. That was all that he needed.

“I’ve lost visual.”

“He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“You head north. We’ll cover more ground.”

Finally, the confirmation that he’d hidden them well enough came through the comms, just in time for the fragile ice beneath the ship to shatter and for the ship to fall straight down, the feeling of butterflies filling his belly as he braced himself for an impact that was sure to follow.

“Hang on!”

The Child whimpered and sobbed, terrified.

When the Crest hit the ground, it was at an angle, buried into the icy floor. The cavern they’d landed in was dark, and so was the ship. It had lost power in the crash.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Din turned to the Child, his first priority to learn how everyone had fared in the crash landing.

“You okay, kid?”

The Child held his head up high and blinked at him when he stood. From all appearances, the boy was just fine. Maybe shaken, but so was he.

Now, he had to check on the rest of his crew.

With the Child in one arm, he opened the door to the cockpit, not sure what to expect. When he dropped down into the cargo hold, the first thing he noticed was the sound of whistling wind and snowflakes fluttering inside.

There was a gaping hole in the side of the ship, and now everything inside was freezing over. His eyes grew wide with a start and he pivoted to scan the space for the passengers.

“Omera? Winta? Everyone okay?”

Omera and Winta were the first he could see, the mother protecting her child while cuddled together on the floor amongst the scattered cargo. He heard the Frog Lady’s croaking voice before he looked to his right to find her. She rubbed the top of her head, lying out on her side as she shivered.

“Gotta get you some blankets. Keep you warm.”

Din charged into action, going to the nook he used as his bed. There wouldn’t be enough for all of them, but at the very least, he would give what he had.

When he returned with the pair of blankets, he offered one to the Frog Lady first. He helped her sit upright and wrapped it around her, giving her arms a gentle rub.

Looking up, he met Omera’s gaze from across the hold. “You alright?”

She helped Winta sit upright against the wall behind them, studying her daughter briefly.

“Shaken, but we’re fine otherwise. What happened?”

He handed Omera a blanket and she wrapped it around Winta, whose teeth had begun to chatter violently enough that she couldn’t help but make noise.

“My past caught up with me.” Din took a steadying breath to contemplate their next move and scanned the mess that had become the lower deck of his ship. “I’ll cover up this hole. We need to try to keep the warmth inside as best we can.”

He set to work, pinning up a tarp over the hole in the hull, and with Omera’s help, they pushed aside the cargo that had shifted in the crash. After everything was in some semblance of order, he found Omera a blanket.

With the nurture and caring of a mother, she helped the Child sit on a crate with a small snack in hand, and Din approached her with the blanket in hand.

“Here. Found it in storage.”

Omera smiled slightly at his extended offering and reached out to take it, but he acted faster, unfolding it and draping it around her shoulders on her behalf. She held it tight against herself.

He wished he could do more for them. After everything that had happened so far, he felt worse about allowing Omera and Winta to have suffered even just a little in the crash. This wasn’t what they’d joined him for.

“Thank you.”

Looking to the rest of the group, Din said, “The main power drive is not responding, and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls.”

“Are we stuck here?” Omera asked.

“No,” Din replied. “Even if we have to all cram ourselves into the cockpit, we’ll make it out of here, but… for now, we need to wait. I’ll have a better idea of what to do in a few hours. I think we should all try to get some sleep.”

Omera looked at the Frog Lady and he saw something sorrowful in her gaze. The Frog Lady made an equally sad noise.

“We need to try to leave here as quickly as we can,” Omera said, as if just saying so would motivate him. “Peli said these eggs are the last of her kind. If they aren’t brought to Trask in time, it will be the end of her species.”

The Frog Lady seemed to understand Omera’s words. She perked up and nodded in agreement as another croak in her language spilled forth.

Meanwhile, the Child toddled toward Din on the floor, wrapping his fingers around his leg.

“I know what the deal was,” Din finally told Omera. He reached down to lift the Child into his arm, hoping to provide him some comfort in the cold. “But things changed. We’re here. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

Omera offered the Frog Lady an apologetic smile. “We will do what we can. I promise your eggs will make it to Trask in time.”

“Omera.”

She shook her head to silence him. “We made her a promise when we brought her on board. We have to do right by her. I know you’re tired, but this is important.”

Din sighed. There were times he was glad he wore a helmet. Presently, he was glad because if Omera could read his face, she would see that he didn’t feel all that enthusiastic about their current predicament.

As much as Omera wanted to be a help to this Frog Lady, she knew nothing about what was going on. He wouldn’t argue with her about it, because she was right: he was exhausted from a couple of hard days. Crashing the Crest into a freezing cold temperament only seemed to intensify his need to shut his eyes.

Beneath his armor, he was only a tired, frustrated man.

He sank down onto the floor, leaning back against the side of the ship. He released a breath, exhausted.

“Winta, let’s try and get some rest,” Omera said. She rubbed her hands along Winta’s arms. She ushered Winta towards the side of the ship near him. “We’ve had a long day.”

Winta settled onto the floor beside him and grabbed onto his arm, her eyes full of worry. “Will the ship be okay?”

Din nodded once. “The Crest has seen a lot. This is just a scratch.”

Winta offered him a smile. Omera joined her on the floor, her arm wrapped tightly around her. Opposite them, the Frog Lady sat on the ground, seemingly too worn to keep up the argument.

She cradled her eggs, a worried croak muttered under the yellow of the emergency lights.

As bad as he felt for all that had happened, Din fell asleep swiftly.

When he awoke, it was to a voice he’d thought he’d never hear again: the droid from the prison break, the one he’d dismantled and stuffed into storage with the intention of dumping.

“Wake up, Mandalorian.”

His eyes opened, panicked, and he gripped the Child in his arm tighter, drawing his gun quickly from his side to aim it at the offending noise.

The Frog Lady stood beside the droid, holding in her hand a communicator. The droid’s eyes glowed as if it were functional, but it didn’t move.

“Do not be alarmed. I bypassed the droid’s security protocols and accessed its vocabulator.”

He shook his head, angry. The memory of the droid with a weapon drawn on the Child was burned into his mind’s eye and would never leave. “What the hell are you doing? That droid is a killer.”

Din slid his gun back onto his belt.

The Frog Lady seemed just as angry as he felt. “These eggs are the last brood of my life cycle. My husband has risked his life to carve out an existence for us on the only planet that is hospitable to our species. We fought too hard and suffered too much to resign ourselves to the extinction of our family line. I must demand that you hold true to the deal that you agreed to.”

The words, spoken through the droid, echoed Omera’s earlier sentiment. He turned to check on her. She stared back at him with that same sorrowful look on her face from before. And, deeper still, that secret still burrowed in the shine of her eyes.

“Look, lady,” Din turned his attention to the Frog Lady, “the deal is off. We’re lucky if we get off this frozen tomb with our lives.”

“I thought honoring one’s word was a part of the Mandalorian code. I guess those are just stories for children.”

She was right. It was part of the code to honor one’s word, and it was insulting to think that he could change her mind about the honor of a Mandalorian based on his performance evading his own arrest.

