#but nothing beats seeing them relieved of that small but real grief

[direbeastrex]

[natasha-in-space]

Hey ive a small request. I just thought of yoosung route with an mc who....actually knew him for a long time and had secretly crushed on him and admired him when both of them were in school. It is pretty canon that yoosung was a popular kid at his school and had many girls crushing on him. One of the girls happened to be mc who cant help but admire him from afar. Back in the day yoosung was the first guy who had been kind and sweet towards her and that stuck with her for the rest of her life. She never confessed her feelings, thinking that she might be "too weird" for him (since she was one of the "weird girls" of the class because of her shyness).

She however never found out about his grief regarding rika, she has a faint memory of him appearing sad on the day of graduation and she has no idea why...it just felt very unusual of him from her perspective. She mustered up some courage to ask him why he is sad but he pushed her away by plastering a fake smile and saying "im actually fine dont worry", she knew he was lying but that day she couldnt ask him more and force him to talk. Few days later she moves out to a different country with her family

Fast forward to current time she ends up being stuck in the apartment because she could not say no to an obviously shady man and finds the same guy she had once admired.

Because the mc here is a very socially awkward person, I am pretty sure she would end up only inviting a handful of people so its going to be the normal ending instead of good ending (which basically means that she would meet him at the hospital and not at the party)

So how do you think the reunion will be. I love your writings very much i want to see your take on this

Life can be so peculiar.

You can meet people by who's side you will end up spending the rest life with, by pure chance. Or, you can lose the one person you thought understood you more than anyone else could. It's unpredictable. And that's a thought that is both terrifying and relieving to ponder over late in the night, when there is nothing else fot you to do but just lay there and stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, deep in thought.

It was unexpected to meet Yoosung again, to say the least. It seems like such cliche story, ripped straight from some generic k-drama and not real life, doesn't it? A shy, closed off kid meeting their popular high school crush further down the line, when they are both now established adults with their own individual lives. But, then again, maybe it wasn't as strange. It's not like you went through some mind-boggling 'glow-up' in these few years, like characters in k-dramas usually do. You were still the same introverted and kind of nerdy dork you were in high school, just a bit more capable of putting up a somewhat acceptable front in public.

Yoosung, though? He was almost an entirely different person.

Well, not entirely, but he was still a far cry from the popular and academic boy you knew back in high school. Not in a bad way, per se... But, it still shocked you quite a bit once you got to know him fully. Then again, it's not like you have really known him at all until now. That doesn't mean your past crush on him was superficial by any means, but it was still rather innocent and puppy-like on your end. You wanted to get to know him better, to see sides of him you couldn't see when he was in public... but, you were far too insecure and skittish to be so bold.

Alas, life had other plans for you.

His hair was not the same neatly styled brunette you remembered. In its place, was a new bright blonde hue that fit him surprisingly well, layered in an adorably casual look that made your heart skip a beat the moment you saw his selfie in the chat, when you first joined. His choice of clothing was more free-spirited, less classy and uptight. The type that made you wonder how his shirts would look and feel on you if you were to borrow them. And his overall attitude seemed to have become a bit more carefree and lighthearted. These major changes surprised you. But, they weren't unwelcome by any means. They intrigued you. Made you want to talk to him, and learn all the ways that he has changed in these couple of years.

Thankfully, you were a bit more chatty behind the safety of your phone.

With chatting, you could take your time and make sure your wordings are correct. You didn't have to just say the first thing that came to mind and then follow through with it. You could express yourself accurately. And you would use that lucky opportunity to its full potential.

Yoosung's apparent active neglect of his studies was surprising to you. The straight-A student you knew back in high school was completely different from this older Yoosung. Maybe you should have been put off by this particular negative change of his, but it only made you grow concerned for him. The more you talked, the less... happy he appeared to you. Sure, his attitude was cheery and carefree on the surface. But, sometimes, you would read upon a phrase or two that would make you pause, your brows furrowing in concern and your heart clenching in your chest, despite it being passed around like a light joke or something.

I don't really know what my talents are.

I don't really know what I want to do.

I just play games to get rid of stress or feel less lonely.

Trying to find what you're interested in itself is a luxury.

It felt like... he just gave up on himself. On his future, and, subsequently, his own happiness. That thought was gnawing at you. It's like he didn't... believe he was capable of finding fulfillment in life, so he gave up on trying altogether. It wasn't right.

Although he may have neglected his studies, he remained the same passionate and lively person you fell for in back in high school. His drive was still there, but it was almost like it got fizzled out due to something you couldn't quite figure out yet. You did remember him seeming rather... downcast back at your graduation. No, he looked downright crushed.

You have a distinct memory of wanting to approach him and inquire about his wellbeing. Maybe you could have offered for him to come and spend some time with you. Yet, as always, you were far too big of a scaredy cat to do so.

Things had changed since then. You may be shy and timid, but you weren't going to let your fears and insecurities hold you back from doing something you knew in your heart was right. Not when life has given you a second chance like this.

And so, that's how you got here. You finally got to see him face to face after eleven days of complete and utter rollercoaster of emotions. Meeting Yoosung in the hospital ward wasn't how you planned it... but, you were just glad to see him smiling and safe.

Furthermore, his smile was meant for you. An observation that left you reeling as you walked sheepishly into his hospital ward, knowing that everyone has left to give you some alone time. It was just you and him now.

"...Hi."

He smiles wider, as if he's excited to finally hear your voice in person, no longer muffled by his speaker phone. You can see him straining a little bit to sit upright, but ultimately deciding against it. "Hi."

So much to say, yet so little time... You find yourself just staring at him for a few moments, before deciding to just go for it. Considering everything that happened during these eleven days between you two, there was no need for you to be cautious or distant. He was pretty straightforward with you about his feelings. Much more upfront than you could ever be. And, some part of you was still in disbelief that he has actually come to love you in such a short amount of time.

It was too good to be true.

You reach his bedside and sit on the chair placed neatly next to it. Without thinking much about it, you reach out and place a gentle hand on his palm, his skin soft and warm under your touch. It makes you smile almost inadvertently. "It's... so good to finally see you. Are you alright? We were all so shocked when Seven..."

"-I'm okay. You don't have to worry." Yoosung cuts you off in a soft tone, his smile turning a bit bashful, and you feel his fingers cautiously intertwining with yours, almost like he was testing the waters, wanting to see if you will pull away from his touch. Of course, you didn't. He sighs, seeming to be enjoying the comfortable silence for a brief moment, before continuing, his thumb warmly brushing the back of your hand. "I promise I'll tell you everything a bit later. There will be no secrets between us. I just... I want this moment to be about us, you know?"

Your heart flutters in your chest as you nod in response to such sweet words. You knew what he meant, though. You really did. He was brave enough to say it openly while you weren't. "What... do you want to talk about?"

You opt to give him the initiative here. To see where this would go. He hums softly, pondering for a few moments before replying, his eye always fixed on you. Not like you could blame him. Finally talking to him face to face and not having to imagine what he actually looks like, was having the same effect on you. You two might be more similar than you think.

"...I just... I can't help but think that this was fate, you know? That Rika really did bring you to me. To help me find what I have lost back when she left us. To help me move forward with my life." He licks his lips, and you give him an encouraging nod, letting him know that you are indeed listening. Rushing this was not necessary. He seemed to appreciate your gesture, with an adorably sweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that made your heart swell. "It's funny... I was so popular back in high school, I had so many people I called my friends, and yet, I barely have seen them since then. Yet, the one who made their way back into my life like a hurricane was... you."

You can't help but chuckle and shake your head a little bit. "I would say it was the other way around... but, I am flattered to hear that."

You sway in your seat, unsure if you should mention it or not. In the end, you make the decision to be truthful. You two are technically a couple now, after all. It's only right to be honest with him. And... a huge part of you was always longing for a chance to tell him what you were far too scared to tell all those years ago.

So, you go for it.

"...How surprised would you be, if I told you that I actually had a huge crush on you back in high school?"

You watch his eyes widen and his mouth fall open as he just stares at you for a few moments, completely taken aback by your revelation. It was both endearing and a bit embarrassing to witness. You chuckle nervously, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you look down at your hands locked together, suddenly far too shy to look him in the eye.

"You just seemed so out of my league back then... You were the popular guy - one everyone liked. And, I mean... who was I? Just an anxious mess always sitting in the back of the class. Invisible and weird. So, I... never really approached you about it." You pause, your expression growing a bit somber as you call back to the day of your graduation. An event that was meant to be a moment of triumph and joy. A celebration of the start of your future. Yet, for you two, it wasn't anything like that. "What I always regretted the most, though... was not talking to you back at our graduation. I could tell that something was wrong, but I was too much of a chicken to actually do anything about it. So, I... when I walked into that apartment, and realized it was actually you... I don't know. I just felt like life has given me a second chance. To make things right this time."

There are a few minutes of silence between you two, nothing but the muffled noises of the hospital bustling with life on the other side of the door, and your shared breathing. Despite this, it's not suffocating or uncomfortable at all. It's oddly peaceful. You know he's processing all that you just told him, and you feel strangely calm as you give him all the time he needs before he responds.

Yoosung gently tugs your hand, a silent request for you to look up at him, and you grant him that request without any reservations on your part. His rosy eye is soft as he looks at you, and his brows slightly knit together, but it is not an expression of displeasure or unhappiness. Rather, it's a look of curiosity and disbelief that makes your breath catch in your throat. You remain silent, though, just waiting for him to come up with his piece.

You told your truth. Now, it was his turn.

"All this time... All this time you were right there, by my side, and I didn't even know it. You really are my blessing, aren't you, Y/N?"

His voice shakes as he speaks, his throat bobbing as he clearly attempts to swallow his emotions. It doesn't seem to work, though, as you can see his eye glistening slightly with unshed tears. So much for not getting emotional. As you gently squeeze his hand, you feel yourself becoming quite choked up too. A small laugh escapes you: a natural response to a rather emotional exchange happening between you. "I wouldn't call it that... I was too much of an anxious mess to do anything for the majority of that time. I'm still that awkward, scared kid, to be quite honest. Just a little bit more mature now."

Yoosung shakes his head, and an adorable pout takes its place on his cheeks. He almost seems offended when he hears you talk about yourself in this manner. "You are so much more than that."

"Yeah?" You smile, finding his insistence rather cute.

"Your words, your encouragements, your trust in me - it all gave me strength to let go of my grief and move forward with my life. Before you came along, I... I was just adrift. After Rika passed, I... I honestly felt like a big part of me died with her. I no longer knew who I was, or what I was meant to do, or if there was any point to what I do, if all my efforts could be just ripped away from so cruelly. I gave up on myself. Truth is, deep down, I didn't believe I could be happy. But, you..." he squeezes your hand, laying his other palm atop of it now as well. "You came along, and you believed in me, when no one else did. You encouraged me and told me that it's never too late to seek out that happiness I thought I lost. You never judged me, never made fun of me. You just... listened. Listened and accepted me for who I was. No, you saw things no one else saw, not even me. I can finally say that I am proud of who I am, and that's because of the way your words have motivated and encouraged me. You are the most brave and amazing person I know. And I'll be damned if I don't tell you that every single day from now on."

You're at a loss for words when faced with such a heartfelt speech. It's just too much. In the best way possible. You are pretty sure you can feel a couple of tears sliding down your cheeks now, as a tiny laugh slips from your lips. You wipe your eyes with your free hand, sniffing.

"...I forgot how great you are at giving motivational speeches."

Your blunt response makes you both laugh, a new lightness filling your chest as you suddenly feel all your nerves fade from your mind. Yoosung didn't make you nervous. Not at all. You knew you were safe with him. Just like you always took his problems and struggles seriously, he would do the same for you.

"I wasn't the class president for nothing, you know."

"That you weren't."

[cyclonesyndicate]

ACTIVE PAIN | Niflheim | Trial 3.6 | Re: GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY

Three things happen in rapid succession.

The first is that Fantasia reveals himself, wiping away the disguise he'd worn since the body discovery with his usual airy, joyful attitude. A smile on his face, even as he met the gazes of the mourning, the shocked, the wrathful. Like he hadn't killed someone, almost killed another and stole their identity. Like this was a game to win and to lose, and that he was a most gracious loser.

The second is.... That after voting for Fantasia, after surviving the ruination of the lab...Tala drops to the floor. After everything it was too much. After all, who could survive that kind of damage, the ceiling crashing down like the sky itself was falling. Whatever Mamsell's potion had done, it wasn't enough.

It couldn't be enough.

The star has fallen, truly and with a finality that cannot be denied, as their phones all go off with another autopsy report. It's all over, for real this time. Tala is dead, and nothing can be done for them any longer.

The third thing that happens is not as eye-grabbing as either of the prior events. It starts small, almost insidious in it's subtly. A chill settles over the room, like all warmth had been sucked out by Tala's passing. You'd be forgiven for thinking it was mental, a creeping sense of unease.

The chill persists, even as Fantasia begins to speak once more. Explaining himself, explaining the truths of the case. His reasonings, his feelings, his regrets, everything. A wretched hand dealt in life, laid bare here, for all to see. Maybe it's realization that even the cleverest can't beat the house that's causing this feeling to set into your very bones.

But the temperature continues to drop.

You can see your breath in clouds.

It is no mere figment, not a sense of discomfort, nor a dreadful realization.

It is the deathly chill of a winter's unexpected approach.

Frost creeps onto tables, the floor, empty chairs, like a frigid corruption clawing it's way into the world.

The thing about winter, is that it doesn't care. It strikes without thought, burying life in frost, in snow, clawing and choking with it's icy grasp.

But this figure cloaked in that uncaring cold, standing over the body of a friend dearly beloved and now dearly departed?

He cares very, very much.

The tears no longer flow, they've frozen to his face ages ago, as he raises his head to stare at Fantasia. Tala may have passed on, but the anger they held, in their last moments has not, and it rests stop the Demon of Niflheim's shoulders like a shroud.

The Demon steps away from the body of Sade Salazar and towards Fantasia's chair, with the intent to storm over, the wrath of a blizzard in his heart but-

Fantasia is his friend.

Upon seeing what he thought was Fantasia's body, he had mourned. He had sobbed and swore and grieved for the loss of a life he'd thought of as brilliant. A spark of joy and light among the villains here, snuffed out too soon.

Upon hearing he might be still alive, his heart had soared. Soared too close to the sun, as the weight of that settled in.

He halts in his death march, head swimming because-

Tala was his friend.

Upon hearing they might be dead, buried deep under all that rubble, his heart had broken. Upon the idea that Tala had committed these murders, he felt as if he was drowning in something he couldn't quite name. .

Upon Tala's arrival in the trial room he had been so relieved he'd felt sick, ignored the dread, fooled himself into thinking things were fine.

Upon Tala's death now... Upon Fantasia's impending death...

His emotions were out of control. Rage and grief tore his heart in equal measures. He was mad at Fantasia. He was horrified for Fantasia. He grieved for Tala. He grieved for Fantasia again.

Ice, jagged, uncontrolled, grows from the ground around him, as the expression on Niflheim's face changes from anger to despair. Only a step away from where he'd started, he succumbs to the weight of it all and sinks to his knees.

A wretched hand, dealt in life, looming over Fantasia like the sword of Damocles. Uncertain but inevitable. A wretched set of deaths, leading to this painful moment. Fantasia killed two people, yes but-

With death as Fantasia's only option, the demon could no longer blame him as purely as he had at first. Even rage, burning bright cannot withstand the cold of winter, like Fantasia could not escape death from approaching on all sides.

Fantasia is his friend, still. Tala is his friend, still. Death will not change either of these things.

The Demon, surrounded by ice, a chill straight through his heart weeps in grief for a life lost that was about to become two.

One star had fallen already, another was about to crash down to earth.

It was too much, it was all just too much.

"Fantasia." "Tala."

Names sobbed between shaky, painfully cold breaths. No room in his lungs for anything else. No room in his heart for anything but grief.

  The threat looming over his own head lost to the storm of this trial, the storm in his heart. His phone lays abandoned on the table, forgotten. He does not vote. The idea does not even pass his mind for a second. 

[hoeforce-999]

Salvation

hunter x jedi-reader (female with she/her pronouns)

warnings: minor spoilers for bad batch season 1, angst, grief. 

From a young age, you had been taught to handle anger with gentle hands and delicate words, steadily reeling it in so you did not unleash it on people who did not deserve it. As a child being taught the way of the Jedi, you had not understood the dangers of constant anger and fear, but you hadn’t even experienced much of that to begin with. You no longer had the innocent and naive mind of a child ready to take on the world, but rather the one of a war-stricken adult who no longer knew what she was fighting for. You found it harder to control your anger and easier to unleash it. But that was not how you were taught, so again and again, you meditated and focused on your breathing. 

In 

and

out

Your attempts to calm the sizzling anger running through your veins were in vain, it would not disappear or calm no matter how many breaths you took. With even more frustration than before you got up from the floor of your barrack and sat down on the little too hard bed. It groaned in response to your weight and even that made you want to rip the white linen apart. You missed the beds at the Jedi temple, they had been soft and welcoming after days of hard training. As you thought of the place you had once called home, the lightsaber hanging from your belt felt heavier than usual. Heavy with the knowledge that you had chosen to leave, heavy with the knowledge of what had transpired after, and heavy with the guilt that you had managed to survive. Of all great padawans and Jedi masters, the one who had left it all behind had been the one to make it out alive. A broken laugh escaped past your sealed lips and echoed through the room, reminding you of a time when that laugh had not been as broken. It felt like it had just been weeks ago since you had been sitting in this ship, surrounded by your unusual team, a group of misfits who somehow fit perfectly together, on your way to another mission. Sometimes those missions had not even felt like obligations, sometimes you had given in to that young Jedi still inside of you and regarded it as your big adventure to save the universe. As it turned out you had barely been able to save yourself, let alone the whole universe. The only way you had gotten out of that last mission with your life intact, had been thanks to your newfound family and their unrelenting wish to protect you. You closed your eyes as the memory of that horrid day engulfed you in a veil of darkness and sorrow. There would not come a day when you would forget how all those clone troopers around you, Depa Billaba and young padawan Caleb had turned their blasters towards you. You would not forget how you and Depa Billapa had fought to give the child a chance, a chance to survive as the universe turned against him. Then she had fallen, becoming an empty shell without the spirit of the warrior who had once been and now no longer was. The memory of her death was haunting and your whole body was shaking with the fury you had felt and still felt as if it had been engraved in your soul. Though your memory was the reminder of something from your past, the fear you had experienced was still palpable as you thought about how close you had been to meeting the same fate. There had been no doubt in your mind that you would fall next, join her in another life with the only regret that you did not get to bid your farewells to your squad. Almost as if they had heard that silent wish to see them again, they had appeared with their blasters raised and saved your life. One of them, in particular, had fought as if his life depended on it. His chestnut-colored hair had been all over his face as he finally got to you, that red bandana he always wore was in his hands as he carefully put it around one of your wounds. He had been so tender with you as if his touch would have been the last point for you to break. It might have been, had you not been so caught up in the fact that whatever had gotten over the other clones, had left your friends alone. You had been relieved for all of them, but most of all for him, the clone who somehow had managed to take up such a big place in your heart that it had become his. 

Hunter, Hunter, Hunter

You escaped your memory and forced it into the darkest corner of your mind, wishing to never again experience it again. Instead, you tried to focus on his name, tried to busy your mind with thoughts of what he was doing or things he had said to you. He was usually enough to calm the distressed state you seemed to fall into more often now, but not today. It seemed as if all your tries to calm your anger and fear were hopeless, for you could only feel them rising as a force strong enough to drown you. When you felt how the darkness grew inside of you, you thought back to the words a certain Jedi master had repeated time after time, etching them into every young mind so they would not forget. 

Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.

You had not forgotten and neither had the warning bells ringing in your mind, but for such a long time you had been fighting against that dark part of you and you were growing so damn tired. This was a battle you had been struggling to win for some time now, and you were on the brink of giving up. It felt as if you should, perhaps then you could become stronger and actually do something for this universe. Maybe you would be able to bring your other friend back, the brother who had left and when given the choice, had turned his back on you again. You had been so furious as he stayed on the platform in front of a destroyed Kamino, there had been so much rage towards a universe that seemed to take everyone away from you. The darkness inside of you relished in your anger and the guilt that gnawed at your soul, and then it started to soothe you with silent promises of what you could do, who you could become if you only gave in. You could have sworn that the darkness sighed in relief as you leaned further into its embrace, perhaps this would be for the best.

yes, you can have so much more and that was true, right? You would have more power than you had now, you would be able to save everyone you loved and never have to experience that heavy feeling of loss again. 

yes, yes and so much more it chanted inside of you, drawing you further and further into it and you could almost have laughed because this was so much easier and not so horrid as those Jedi masters had preached to you. Somewhere in your head, those warning bells were still ringing, that young Jedi in you still fighting for dear life but you could do nothing else but savor how welcoming the darkness felt. It was becoming you, it became every breath you took, every beat of your heart, and every memory you had until they were all clouded by the same rage you had felt for weeks. This was not giving up, this was giving in to something else, something that would make your life more bearable. You were not even aware of your own body anymore, it felt as if you were floating away from it or perhaps sinking so deep into it, you would never escape. 

This is the right choice, you will be one to fear and never again feel fear yourself. You will do so much for the universe that gave you so little. You will-.

The chants inside of your mind were interrupted by a buzzing sound, and as you tried to locate the interruption you realized that it was not a buzzing sound but rather a soft voice calling your name. Oh, and your name on his lips always sounded like the soft drizzle of syrup and so that darkness in you was momentarily interrupted by Hunter.

This is just a memory, he is not real. You hummed in response, the darkness was right, this was just a ploy played by your own mind. Once again you found yourself sinking deeper into those feelings of rage, grief, and despair. Though it was as if you could still hear his voice saying your name, and then his hands were on your shoulders, shaking you as if he somehow could wake you up from a nightmare you had chosen to dwell in. He must be able to sense the change in you, that was one of his enhancements after all, hypersensitive to everything around him. Your name on his lips and his hands on your body ignited a battle inside of you, for just as there was a wish to forget there was a desire to hear more words from him. 

“Cyar'ika, I can’t lose you too.” 

Right, if you succumbed to the darkness you would lose him. He who had saved you in so many different ways that it felt as if you had a hundred debts to pay him. Maybe he was enough, maybe you did not need all this power that the dark side promised you. Perhaps his hand in yours would be enough for you to keep on fighting and as if he could hear your thoughts, his grip on your shoulders tightened. You knew then, that he would always be enough for you and so you joined the young Jedi in you and started fighting, fought for the girl who had once believed she could save everyone, fought for the friends she had lost, and fought for the love she had gained. Your whole body shuddered as you tried to force that darkness out of your mind, it was backing away slowly, not really wanting to give up this battle. But it would, because when you finally gained control of yourself again and looked into Hunter’s eyes the love that shone in them would have been enough to shatter every ounce of darkness in the universe. The anger and fear you had felt had vanished, never gone but perhaps tamed, and you let out a gasp, almost as if you had been drowning underwater. His hands were on your face and a small smile formed on his lips as he saw that you were you again. 

“Hi.” You could not help the small smile that tugged on your lips either, there was just so much relief that you had not given in and that this man once again had managed to drag you out of your inner despair. You lifted a hand to stroke some of his hair away, it was soft as velvet beneath your fingers. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on yours, his hard grip on your shoulders remained as if he was scared that you would vanish again if he let go. So he kept on holding you and you kept on twirling his hair, both relieved that the other was whole. 

“Glad to have you back.” He whispered and you promised yourself to never again let yourself be so close to letting him go. The darkness had been wrong, you did not need anger or power to never feel fear again. The only thing you needed was to stay with the person who would make it all bearable. Sometimes a person finds pieces of their soul in another, and when that happens you need to cling to that someone with all you have, for they are your salvation. He was yours.

[thestorycfus]

The Sweetest Apparition - Part 3

Pairing: Peggy Carter x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and historian who specializes in the life and legacy of Captain Carter. After Nick Fury uses the Tesseract to bring Peggy back, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts the reader to help her navigate life in the XXI century.

Warnings and notes: Food, mentions of Steggy, mentions of Stucky, very small mentions of war. Other characters are also mentioned. This got way longer than the first two parts, but there’s also way more Peggy here. This series takes place after the last scene of What If… episode one, including spoilers to that episode. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Word count: 2,304

Series Masterlist

It should be a short walk to your apartment, but you made a small stop each time Captain Carter was curious about something. You also got some take out on the way, making sure to pick at least four different options from separate places and a couple of desserts too, since you didn’t know her taste yet. It was a while before you made it to your street.

During the entire time, your chatting was limited to safe topics - how loud and bright the city was, how many screens there were, the amount of coffee options that existed now. You watched Carter fall in love with her caramel coffee and made a mental note to buy her more sweets.

Soon, the Captain would also need to go shopping. Fury had gotten her the formal white blouse and the black pants she wore now, an outfit much more discreet than the uniform she was wearing when she fell, but that was her entire wardrobe at the moment. That was another mission you should handle, but it could wait until after lunch.

When you finally got home, you placed the food over a kitchen counter and gave Carter a quick tour of the apartment. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would be enough for both of you until she was more familiar with this century. The tour ended where it started: in your tiny kitchen. You pulled a stool for the Captain and presented her with the options for lunch.

“I suppose you’ve never tried some of those, so I got a few different meals. Burritos, sweet and sour chicken, calzones and Pad Thai. For dessert, there’s lemon tart and triple chocolate cake. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Peggy took a seat and examined her options. You wondered if that would be, technically her first meal since the 40’s.

“They are all tempting, but I might start with this one.” Her eyes were fixated on a burrito as if it was the Holy Grail. Yeah, that was surely the first time she ate in seventy years. She dove in, so focused on her meal that you didn’t dare to interrupt. Meanwhile, you took the other stool and picked a calzone, eating it while you watched Carter.

You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that she was really here, and it was surprising that you hadn’t completely freaked out so far, but the prospect of the rest of the day started to worry you. The Captain would certainly have a lot of questions and, if there were inquiries that Fury left for you to answer, they probably pertained more to her personal life than to great historical events.

If the registers about her were right, it wouldn’t be long before the real conversation started. Peggy Carter was too smart to have such a debate in the middle of the street, but she wasn’t known for stalling. As soon as she finished her meal, in the privacy of your (now shared) kitchen, you would have to provide about seven decades of answers.

Before you could try to prepare yourself, she was done with her second burrito. You almost suggested dessert, but the look she gave you left no room for pauses. Carter turned on her stool to face you directly, her posture becoming straighter and her eyes never leaving yours. She was the perfect image of Captain Carter, the hero, the legend who defeated all odds. Still, when she spoke, there was softness in her voice.

“The meal was lovely and so is the apartment. I can’t thank you enough for you kindness, Agent L/N, but I must ask a few things more of you. If you have studied about my life, you must know what happened to Steve Rogers after I was gone.”

You should be ready for that. Of course her first personal concern would be about Rogers. His story with Carter went down in history as a tragic tale of love, bravery and loss. To his last days, Rogers had made it his mission to honor her legacy, but that wasn’t all that he did. How do you tell a person that the love of her life went on to live a decades long, fulfilling relationship with someone else, even though, from her perspective, they were together the day before?

“Please, call me Y/N. And you can ask anything, Captain. I will tell you everything I can.” You took a deep breath, going through the words in your head in search of the best way to let her know. It was best to keep nothing out. Carter deserved that. “Steve Rogers continued to serve as the Hydra Stomper until the war had ended and all known Hydra operations had been eliminated. After that, he stepped out of the suit so that Howard Stark could continue his research with the Tesseract. I believe neither of them ever gave up on bringing you back, but, in many ways, they also moved on to build new lives.”

You made a small pause, in case she wanted to say something, but Carter only gave you a nod, encouraging you to continue. It was impossible to look away from her eyes, or to keep anything hidden when she stared at you with such intensity. Even in silence, sitting still, she emanated a power that kept you talking.

“A few years after the war, Rogers and Stark started an intelligence agency to keep the world safe from threats we could barely understand. They named it S.H.I.E.L.D., because of you. That is the agency I work for, directed by Nick Fury.” There was something poetic in the way that same agency ended up being the reason Peggy Carter was back, but it wasn’t your place to point that out. “Rogers never stopped fighting, even without the suit. He was a legendary agent, working along with James Barnes until they retired. They were also together for the rest of their lives.”

That was the piece of information you feared would break Carter’s heart, but she had a bright smile after hearing that.

“That suits them. All of them.” The joy in her voice sounded so sincere, and you couldn’t help but ask.

“Were you and Rogers… Together? It is said so in the official files, but…” In your studies, you sometimes wondered if their relationship was just a myth, maybe a publicity stunt to humanize the fallen super soldier. It was your job to question the data, but you had never paid that possibility much attention until now.

Instead of being offended by your invasion of her privacy, Carter laughed so lightly and freely that you felt your cheeks getting warm.

“Oh, darling, Steve Rogers had a heart too big to have only one soul mate. He was the love of my life, yes, and I was the love of his, but not the only one. A love so beautiful and dedicated is supposed to be shared. Of course I’m sad I didn’t get to share the rest of his life with him, but I’m relieved to know that he and Bucky had each other. And that’s not to say I’m a being of such virtue that I’m above jealousy. I felt jealous of Steve alright, many times, but I could never be jealous of him with Buck. They fit well together and they were good for each other. They were real, just as Steve and I were. Steve deserved to be loved through a lifetime. I’m grateful that he was.”

Carter’s eyes shined with tears, but she didn’t allow any to fall. Maybe she would let herself grief for the lost possibilities later, but for now she was handling such an emotional journey with more elegance than you thought possible. It didn’t seem to be an act at all. On the contrary, what touched you the most was the honesty in her words. That selflessness of being genuinely happy to hear of how her soul mate lived on without her, in love with someone else, told you more about Peggy Carter than any history book ever had. And that’s how she reacted right after being thrown into the next century, coming directly from a war and landing in a world she didn’t recognize.

“I don’t think history ever made you justice, Captain. The general public thinks of you as a hero, but they’re so far from knowing the person behind the suit... You know, it’s very nice to meet you.” You couldn’t help but sharing a bit of what was on your mind. To that moment, your hero was turning out to be even better than your daydreams, and it was only fair to let her know so.

At that, she gave you a big smile and your heart skipped a beat. You would have a hard time sharing an apartment with this woman.

“You are far too kind to me. To be honest, they never showed much interest on me, suit or not, until I went against official orders and started throwing tanks around and fighting the battles that needed to be fought. I am more concerned about what I am able to achieve, regardless of how they will see me. And there’s no need to call me Captain, Y/N. Heavens, we live and work together now and you’re my guide to modern life. Peggy is fine. And it’s nice to meet you too.” She took the initiative to get a slice of chocolate cake, already making herself at home. You had the feeling that her adaptation to this world wouldn’t be too difficult, all things considered. Peggy Carter would take whatever she was given and make more of it than anyone imagined possible.

“As you wish, Peggy. Speaking of that, there’s a lot I think you’ll like to see about life now. What else are you curious about?” You took your own slice of cake, trying to feel at ease in this conversation. You couldn’t be on high alert whenever Carter was around if she was going to be around all the time, but that was easier said than done. Your responsibilities here were enormous and, to be frank, you were determined to be your best self and impress her, even if just a bit. Maybe telling her about the wonders of nowadays technology would do the trick.

“I am curious about everything. I can’t wait to know all about the development of science, or what I missed in seven decades of sociopolitical turmoil, but there’s one more person I’d love to hear about before we get to that. You mentioned Howard moving on with his life, didn’t you? What exactly was that little menace up to while I was gone?”

Now, that was a rich topic of conversation.