Fixing his ship in these freezing conditions was going to be difficult, and it might not even work well enough for them to leave in time for the deal to have a happy ending.

He sighed heavily when the Child cooed, his voice a warm reminder of the commitment he’d made to be a father to the boy. As his father, he needed to show him the Way, which included honoring his word.

“Fine.” Din nodded. He set the Child down and pushed himself up off of the floor. “Omera, how useful are you with electrical systems?”

Omera smiled up at him. “I can find my way.”

“Then you and I will try and get the power back online. Weld some of the hull back together.” He grabbed his tool kit from the top of a nearby crate. “In the meantime, everyone else should stay here. Try to stay warm.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” the droid said on the Frog Lady’s behalf. “I hope you listen to your wife more.”

He opened his mouth, surprised by the choice of word, but Omera was on her feet and at his side faster than he could speak. She gave him a playful look, a single eyebrow lifted.

“Yes, Mandalorian. You should listen to me more.”

Sighing, he shook his head and gestured to a crate. “There should be some clothes to keep you warm in the bin, there. I’ll go see what it looks like from the outside.”

The damage to the Crest was far worse than he’d thought it was. Thick, dark smoke billowed out of it, live wires sparked, there was a leak, and the hull would have almost been better removed and replaced than even attempting a fix.

He began with prying back a loose piece of the outer hull, already regretting the decision when he realized how bad it really was beneath the surface. Omera stepped outside as he started working on fusing some electrical wire.

“Oh. If this is just a scratch… I’d hate to know what else has happened.” Omera came closer to him. “Where are your tools? I’ll help mend this back together.”

“They’re…”

He paused, turning to look at her. She wore one of his long-sleeved shirts over the top half of her body, and a hat that he must’ve taken off of a bounty at some point covered her ears. Her nose was still red from the cold, but she soldiered through, rubbing her bare hands together as she walked over the ice floor.

“They’re... what?” Omera laughed, her breath escaping past her mouth with a puff of white.

He shut his eyes, embarrassed, and gestured toward the box. “There. Sorry. I didn’t expect you’d wear my…”

“Oh, this is yours?” Omera seemed surprised as she looked down at the top she wore. “It’s very warm.”

Din swallowed, continuing to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before in his life. “I… yeah.”

She laughed again. “I’ve never heard you so at an obvious loss for words.”

It was strange, the way she seemed to make him turn into a completely different person just because she smiled in his direction. A few months ago, they had been intimate, so feeling out of his head because she was wearing his shirt felt entirely flustering.

He turned back to his task, determined to set himself to it again. “It’s just the cold getting to me.”

“Uh huh.” Omera plucked a tool from his repair kit and stepped around him toward another exposed strip of wiring. “How long do you think the repairs will take?”

Din shook his head. “Hard to say, but assuming it doesn’t get any worse than it is now… if we both fuse as much as we can back together, maybe we can get out of here within the next couple hours.”

Omera hummed thoughtfully. She examined the scratched up metal in front of her. “Do you have-”

“Should be in the crate beside the… hole in the wall.”

She took a few steps backward and took the Crest in from a small distance. “I see now why you were so sure the deal was over.”

Din nodded. “You were right, though. It’s important I follow through on this. The Child needs to learn what it’s like to make good on your word even when it seems impossible.”

Omera didn’t have a response. She stepped inside the ship to grab what she needed. Din returned his attention to the hull with a sudden deep longing welling up inside of him.

They worked in tandem to do what repairs they were able.

The wind howled through the cavern of ice, a steady reminder of just how frozen this planet was, and he kept an eye on his companion to make sure she wasn’t frosting over as much as his armor was.

By the time they wrapped around to the right side of the ship, away from the hole in the hull, her fingers shook enough that the tools were hard for her to grip firmly enough to use. She had to stop what she was doing to breathe into them, rubbing her palms together for friction.

Din paused his work to take her hands into his. “You’re trembling.”

Omera nodded. Her nose and cheeks were red, but she smiled through it. “I’m okay. We’re almost done.”

Din took his hands away from hers and tugged one of his gloves off, holding it out to her. “Here.”

With a cautious look in her eyes, she took the glove from him. He watched her slide it over one hand, her dominant one.

Her gentle smile was a reminder that he got lucky when she agreed to join him. So easily, Omera could've stayed where she was and both of them would have been unchanged by it. She wanted to be at his side for this journey- even for the mistakes made along the way.

“Thank you.”

They continued to work as quickly as they could, fighting the cold with nothing but sheer determination.

For a while, it was quiet, until Din heard the Child babble something, the noise drawing his attention to the boy. He stood on a nearby mound of ice, gesturing outward with one arm.

“How ‘bout you come over here, give us a hand?” Din asked. “Make yourself useful.”

When the Child seemed to ignore him, instead toddling away, Din sighed wearily. Omera stopped her work on the hull as well.

“Hey, kid,” Din called out after him. He didn’t stop moving, not even as Din walked around the Crest to find where he was going so fast. “I said hey! Where are you going?”

Moving swiftly, Din approached the Child, forcing him to look up at him. He babbled again, gesturing out as he faced a small opening in a nearby cave. He must have seen the Frog Lady venture off of the ship. Winta wouldn’t have gone off on her own; wouldn’t have been able to.

Din scanned the footprints in the snow with his visor. Definitely the Frog Lady.

He took the Child into his arm. “Guess we’ve got to go find her.”

Omera’s voice came from behind him, “I’ll come with you.”

Together, they walked up the path into the ice cave. Once inside, they quickly uncovered the reason the Frog Lady had sought it out: there was a warm body of water. She sat in it, her eggs floating around her.

“Oh, there you are,” Omera said with kindness. She knelt down beside the Frog Lady.

“You can’t leave the ship,” Din scanned the cave for signs of danger. Seemed like just about anything could have lived there. He settled the Child on the ground and knelt beside the warm water. “It’s not safe out here.”

The Frog Lady croaked and whined, clearly far more comfortable in the hot spring than being out in the freezing temperatures. Must’ve been nice for the eggs, too.

“Let’s gather these up.” Din pulled the container toward himself and began plucking the eggs out of the water. He listened to the Frog Lady speak again and felt compassion for her, truly. “I know it’s warm, but night’s coming fast, and I can’t protect you out here.”

At his side, the Child leaned in and plucked an egg into his hand. Luckily, Din caught it in time and forced it out of his grip.

“No. No!” He shook a finger at the Child, hoping he could understand. “These aren’t for you to eat.”

It was hard enough dealing with a woman he couldn’t understand while also trying to wrangle a toddler that seemed to have it in for him as of these past few hours.

The Child whimpered, but Din turned his focus instead on gathering as many eggs as he could while Omera did the same.

“We’re working on getting the ship fixed,” Omera said. “It should be done very soon. I promise we’ll get out of here. You’ll be reunited with your husband and you’ll be blessed with many children.”

The Frog Lady croaked in a way that seemed like she appreciated what Omera had to say. Din dropped a few more eggs into the container.

“Oh, no.” Omera suddenly stopped what she was doing. “Din, the Child.”

When he looked at her, he found her attention laser focused a short distance ahead. He whirled around to discover that the Child had encountered a different sort of egg, his head tilted with curiosity as he extended his hand toward it.

He stood, scrambling with the backpack of eggs. “No! Come down from there!”

But, as seemed to be the Child’s prerogative as of late, he didn’t listen. Instead, he stuck his hand straight into the egg, cracking it open and spreading the yolk over his hand.

For a moment, there was nothing. And then, it seemed, as it always was, there was everything.

Rumbling echoed from somewhere in the great cavernous beyond and he turned to the Frog Lady to get her out of the water, but she was already at Omera’s side, fully clothed.

“Come here,” Din ordered the Child, but he didn’t need to.

The boy was already anxiously toddling back to him as eggs perched in the ice all around them hatched and out emerged hundreds of small spider-like creatures. He met his kid halfway, scooping him up into his arm.

Then, he slid the Frog Lady’s egg backpack over his shoulder frantically. Just as he did so, a massive spider-like ice creature emerged from an upper alcove, screeching loudly in anger.

It was the mother of the egg that the Child- his child- had just ruptured for a snack.

It growled, furious, and then, there were more of them. Hundreds and hundreds of smaller spider-like creatures emerged from what seemed like nowhere, all of them just as furious as the mother.

He grabbed his pistol from his hip and shouted, “Go, go, go! Back to the ship!”

They scrambled, rushing out of the hot springs with fervor. All he could think about was making sure nobody got hurt, and that inevitably led him to worrying about Winta, who was alone in the Crest.

“Winta’s alone,” he shouted toward Omera. “We need to hurry. We don’t know how many of these things there are.”

It seemed they were only able to outrun them for a little while before the creatures showed their advantage: they knew the caves better than they did. Several appeared ahead of them, earning blasts from his blaster pistol that sent them to the ground.

As they rounded a corner, the largest spider growled at them from where it was following them on the upper ice ceiling. It stuck one of its legs through the ice directly in front of Omera, who jumped backwards, right into his open arm.

They paused only briefly before they were at it again. This time, Din had an idea: he could create an explosion.

He threw three grav charges behind them as they continued to run, launching the last at the largest creature above them. The explosives succeeded in caving in the path for the smaller spiders, and brought the mother spider down to the floor, stopping her assaults on them.

But even as they continued, there seemed to be all the more of these creatures eager to be exploded by the fire of his blaster.

The sound of a blast from a gun surprised him to turn and see that Omera had a weapon in her grasp, her focus firm as she fired at the creatures that were in their path. She must have grabbed one from the Crest.

He had no time to dwell, but couldn’t help feeling empowered. They were in this together.

The final corner led them straight out of the caves, back to the Crest, and as soon as he could even set his gaze on it, he knew all of their work on it wouldn’t be nearly enough. But, they needed to try.

Omera led the charge to the ship, helping by setting the Child inside before the Frog Lady joined him. Together, he and Omera continued to blast at the spiders.

“They’re just gonna keep coming,” Din told Omera. “We need to try getting out of here.”

She fired off one more blast before going inside herself, and he followed, his teeth gritted when the hold began to fill with the creatures like a wave coming into shore.

He climbed up the ladder to the cockpit behind Omera, and once they were inside, he stood facing the door, shooting at the creatures who wanted their way inside. A few got free, but Omera had his back, firing at them with her gun before they had the chance to do anything.

The door refused to close. Spiders pushed in and piled up by the dozens. He blasted them with his flamethrower, and luckily, the door was finally able to seal.

Little tapping claws on the glass of the cockpit windows indicated that the creatures had begun to crawl on top of the Crest.

“Mama...” Winta sat in one of the chairs, having come to the cockpit on her own accord. She clung to Omera, who sat down in the chair, tugging her daughter with her.

“Strap yourselves in.”

Din flipped switches as he sat in the pilot’s chair, eager to see if he could get the ship to function. The Child made his way into Din’s lap as if drawn there automatically.

“This better work. I’ve got limited visibility. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

The engine whirred. The Crest began to lift, pulling itself out of the ice floor, and for a moment, he felt as if everything would be okay. They were going to make it out of this alive.

Before he could even consider his next thought, something jumped onto them, forcing the Crest straight back into the ground once more with all of its weight.

The large spider-creature announced her arrival with a screech and jumped straight in front of the cockpit, pressing her claws inside, shattering glass, as if torturing them before she would make her final move.

It attached its ugly mouth to the top of the cockpit glass, sharp teeth extending as it prepared to do its worst.

The Crest shook with each lunge forward and Din heard the Child whimper in fear. Each heartbeat in his chest was a reminder that they’d come so far, but there was absolutely nothing he could do.

They were stranded, alone, and at the mercy of the creature. He couldn’t save them.

Omera had trusted him with her and Winta’s lives, and now, they would all be a tasty snack for an enraged monster on an ice planet. Nobody would even know what happened to them.

But then, as if by miracle, the friendly sounds of guns blasting rang out clearer than any other sound, zapping the spider-creature where it clung to the Crest in its outrage.

Just a few seconds later, it fell to its demise in front of the ship and Din finally could breathe again.

That was far too close for comfort. He could only imagine what his passengers were thinking.

Turning to the rest of the crew seated behind him, he nodded at Omera. “Well done back there.”

“Thanks,” she said, breathless with relief. “Who saved us?”

Din stood, settling the Child into Winta’s arms so he could handle the men waiting for him outside. “The New Republic.”

After very narrowly avoiding arrest by the New Republic patrol, Din and Omera set to fixing what they could on the exterior of the cockpit, having decided that they would all stuff in together there for the rest of the journey to Trask.

“Why did you run from the New Republic?” Omera asked.

She passed him one of the tools from the kit at his request and then continued welding.

“I got roped into a mission to break someone out of a New Republic prison transport. We used the Crest. I didn’t want them to arrest me.”

Omera paused what she was doing, but said nothing.

Din sighed, turning to look at her directly. “Go ahead. Tell me you want to go back to Sorgan.”

She gave him a slightly offended look. Her shoulders fell as she shook her head. “Din… I don’t want to go back to Sorgan.”

He turned his focus on fusing the hull surrounding the cockpit once again. “They cleared me. It isn’t going to happen again.”

“I doubt it could, with your ship in such rough condition.”

Din laughed to himself through his nose. “You’re right about that.” Pulling away from his work, he turned to her. “I’m sorry this happened. The kid just won’t listen to me. I don’t get it.”

Omera lowered her tool into the repair kit and thoughtfully looked at him. “Children are by nature curious. I think you just need to find a way to tame his curiosity.”

“How? He’s… Jedi.”

“Just because he’s Jedi doesn’t mean he isn’t a child.” She paused, smiling a little. “Maybe find something he likes and offer it to him as a reward for listening to you.”

Din nodded. “I wish I knew how long it took his species to speak. He can heal flesh wounds and create force fields, but he can’t tell me what he wants.”

Omera put a hand on his helmet, her smile spreading softly. “You are the best one for this job. You’re his father. He’s your son. You share a bond, even if you aren’t his kind.”