“Well, Stark continued his research with the Tesseract and with many other projects, sometimes along with the US government, and he built a billionaire empire. Weapons, all sorts of technology, wild parties. The man had everything. He has a son, Tony, who inherited the tech, the money and the brains, but with a stronger inclination to heroism. You see, Tony Stark built himself a supersuit, partially inspired by his father’s Hydra Stomper, but with a larger variety of uses. It’s said that Steve Rogers was a sort of mentor to him, but I couldn’t get Stark to talk a lot about it when I interviewed him.”

You couldn’t tell which part made Peggy more excited. She nodded along as you listed Howard Stark’s achievements, as if it was all expected, and her eyes got wider when you told her about his son. When you mentioned Rogers, she almost jumped in her seat. She was already invested, but dropping that name sealed the deal.

“Fury gave me this.” She took two business cards out of her pocket. “It has his telephone number and Barton’s too. Could I use your telephone to call him? I would like to meet this Tony Stark, and I bet Fury would be able to reach him.” 

Giving Director Fury a call from your cellphone felt strange, but how could you deny Peggy that? If the Director gave her the number, he wanted her to be able to reach him, right? 

Instead of dialing yourself, you showed Carter how to use the phone. She looked like a kid on Christmas whenever she was given access to new technology. You would make sure she got a cellphone of her own soon so you could show her everything the device could do. 

She called Fury and you waited as they talked for less than two minutes. Peggy handed you the phone when she was done, with a smile that said she got what she wanted.

“So, what did the Director say?” You asked, anxious to know the outcome of the call.

“We’re meeting Tony Stark tomorrow at 2pm in his tower. Was it him who named it Stark tower or is that Howard’s doing?” She narrowed her eyes a bit, still smiling.

“The tower was built by Tony, so I think we can’t blame Howard for that one.” You joked. “Are you meeting Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D. before you two go to Stark’s?”

“Oh, Fury is not going. He booked the meeting for you and me, if you would like to accompany me.” Peggy sounded hesitant, as if she had just considered that you might not want to join her on that plan. 

"You’re asking me if I wish to be there when Captain Carter meets Tony Stark? Please, if I didn’t get the chance to be a part of that exchange, I would beg you for a detailed retelling as soon as you got home.” 

Your reply made Peggy laugh once more, and you were getting used to that sound very quickly.

[burnedbyshoto]

(i won’t say) i’m in love

― Bakugou’s feelings for you are true, but he can’t seem to utter those three words no matter how much he wishes to. ―

pt 2

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, alcohol mention, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings

word count: 6,625

a/n: this was supposed to come out yesterday but I sort of got lazy and didn’t want to edit. anyways, I hope you enjoy, stories like this one are always fun to write and if you’re the anon who requested that bakugou thing like... a week ago, this was inspired by you.

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The first time that Bakugou really noticed you was during the final year at Yuuei. 

Three years of vigorous and intensive academic and heroic work at the esteemed high school had led him to this very moment. While Bakugou was not the intensive hothead he once was when he was sixteen, he was definitely still hotheaded at the prime age of eighteen. With the end of the school year approaching, heavily enforced by the fact that a crowd of third-year middle schoolers had just left campus with hopeful and tired expressions on their face, he was grumbling while making his way back to his classroom.

For the practical part of their final, they were paired off to handle some insane over the top final as always. If Bakugou knew any better, he would be paired off with someone lame like Mineta or some shit. How he missed the days the teachers thought him and that damn nerd couldn’t get along enough to pass tests together… they had been paired up so often that first year - on top of finally establishing proper respect and an unadmitted friendship - it had led them to become an unbeatable force.  

While Bakugou climbed the stairs after his loudly chattering classmates, he was sunk in his thoughts about who he would be with. Bakugou was versatile, and while he was often a pain to work with, he worked well with just about anyone. ‘Who hasn’t he worked with yet?’ he thought, his fingers fisted in his pockets while they gathered onto the floor where their classroom was located. 

“MINA AGAIN?!” was the first noise to break through the aimless chatter to hold truth and knowledge. 

Bakugou looked at Kaminari and Mina, who were both holding each other and crying. 

Every single final, they had been paired up together, each time facing off the principal to be utterly demolished. Bakugou snickered at the thought of them failing the practical final for the nth time again.

“Looks like I’m with Todoroki!” Kirishima pointed out, his hand waving at the half and half bastard who was also seeking him out. 

They had three weeks until final exams took place, and the fact that they were announcing the teams this early definitely sat the slightest bit uneasy with Bakugou. And with his attention back onto the role list, Bakugou found himself praying that Deku’s name was next to his. If there’s anyone left who wouldn’t hold him back, it would be him.

“Bakugou!” a voice yelled, and Bakugou looked away from the list to see you walking over with a wave of your hand. “We’re paired up!”

Just like that, Bakugou realized that during his three years here, he had never once been paired up with you, and his lips turned into a frown. Interesting.

“You’re not busy right now?” he didn’t even wait for you to confirm his thoughts, “Let’s go, the TDL should be free right now.” Bakugou practically commanded, uncaring that you were definitely not in clothes to be doing anything physically demanding. 

“I needa change! I’ll meet you there in ten minutes!” was your unaffected response and Bakugou’s eyes narrowed when Kirishima jabbed him in the ribs, his eyes telling him to play nice.

“Tch. Fine, just don’t take forever.”

By the time you had returned to the TDL, Bakugou was still warming up, his hoodie pulled up to help his cold ears while he stretched.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up or teamed up before!” you called out while stretching your arms above your head. “You think they kept us apart for so long for that very reason?”

“Like hell I would know,” Bakugou grumbled, refusing to look at you while you finished up your warm-up routine, by the looks of it you had run from the dorm here; that was a good enough warm-up. “I don’t know what kind of crap they’re going to try and pull on us at this exam, but I want you to let you know that you better not fuck this up,” he stood up, his hands rotating in circles, relieving the built tension in his wrists while he stared at you for the first time. His calm gaze meeting your strong one. “I plan on walking out of here with a perfect score.”

A smile spread on your face while you nodded, “I plan on it, too.”

Pleased with your response, Bakugou’s lips quirked into a smirk, his stance lowering immediately, and he watched while you readied yourself. 

“Ready?”

“Come at me.”

~

Bakugou sat on the floor, his eyes wide with his shock and personal embarrassment. 

The practical final exam had been a fear-induced, villain crawling, pro hero gone bad filled nightmare. A test designed with the help of Support Course students and a teacher who generated physical and real items based on whatever she thought had caused a most horrendous scene for Bakugou and you. It was then that Bakugou realized why both of you had been paired up - your fears were one and the same.

Failure, rejection, not being enough. 

While both of you had been so good in the beginning, powering through every obstacle at alarming power and speed, there had been a hitch in the road right before the finish line. When a ‘villain’ took on the form of All Might and blamed him for this downfall that society knew. He had thought he was long past breaking over that, he believed that it was something he had healed over two years ago. This faux All Might carried himself just like the retired hero, changing between his big form and the small one, his words and accusations dropping like boulders on him with every broken whisper that passed his lips. Unlike you, Bakugou wasn’t able to fight this terror, wasn’t able to beat the thing that still tripped him up.

The loud ringing in his ear wouldn’t quit while he fell down, his breathing short and scattered. He couldn’t hear your screams while you were battling your own opponents while All Might drew closer to him.

His fault, this was all his fault.

But a bright light exploded across the room, and Bakugou eyes felt heavy while you threw him onto your back and took off. His last exam ever, and just like his first one, it finished with him being carried across the finish line, but where the first one still felt like a victory, this felt like a complete failure. 

“Bakugou!” you exclaimed, your hands finding his pale, clammy cheeks in your hands while the victory tune carried lightly in the background. “Bakugou, can you hear me?!”

Of course, he could hear you, he wanted to snap as his body instinctively wished to push off his insecurity with anger. But his tongue was too heavy in his mouth, his eyes merely focusing onto your terrified face. You had taken a blast in the face earlier, and the bruising swollen lip you had was an indicator of the failure you came across. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay!” you reassured, your smile spreading wider, brighter on your face, your calloused fingers rubbing softly against his face. “You’re okay! It was fake, remember!”

“It wasn’t fake, though,” Bakugou heaved, his fingers trembling with his grief and suffocating anger while he shoved your hands from his face. “It wasn’t fake. I’m the reason fucking All Might is gone, why the world fell into chaos! You were there that day, weren’t you? The day I was taken from the fucking forest.”

Your eyes widened from the statement, but Bakugou couldn’t blame you for that. No one but Deku, Aizawa, and All Might knew about these feelings. Still, the emotions that sat heavily on his throat seemed to pierce themself further into his throat while you very obviously thought about the circumstances of that fateful night three years ago.

“How was it your fault you were taken?” you asked, your head tilted, arms folded across your chest. 

Bakugou’s eyes widened, not at all expecting you to care or even try to calm him down. There was no point for you to either; it wasn’t as if you two were close after all. 

“I was a fucking dick back then,” Bakugou grumbled, his head turning to the side his gaze refusing to look at you. No one had ever questioned his thoughts on this statement, everyone had always left it at that.

“You’re still a fucking dick,” you half teased half spoke truthfully, and your body sank to the floor, sitting before him with a tilted curious head. “A lot of people are dicks, but that doesn’t mean dicks are targeted by villains. I mean look at Endeavor, he was sort of a flaming dick back in the day, but he’s a hero.”

“But it’s different, I was barbaric to the point where they tied me up during the sports festival,” Bakugou reasoned, his gaze turning back to you, and was slightly shocked (not that he would show it) to see annoyance in your eyes.

“Yeah, and that was total bullshit of them to do!” you exclaimed, pushing a hand onto his grenade gauntlet. “There was no reason for them to do that for you, you didn’t think you won, and they should have just let you be. Giving you a medal like that was completely idiotic of them. Should you have behaved like that? No, you shouldn’t; it was childish and dumb of you, but they’re also the adults… they should have known better before strapping you up like a rabid dog in front of the world.”

“Wha-?”

“I get that we’re not… close friends Bakugou, but if you think that the League capturing you in an attempt to make you cross sides was your fault, which would lead to Kamino… I mean, it did lead to All Might losing his ability to use his quirk and all, but this has nothing to do with you,” you affirmed, your eyes deadly serious but with a type of kindness that Bakugou wasn’t used to. “You were trying to make a name for yourself in this competitive field, and you did! I mean… don’t let this inflate your ego anymore than it already is-”

“Hah?!”

“-But you’re someone to fear. You’re strong and capable, and from everyone who was shown in that sports festival, you were definitely the one to watch. But it was the adults who fucked up that day, they’re the ones who ultimately set the scene in painting you like a deranged loose canon - which you are at times, but you’re not evil. The League thought you were that way, and I’m sure there is no doubt in All Mights eyes about what he did for you. You were someone who needed to be saved, and All Might is the world’s number one hero for a reason: self-sacrifice. It could have been you, me, or even the grouchy pork bun lady down the street - he would have given it all to save. Don’t even get me started on the fact that Japan became too comfortable with All Might and held him to the status of a god and not a human that he is… so… yeah, I’m not good with this kind of stuff, but I want you to know that this isn’t your fault. You’re in the story as to why he lost his ability to use his quirk, but All Might’s will carries on in all of us, especially in you, so unless you give up, he’ll never truly be defeated.”

It was at this moment that Bakugou finally saw you.

The way that you had been exceedingly kind and ever so gentle with him. Your words rang heavily in his ears, and a heavyweight felt freed from his shoulders the more he digested your words. He wasn’t sure when your hand began to hold his, but while he looked down at his gloved hand, he let out a shaky breath at the sight of your hand in his. 

“You’re pretty amazing, Bakugou, please don’t forget that,” you smiled, nothing but sincere truth on your tongue, and finally standing up, you looked down at him. “Well, it’s time to see how we fared, yeah?”

But there was something different in the way that his hands sweated. He knew that his hands were always perspiring. There was a normalcy to the nitroglycerine sweat that his hands emitted without a single thought, but the tightness to his stomach and the way that the sweat poured nervously from his palms made him realize that no, this was different. But what exactly? His stomach flipped at the still and happy appearance on your face, and a shadow of realization flooded through him… oh no… he knew why, but he knew he shouldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t.

With a sigh, he pushed off the floor, standing beside you, a smirk daring to pull at his lips at the way that your eyes traveled up in your surprise to his height and closeness.

“Let’s go.”

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“Watch where you’re fucking running, dunce face!”

“I was watching!”

Bakugou’s head snapped over to your giggling face while you lay on your own towel a few paces away from him. Today was Mina’s birthday, and instead of going to a restaurant for a birthday celebration like any average person, she had decided she needed to tan. How someone who was pink could tan was beyond Bakugou, but while he had no intention of hanging out with his old classmates on his day off, Kirishima had asked him to go for him. That wasn’t enough, so when Kirishima had included that you were apart of the group that was going, Bakugou considered it for about ten minutes before finally agreeing - but he would never say it was because of you. 

So here he was practically babysitting a bunch of nineteen-year-olds while he lounged under the sun’s hot rays. He needed to get rid of the funky tan lines on his body.

“What are you laughing about?” Bakugou grunted, his eyes narrowing at your figure, which was relaxed against the soft towel you were using as a blanket of sorts. “I’ll kill you.”

“I’m sure you could,” was your smooth response, your head adjusting on your arms to look at him easier. “I just think you should rub your sunscreen in better, Sero did a horrible job at applying it on your back. Unless, of course, you want a penis tanned on you.”

“Why the hell would I want a fucking penis on my back?!” Bakugou growled, his hand grabbing his SPF 100 sunscreen and slapping a handful onto his back. 

He heard you push off the sand ground and felt you stop behind him, and Bakugou froze when your warm fingers pressed against your back. “You’re a bit helpless at this sort of stuff. I figured you’d be the type to carry around a stick of sorts so you could apply it to yourself with no issue.”

“I don’t come to sunbathe ever,” Bakugou countered, his ears lightly burning at the feeling of your hands rubbing the sunscreen against his paler back. “I’m typically covered from head to toe.”

“Oh, I am more than aware of that,” you sagely nodded, pulling away when you were done to fall back onto your towel with a grin when he finally turned to look at you. “Still, you’re a big enough nerd to do it.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped at the accusation, his eyes narrowing and his defenses on high alert, “The hell?! I’m not some damn nerd!”

“You graduated third in the class, unlike the cool kids who graduate ninth in the class,” you teased, your class ranking lower than his but still nothing to be ashamed about with who was in their class.

“That doesn’t make me a nerd, just makes me smarter than you damn idiots!”

“You’re the only person who flosses every day, always eats healthy foods, probably rivals Midoriya in hero trivia, listens to everything authorities say, never broke a rule or got detention, and sleeps at eight p.m.”

“How is any of that nerd shit? Just sounds like I’ll live longer and be better! Besides, how you know all that shit, you sound like some creepy stalker.”

A glint of amusement sparked in your eyes before you slipped on sunglasses, leaning down onto your towel with a proud grin on your face. “I have a strange fascination with nerds, sorry to disappoint you.”

Blinking in disbelief, Bakugou shook his head, settling back onto his own towel with a snort, “You’re a bigger asshole then I thought you were.”

“I hide it very well behind this pretty smile,” you flash a disgustingly pretty smile his way, and Bakugou rolls his eyes again.

“So… uh, how have things been for you at your agency?”

Bakugou would then find himself having a rather informative conversation with you. The both of you trading stories of how it was to work as a legit hero now, to no longer have to think of UA’s reputation or the fear that taking action in stressful situations would cause their learning licenses to be removed. He was also quick to discover that he really enjoyed talking with you, his often limited conversation energy never feeling drained as he continued talking.

Stories were shared, snarky comments exchanged, which left both him and you in laughter until the party of two became more.

He could barely keep a hold on his fake annoyment when both of you were being hauled into the cold ocean water, your loud shrieks as Mina tackled you into a crashing wave, making him grin as he quickly tore off Kaminari and Sero from his arms. That is until you reappeared from under the water to take him entirely off guard and tackle both of you into the water, your screams loud in his ear.

When he emerged from the salty water looking akin to a wet dog, everyone froze up in their poorly concealed concern and fear: this was war.