His heart fluttered, not for the first time at the mention of the word father. Was he really a father?

He hadn’t really thought of himself as one, even after being told that it was his duty by the armorer. The idea that he was responsible for the Child made sense in his mind. He could care for him and deliver him to where he belonged. But being a father meant something more. Didn’t it?

In his mind’s eye, he saw his own father, a man who had been so kind and giving. A man who had sacrificed himself so that Din could live. Was he capable of that kind of sacrifice? Could he ever display that kind of love for the Child?

Din nodded at Omera, appreciative of her support. “Thank you.”

She studied him for another second and then pulled her hand away from his helmet.

Setting his mind away from the fears deep within, he looked at the work he’d done. Time would only tell if what they’d done in repairs was enough.

“Well… you ready to see if she’ll fly?”

“I think we’ve done all we can with what we have.”

The ship wobbled and creaked, but eventually, he did get them out of the ice canyon and back out into space. A feeling of relief filled the cockpit, even as the Crest continued to tremble from everything it had been through.

He set the nav computer to their destination and looked over his shoulder at the Frog Lady and Omera.

“We’re on our way.”

The Frog Lady made a happy noise and Omera awarded him a warm smile, a reward for not giving up on the deal.

Once they landed on Trask, the first thing he wanted to do was reward Omera and Winta with a warm place to sleep, bathe, and eat.

In his lap, the Child cooed, peering up at him with a little smile on his face. Din cradled him with one arm and twisted the knob of the lever he seemed to like so much. He dropped it into the Child’s hands and was given a delighted giggle.

“Now, go to sleep,” Din instructed. “It’s going to be a long trip.”

The Child seemed to understand. He played with the shiny orb in his palm for only a moment before settling in, his eyes closing tight. Din’s heart squeezed at the sight.

Maybe their next stop would be a fresh start on this journey for all of them.

#mandomera #din x omera #the mandalorian #my writing #the edge of hope #there's some cuuuuuute in this chapter y'all

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

Cor Cordium

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (3)

Pairings: Riku/Sora, Roxas/Sora (one-sided), Axel/Roxas (hinted), Vanitas/Ventus (Hinted), Aqua/Terra (mentioned)

Tags: #character study, #relationship study, #post canon, #post kh3, #spoilers, #mourning, #multiple pov, #little dialogue

Words: 6.9k (nice)

Summary: O heart of hearts, the chalice of love’s fire, Hid round with flowers and all the bounty of bloom; […] It is not the end of his story, only the beginning, but everyone is too occupied with mourning to understand.

Cor Cordium

Tell me, Atlus. What is heavier? The world or its people’s hearts?

Sora remembers the phantom feeling of sand under his palms, warm little crystals pressing into his skin. He can’t tell if this is really a memory or just a wish. Lately, it’s been difficult to tell them apart, their lines blurring together. Or maybe since he arrived Here, it’s never been clear from the start, and he’s just clinging to shadows dancing in the back of his mind. He is floating. Or at least he thinks he is. A strange sensation tingles through his body, it feels like thousand ants are crawling on his skin, and yet he knows that his body isn’t really here. Wherever Here is. Sora is passably conscious, not asleep but not quite awake either.

Darkness surrounds him. He can’t see it— it’s more of a feeling, a gentle brush of air against his mind, but it doesn’t scare him. This darkness isn’t the end, it isn’t the beginning either. It is nothing, this blank space between existing and disappearing, and somehow Sora managed to get caught in there. How is he supposed to explain that to Kairi and Riku? And just like that, the warm feeling dissipates, and Sora thinks of his life and his friends, and how both are so closely linked together. One cannot exist without the other. But with each passing moment, Sora feels bits and pieces of him crumbling into dust, scattering like sand swirled by a breeze on a warm summer day.

Sora is alone. He is cold. He is afraid. He is dimly aware of pain, but mostly of a tremendous fatigue, as if he has been covered in layer upon layer of impossibly heavy blankets. It takes a moment for him to realise the wet drops on his face are his own tears, and he curls into a small ball, clinging to himself. He would give anything to see his friends again.

Minutes, hours pass. Maybe only seconds. Time is a foreign concept, a construct not applicable to Sora. Oblivion is grey, it eats at Sora’s mind, at his heart, and he wants to fight it because they can take anything from him but his heart; his heart, a place for so many lives; a prison? A fortress filled with light of hopes and promises he’ll never be able to keep. Maybe now he is paying for the sins he doesn’t remember, for the dreams he’s failed to fulfil, hunting him like hungry beasts with sharp claws.

He’s always known that his most powerful trait was his heart, and so in the end it was only natural that it would be his demise as well. O heart of hearts, beloved of all beloveds is a line from somewhere Sora can’t remember, but he feels it quite fits. He is the core of a small universe in which everyone stretches their hands out to touch him, to take something from him— and Sora wants to give, to give so much that in the end nothing will be left of him. Somehow he thinks that is quite alright, for he is the heart of hearts.

☆

When Sora disappears, Roxas bolts awake from a restless sleep, tears blurring his vision and burning like acid on his cheeks. He isn’t just crying; Roxas is wheezing, sobbing as his heart breaks, and he realises Sora is gone. He can’t breathe. It feels like something vital is missing—a limb or a sense, and he wonders if this is how Ventus is feeling all the time since Vanitas’ disappearance. He doesn’t hear Axel’s worried voice calling his name over and over again; he doesn’t feel his long, heavy arms around his waist. Roxas only feels this boiling, parching anger at Riku, because out of all people, he must have known what was coming. And he let Sora go.

Roxas jumps out of bed, long legs tangled in the sheets, and lands face first on the carpet. His cheek burns from the friction, but the pain is nothing compared to what is raging inside his chest. Ever since he’s become his own person, everything has become a little too much. He remembers his first week back in Twilight Town. When he saw Hayner, Pence and Olette, Roxas was so overwhelmed, he thought for a moment he would die because beside all the happiness swelling inside his chest, there was also some sense of immense grief. He mourned for the hours spent without them; he mourned for the person he could have been if he’d been a normal boy, his own person from the very beginning, and he mourned for all the stories and adventures he’s missed because of that.

And yet, he’s never felt anything like this—not when Xion crumbled into little shards of light in his arms, not when he learnt he’d have to disappear because he didn’t exist in the first place. Roxas has had a front row view to many dire times in his life when happiness was a foreign word he couldn’t explain. But this is something else entirely, something so overwhelming that Roxas is afraid; he’s one raw nerve, burning and sensible to any kind of contact. He’s unsure what exactly he tells Axel, but it’s effective because he helps dressing Roxas, and they’re immediately off to Destiny Islands where they are greeted by the sun blasting down on them. Roxas shields his eyes, scanning the beach for a flash of silver hair. He knows this place like the back of his hand even though he’s only been here once after their victory over the Seekers of Darkness. But every place Sora has visited is engraved in the back of Roxas’ closed eyes, familiar and a second home to his heart.

“Maybe no one’s home,” Axel says somewhere behind him. He’s looking out at the sea, watches as the waves curl against the white sand. The sun reflecting on the clear water draws bright shapes on his face, catching in his radiant, green eyes.