It had been a fun day at the beach, even if Bakugou had a hard time admitting to it, but as the sun set, the hot summer day fading into a warm summer night, and they all sat around a bonfire Bakugou felt as if the sun was still beating down on his tan skin. There was no reason for the explosive warmth invading his skin except that you were huddled at his side, your attention on the others. At the same time, you playfully fought with them, your eyes occasionally falling on him in hopes of a verbal back up. 

He agreed with you every time, growing more and more pleased with the fact that your eyes glimmered with great joy and how the others booed and disagreed until finally, they had to go.

“I miss hanging out with you,” you admitted when you all piled into the car, exhaustion sitting heavy on all of you after a good but long day.

Bakugou’s heart skips a beat, and he licks his lips, nodding slowly, not wanting to let you see how he was coloring in his embarrassing agreement.

“Yeah, whatever,” he looked at your still smiling form, letting him know you didn’t buy his statement even for a second. “...I do, too.” And the smile that consumed your face nearly killed every willpower he still had left.

It was then that Bakugou had to admit that he never thought he would have to consider.

He liked you.

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“Bakugou is that you?!”

Bakugou had been going home. Dressed up in a formal suit, he thought he would be unrecognizable and left alone with his head hanging low and earbuds in, but he guessed no matter what, the laws of having earbuds in went ignored.

Today had been hard. Today had been the day of the funeral to one of his colleagues who had perished in a black market raid he and the agency he worked at had embarked on. It had been a perfect raid, something that hailed his name in the spotlight for quite some time, but it was for naught because a friend of his had died. Those who had been close to his fallen friend were forced to take the rest of the day off and get okayed by the agency’s psychiatrist before resuming duty. It wasn’t something Bakugou wanted to follow; after all, crime didn’t take a day off, but he had no choice (he had been threatened with more days off, and stupid Deku had pulled him away before a real scene could emerge).

But he felt weird in this get up, the suit just felt strange on his body, too nice, too formal for the lifestyle he held. Why it was inappropriate to show up to a funeral in your hero attire was beyond him. As it was midday, Bakugou had hoped that he wouldn’t have to see anyone on the train back to his province, but to his dismay, even with the classical music blasting in his ears, he heard someone yelling. 

He turned his head slightly and paused when he saw you running towards him with a bunch of paper in your arms, your face sweaty from what he assumed was exhaustion.

“You’re looking handsome!” you chirped, sighing heavily when you stumbled to his side, your cheeks pinched into a genuine smile. “Why you all dressed up for?”

“A funeral,” was Bakugou’s dry response, and your smile quickly fell off your face, a flustered and mortified look replaced the smile, and if it had been any other situation, Bakugou would have barked in laughter.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry!” you awkwardly state, your condolences heavy on your face and quickly emitting from your tongue while you bowed in your embarrassment. “I didn’t remember that Slingshots’ funeral was today.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened at the name, his head nodding with a stiff shoulder, “Not a big deal, he’s been gone for a few days now.”

Your eyebrows knit together, your eyes looking at him concernedly before you shook your head, “Doesn’t really matter, it’s still the death of a friend of yours.”

Bakugou shrugged again, his hands moving out to grab half the stack of papers in your hands and holding them for you. He always remembered his dumb nerd friends telling him that it was a kind act to do for people you liked, Kirishima always raved about how it worked for him at least.

“Well, um… Kirishima told me that you moved into the building across from mine! How crazy is that?!” Bakugou knew immediately that you were changing the subject for him, something he truly and deeply appreciated because he was not ready to talk about his feelings about Slingshot - well, at least not in public. Damn paparazzi always seemed to catch his most embarrassing moments.

“Kirishima’s telling you that shit about me?”

“Oh yeah, Kirishima loves to gossip all about your life,” you state matter of factly, your head tilting with a wink. “I know all your dirty little secrets Bakugou Katsuki! We have a class group chat where Kirishima and Midoriya spill all their knowledge on you.”

Bakugou wasn’t precisely sure how false that statement was; all things considered, he knew those damn idiots would do something like that should the old class actually want information on him. Sighing, he nodded towards the train that pulled up to the station, and the two of you climbed on, taking the first two available seats together.

“What’s my biggest secret, then?” Bakugou decided to play along, his head resting on the train window, his eyes falling onto your softly smiling form with shielded amusement.

A shit-eating grin grew magnificently against your face, and Bakugou almost regretted asking because you leaned in close, your lips whispering to his ear despite the empty train cart, and uttered something that sent horrified dread through his veins. 

“You’re one of three owners of the super exclusive and rare All Might Bronze Age trading card.”

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW THAT?!”

“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE!!!”

Embarrassment blazed on Bakugous face while you continued to laugh, your hands holding your papers flat against your body while you shrieked for air. He rolled his eyes despite it all and just stared at your snorting form since you failed to recompose yourself at what was your lying attempt to disillusion him and worked. 

It had been seven months since Mina’s birthday, and since that fateful day, his feelings for you had only grown more extensive and more real. He could never admit it to anyone, but he texted you nearly every day - the days where there was no communication would often come from your end of the conversation or because one of you had an extremely exhaustive day at work. 

He watched how the soft winter sun shone through the clouds, piercing through the window to brighten the color of your eyes, making them look even warmer and more delicate in his opinion. How he was never interested in you during high school was beyond him. You were - on a personality level - identical to when you were in high school, he had confirmed that suspicion of his with Mina, who had been appalled on your behalf that he hadn’t noticed you before. It was times like now that he regretted it, he wondered if he would have felt the same way as he did right now back then. 

He hadn’t exactly changed much at all either, so he figured he would have liked you back then too.

You were witty, sweet, kind, but no pushover. You had helped to ease his worries and anxieties in a single night, where professionals failed to do so in years. It made no sense to him why it was this way, but as you asked to listen along to the music he played, he slipped off one earbud and handed it to you with sweaty fingers. 

You graciously accepted it with a broad and exciting grin while placing it into your ear, your amused groan making his heart flutter with warmth while you complained about his old folk music selection.

“I still don’t peg you as a Beethoven guy!” you exclaimed, your head swaying in time with Symphony No. 9. “I thought you were a Led Zepplin sorta man.”

“That shits bad for your brain, you have to keep your entire body healthy or you might as well die off like some shitty extra.”

“You really think you’re some main character in this world, don’t you?” you ask, your smile teasing and your eyes so warm and smooth Bakugou felt his heart stop with just your stare. He licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry, and his hands that usually never stopped sweating felt dry when he placed them on his lap. 

“I’m the main fucking character,” he corrected with a smug smirk. “Don’t you dare fucking forget it.”

He would never say it, but his favorite sound and sight in the world became this moment right now, the hardworking city fading in the background and even his music fading into nothing while your hands pressed to your mouth, and a charming giggle escaped your mouth. 

“I won’t.”

He won’t admit it, but when you hugged him later that day as a means of goodbye, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep himself from tilting you backward and kissing the lights out of you.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Bakugou was in trouble.

It wasn’t anything that warranted immediate concern or any type of life-ending trouble (although his heart was hammering so fast he thought it could be life-ending), but he was in trouble. 

His hands were clenched together, and his head was down while he listened to Jirou and Mina screaming some sort of punk-pop duet that was in English together. It had been over a year since the train incident, a year for Bakugou to shift through his feelings for you and what they meant and if they were meant to be pursued. It was weird for him to have waited this long to begin with. He was a man of acting quickly and thinking later, a fatal flaw of his if he would, but you were so different to him - a situation where he couldn’t behave like some hot head or else he would regret it.

Today was Kirishima’s twentieth birthday, and he had wanted a simple stay in party with everyone, a shit ton of alcohol, and a karaoke machine. It was to no surprise that it was a party that the entire class 1-A ended up showing up, each and every one of them ready to have fun with the drinks and karaoke machine. But as he watched you up there doing the stupidest poses (alongside seven others) known to mankind while singing some diva song, something hit him.

His once amused smile melted off instantly when you smiled widely, your head tilting backward into a peal of laughter when Aoyama knocked you straight into Hagakure and Mina. 

He was in love with you.

He was in fucking love with you.

That was a problem! That was not okay!

He had gotten up from the crowded bedroom (something you had insisted they perform in to really push that karaoke room feeling). He walked into the living room, a harsh comment about how he needed some fresh fucking air being thrown behind him while he slammed the door shut. No one questioned him, and the party continued. 

A part of him was relieved that neither Kirishima nor Deku followed after him, he didn’t really wish to be a damper to the party even though he sure he was one right now. But what he didn’t expect was for your body to slip out of the bedroom door, beads of sweat rolling down your face while you met his gaze.

You smiled broadly, walking over with a wave before flopping onto the couch.

“It was too hot in there, I was sweating like a goddamn pig,” you exasperate, your hands fanning your face for added coolness. 

How Bakugou wished he was that half and half bastard so he could help you cool down.

“I think you’re sweating more than a fucking pig,” Bakugou pipped in, giving his unneeded opinion.

You chuckled, your lightly sweating forearm smacking his side while you chuckled, “Yeah, true. I’m sweating like you right now.”

“You’re an asshole,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes shifting to look at you.

Despite his harsh words, he was looking down at you with no malice in his gaze. Breathing heavily out of your nose, you pushed off the couch and sat on it properly, looking at your best friend with a grin.

“And why are you out here exactly? Kiri wants to sing a song with you, Midoriya, and Todoroki like really badly.”

“Well shitty hair can come ask me to sing a song with him and those idiots if he wants, I’m not going back in that disgusting room until I have to.” Bakugou waves off, his thighs shifting against the soft couch and his arm falling on the sofa behind your head.

“Don’t be a party pooper!” you groaned, your hands shoving his side softly, but your smile remained on your face. “What’s eating you up? Come on, you can tell me anything, ya know!”

Bakugou freezes a bit, those words relaying in his mind like a broken record. 

What would happen if he told you if he was in love with you?

Would you hate him if he did?

He was sure you wouldn’t say it back - that was for sure.

“I won’t say,” he breathes out shakily, the words ‘I’m in love with you’ pounding on every cell of his body.

He loved you. He loved you more than he thought he could ever love anyone.

He wanted to tell you, and the look of utter disappointment in your face only made his stomach twist with guilt and failure that he didn’t tell you. 

“I promise I won’t tease you… I won’t do anything to upset you! You know you can trust me, right?” you plead, your hand taking his sweaty one, and Bakugou flushed at the warm contact. 

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

There’s a look of guilt that twists on your face, and you sigh, your head dropping and Bakugou freezes when you begin to shake your head. “Sorry, that’s… that’s rude of me. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t make you, but if you want to, I promise that I won’t judge.”

Your concerned eyes rose back up to meet his, and Bakugou felt his spine go stiff.

A shaky breath of air expelled past his chapped lips, and Bakugou’s fingers trembled, “I have something to confess…”

Your eyes widened in shock and silent glee that he was going to let you in on his secret, but he wondered if you would look the same after he confessed.

“I’m-”

“Y/n!” a shout interrupted, and Bakugou froze while both of your heads snapped over to see Kirishima pushing out of the door with a bright grin on his face.

“Ei!” you smiled broadly in return, your voice almost breathless at his arrival, your eyes filled with emotions that Bakugou could only dream were directed towards him. Immediately his stomach twisted sickeningly at the sight of his red-headed best friend take three long strides to get to the couch before planting the biggest kiss he had ever seen onto your lips.

Bakugou’s stomach filled with bitter acid at the sight of you and Kirishima passionately kissing despite having him no more than two centimeters away from you. Giggles and the purest sounds of two people in deep, deep love emitted from the both of you, and it took everything in Bakugou not to split his skull in half in raging jealousy.

“I was missing you so much! I looked away, and you were gone!” Kirishima pouted, his tone a low whine, but his mouth continued to press flustering kisses against your mouth until you were gently pushing him away. Embarrassment obvious in your posture because shamelessly making out in front of any audience always left you uncomfortable. 

“I was… checking up on… on Bakugou,” you pathetically moaned against Kirishima’s mouth, your hands helpless against his chest while you attempted to push away your tipsy and loving boyfriend. Kirishima let out an understanding ‘oh’ before pushing away from your lips and collapsing onto the couch next to you. 

Bakugou was silent and frozen as he looked at his feet, his nostrils flaring in his anger and embarrassment because what was he ever thinking?! Confessing to you when you had a boyfriend?!

“How’s Bakubro doing?” Kirishima cheered, his hand slapping against Bakugou’s taut shoulder with a wide grin. “Is he being a good friend?”

“You know he always is,” you laugh, your lips pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “He was about to tell me something, though!”

Bakugou froze when he felt your gaze and Kirishima’s fall on him, and acid shot to his mouth.

You had been dating Kirishima since the start of the third year at UA. It was a relationship he was always and has always been aware of because Kirishima never was secretive about his puppy love crush on you! Still, he knew this and fell for you. You were his best friend’s lover, and he fell in love with you. He could never say he was in love with you, not if he knew what was best for you and Kirishima. 

But even if he wasn’t the sixteen-year-old boy with anger issues from hell, there was a part of him that would always be that, and in a time where he needed to be calm and lie through his teeth, seething anger exploded in his chest.

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

Both you and Kirishima froze, “W-What?”

Bakugou was a good hero because his quirk was powerful. Explosions were powerful, and they were deadly if misused. He wasn’t someone who could use his quirk as a means to save - sure he saved people every day, but he would never aim a blast towards a victim. That would be idiotic. Bakugou knew he wasn’t his quirk. He was explosive and bitter and mean at times, but he believed he was more than that. He was better than that. And for the past three years, he had been working on that part of himself, only for it to fall and collapse in an explosive fury right now.

He was dangerous.

“This entire time, I only gave you a shot because I knew you were seeing Kirishima. You’re fucking annoying though, an airheaded, a coward, and so fucking nosey, I wonder just how Kirishima is still with you! He can do so much fucking better than you, and it’s embarrassing that you can’t even see it!”

“You don’t mean that,” came your soft and utterly broken voice, your face pleading for him to say it was a lie, pleading that this was some joke. 

Tears burned at the back of his eyes but refused to form, and Bakugou wished he could say he was done after that, but the thing about destruction is that there was always more than just one wave. 

“I tried to be your friend, I did, but it was the worst mistake I made. You’re a shit friend, a shit hero, and a shit significant other. You’re not someone I admire or think of as an equal, and I think it’s best if you just left me the fuck alone.”

“You’re an asshole,” you laugh humorlessly, your eyes stone hard and staring daggers into Bakugou’s skull, but to his own horror, a steely laugh escapes his lips he shrugs.

“I’ve been called worse.”

You stood up, storming away from the loud room and slamming the door so loudly behind you it rattled the walls.

“What the hell was that, Bakugou?!” Kirishima gasped, his eyes wide in a fury and hurt, the once tipsy glaze to his eyes gone and only full of sober anger and disbelief. “That was the unmanliest shit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth?! The fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Fuck off, go take care of the fucking crybaby,” Bakugou heaved, the tears burning even more as he folded his arms, his gaze focused on his feet once again.

“Did you know that y/n used to fucking like you?! All three years in high school y/n had the biggest fucking crush on you, and even when we got together… I knew those feelings still existed…” curling acid shot up his throat at the critical information. You had liked him? “For three years y/n tried to be your friend, and it didn’t work until the very end and you just… why did you do that?! You’re a fucking dick, Bakugou.”

Bakugou wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not when Kirishima pushed off the couch, his footsteps shockingly sober as he moved to chase after you. But the moment that Kirishima was out of sight and the karaoke room began to play the Disney classic, I won’t say I’m in love, something twisted in his soul and tears pushed through his eyes.

He loved you so fucking much, but as he always seemed to, he had destroyed every good thing in his life because of his attitude.

You were Kirishima’s, and it only really hit him now… how could you ever forgive him?

[moonbeamwritings]

train station kisses

a sequel to one missed call

Summary: After receiving a phone call from Jotaro after ten years of no contact, you attempt to navigate both your feelings and his. Will a reunion around the holidays be just what you both needed?

Author’s Note: I just wanted to say thank you for all of the positive reactions to one missed call! It really means a lot 🥺💕I hope you guys enjoy the sequel just as much!!

With a shaking hand, you reached out to dial his number, taking each digit slowly as a way to delay the inevitable. The line began to ring and you could almost feel your mouth running dry, the thudding of your heart threatening to burst your chest open. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to keep the water in your eyes from spilling over.

After four rings, you could hear Jotaro answer, “Hello?”

The ringing in your ears, the pounding in your heart, they didn’t stop with the sound of his voice.

“Uh hi, Jotaro? It’s me.”

A relieved exhale could be heard through the phone, followed by a brief moment of silence, “Hi.” If his breath had sounded relieved, then his voice sounded even more so. “I thought you wouldn’t call.”

You brought the phone with you as you traveled across the living room, resting back against the couch. “If I’m being honest, I almost didn’t.”

As much as he had convinced himself that he didn’t deserve a call back, Jotaro’s heart sunk into his stomach with the thought that you very nearly didn’t return his message, keeping him nothing but a distant, painful memory.

“Well,” he finally spoke, fidgeting with the pen resting on his desk, “I’m glad you did.”

You let out a nervous huff, quiet and short, “Yeah, me too.”

Silence overtook the conversation once again, entirely too awkward for your liking. Where were you even supposed to start? The man on the other end had confessed his love to you, through a long, emotional message on your answering machine no less, and now you were confronting him after not hearing from him in literal years. What were you supposed to do?

“Jotaro I-”

“Listen-”

You chuckled as you both attempted to speak at the same time.

“You go-”

“You first-”

You could hear his deep, quiet laugh through the phone.

“We’re off to a great start.” You told him, running a hand through your hair.

“We certainly are.”

“Look, Jotaro,” you struggle to find the right words, “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I wasn’t hurt that I didn’t hear from you, from anyone.”

A low “mhm” sounded through the phone as you collected yourself.

“But, Christ, is it nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours too.”

“What were you going to say before?” You asked, pressing the phone between your shoulder and cheek so you could pick at your nails.

“I just wanted to tell you that I meant everything I said. All of it.”

The familiar, erratic beat of your heart returned in an instant as his confession replayed in your head.

The words spilled from your mouth before you can even think to stop them, “You love me?” 

You nearly smacked a hand against your forehead with how stupid, how desperate you sounded. Were you really hearing this right now?

“I do. I figured it was better late than never to tell you, even if it was over the phone. The old man was very convincing.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke of his grandfather, clearly not thrilled with his relative’s persistence.

“I-” A shaky breath left your mouth, “I love you too. I always have.”

Jotaro didn’t respond right away. How could he? You’d just told him you love him, even after all of this time, even after he’d left you alone, in the dark. After all of it.

“I miss you.” He knew he sounded pathetic, heart on display for you to hear, but he didn’t care. Jotaro also knew he wasn’t anywhere near as openly emotional as he thought you deserved, but he wanted to be selfish, if only this once, wanted to sink his hands into your heart and never let go. He wouldn’t let you be alone again, not if he could help it.

At his confession, tears pricked at the back of your eyes, stinging as they threatened to fall.

“I miss you too, Jotaro.”

The words hung heavily in the air, years of pent up emotions all laid out for you both to see. You had no idea where to go from here. The previous phone call played through your mind as you searched for the right words. One statement came to the forefront: “You reminded me of everything I felt like I couldn’t have, what I can’t have.”

“Jotaro? Can I ask you something?”

“If you want.”

“Before, you said something about me being something you couldn’t have. What exactly did you mean?”

You heard him sigh into the receiver, sounding dejected as he spoke, “Everyone in my life either leaves or gets hurt, or both. I push people away to keep them out of my bullshit, so they don’t get hurt. I’m not easy to love. You don’t deserve to get wrapped up in the mess I always leave behind.”

Your heart broke.

“Jotaro, you…” A laugh, involuntary and riddled with disbelief, left your throat. “You really are something else, you know that? I’ve already been to Egypt with you, for God’s sake, risked my life for your mom, to defeat DIO. I think you’re kinda stuck with me now. Messes or not.”

His voice was uncharacteristically small as he responded, “You mean that?”

You scoffed. “Of course I do. God, you are such an idiot sometimes. You’re lucky I love you.”

He allowed a tiny smile to work its way onto his face, “Yeah, I am.”

“Ohhh, Jotaro,” you teased, getting a real kick out of Jotaro revealing what was going on in that steel-trap he calls a brain, “I didn’t take you for the cheesy type.”

A groan.

“Good freakin’ grief. I take it back, I don’t miss you anymore.”

“Oh come on. You do. You can admit it.”

The moment of humor was a welcomed break from the downpour of emotions that threatened to flood your mind, a calming reminder of what once was.

“Okay,” Jotaro acquiesced, for once not having the strength to win this fight, “you’re right.”

You ached to see the look on his face on the other side of the phone. You had no doubt his eyebrows were creased in annoyance, a smile reluctantly beginning to form on his lips. What you wouldn’t give to be able to reach over, to poke and prod at his cheeks, to tease and annoy him.

“Ugh, you’re so cute,” you tell him, “What am I ever gonna do with you?”

Cute, Jotaro thought, I’ve never heard that one before.

“Look, enough already I-” Why did you have to make his words catch in his throat so much? It was infuriating. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to meet up. I know it’s the holidays and everything but-”

You cut his rambling off with an immediate answer, “I would love to.”

“Wha- You would?” He hadn’t expected you to agree so quickly, or even at all.

The surprised lilt to his voice is not lost on you. You don’t push it. “Of course, I would.”

“In that case,” he spoke, absently tapping the pen against his desk, “I’ll have the Speedwagon Foundation pay for your travel expenses and you can come visit with my family and I for a few days.”

“Jotaro,” You admonished, “I don’t want to intrude! If you’re spending time with family, we can always wait.”

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough and besides,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “mom would love to cook for someone new.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

The conversation continued from there, Jotaro telling you he would pass along the information from the Speedwagon Foundation. You spent some time getting caught up, passing information back and forth until Jotaro let out a long, drawn out yawn.

“It’s getting late. I should go.” Jotaro stated, sounding reluctant.

“That’s okay. Goodnight, Jotaro. I’ll see you soon.”

“Night, see you.”

With one final click, the line went dead, sending you reeling back into the quiet hum of your living room. You nearly laughed out loud at the events unfolding before you. The last thing you had expected this holiday season was to go visit Jotaro, all expenses paid.

Before you knew it, you were switching over from the plane to the train that would take you to the station near Jotaro’s childhood home. Even given the time you took to attempt to process all of these new developments, your mind still raced, endlessly whirling and wondering. Jotaro loved you and you were visiting him. He loved you and you were going to get to see him again. It was all relentlessly surreal.

As you boarded the train for the remainder of your journey, you couldn’t help but reflect on that fateful trip to Egypt. Memories flashed behind your eyes, coming and going with the scenery passing you by. Kakyoin’s goofy laugh, Polnareff’s friendly disposition, Avdol’s kind words. Your heart clenched at the thought.

Perhaps your reunion, love confessions aside, could help you process what you’d been dealing with for so long. Maybe it could help you move on, move away from reliving the trauma of those weeks abroad. Just maybe.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, the voice over the loudspeaker alerted you that you had arrived at the station where you would meet Jotaro. Your heart thudded nervously in your chest, seemingly stealing the air from your lungs.

You grabbed your belongings and stepped out onto the platform, eyes scanning the crowd for Jotaro. He was always so tall, you thought, this should be easy.

At the same time, Jotaro entered the station, hands tucked into his pockets to disguise their slight tremor. He had never felt so nervous in his life, this situation being such uncharted territory that he almost wished he could have Star Platinum fight the feelings off for him. He pulled his hat down to cover the rosiness traveling up his neck.

His eyes scanned the crowd, landing on you across the station. You caught his gaze almost immediately, a small smile overtaking the concerned downturn of your lips. You were here, finally.

You weaved through the crowd as you locked eyes with Jotaro, carefully dragging your suitcase behind you as you moved among the throngs of people. As you reached the other side of the station, you stopped dead in your tracks, staring up at Jotaro.

It was as if a massive weight was lifted from your shoulders, like you had finally let out a sigh of relief after a long day. You wanted to live with this feeling forever.

“Hi.” You finally let out, moving to close the gap between the two of you at long last.

Without even responding, Jotaro bent down to wrap his arms around your waist, lifting your feet off the ground and clutching you against his chest. You smiled as you felt him bury his nose against your neck.

You wrapped your own arms around his neck, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“You’re here.” His voice was muffled by your shirt, but you could hear him clear as day.

“I’m here.”

You remained like that for who knows how long, embracing one another like touch-starved fools, so lost in each other that you didn’t even register the stares from passersby.

After some time, Jotaro took his face away from your neck, returning your feet to the ground. Both hands were quick to cradle your cheeks, looking you over carefully with a cute upturn of his lips.

It was all so uncharacteristically soft that you almost felt as though he was a different person.

He hunched down, bringing his lips to yours in an emotional kiss. His lips moved against yours like a man starved, hand moving to feel your hair between his fingers. As he broke away to catch his breath, he pressed his forehead against your own.

“I love you, he spoke like it was a secret, something so important it was for your ears only, “so much.”

“I love you too, Jotaro.”

He kissed you again, a brief peck to your lips as if to seal your quiet promise, to legitimize it.

Before you could even stop them, tears began flowing down your cheeks only to be swiped away by Jotaro’s thumb.

“Oh, good grief,” he said, but it was nowhere near as biting as it could’ve been, “don’t cry.”

You chuckled at his assertion. This was the Jotaro you knew and loved. “Sorry.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, hand reaching up to ruffle the hair there.

“Come on, mom’s making dinner.”

He grabbed your suitcase and turned to head towards the door, leaving you in the dust. Typical.

When you fell into step beside him, you laced your fingers with his, running your thumb along the back of his hand.

God, you could get used to this.

[justasimptm]

The Bride C17

The voice rings clear and stern, tone filled with rage and disbelief. Heisenberg stands a few feet away, leaning on his hammer, watching Moreau hesitant in front of me. It’s kind of funny to me, watching him panic, it’s like he’s hitting all the stages of grief at the same time. His mouth flaps like a fish, which is even funnier given his ugly other form, but to give him credit, he doesn’t back away. Heisenberg barely twitches a finger, but the knife he was holding flies from his hand, banging loudly on the support beam behind us. I feel both relieved and tense still as he steps closer, knowing I’m not alone but unsure how he’s going to deal with this situation.

“Mother wanted me to do another test! I’m making progress!” Moreau whimpers, matching his steps moving backwards, only stopping when he bumps into his little table and trips, falling to the ground with a nauseating wet slap. Heisenberg doesn’t even look at me, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the dolt that’s trying to skitter away from him. “You should-you should go! Let me finish my work!” Heisenberg scoffs at the effort, twisting his fingers slightly to pull the needle from my arm, letting it ping to the ground before sliding the bucket that had started collecting my blood over to him. It sloshes slightly, and I realise he had already started draining me before I woke up.

“I think, you have plenty. And I also think if you ever try something like this again, I will tell Mother Miranda about your betrayal, because that’s what this is, and she’ll cast you out for it. Let her out of your filth.” He hisses, leaving no room for argument or discussion. Within seconds I feel the sludge holding me up release, which is both a relief and a shock, because without it I feel a million pounds heavier and I tumble forward into Heisenberg, who with all his grace, manages to catch me before I hit the ground.

Without so much as letting the other creature breathe a syllable in reply, Heisenberg turns, and promptly stalks from the mines, resurfacing through the hut before walking us slightly downstream. He sets me down carefully on one of the bigger rocks, letting me adjust myself before fully releasing me and sitting down next to me. Part of me wonders how he found me, but part of me doesn’t want to ask, wanting instead to break down slightly and thank him for saving us again, even after our last encounter had been so cold. I scramble for the words to say to break our silence, even a simple thank you not feeling good enough. My buffering seems to register with him, so he fortunately takes the initiative and speaks first so I don’t have to.

“Do you need blood? He got a lot before I got there.” He asks, eyeing me up and down before looking out at the running water. The concern in his voice shocks me for a split second before I reply, humming thoughtfully as I focus on my body to see if I can get it to wake up. He must’ve really taken a good portion of what I had running through me because even now, out of his slime and out in the light, my body feels like it could drop into a coma at any second.

“I will. Before I go home if I can manage it. Thank you for coming, Lord-” I start, watching him from the corner of my eyes so I can look without staring directly. Before I can finish my miniature praise he cuts me off with the waive of his hand.

“I wasn’t gonna let that Fish Chum kill you. And I’m pretty sure I told you to call me Karl.” He states, turning to face me head on, but keeping his attention low as he shrugs off his jacket and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. My brows furrow at his movement and I have to force myself away from staring at his now exposed arm and flexing biceps as he moves them. “I know I’m probably not preferred dinner, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get anyone fresher.” He mutters and it suddenly strikes me what he’s planning. Before I could protest, both at the intimacy of it and the idea of drinking from him and hurting  him, he pulled a thin knife from his belt and made a small cut across his arm. Not so deep as to cause much damage, but enough to make his blood sing in the air. “Don’t even think about saying no. Can’t have you dying’ on me yet, Doll. I still gotta make you like me.”

His words barely register on my mind as I reach for him on instinct, he pulls me closer to his side, running his fingers through my pinned hair and letting it fall fully loose from it’s half destroyed bun. It’s interesting as I latch on, not biting really, more like suckling, the conscious part of my brain trying not to cause too much harm. What’s even more interesting is that instead of tensing, like most would under the fang of what could arguably be considered a vampire despite our real creation, he relaxes into me. Sighing as my lips close on his skin and I apply the first light pressure of sucking, not flinching as my tongue swipes over the cut he made, tasting him for the first time.

He tastes like the best treats you could imagine. Like a fresh strawberry, dipped in rich dark chocolate, both sweet and bitter, but a perfect combination of both. He tastes like nothing I’ve had before, something I can only imagine could be compared to having your favorite meal at the end of a long week. My eyelids flutter close at the first drop that I pull into my mouth. Trying so hard not to be greedy, but wanting so desperately to bite and drink until I can’t. I think I hear myself whimper slightly, but I’m quickly soothed by his gentle shushing as he runs his fingers through my hair, scraping slightly along my scalp. The paired sensations of his coarse fingers on my head, his calm voice telling me it’s okay and to take what I need is almost too much to handle.

It makes me not want to stop, even though I know I need to. My body feels alive, humming with strength and more energy than I’ve had in years, and I fight every single nerve I have as I pull my stained lips away from his arm. When he asks me if I’ve had enough I almost laugh. No, I want to say, I need more, I need everything, but I say yes, because I am sated, belly full and happy, warmth flowing back to my fingers and my cheeks. His face is tinged red, just so slightly, a thin layer of sweat along his forehead, and for a split second I’m terrified I took too much. But as smoothly as he had rolled it up, he tugs his sleeve back down, nodding to himself. We sit in silence for another minute, letting both of our breathings steady before trying to return to conversation.

At first our conversation is light, he asks how I ended up in the mines, I ask how he knew I was there. Both of us give half truths, evading what we think will embarrass ourselves, but walking on eggshells grows tiresome fast.

“Are you scared of your mother?” He asks out of the blue, making me choke slightly on the breath I was taking. I can’t stop myself from looking around at who might have heard him, but we’re alone, just as we were when we came down.

“My mother is...a very complicated woman.” I start, treading carefully, but he scoffs at my statement, making me smile lightly. “Maybe a bit more than complicated. She’s always wanted what she thought was best for me. For her, really.” The sadness in my voice sobers him quickly. As I find the next words he gently pulls his glasses off, putting them to the side on his jacket. I started explaining that we were both sick, her and I, but she wanted to be cured, leading into her magical find, the thing that would keep her alive for ages. He knows what I mean without having to say it. “She came home that night different. Physically, mentally. She looked like my mother but she didn’t exactly act like her. I was terrified, if I’m going to be honest. She changed me though, even though I…” I can’t finish that sentence, but I don’t have to, judging by the look on his face he already understands. “It took me a while to accept this, and when I finally did she really wasn’t my mother anymore. She was twisted up, and if I’m going to be honest, yes. I am afraid of her. I think everyone should be, really. She has no remorse for anything she does, wanting only for us all to love her. Me, my sisters, Miranda. That’s the only thing that drives her anymore.” What he asks next sends a spear of shock through my gut.