“No. He’s here,” Roxas says with a solid certainty, for Destiny Island was always and will always be the place connecting everything. It’s the knot where all strings come together, where each destiny is carved in some way.

They follow faint footsteps left on the beach, when Roxas notices movement in the corner of his eye. Near the seaside shack, he can see two figures close to each other, but the voices drown in the sound of ocean waves. Roxas speeds up, and when Riku turns, eyes wide and red-rimmed, Roxas doesn’t think twice. His fist connects with Riku’s jaw and hot pain explodes in Roxas’ hand. It’s enough to send Riku to the ground. Roxas follows him.

“You knew!” he screams, swinging at Riku for a second time. “You fucking knew, and you let him go anyway?!”

Distantly, he hears Axel calling his name, but Roxas ignores him. He’s very adamant on punching his fist through Riku’s face who puts insult to injury and doesn’t fight back. It only confirms Roxas’ suspicion: Riku knew he’d come for him. It does nothing to diminish Roxas’ anger.

“Give me one damn reason why I shouldn’t drop you in the darkest pit I can find,” he hisses, grabbing Riku’s collar. Blood runs from his nose over his mouth and chin, but Riku only blinks. The tip of his tongue darts out to clean it from his lips. When he doesn’t answer, Roxas begins to shake him. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?” Someone grabs Roxas’ shoulder, pulling him back, but with more vigour than before, Roxas pulls himself free, and lands another good hit in Riku’s face. “Why didn’t you stop him?” Too many thoughts race in his mind, and he can’t grasp any of them; they slip like sand through his fingers. Finally Axel, that traitor, pulls Roxas off, and Roxas fights with flailing arms and legs. His elbow finds its way in Axel’s side, winning Roxas an opening. He bolts for Riku, stumbling and shaking uncontrollably.

“How could you?!” Roxas’ voice breaks. He’s grabbing again for Riku’s collar, but his hands betray him as well and search for purchase on his jacket, begging to have a grip on something solid, something that won’t disappear like Sora. “Riku, how could you? Don’t just stare at me, say something. Say something, Riku!”

He’s still met with silence that is so loud it drives him insane, and Roxas doesn’t know what else to do; what else will make Riku talk and explain.

Someone tugs on the hem of his west, and Roxas feels Oathkeeper and Oblivion seconds away from finding their way into his hands, ready to cut through anyone trying to stop him from unleashing another wave of fury. But when he sees it’s Kairi holding onto him, that rage dissipates, and makes way for a different feeling he is far more scared of: grief. Seeing Kairi standing in front of him only confirms this reality Roxas refuses to accept. He wants to beg her to let him go, to stop looking at him with those big, teary eyes so similar to Sora’s. Instead he collapses in front of her, and wails a small, painful sound so inhuman it tears through his own ears. Roxas cries.

She can’t take away that anger from him because without it he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, and feeling itself becomes too much. He knows there is an emptiness waiting for him after all of this, and he’s too afraid to face it.

Riku’s hand curls around his arm, and then he is kneeling beside Roxas, leaning his forehead against Roxas’ shoulder. Roxas feels more than he hears the sob rolling through his body, and he wants to push Riku away, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s cried himself tired already. Hours pass as they stay like this, holding hands and weeping with rasping sobs, as if trying to force air into lungs crushed by grief, until Roxas passes out at some point.

The next time he wakes up it’s with less tears, but grief is still a cold hook sitting deep under his skin. His face hurts, but no matter how much he splashes cool water on it, the swelling around his eyes doesn’t go away. He finds Axel outside sitting on the big trunk facing the setting sun. Kairi is beside him with eyes fixed on the red horizon, unblinking. Roxas has noticed it before. Since their arrival, Kairi hasn’t said anything.

“Roxas.” Riku is standing behind him, and Roxas catches the fruit thrown at him with little elegance. Riku’s face looks awful. A dark, ugly bruise colours his right eye purple, rivalled by another one forming on his left, swollen cheek. He’s too smart to ask if Roxas is okay, so instead he settles on a wordless observation. Roxas ignores him. He feels too vulnerable and exposed in front of those keen, cyan eyes. The fruit explodes with a sweet taste in his mouth, reminding Roxas of how much he loves this place. He’s adopted it from Sora; that and many other little traits he still has to sort out who they belong to. Knowing this place will never be the same without Sora opens up a new, fresh wound Roxas knows no Cura or potion is able to heal.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, wiping his fingers on his pants. When Riku doesn’t answer immediately, Roxas’ fist burns with the need to punch him again. “You do have a plan, don’t you?” he presses further, feeling his irritation grow.

Eventually, Riku drags a hand over his face, and sighs. “We’ll talk to Mickey. And Master Yen Sid,” he says, avoiding Roxas’ eyes. “Hopefully one of them knows something.”

“That’s it?” Roxas barely manages to contain his anger from sipping into his voice. “You just hope they know something?”

“They’ve always helped us, so yes.” Blatant challenge flashes in Riku’s eyes when he finally meets Roxas’. “We will go and see them.”

A muscle twitches in Roxas’ jaw. “I don’t remember them doing anything to help me, so maybe revaluate who you’re going to ask for help.”

Riku gives him a sharp glare. “Careful.”

But Roxas has had his fair share of depending on old guys who used him for whatever ulterior motive they had, and frankly he can do without it. “Sora needs us now. You can sit around if you want, but I’m going to look for him.”

He’s almost down the gangplank when Riku calls after him. “And where do you think you’re going? You think visiting world after world will bring you closer to find him?”

Roxas exhales audibly, and wills himself not to turn around, but he’s always been bad at containing all the rage that’s accumulated over the past years. It is this anger that has always set him apart from Sora; that hate towards people who hurt him always drew the clear line between them. This simple black and white was easy to grasp and understand, and even easier to identify with until Sora plunged Roxas’ world into vibrant colours and complex structures, and brought with him so many people Roxas didn’t know and yet meant so much to him. He hates how this even applies to Riku, despite this envy, a churning black storm hidden in his chest. Riku and Sora are inseparable, and Roxas loathes it.

The only comfort lies in how he loves Sora, for Roxas has loved Sora in a way only Ventus and Xion might understand; in a way that is so unfair to Axel who’s trying his best to become everything for Roxas. But Roxas doesn’t want this. He wants Sora. He wants the world, the heart knowing every part of him. His home. Roxas remembers when he returned to Sora. Trying to do the right even though he knew it would mean his end, but once he found peace within Sora, Roxas understood the meaning of home, and the meaning of people’s destinies intertwining.

“If aimlessly searching for Sora will eventually lead to find him, then yes.” Roxas says, voice lacking any heat he’d hoped would burn Riku. Instead a strange resignation shackles every breath in his lungs, and he knows he will only be free when he finds Sora. “I will visit world after world, until the end if I have to.”

Riku drags his eyes from Kairi and Axel back to Roxas, and considers him for a moment in which Roxas tries to see himself through Riku’s perspective— the boy with Sora’s eyes; the Nobody who long ago took something important from Sora, the little piece necessary to complete something far bigger than all of them. A small sighs escapes his lips, and somewhere in there Roxas hears the unspoken You’re just as reckless as Sora. When he closes the distance between them, all muscles in Roxas tense with intuitive caution he can’t get rid of, no matter how often he’s seen Riku by now.

“I want to get him back more than anything else,” Riku says, and in that small moment Roxas sees his vulnerability for the first time. Something tightens in Roxas’ chest, and he takes a step away from Riku. “It’s been only a couple of hours since Kairi returned. And still, I already see him in everything, and I try to be kind to everything because maybe …” His voice tears on the last word, a ragged note of grief like ripped paper. Riku turns his head away from Roxas, but he doesn’t miss how Riku’s lips close into a tight line. “Stumbling through world after world might end up losing him even more,” he finishes. His calm mask is back, and Roxas just can’t understand how Riku is capable of that.

“That didn’t stop Sora from looking for you and Kairi,” Roxas throws back, chin raised stubbornly.

“No, it didn’t.” Riku looks back at Kairi, and that’s when Roxas understands that he’s searching for the right words to tell her that he will leave the Island.

“Then forget your pride for a second,” Roxas says. “And let us help.”

Riku looks like he wants to say something, but then he just gives Roxas a little, tight-lipped smile, and turns to join Kairi up on the trunk. Roxas stares holes into his back. He’ll never understand what Sora sees in him.

He retreats to the shore until cool water sloshes against his feet. A biting cold settles over Roxas, but he knows that doesn’t come from the ocean. Sora has always said how it is a part of the human experience to feel pain, that it is part of a heart, and how it strengthens you, how it connects you, but Roxas dully registers he’d rather have it ripped out of him if it means he’s spared the missing and longing. When he lowers his gaze unto the water, his reflection stares back at him, showing a pale face and golden hair sticking to all sides. His radiant eyes are a beacon, the colour of the sky. A sharp throb drives like a spear through Roxas’ ribs. Everything hurts, he thinks and waits a moment, but his only companion is silence. Sora was a mirror to Roxas, like Ventus to Vanitas. When Roxas said, everything hurts, Sora whispered, but everything can heal. He’s learnt from Sora that hate is a lazy thing, heavy, a burden; but not as heavy or difficult as love so many carry around but are unwilling to practice. Roxas will try better. It’s the least he can do to pay for everything Sora did for him.

Under the water’s surface he spies a Thalassa Shell. Roxas picks it up, and hopes Xion is doing okay. They will all go and look for Sora, and they will find him. They’ve all deserved their happy end. Standing in the dawn, Roxas vows it on the shell, closing his hand tight around it until the edges cut into his skin.

☆ ☆

When Sora disappears, Ventus fears Vanitas is also gone forever. There’s a strange tug in his chest, like his heart knows there is a place he’s supposed to be, and wonders why Ventus doesn’t follow this call. It’s different from when he longed for Aqua and Terra. During his search for them he was constantly followed by this certainty that they’ll be reunited. This is different. This is Ventus closing his eyes to a darkness he knows his keyblade won’t be able to slice through. He’s afraid to fall asleep, the only place where he’s had at least a small connection to Vanitas. If that is gone as well, Ventus would rather not wake up at all. It hurts even more since their return to the Land of Departure because Ventus expected only good things to happen from that point on, admittedly now a naive hope quickly quenched by Sora’s fate.

Ventus is sitting on his bed, a heavy blanket around his shoulders. Thousand stars twinkle above him like tears, and he wonders if the other worlds feel that Sora is gone as well. He wonders if somewhere Kingdom Hearts is crying, having lost such a pure, eminent light. Out of his window he can see the training grounds. In a couple of months, they could be occupied my apprentice keyblade wielders again. Aqua has shown her determination to become the steward and rekindle the original purpose of the castle, and both Terra and Ventus are as eager to help her; Terra even more so. He’s adamant to repent, ignoring Aqua’s and Ventus’ claim that his return is enough. But Terra had shaken his head at that. “It is a debt I will never be able to repay,” he’d said, standing in front of Master Eraqus’ grave. “But I will try. Until my last breath, I will try to set this right.”

It was difficult to explain how none of this had been Terra’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They were victims of a game no one held control over— pieces on a lethal board with cruel rules no one really knew. It’s a wonder they made it out alive, together and unscathed, and still, they paid a price for that happy end, some more than others. Ventus hasn’t heard from Riku and Kairi in a while, but his comfort lies in how Aqua and Terra keep looking at each other. Strangely, now more than ever before Ventus notices how close they are. It is probably true what they say about being separated. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and if Terra and Aqua think he’s too chaste to figure out the meaning behind the dark spots on Aqua’s neck or below Terra’s ears, they underestimate him severely.

Once he’s asked Aqua about them, but she only gave him a little, sheepish smile before pushing a loose strand behind his ear. “You’ll learn soon enough,” she’d said. Terra had avoided his eyes, his hands busy with pulling on his keychain, a habit whenever he’s embarrassed. Ventus had just looked at Aqua with a careful, blank expression, and let her believe that he doesn’t touch himself under his blanket to quiet whispers of boy’s names. Ever since he woke up, and spent time with everyone else, he’s noticed how certain things jump right to his attention like a beacon. Terra’s muscles moving during practice. Hayner’s incredibly beautiful eyes, filled with wonder and excitement. Riku’s smooth, flawless skin. Then again, he’s spend so much time inside Sora’s heart who grew up beside Riku, and for Ventus to develop his attraction to boys was only natural. Ventus doesn’t want to remember when he saw Riku for the first time. Dozens of images from Sora’s fantasies flashed before his eyes, and he kept his distance to Riku, unsure how to handle the emotions. It isn’t something bad, that he knows. His friends would never judge him for liking boys. They all love each other too much for such a trivial think to matter, and why should it? It is love nonetheless, and every single one of them is just as much starving for it as they are ready to give.

And still, Ventus is so insecure, because he always ends up thinking about Vanitas. Vanitas is his mirror, reflecting unspoken pieces of Ventus he himself is afraid to face. If Ventus starts thinking too hard about it, he’ll probably stumble upon answers he wouldn’t even know what to do with. And so he tries to turn away whenever he spies glances of blue turning into intimidating gold, and buries the questions deep into his heart where he hopes they’ll suffocate from the silence.

A soft knock stops Ventus’ thoughts. His body tenses, and he waits for more to come. Instead, Terra’s voice carries through the door. “Ven? Ven, you awake?”

He could lie and pretend he isn’t but after days of locking himself in his room, Ventus started missing his friends. His only fear is that if Terra sees his sketches of Vanitas’ key chain and the logo of the Unversed scribbled on paper, he will take them away and burn them between his fingers like Aqua did. Behind the door, Ventus hears shuffling, and the fear that Terra leaves bolts like a hot spell through him. He sits up, and tells Terra to come in. The door opens with a soft click. Light from the outside hall streams into the room, casting away shadows, and once Ventus sees Terra’s broad shoulders filling the door frame, breathing becomes easier.