“So why haven’t you left?”

Why haven’t I left? God, that’s a very good question. I can go outside, I can fend for myself quite easily. So why not? The answer is much harder than anything else I could say.

“Because if I leave, I die.” His mouth drops at the bluntness of my response, and I have to fight to keep my voice steady. “My pendant is burned into my chest. If I try to leave, my mother can break the charm on it that keeps the silver poisoning from spreading, and kill me. I stay with her because I’m sick of dying. I’m sick of living. I’m sick of not having a choice on which I do. So I choose to stay, because it’s the only choice I have.” He doesn’t  have a follow up question, and the silence that was once comfortable now feels suffocating. “Thank you for helping me, Karl. I need to get back now. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Without so much as another beat of my heart I swarm, quickly finishing the ascent back up to my home, not reforming until I’m firmly inside the doors.

Heisenberg's POV

When I found her, mounted to the wall like some goddamn experiment, it felt like my entire world stopped moving. She was alive, but the white sheen on her face told me that wouldn’t be the case for very long. I know for a fact that this oaf didn’t ask Miranda if he could do this, so that was my opening, and thank god it worked. I was able to get her out of there before something bad really happened. Out in the sunlight she seems more calm, but she’s still too pale. It strikes me that she needs blood, to replace what he took. I start to scramble mentally, not sure where to find her something to eat, not wanting to leave her to do it.

The thought breezes through my head in a split second. If she needs blood, I think, she can drink mine. Then I think about the parasite infecting my body and I grimace, I doubt she’ll really want that. Still, however, I offer, and a warm tingle goes up my back when she agrees. When she starts mouthing at the cut I made on my arm I fight every fiber of my being to stop myself from shivering. The feeling of her tongue swiping over it, the deep but gentle sucking and the blissed out look on her face is almost too much for me. Almost too much but somehow not nearly enough.

The moment is over almost as soon as it starts. She releases my arm from her hands and pulls back, her breath still ghosting over my skin. I want to tell her she can keep going, just to feel it again, to see her like that, but I know she stopped for a reason so I don’t push it. After steadying our breathing and calming down, I decided to break the silence and try talking to her.

Our conversation is airy, but I can’t stop myself from asking the question I’ve been dying to know the answer to for ages, ‘are you scared of your mother’. When she says yes my blood boils. She tells me how her mother came back fucked up and forced the change onto her. She didn’t want this life either. She tries to keep her voice stable but I can still hear the hints of it shaking. The next question falls from my mouth before I can stop it.

“Why haven’t you left?” I propose. This seems to stump her for a minute, but she pulls her shoulders back and her face droops in resignation. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to answer, but she does before I get a chance.

“Because if I leave, I die.” She tells me, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the throat. She explains how the pendant she has is burned into her body, which explains why I never see it move, and that if she leaves her mother will take the charm off of it and let her die. It’s silver, the same material used to stab her those weeks ago. If I look close enough I can see small back veins around where the pendant sits, evidence that it would kill her. Before I can say anything else she’s gone, whisked back to her tower, far away from me. When she’s gone it feels less warm in the sun, everything somehow dimmer. I’m going to find a way to save her, I think to myself, and nobody will ever hurt her again.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy @inesalexandra1995 @loveboldlywingedangel130

[missingjackklinehours]

run alone (until i bring you home)

Out of each pleasant memory of Gabriel trying and ultimately succeeding in graciously brightening his mood, Raphael holds a certain memory close to his heart.

Rating: Gen

No warnings apply.

Fic & Playlist available on AO3! (however, feel free to read under the cut.)

@spnarchangelweek <3

Asters indubitably remind Raphael of Heaven's Messenger; his younger brother, Gabriel.

Bold yet delicate petals that sway amiably in the breeze. Gabriel, the animated fledgling who would joyously dance when he was feeling down, carefree giggles falling from his flushed lips when he stumbled. Father forbid if one of Gabriel's elder brothers had a mere smudge of gloom present in their actions—The jubilant fledgling would've been dead set on a clear-cut mission: doing absolutely anything in his power to cheer up his brothers. Gabriel had always been his brothers' little ball of sunshine, much like the vibrant citrine center of an aster flower.

Out of each pleasant memory of Gabriel trying and ultimately succeeding in graciously brightening his mood, Raphael holds a certain memory close to his heart. He wouldn't forget it, even if his mind permitted so.

.•° ✿ °•.

Morning skies were always Raphael's favorite. The dawn of a new day, the faint ghost of the moon stuck stubbornly to the yellow skies like a splendid dream with far too much detail. He would spend countless hours just watching the stars fade.

This particular morning was radically different.

Raphael had just lost his childhood friend, the kind black swallowtail butterfly that had captivated him with her bulging eyes as a meek fledgling. She always met Raphael in his garden, sucking away at the supple nectar within the flushed milkweed flowers he'd grown specifically for her. However, it had been a few days since she'd returned from her lengthy adventure to find a mate, and Raphael was growing increasingly worried.

The dawn skies echoed glum without her fragile wings fluttering across them. The milkweeds looked to weep.

Raphael had never been an expressive angel, quite the contrary. It was all about subtlety with him, something only his closest brothers—archangelic—had knowledge of. He himself hadn't even noticed his mistake: He'd forgotten his watering can before he'd embarked on the short trip to his garden.

It was such a trivial feat that Raphael hadn't cared enough to realize it was missing, until he'd long since reached his garden and after he checked if his swallowtail friend had reappeared; She hadn't. It was like the cherry on top of his sick discontentment—He would have to trudge back to the familial archangel nest with a heavy heart and convoluted thoughts.

At least, he thought he would. A too-familiar presence had abruptly stumbled upon him, and Raphael slightly turned in a befuddled daze towards the nearing sensation of Gabriel's easily-recognizable grace.

Gabriel was supposed to be in combat training with Michael that day. There was no particular reason the youngest archangel should have been approaching Raphael's garden. Raphael blankly watched Gabriel land with a small crash—Gabriel hadn't mastered flight at that point in time.

Raphael couldn't help the nearly-imperceptible upward tug of his lips at the sight of his youngest brother now covered in soil and scrambling to stand up, trying to smoothly act as if he hadn't almost knocked himself out. In his jittery hands glimmered Raphael's steel watering can. Raphael peered at it with interest, his stare flicking up to his brother. Gabriel, after briefly maneuvering his head to the side to spit stray grains of dirt out of his mouth, wiped his lips with his arm before flashing a toothy beam at his older brother.

"You still have soil in your teeth," Raphael had remarked.

He observed Gabriel's expression switch from gaiety to dismayed surprise. The younger angel's hand shot up to scrub frantically at his teeth. Raphael's attention reverted to the spot behind Gabriel, the spot where his brother had crash-landed, and he softly sighed in dissatisfaction when his eyes scanned over the healthy aster bush his brother had crushed.

"... And, you ruined my flowers."

Gabriel's scrubbing stopped in an instant to offer Raphael an apologetic look.

"Sorry, dude," Gabriel once again displayed his bright beam, continuing to speak through his smile with a muffled tone, "Did I get it all?"

Raphael transiently paused his assessment of his brother's accidental floral destruction to sweep his sight over Gabriel's smiling teeth—Nothing but pearly whites. A chaste nod followed, and Gabriel's simper dimmed to a close-mouthed one. Raphael continued to eye the watering can curiously, prompting Gabriel to brighten, as if he'd completely forgotten what he'd come for in the first place. The youngest archangel tilted his head sweetly as he merrily extended his hands, presenting the steel watering can in all its glory. Raphael concisely inspected it, his gaze jumping back to Gabriel's face with slight suspicion.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Michael today?" Raphael hesitantly took his watering can from Gabriel's hands. His younger brother pulled his arms back, the grin on his face morphing into the signature pout that Raphael's mind always regressed to when thinking of Gabriel.

"Exactly right! I'm supposed to." Gabriel shuffled in place, his rascal pout never budging. "Let's just say this is a detour, okie dokie?"

Raphael's prodding eyes slanted in both incredulity and curiosity. Gabriel passively considered his brother's expression before swiveling on his heel, facing the aster bush he'd indirectly demolished. Raphael studied him silently, off-put by the lack of mischief that always seemed to follow his youngest archangelic brother.

"I can help replant these!'' Gabriel's voice was jam-packed with genuine enthusiasm. Raphael's suspicion has reached its peak, and he dubiously stepped forward to stand next to his younger brother. Side-by-side, the pair of archangels skimmed over the crumpled mess of lavender petals and evergreen leaves.

"Firstly, you're terrible at gardening," Raphael calmly stated, and Gabriel cocked his head to peer at Raphael with what was probably slight offense prominent on his face. Raphael ignored him as he spoke. "And secondly, why are you really here?"

Raphael marginally pivoted to watch his brother's expression. Gabriel's features didn't take long to fall, and Raphael's entire being peaked in both interest and concern. The Messenger briskly looked away with a hint of timidity, his eyes of sky falling back to the flattened plant before them.

"You forgot your watering can," He said meekly, as if afraid to speak its silly truth. He added even softer, "You never do that."

Raphael's stare simply bore more intensely into his brother, utterly bewildered. Gabriel continued, an anxiety-prompted ramble.

"And you came home late yesterday. I'm worried, Raph," The youngest archangel admitted, releasing a massive sigh as he did so. Gabriel seemed relieved, like the thought had been plaguing his mind significantly. Raphael immediately softened, quick to soothe his brother. His lips moved on their own, and a blatant white lie tumbled out.

"There's no reason to worry, Gabriel," Raphael delusively assured, and he slightly jumped when the Messenger's head snapped back up; Raphael could now physically see the uneasiness present on his brother's face.

"Y'know, you could at least try to sell it a little better," Gabriel whined with a tenuous smile, and Raphael offered an apologetic look in response. A couple beats of silence enveloped the pair, with neither one of the angels bearing the right words to say. Gabriel's abstracted gaze gingerly drifted elsewhere.

Raphael attentively followed his brother's now-fixated stare. The older angel's being subtly slumped purely out of sheer impulse when his eyes lay on the faded coral color of milkweeds—They seemed terribly empty without a familiar pair of miniature black and blue butterfly wings atop them. A flit of acquainted worry spread like a consuming disease over his grace, a halfhearted wash of paltry waves over a burning embodiment of celestial light.

A physically inaudible hum of lamented harmony buzzed from the grace beside him, and a gentle touch brushed against his shoulder. The sudden sorrow within Raphael fleeted away as quickly as it had birthed when the warmth was perceived. With a meager twist of his head, Raphael’s pale eyes once again met the now-sympathetic azure irises of his brother. Gabriel wore a modest frown, his face contorted in enhanced concern.

"Does it have something to do with Basil?" Gabriel's expression grew more worried when the words left him, and hearing it aloud somehow made it more real to both of them. "Is she okay?"

Raphael's movements delayed, and his own uncertainty seemed to float rapidly to the surface at the sight of Gabriel's shared fear. Gabriel had met Basil, Raphael's befriended swallowtail butterfly, a couple years after Raphael had become close with her; Gabriel had happily insisted that he wanted to introduce himself to his big brother's childhood friend.

Raphael's face remained stone as he hesitantly nodded. Gabriel's concern transformed into what looked to be frightened grief.

"Is she…"

"I'm not sure. She hasn't returned from her journey to find a mate." Raphael stated weakly, briefly glancing back at the milkweeds that lowly drooped in melancholy without the swallowtail. The wind drifted through their petals, calling out to her.

At this, Gabriel looked to be a bit relieved. The youngest archangel's face broke into a soft smile after a couple of seconds, and Raphael's eyes ever-so-slightly slanted in inquisition. Gabriel's simper never faltered as he kneeled down in front of the destroyed aster bush.

Raphael watched curiously as his brother began to speak in an upbeat, sing-song tone that was so… Gabriel. He simply turned towards Raphael again with a blinding flash of happily smiling teeth.

"If you say I'm that bad at gardening… then help me replant these! Let's surprise Basil with them when she comes back from her trip!"

A stunned pause ensued on Raphael's end, but never on Gabriel's; His younger brother's essence remained in a harmonizing melody, a sweet positivity radiating from his grace like comfortable currents of summery morning light.

Always so bright. Always so cheerful.

Raphael returned Gabriel's smile.

°•. ✿ .•°

It's silent without Gabriel.

Still. Empty. Void. Overpowering, almost.

And within that silence, thousands of words still seem to be spoken. Shrieked. Wailed. Raphael blindly listens, unaware it's merely a cold reflection of Heaven—of himself.

A muted cry of fear, a tremble of loneliness echoed across space and time. Velvet petals of lull lilac petals mirror the agonized harmony in pity. The aster bush he and Gabriel planted together distantly watches Raphael mourn.

Asters indubitably remind Raphael of Heaven's Messenger—his younger brother, Gabriel. And within the stillness, they remind him of Gabriel's absence.

Lavender beauty blooms quick, and wilts quicker. Raphael replants them every year.

He's counting.

It's as if the flowers hold a piece of Gabriel that Raphael refuses to let go of ever since his baby brother left Heaven. A pout perhaps, or a cheery bliss. A crack of golden morning light within their stamens, a careless dance in the wind. It's all so… Gabriel.

Raphael smiles in their presence, he can't help it.

In Heaven's soil, he plants aster flowers each day in hopes for his brother Gabriel's return.

[dadsbongos]

Brother’s Keeper

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: idk The Veldt spoilers if you’ve never read it (it’s really fucking good), the parents suck and they’re emotionally manipulative Summary: Brahms likes to play with his baby sister. ~~~

“What a pouty little face you have,” Mrs. Heelshire pinched at her daughter’s cheeks, stretching them upward, “Come on, let me see a smile.”

(Y/n) swatted at her mother’s hands, “I don’t want to.”

Brahms adjusted his tie as best he could for the family picture, letting his father take over after a minute of fumbling, “She’s not going to smile; little brat.”

“Hey!” the three-year-old girl whined, lips pulling into an even deeper pout, “You can’t be mean and the birthday boy at the same time, it’s not fair!”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You’re just upset your birthday isn't for five more months.”

~~

“I’m seven, I’m too old for dolls,” (Y/n) muttered, not wanting to mention why exactly she didn’t want the porcelain doll, “Besides, he’s too fragile, if I drop him he’ll die.”

Death was a new fascination with the young girl after the incident. Though, to be fair, most fascinations didn’t last four years nor did they start with the horrific death of your older brother.

“Nonsense,” her father grinned, taking the doll from his wife and holding it out to his young daughter, “he was Brahms’ favorite.”

Brahms was a word that had become similar to “fuck” in the parents’ minds. Off-limits by the punishment of spanking or grounding unless you were one of them.

“Oh,” she murmured, carefully taking the toy and holding it to her side, “I never saw him play with it…”

“Too scared to break the poor thing,” Mrs. Heelshire reasoned easily enough, “Named after him.”

(Y/n) looked at the glassy object, “Why do I need to have him?”

“You’re going to take care of him, Brahms would want you to,” Mr. Heelshire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead before leaving a small kiss to the patch of skin, “Be good to him, sweetheart, won’t you?”

Mrs. Heelshire nodded from behind her husband, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Brahms, would you?”

She glanced between her pleading parents and the doll, pursing her lips before hesitantly nodding, “Alright, I guess…”

~~

By the time 1999 rolled around and the only living Heelshire child was to turn eleven, there were no more friends to play in the house with. Emily, who in many ways had been an older sister to the girl, was murdered by some sick monster who lit the playhouse she was inside on fire. Well, maybe the killer didn’t light the playhouse on fire.

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?”