“Hey, champ.” Terra gives him a little smile. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Ventus isn’t, but nods anyway, just to see the little hope in Terra’s eyes— the very first sight of progress he and Aqua managed since Ventus’ withdrawal. He makes room on his bed, and turns on the star shaped lamp sitting beside his bed on a narrow table as Terra crosses the room. A plate with fruits, cheese and meat lands between them while Terra takes a seat on the edge, watching Ventus eagerly. Just to make Terra happy, Ventus picks one grape and puts it in his mouth.

“How are you?” Terra asks, much more straightforward than Aqua with her careful, quiet words. Ventus thinks about how he doesn’t want to get up forever. How this feeling weighs on him like an anchor pulling him deeper and deeper into darkness. He thinks about lying, but Ventus never wants to be separated from his family ever again— physically and emotionally, so he settles with a neutral, “I don’t know.”

Terra nods. He leans back on his arms, the skin pulling tight where his muscle tense. Ventus looks away, and stares at the faintly glowing star stickers on his shelf Aqua gave him on his birthday. He wonders if Vanitas ever got a present from Xehanort, and has to bite his lip to conceal a laugh because that is just too ridiculous.

“—us? Hey, Ven?” Fingers pop in front of Ventus’ eyes, making him flinch. “Just where are you with your head?”

A strange smile pulls Terra’s face into an expression Ventus is unfamiliar with. Another pang of guilt settles in his chest, and he misses those times when he understood Terra and Aqua without a word.

“I’m thinking about where Sora is,” Ventus lies. Terra frowns. He must know Ventus isn’t telling the truth but decides to go with it anyway.

“Don’t worry,” he says, stealing a piece of cheese from Ventus’ plate. “We’ll find him. Since Aqua can’t reach Riku or Kairi, they might have left already.”

Ventus hums, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s the case. What Sora, Riku and Kairi have; how they are is much more complicated. Ventus even doubts the word love can grasp what they feel for each other. At times, he’s jealous of that connection, and the next moment he is afraid of it. He’s felt it in Sora’s sacrifice back then for Kairi, and in Aqua’s never ending believe in Terra, and what is love if not an immense power capable of pushing people to their limits and beyond, a weapon justifying any sort of destruction. Tightening his blanket around his shoulders, Ventus dugs his head and shuffles closer to Terra.

“You know, I always keep thinking that maybe … we could have done something,” he confesses. “That if Sora trusted us a little more, he’d asked for our help.”

“Do you really think Sora didn’t trust us?” Terra asks, leaning back until he’s lying next to Ventus, arms crossed behind his head.

“Well, what other explanation is there?” Ventus hates that he sounds like a sulking boy, offended because a friend didn’t ask him to join the playing. But he’d always thought the connection between him and Sora was something special, something untouchable and set into stone. He’s protected Sora just as much as Sora has protected him all those years, and Ventus hasn’t thought of stopping once.

“You don’t really believe that.” The sound of Terra’s little laugh snaps Ventus’ head up. “I know you don’t.”

“Huh?”

“We’re not that different from him, Aqua, you and I. We all love too much, but isn’t that better than to have none of it?”

“So better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?” Ventus remembers this line from a book in the library he’s read long ago, and back then he didn’t quite understand its meaning. Now, he wonders if love truly is Sora’s greatest fault, but that is hard to understand as well.

Terra sits up, and ruffles Ventus’ hair, just like the old times when everything was simple and clean. It tightens Ventus’ chest, but this time it’s not a bad feeling at all. “You’ve been in there all this time,” he says, pointing at Ventus’ heart. “So you know the answer to that. Now eat up. And think about joining us sometime. Aqua really misses you.”

Ventus nods, and takes another fruit. Terra’s smile widens. When he heads for the door, Ventus summons all his courage. It’s time to stop running.

“Terra,” he calls. Terra stops, and turns around. “You really think we’ll see Sora again one day, right?”

Terra doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Our destinies are intertwined. And besides, you never stopped believing in bringing me back home. Now it’s my time to light someone’s way.”

“And do you think … I’ll see Vanitas again as well some day?”

That brings Terra’s smile to a full stop. He isn’t happy. Ventus sees it in the way Terra presses his lips into a thin line, and squares his shoulders. He avoids Ventus’ eyes for a split second, a tiny fracture of time in which Ventus stops breathing and waits for the final judgement. Eventually, Terra quickly turns around, checking if someone’s behind him, and Ventus wonders if he’s looking for Aqua.

Quietly, Terra finally says, “If that is what you wish for, then I will do anything I can to help you fulfil it.”

The hot sting behind Ventus’ eyes is a clear indicator for tears waiting to escape, so Ventus quickly hides his face in his blanket, shuddering with a silent sob. Only when he hears the door closing, Ventus dares to look up again. His room is dark, and the glowing stars stick out more after bathing in light, capturing Ventus’ attention. He wonders if Vanitas might like them as well.

Ventus curls into himself and closes his eyes. Into the darkness, he whispers “Vanitas” three times.

But nobody comes.

The missing is the worst. All Ventus wants is to crawl inside Vanitas’ skin and stay there. He wants every piece of him to crush into every piece of Vanitas, and become whole again; to become one. He doesn’t want to keep wondering how everyone just can go on as if Vanitas never existed, not when he to Ventus is the world. His heart is still split, an open door ready for darkness to invest, and yet he knows there will only be one certain shadow his heart will allow entrance.

Ventus blinks through the wall of tears, looking at the stars. He has to focus on Sora first. If he can’t bring him back, then certainly he’ll fail to guide Vanitas home as well. A shooting star splits the heaven in two, burning on its way down. Ventus closes his eyes. In this endless night, he has only one wish: Ventus wishes a shining light will guide Sora through a starless sky, and hopes his journey home will be soft and peaceful.

☆ ☆ ☆

When Sora disappears, Riku doesn’t cry because he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop.

His only comfort is Kairi, though she doesn’t talk, and only spends hours upon hours writing letters to Sora, all starting with my dearly beloved. Those lines remind Riku of a bittersweet melody he’s heard in a dream once, each wistful tune pulling at his heartstrings. Back then, it had also felt a lot like a farewell to a story he wasn’t yet part of, and now his chest throbs with a low, persistent rhythm of that song.

But it’s difficult to believe this is the end. Riku is in a strange, blank space between hope and desperation, where it’s hard to look for the light, but also impossible to drown in darkness. Finding home in both, Riku is an unusual dweller cheating through life. He knows it’s more than most people get, and he’s aware of how lucky he is. Maybe that is why the universe decided he’s run out of it now, and Riku thinks how unfair that is. That they live in a universe that doesn’t want them to be together any more. It’s either him gone or Kairi, and now Sora. And so when Roxas and Lea prepared to return to Twilight Town, and Roxas had asked him, “Do you even believe that we’ll find him?” it wasn’t difficult for Riku to be honest. “I believe in a universe that doesn’t care,” he’d said. “And people who do.”

After that, Riku started avoiding Roxas, Ventus and Xion even though it is not what they deserve after everything they’ve been through. But he can’t see them, and not think of Sora with how many of his habits they’ve inherited. Roxas carries all the anger Sora has swallowed throughout the years. Just thinking back to how Roxas had punched him, his thumb tugged into his fist like Sora always did no matter how often Riku tried to correct him, hurts like a sudden light striking his eyes in the dead of the night. Ventus is the source of Sora’s broad grins and gentle smiles, laughing at everything— a blazing sun casting away any shadows. They both know the power hiding in being soft and kind, to love and forgive. Xion is part Sora, part Kairi with her love for everything that is bright. She uses everything she can find as bookmarks: cups, little stones, little replicas of everyone’s key chains. Just like Sora she wants to be close to anyone, her happiness lies in those of others and nourishes her. They all love fruits, they all hate carrots, they all can fall asleep in the most uncomfortable places like a cat that finds home everywhere. Riku would rather gouge his eyes out than see another pair of those exact radiant, blue eyes, and so he sticks around Destiny Island, and takes care of Kairi, while she takes care of him.

They live in a strange dynamic, part symbiotic and part parasitic. Riku tells Kairi stories about Sora both remember fondly, and she pays him with a rare smile that dissipates dark clouds in his heart. But Kairi can never truly tell him what exactly happened when Sora brought her back, and Riku is sure she can read the irritation on his face like an open book. Just seeing her is a reminder that someone is missing, the third party in their strange constellation of two, and yet more than ever before, they stick to each other like two pieces of the same soul dwelling in different bodies.

Riku misses Sora. He misses Sora so much, it physically hurts him. He misses his easy smiles, the jokes. The reassurance that no matter what mistakes Riku has done, it’s fine. He is a good person, deserved of being a Keyblade Master. He misses how Sora was capable of turning every pain and sadness into something bright. Sora was given the rare gift to make gold out of every pain. A purer blessing doesn’t exist. But it’s not only the words Riku misses. He misses Sora’s soft skin, his parched lips mapping Riku’s body. He misses how in Sora’s arms he felt safe and at home, that there was no past, and no future. Just the present with them both as the sole habitants, a population of two and no one else was allowed between them.

Riku remembers their first kiss. It was in the Secret Place and they were 15. It was nothing but a chaste, quick peck, lips briefly brushing against each other, and yet Sora had giggled so helplessly, cheeks red and happy like it was the most powerful experience he’s ever felt. He didn’t hide his smile, he’d always been so willing to share it with everyone. Riku remembers the jealousy he’d felt, how he thought Sora’s willingness to open up to everyone was so unfair. He made it look so easy, so effortless, like he didn’t need to think at all who might deserve his smiles. His heart was an open door, never closed, never locked. They’d kept their relationship a secret, or rather they tried. Kairi knew. She must have felt something going on between them. Riku never dared to underestimate a Princess of Light again, but it was like a noose being lifted from his neck whenever she gave him this soft, knowing smile.

Now he tries to think back to the last time they were alone together without any responsibilities weighing on their shoulders. After defeating Ansem and returning to the Island, Mickey’s letter didn’t leave much time to catch up after the year of their separation, and after that, during their Mark of Mastery exam, Riku was everywhere but beside Sora. Now, Riku tries to ignore the little voice telling him that he’ll never see Sora again because he doesn’t believe it. He can’t believe it. Hope has been his constant companion for the last two years, and he’s grown too fond of it. Leaving it behind means to let go of the only rope of salvation Riku is clinging onto, and no matter how much darkness he’s learnt to embrace, he just knows that he will drown in those dark waves crushing upon him with what he can only describe as loneliness.

But if life is lonely for him, it is far lonelier for Sora. When he tries to imagine in what place he must be now, Riku is quite simply angry. Martyr lies on everyone’s lips, and yet no one dares to speaks it out loud because that would be to acknowledge everyone’s fault. He knows this anger won’t bring him anywhere, but it is just hard to accept a fate that robbed the universe of someone vital to so many people.

Sora loved like few ever could love, with all and everything; unrepentant and with a passion that burned holes in anyone’s doubt. The sea and the sky will never stop holding his ghost: in each wave Riku can hear the wisp of Sora’s laughter, in each cloud he can see the remnants of Sora’s eyes. So whenever he waits until Kairi falls asleep, trying not to dwell too long on the tears hanging on her wet lashes like dew in the morning hours, Riku then returns to his room where he mourns with the moon and the stars, and it is a bittersweet feeling to share this grief with the world.

Five days pass, then six. On the seventh day, when he enters Kairi’s room and doesn’t find her sitting on her bed with a stack of papers resting on her thighs like usual, dread sinks in his stomach and he closes his eyes. If he loses her as well, Riku himself will burn down the Islands and start another war. On her table, Riku finds more scribbles of Sora, Donald and Goofy, all three huddled inside the gummi ship. His fingers shake when he takes the pen and draws Sora’s crown necklace in a corner, just focusing on breathing with each stroke on the paper. When his thoughts start to run in painful circles, Riku pushes the tip hard enough to rip the paper. Trying so hard to stay calm, not to cry, he doesn’t notice door opening behind him, until—

“Riku.”

He freezes. Behind him, Kairi looks at him with worry and something else in her eyes, but Riku doesn’t read further into it, too occupied with reaching her, holding her, holding her.

Kairi takes one breath, then a second. Her small hands on his back feel so warm, so secure, and Riku allows himself to be weak for a moment in her arms.

“It’s time for us, isn’t it?” Riku starts, and just the approving hum from her draws a shudder from him. “We can’t let him wait any longer.”

“Don’t worry, Riku,” Kairi says, and just like that, the world is tiled back to its original position. “He knows we’re already on our way.”

Riku leans back, his arms still around Kairi, and he is astonished that someone looking so fragile is so much stronger than him. Kairi considers him for a long moment. She takes Riku’s hand and squeezes tightly, leaning her head into his shoulder. Riku understands, and presses his lips to her forehead. “We’ll find him.”

It’s not a promise. It’s an oath.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Sora opens his eyes. His face is wet, everything is wet and cold, and he faintly remembers the phantom feeling of something warm against his palm. He doesn’t remember what it was. When he tries to get up, his body is there, not broken, not hurt but somehow he hurts inside, and he can’t explain what it is. All around him, the artificial lights of a city illuminate the streets, but wherever he looks, shadows wait in the deepest corners to plunge on him. Something on his left palm burns, and when he looks down, numbers blink up to him in an angry red, running down.

Instinctively, Sora closes his hand into a fist, so tight that his nails bite into his skin. His mind is foggy, but there’s a feeling that he needs to be somewhere; that he has to return somewhere he can’t name. The closest thing it reminds him of is home, and he will do anything to return. Sora has to go back, to follow this tugging inside his chest aiming for a place he doesn’t remember, for he is the heart of hearts.

Most importantly love Like it’s the only thing you know how At the end of the day all this Means nothing […] Nothing even matters Except love and human connection Who you loved And how deeply you loved them How you touched the people around you And how much you gave them

— rupi kaur

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #kingdom hearts #kh #kingdom hearts 3 #kh3 #soriku #soroku #vanven #sora #riku #roxas #axel #vanitas

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