Instead, (Y/n) was left to play with her doll. With a party hat on her head, courtesy of the new grocery boy, Malcolm, she wandered aimlessly through the halls. Birthdays were no longer a celebration in the manor; unless it was Brahms’, of course. She held the doll to her hip, looking at the series of paintings decorating the wall; most of them portraying her big brother.

She frowned, settling a hand on the wall just below the largest mural in the hall. Her fingers brushed upon a small crevice dip in the split of colors in the striped wallpaper, brows furrowing at the ledge. She curled her fingers around it, beginning to pull when suddenly it popped apart from the wall. A panel opening up in the middle of the hallway, she looked down each end before climbing through.

Her eyes adjusted quickly enough, arms squeezing Brahms tighter to her form. She began creeping down the secret passageway, not noticing the sounds of her parents screaming her name.

A sudden turn and she took it. A curve in the path and she rounded it. Losing herself in the hidden walkways within her home. It was only when she realized how lost she was that panic settled in, “Mama…?”

She held Brahms even tighter, freehand leaving the doll to bang on the interior of the wall, “Papa! Mama?!” 

It was half an hour before the panicking parents found their weeping little girl hidden behind a panel close to the fireplace. She was crying into the sweater on her doll, cheeks heated in the force of her tears. Not even Mr. Heelshire’s gentle hugging and cooing could relieve her of the emotional aches.

“You’re to never go in those walls again, do you hear me?” her mother grit through clenched teeth.

Never? As much as (Y/n) wanted to be on board with the idea, she wasn’t sure about never being able to go in again. Maybe… maybe she just had to be older, more mature - yeah - that sounded about right.

“Just once more,” she immediately calmed down, now speaking through a raspy, whiny post-crying voice, “I won’t get lost this time, I promise.”

Mr. Heelshire looked over to his wife, “Just one more couldn’t hurt, she should learn about the walls, shouldn’t she?”

As soon as the words left her husband’s lips, Mrs. Heelshire shook her head, “Not a chance. Haven’t you read The Veldt? That’s how the parents die.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, glancing between her parents as tears began springing into the surface, “You guys will die if I go in the walls again?”

Neither parent confirmed it, though they didn’t deny it either, before sending her off to bed with Brahms. Leaving her to question what the walls were in the dark solitude of her lavish bedroom; empty winnings for a girl who felt guilty enjoying them.

~~

By fifteen, there was an influx of nannies coming in and out of the Heelshire home to care for a supposedly haunted doll. She wasn’t sure if she believed it but the messes and thumping and flickering lights were beginning to be too much to ignore. They all started after the wall incident - the second incident she could add to her fault - and she was forbidden from going back inside.

Panels were left open and soft, high-pitched whines ringing from behind them; it was more terrifying than alluring. 

With no more Brahms by her side, in the real body or in doll form, (Y/n) was left to wander aimlessly down the halls thinking about how unfair it was of her parents to rip the doll away from her. All due to the walls’ tunnels.

They handed her a memento to her older brother - they used her guilt; her fault against her - just to steal it away eight years later. She hated her parents for it, no, not her parents. Her mother. Mrs. Heelshire barely even let the nannies do their job half the time, she just wanted Brahms all to herself. She gave that doll a surplus of her attention and countless replacement caretakers and never even gave (Y/n) the acknowledgment of their shared grief.

Barely gave her the mind to say, “It’s not your fault.”

Whipping around at the frail whisper, (Y/n) peeked around every visible inch of the hallway to see if one of the nannies was following her or her father was finally ready to free her of guilt. Yet nobody was there, no mouths to whisper and no audible drafts to blame.

She turned back around and continued walking down the hallway, not as alone as before.

~~

“I’m nineteen, don’t you think I should, I don’t know, explore the real world?”

Mrs. Heelshire simply shook her head, “You can’t leave us!”

“I won’t be leaving!” (Y/n) tossed her arms out in a display of exaggeration, “I just can’t be in this house for the rest of my life!”

“So you will go eventually,” the older woman huffed, crossing her arms, “Brahms and now you.”

That made the teenager freeze. Nothing like the mention of her dead brother to make her question herself. She pulled back from the yelling match to judge and critique every inch of herself. Her leaving the nest wasn’t comparable to dying - and Brahms didn’t abandon them, he couldn’t control the flames. It wasn’t like he purposefully lit the playhouse on fire at his own birthday party.

No, but she could’ve stopped it. She knows she could have.

“That’s not fair,” (Y/n) muttered, though it sounded less like a genuine response and more like she was trying to point it out to herself.

“You know what else isn’t fair?”

“Don’t.”

“Having two kids and the only one alive wants to abandon you.”

Mr. Heelshire watched from the kitchen table, sipping on his afternoon tea quietly to give more space for the sound of his wife and daughter’s argument to permeate through the room. Through the room and into the walls where even the biggest rat hiding inside could hear.

(Y/n) rubbed at her arm, regretting her decision to even bring the topic up, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Heelshire cooed, cupping her daughter’s cheeks and pulling at any fat her fingers could get to in the pockets, “It’s okay. Don’t be so pouty, it’s alright.”

She didn’t bother pushing her mother’s hands away this time.

~~

(Y/n) silently dipped her paintbrush into a dollop of vibrant, cherry red on her palette, glancing over her canvas to the muse every so often.

A house can appear incredibly eased and soothed from the frontline and nobody would ever know that inside a family of four was being murdered. They wouldn’t know until the corpses were discovered and the extended family was beating at each other. Vultures flocking to the values left to them by death.

Maria, the newest in the line of nannies, was holding position rather well for somebody who’d never modeled before. Clutching Brahms to her hip with a bright, pearly-toothed smile.

“I saw a few of your works around the house earlier,” the black-haired woman spoke, “Impressive for only twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” (Y/n) strained a grin, she didn’t necessarily prefer silence - you could hear the walls whispering when it was silent - but sadly, her focus wavered with noise, “I just like to paint the nannies; don’t like to forget them so quickly.”

“Oh,” Maria awkwardly chuckled, “well, that sounds nice of you…?”

“Just a personal thing,” the young woman shrugged off before catching something in the frame of her eye, “You’re about to drop Brahms.”

“Shit!” the other woman murmured, readjusting the doll in her arms, “Thank you so much.”

“My mom will go crazy, I don’t want to watch her yell at somebody over nothing,” she pursed her lips, “Not nothing; just something small.”

~~

“Are you serious?” (Y/n) narrowed her eyes at her mother, “You and Dad are leaving for a two-month vacation right before my birthday?”

“You’re turning twenty-eight, dear,” Mrs. Heelshire smiled faintly, “I think you’ll be fine, now if you don’t mind, I’ll go downstairs and teach the new nanny how to properly care for Brahms.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms, watching her father continue to pack his bags, “You’re really just letting her drag you out of town right now?”

“She didn’t drag me into anything, honey,” he sighed, whether he knew how much it hurt her feelings to hear that or not didn’t exactly matter.

“Fuck you,” she grumbled, rushing out of the room and down the stairs, the twenty-seven-year-old woman went into her bedroom, fully prepared to ignore her parents and the new nanny. Blissfully unaware of the pest in her walls, watching with sad eyes and wanting to see her smile.

~~

“Knock it off!” (Y/n) cried out to the man swinging the doll around - a protective instinct burning at her gut as she thought of him breaking it. She immediately regretted the harsh tone when Cole’s furious gaze snapped back to her, “Please… just give him back…”

“Watch it,” Cole threatened, holding the doll further away from her than before, “Pull any funny shit and I’ll break in your pretty little face.”

Yet another mistake against the brute, not that anybody but the secret rat was counting. The first, of course, being his arrival. The last, naturally, was bashing the doll’s head against the lip of a seat.

(Y/n) hiccuped wildly, her burst of tears nearly choking her as Cole shushed the room during one of Brahms’ fits. She’d experienced countless ragers with that doll to blame but this was the worst. Cole put a finger to his lips, commanding the people behind him into silence as he went to the wall, knocking a few times with his ear pressed to it. He went to the mirror next, grinning slightly, “There’s something- “

Before he could finish his sentence, the glass burst apart and forced him onto his back.

As Greta screamed and (Y/n) held her head in her hands in the midst of her hysterics, Malcolm called to the two women.

Large hands pulled onto the mirror frame first, then out came a fully grown man. Brahms Heelshire was alive - and he was big.

(Y/n) fell onto her ass, watching as her previously dead big brother stabbed Colt in the neck with a piece of his broken doll. Brahms lunged for Greta only to be beaten down by Malcolm and when the two were away; (Y/n) did not leave.

She crawled over to his sprawled out form, taking his shoulder into her hands and shaking him slightly, “Brahms…?”

He jerked once - then twice, then pushed himself up, taking a moment to look at his little sister before standing. In a fashion similar to when they used to sneak around the manor as children, he pressed a finger to his mask’s lips before running off.

~~

“I came back for you, Brahms.”

(Y/n) fiddled with her fingers as her older brother was swept upstairs by Greta, following after them like a lost puppy. As Greta pulled back the covers, (Y/n) felt her heart thump wildly in her chest.

Of course, it never helped when he threw a woman across the room.

“Brahms!” (Y/n) shrieked, latching onto her brother’s back and attempting to pull him off Greta, only succeeding when he fell back from his own stab wound.

Greta stopped at the doorway, turning to watch as the Heelshire girl cradled her big brother’s head in her hands in her panic-rich state, “(Y/n), come on. We have to go.”

Looking between Greta and her brother, (Y/n) felt the memories creep back up from the dip of her spine.

“Is that Papa’s lighter?”

Emily nodded slightly as Brahms watched the flame flicker, the little boy speaking up first, “I was interested in it, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

(Y/n) clutched at a lock of her own hair, “You better give it back or I’ll take it myself!”

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?” he scoffed before shooing her out of the playhouse, “If you tell Dad, I’ll break all your toys and cut up your dresses.”

She hadn’t told Father - she didn’t take the lighter.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) looked back to her older brother, burn scars on the visible half of his face and suddenly the guilt was rising to her throat again. Her hands smoothed over to the clasp of the mask, carefully unclipping it as Greta ran off to find Malcolm. A wicked sob racked her throat, her voice squeaking up soft and whiny, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

A hand came up to brush her tears away, Brahms watching his little sister continue to cry, a small, childlike voice peeking through his lips, “Please don’t cry, (Y/n)… I don’t want to see you cry…”

Calming down only slightly, (Y/n) helped her brother sit up, “I’ll stay, I’m sorry.”

Brahms continued to watch his sister’s tears spill, “You’ll stay.”

It wasn’t a question, he barely even bothered to disguise it as such.

“I’ll stay…”

She didn’t really have a choice, not when her parents kept her under lock and key so strictly. But maybe they anticipated Brahms coming back; maybe they wanted her to have no independence so she wouldn’t leave her big brother.

Not that she’d be able to ask them.

[naerysthelonesome]

The Sanctuary Scene

Part 2

“Thomas Lightwood,” said Alastair, “I am nothing like you.”

Like him? How could someone like Alastair ever come close to being like someone like Thomas? How could anyone? The man in question looking shocked and flustered, made a move like he was going to get up and bang his head against a wall. Alastair had an idea what Thomas must’ve been thinking, so he hurried on.

“I am nothing like you, Thomas,” he said earnestly, “because you are one of the better people I have ever known. You have a kind nature and a heart like some knight out of legend. Brave and proud and true and strong. All of it.” He smiled and it felt almost like grief, “And all the time you have known me, I have been a terrible person. So, you see. We are nothing at all alike.”

Thomas’ gaze snapped up to his own then, and Alastair was relieved to see him look at least slightly less distressed. He knew that wasn’t what Thomas had expected to hear. He hadn’t even meant the question in the way Alastair had decided to interpret it, but those things had been too important for him not to say. He needed Thomas to know just how highly he thought of him.

“I’m not----” Thomas cut himself off, seeming to think better of disputing what Alastair had said, instead saying, “That’s not what I meant.”

Alastair supposed it was finally time to address the real question. “ I know what you meant.”

Thomas didn’t look inclined to respond, now seemingly rooted to the spot, so he decided to take pity on him and continued, “How did you know about Charles?”

“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing in Paris,” said Thomas, “But you mentioned Charles, over and over again, like you got pleasure out of just saying his name. And when you came to London this summer, I saw the way you looked at him. I know what is it to have to hide the- the signs of affection.”

The hurt that came with the memory of what Charles had meant to him was no surprise, but the brief flash of irritation and… something else were unexpected. All he knew in that moment was that he needed Thomas to know Charles had since lost his favour.

“Then I imagine you may have noticed I don’t look at Charles that way anymore.”

“I suppose I did”, Thomas, blessedly, said, “Though for the past four months, I’ve been trying not to look at you. I told myself I hated you. But I could never really make myself. When Elias died, all I could think about was you. What you must be feeling.”

Thomas’ kindness hurt more than his hate ever could. How could anyone be so good? He had said such repugnant things about his family, and yet here he was, worried about how he must be feeling.

“I insulted your father and blackened his name. You were under no obligation to care about mine”, he said with a wince.

“I know, but sometimes I think that it is much harder to lose someone who we are on bad terms with than it is to lose someone with whom all is well.”

Alastair felt heat behind his eyes. He had done nothing to deserve such understanding. Nothing. He deserved to be hated. He wanted to scream at Thomas to hate him hate him hate him! But the human embodiment of the Angel Zadkiel himself had long since refused.

“Bloody hell, Thomas. You should hate me, not be thinking about what I must be feeling---” Alastair wiped at the tears now threating to fall. “And the worst of it is, you’re right, of course. You always understood other people so well. I think I partly hated you for it, for being so kind. I thought, ‘He must have so much, to be able to be so generous.’ And I thought that I had nothing. It never occurred to me that you had secrets too.”

His heart was threatening to beat right out of his chest. Never had he revealed so much of himself to anyone before.

“You were always my secret,” he heard Thomas say softly, and turned to stare at him. He felt almost dizzy with how fast his blood was rushing in his ears at the revelation.

“Does no one know?” he managed to say, “That you- like men? How long have you known?”

“Since after I came to school, I think”, Thomas said, “I knew what caught my eye, quickened my pulse, and it was never a girl.”

Alastair looked at Thomas as he tried to pull the pieces of himself back together, “And you never told anyone?”

Thomas seemed to hesitate, and he didn’t know if he wanted to hear what came next or not.

“I could have told my friends that I liked men. They would have understood. But I couldn’t have told them how I felt about you.”

Alastair thought back to how terrible he had been at school, and knew exactly why Thomas had had to keep him a secret all this time. How he wished he could have gone back and changed the things he’d said and done. No matter what he felt for Thomas now, the sad truth remained that he had not thought much of the small boy who followed him around school. Such a far cry from the almost puppy-like lad that had near worshipped him back at the academy, was the strong, kind, beautiful Thomas seated in front of him now. Regardless, every version of Thomas deserved to be loved and treasured by everyone around him, and Alastair could not regret enough the boy he had once been.

“So you did feel something for me. I thought—” Alastair hadn’t known. He shook his head in frustration. “I didn’t see you—you were this boy following me around at school, and then I met you in Paris and you’d grown up and turned into Michelangelo’s David. I thought you were beautiful. But I was still caught up with Charles—” He almost couldn’t believe the things he was saying, could barely understanding all the feelings that had suddenly decided to rear their heads. “Just another thing I’ve wasted. Your regard for me. I wasted my time and affection on Charles. I wasted my chance with you.” He was fully aware how bitter he sounded, but couldn’t seem to be able to keep his emotions in checks anymore.

He was starting to grow increasingly frustrated when Thomas once again tried to stop his heart, saying, “Maybe not. About me, I mean.”

“Speak sense, Lightwood,” he snapped, unwilling to jump to the belated conclusions his mind tried to conjure up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this”, he said, and leaning in close, kissed him on the mouth.

His breath stopped. His heart sped up. His eyes widened. Thomas was kissing him. Kissing him. His hands moved to clutch Thomas’ shirtfront like a lifeline when he felt him pull away. He pulled himself up to his knees- to get closer? To look into his eyes?- he didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care.

“Thomas--” he began without anything to say. This was really happening. This couldn’t happen. Forgiving him was one thing… kissing him, giving him this chance, was quite another. He let his hands fall and his face turn away.

“Just imagine,” Thomas said urgently, “What if we’d never gone to the academy together? What if none of those things had happened, and Paris was the first time we’d met? And this was the second?”

I would want to be with you, came the immediate answer. I do want to be with you. But those things had happened. He had gone to the academy with the thieves and acted a complete ass toward them.

But. But here was Thomas; beautiful, generous, merciful Thomas wishing to overlook everything he had said and done for the chance to be with him. Alastair couldn’t imagine why, but Angels above, he wanted to take that chance. In that moment, he couldn’t remember anything he had ever wanted more.

He felt a slow smile make its way onto his face, and spoke through the pressure threatening to crack his chest open, “Damn you, Thomas.” He grabbed the man, and pulled him close, firmly slotting their lips together once more.

This was nothing like what kissing Charles had been. This was pure and thrilling and right. He found his hands running up Thomas’ strong, muscled arms. There was nothing he’d rather do. Throwing all inhibition out the window, he kissed the man before him deeply, and ran his palms over the broad expanse of his chest. He’d wanted to know what Thomas felt like this for so long, ever since Paris, and now that he could, it felt better than a dream come true.

Thomas kissed him back fervently, and that was all the reassurance he needed that what was happening was good. Thomas’ lips moved from his own to his jaw, and he felt himself growl in pleasure. The taller man kissed down the column of his neck, hands pressed against his waist, as he made his way to Alastair’s pulse point. Alastair’s hands slipped over his back, drawing him closer, letting him suck at his skin. There he was, locked in a sanctuary with Thomas, locked in his perfect embrace. The World be damned, there was nowhere he’d rather be.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 31

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The memories come to an end

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It didn’t matter that they dragged him, restrained with glyphed chains and shackles, through a glowing portal that had looked very similar to the one he’d first gone through.

It didn’t matter that their headquarters seemed to be an old manor filled with strange artifacts and old furniture.

It didn’t matter that they told him, after throwing him into a basement cell lined with glyphs, that they were a group called the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

They were HYDRA and they were going to use him like they always used him. Bucky expected Colonel Vasily Karpov to walk through the door any moment, but his only visitor was a soft-spoken bald woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, and had a very precise way of speaking. She apparently knew who he was but would only refer to him as “James.”

He hated it. Hated her sweet words given through iron bars. It was no different than how Fairbanks had treated him. Tricked Bucky with promises of hot meals, warm baths, and protection from the guards if he would just cooperate with Fairbanks’ vision.

But that’s not what the woman asked of him. Bucky didn’t know what she wanted. She would visit him, talk to him, ask him questions about his life before HYDRA. His captors had never done that before, had never encouraged him to talk about his past as a human before they managed to burn away his memories and trick him into believing he was a full-fledged demon.

It was confusing, even more so when he was moved out of the cell and into a proper room. He still had to wear the bespelled shackles that left him weak and harmless, but they didn’t beat him or taunt him or force him to feed. In fact, the woman, who called herself the Ancient One like it was an actual title, gave him a tonic that would make the hunger go away.

Bucky didn’t believe a damn word she said. He remembered the last time he’d been offered something like this from Lukin. It had been a salve that had artificially induced his next heat, and he’d been mocked cruelly before Lukin would allow his men to sate Bucky’s cursed hunger.

And now that same hunger grew so strong that eventually Bucky drank the liquid, because nothing could be worse than the agony twisting through his body. To his eternal shock, it helped. Made the searing desire in his gut vanish into a dull ache.

That was when Bucky had finally begun to believe her. This wasn’t HYDRA, and he wasn’t going to be used as a weapon again. When he’d told the Ancient One of his conclusions, she had smiled and said, “I know that must have been very difficult for you, James. I appreciate your trust.”

Bucky wouldn’t go that far, he was a long way from trusting his new captors, but when she returned the stuffed cat to him with the strange advice that he should “take care of precious things,” he was well on his way to tolerating her.

For the next few months, Bucky spent his time relearning how to be a person. He rediscovered his love of knowledge, and the Sanctum provided much of that. The books, especially. He was fascinated by the large, bound tomes that smelled like dust and forgotten time. Focusing on consuming as many books as possible was a way for him to adjust to living as a… well, as a human again.

The Ancient One had encouraged his time in the library once she trusted him with having more access to the Sanctum. The other sorcerers had wanted to keep Bucky contained in the glyph-warded cell, but she told them, “If you cage a man like an animal, expect him to act as a beast.”

Bucky was growing quite fond of her.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn’t hypervigilant and waiting for the next attack, whether from HYDRA soldiers or other demons. He was healing, very slowly recovering from the decades of traumatic memories he had to sort through. It was even more confusing with the “time dilation” he’d experienced in the demon realm. Forty-eight years had passed for him when only four years had passed on Earth. It was 1995, he was in New York City, and his only acquaintances were a sect of secretive sorcerers who kept him locked up in an ancient manor.

Things could have been worse, all things considered.

Something did happen one day to dampen his spirits. It was a warm early summer day, and they were enjoying the sunshine within the Sanctum rooftop garden. The Ancient One was training him to extend his guise around his clawed feet to make them appear as if he was wearing boots. She insisted it was possible, that Bucky had already shown an affinity for magic with his ability to take away, and later they learned, share memories.

But making his demonic aspects disappear was one thing, trying to create illusionary clothing was another, and he was growing frustrated with his efforts, or lack thereof.

“Fairbanks told me my transformation was complete,” Bucky grumbled, staring at his clawed feet as if they’d done him personal wrong. “There weren’t supposed to be any more changes, but now I have to lug these things around.”

He flexed his talons to demonstrate his meaning, grimacing at the animalistic shape of them. At least with his other changes, he’d managed to guise himself enough to look human. Now, with this…

“As if I didn’t already look like a monster,” he muttered.

“Evil men lie. You know this more intimately than most.” The Ancient One seemed almost distracted, staring over the rooftop and toward the city skyline. Then she turned toward him, her smile muted in sadness. “You’re no monster, James.”

Bucky looked away, unable to look at such sincerity for too long. She really did believe what she said.

“This isn’t working.” He sat back with a huff. “I can’t do it.”

Instead of her mild chastisement for giving up so easily, the Ancient One remained silent. Bucky looked up to find her staring off to the side again, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and turned back to him, giving him one of those small smiles.

“Nothing, James. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” She was never distracted. Thoughtful and meditative, sure, but never unfocused like she’d been all day.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, mired with guilt. He’d forgotten all about his own mysterious voice. He experienced the same shade of guilt and grief whenever he remembered what had happened to Steve. Died saving the world, not long after Bucky had been imprisoned. And here Bucky was, alive and whole, and he hadn’t bothered to think about the entity, real or imagined, that had kept him from going insane in the demon realm. It had helped him remember who he was and kept at bay the devastating loneliness.

He could barely remember what the voice sounded like.

He opened his mouth to ask her to explain what she meant, but the Ancient One clapped her hands together and said, “Let us try again. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you. Focus on what you desire and shape it into the world.”

Bucky sighed and unwillingly turned back to his lessons, the weight of loneliness still lingering at the back of his mind.

***

“This isn’t working.”

You watched Bucky struggle, unable to help or communicate with him. Not like you’d done before. Trapped on the demon world, Bucky had somehow been able to hear you. Even talk to you.

You’d almost forgotten who you were in that place. It had been so easy to just be with Bucky, to sink into his mind and be so close you weren’t sure who was who. And then you’d been jostled awake when he’d had leapt through the portal. It had been agony, split in two, and you’d been torn from Bucky and forced back into your own non-corporeal state.

And that’s where you’d remained. Seeing yourself as a child lose your memories. Forced to watch Bucky feed and suffer and then be captured, but when you’d realized who had him, you’d been relieved for the first time since being trapped in Bucky’s memories.

Now that you knew the Ancient One, had witnessed firsthand how kind and gentle she was with Bucky, you were shamed by your previous jealousy. She grew on you, and after a time, you felt like you knew her just as well as Bucky did.

Perhaps that explained what happened next.

“I can’t do it.”

Bucky’s frustration was aimed at the Ancient One, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused directly on the spot where you stood.

The world grew quiet and still. The wizards around you, moving to and from their tasks, were now frozen in midstride. The water bubbling up from a nearby fountain hung in the air like a glass sculpture. Bucky sat half-hunched on the stone bench, glaring at his clawed feet.

Cold fear washed through your non-spine as the Ancient One smiled.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced around just to be extra sure she was addressing you, but the world was still frozen. Even the air was a dead weight against your skin.

“You…” Your voice trembled, unused in so long. “You can see me?”

“Of course,” she said, addressing you by name just to make the moment more surreal. “I sensed James had a passenger. How long have you been attached to him?”

Horror, hope, terror, all of it vied for control. Your next words were a messy jumble.

“I… I don’t know. I was, we were just. He was showing me his memories, but they were the wrong ones, and I got stuck—Please, you have to help me!”

The Ancient One raised a hand, palm toward you in a soothing manner.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. Take your time, for we have plenty of it.”

You closed your mouth and took a deep breath, allowing the tension to leech from your muscles.

“That’s better,” she said, her voice smooth and her smile kind. “We shall start with something simple. Have we met before?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” That was something simple? “I mean, I thought you were…”

Your voice trailed off into silence. Were you supposed to tell her she was dead? Or… would be dead. How were you even able to speak to her? Wasn’t this just a memory? You couldn’t affect a memory, right?

“Ah.” She gave you a knowing look. “I see.”

Her gaze drifted down to where Bucky sat, her expression fond. She didn’t seem to be very upset with the fact she would be dead sometime in the future.

“I take it you are important to James? You must be, for him to willingly share his memories with you.”

“I… yes,” you said, following her gaze to Bucky. Even now in a strange, frozen moment, you ached to touch him again. Hell, you ached just to speak with him, for him to see you and know you again. Being a stranger to Bucky was unbearable. “He’s important to me, too.”

“I sense that is true. Perhaps more than you realize.”

After a moment of quietness, she met your eye again. Something had shifted within her, and her tone grew serious.

“To answer the question you wish to ask, this is James’ memory, but it is also your present. You are untethered from reality and trapped in a time-loop.”

“A… a what?”

“It’s very fortunate I found you at this moment, in this place,” she continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “I suspect you would have been trapped, until such a time you would have caught up to the place you had become untethered, and time would have repeated itself.”

Her eyes darkened and the smile was gone. You wanted to retreat but your feet, as they had been from the start, were unable to move.

“Journeying through time is extremely dangerous.” There was thunder in her words, quiet but frightening, and you wanted to recoil. “Who is your teacher? Surely they would not have been so negligent with your education.”

“I—“ You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A teacher? For what?”

She stared at you for a hard minute, expression never changing, and in that moment you could sense the vast, unknowable power that lingered within this seemingly frail-looking woman.

“Listen to me well, young one,” she said. “When you return to your present, seek out the Sorcerer Supreme. I will not gaze forward to see who it is, as one should not know too much of their own fate. But when you return, go to the leader of the Order, and tell them I said…”

Her gaze dropped downward, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even though you didn’t technically had lungs, you could breathe easier now that her dark gaze was gone.

“Tell them it’s their responsibility to shape the future of our kind. No matter what tests they’ve conducted or conclusions they’ve come to, you must be taught our ways. Neglecting to do so will result in consequences like these. Or worse.”

The Ancient One clapped her hands together again, the oversized sleeves pooling at her elbow to expose her thin arms.

“Now, it’s time I send you back, yes? Oh, one last thing.”

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah?”

“When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong…” She looked you directly in the eye, a piercing gaze that went right through. “…trust yourself to find a different answer. Do not doubt yourself, even while others will. Your life, and James’, both depend on it. Do you understand?”

“Uh—no,” you stuttered. “No, I don’t understand—Wait!”

Your protest went unheeded as the Ancient One moved toward you while also remaining firmly in place. A shimmering second copy of her walked across the stone, raised a palm, and shoved you hard in the chest.

Gasping and clutching your shirt, you bolted upright with a cry. You were back in your bedroom, sprawled out on your bed and panting as if you’d run a marathon.

And Bucky was staring down at you with complete and utter horror.

Next Chapter

[goldencuffs]

aberrant affairs

Laurent Revere comes down the wide, glossy staircase wearing a sheer, silk shirt that matches the pink in his cheeks and lips, and jeans that are too tight to be appropriate. His golden hair is neat, styled with care, and it shines brighter than the chandelier he stands under. He’s still wearing his ring, a giant cut of diamond that is obnoxious, yet tasteful.

“Goddamn,” Lazar mutters under his breath. His mouth is open, and his gaze is glassy.

Jord agrees. Goddamn. No one should look this sinful two days after their husband’s death.

“Gentlemen,” Laurent greets politely. His voice is husky, a gentle purr that is seductive to its core. “I apologise if we’ve met before, but I can’t seem to place your faces.”

Jord shifts his jacket so it falls open at his hip. There, his badge gleams in the lighting of the foyer.

Laurent’s eyes fix on it for a few beats before he tilts his head. “Ah,” he says. “Please, follow me.”

Laurent leads them through his mansion with ease. The hallway itself is grand, high ceilinged and designed with white marble. The room they eventually end up in is ostentatious; it overlooks the sea, and the minimal furniture in it are gold trimmed vintage pieces.

“Coffee or tea?” Laurent asks, so sweetly it catches Jord off guard.

He clears his throat.“Coffee.” He adds: “For both of us,” when he notices how dazed Lazar still is.

Laurent busies himself making coffee for them in the corner, where an expensive, steel machine rests on top of a gold plated bench.

Jord’s gaze is helplessly drawn to the curve of Laurent’s backside, the tops of his thighs and the white of his feet, which are bare. It somehow makes Laurent look both boyish and expensive.

Lazar is staring too, but with less subtlety. They both catch themselves at the same time and turn away; guiltily, they turn their faces out towards the view of the sea.

Laurent comes back with three cups of rich coffee balanced on a silver tray. It smells divine, and Jord picks his up with too much eagerness.

They sit in silence for a while. Jord watches Laurent carefully. His skin, lily white, is unblemished: there are no dark circles or red rimmed eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s been mourning. He doesn’t even seem shocked. Nothing about Laurent suggests he’s just lost a husband. Instead, he looks regal, like a spoilt, bratty sugar baby that’s never had to work for anything in his life. Jord’s blood boils.

Lazar puts his cup down with a small clink and says, “I’m sure you must be wondering why we’re here, Mr Revere.”

“Please call me Laurent, detective,” Laurent says. He watches the both of them over the rim of his cup, his blue eyes steady. “And yes, I have been wondering.”

Jord says, “We have some questions about your husband’s death.”

Laurent wraps both palms around his cup and nestles it on his lap. His nails are clean and his fingertips are pinked. “Oh?” he says, and god — Jord finds himself genuinely impressed. The kid is good; he legitimately sounds confused.

“Where were you on Saturday evening?”

“Here,” Laurent blinks, his long lashes fluttering. “At home.”

“Was there anyone with you?” Beside him, Lazar is dutifully writing down Laurent’s responses.

“Just the usual staff.”

“And why weren’t you with your husband at the gala? It seemed like a pretty big event to miss.”

Laurent’s lips purse. “I had a terrible headache.” He pushes back his hair on his forehead with the delicateness of a virgin milkmaid from a period drama. “I’m prone to them quite often.”

Jord — barely — keeps from rolling his eyes. He asks, “What were you doing when you received the call that your husband died?”

“I was getting ready for bed. I was —” Laurent’s chin quivers enough for it to be noticeable, the first real signs of distress. “I was waiting for him to come back.” His voice wavers as he says it. With a polite cough, he excuses himself with a meek, “I’m terribly sorry.”

It’s so convincing. It’s confounding how effortless his acting is. It’s why Jord says, lightly, “Well, at this point, you must be used to those kinds of calls.”

Jord finds himself subjected to Laurent’s sapphire gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean,” Jord begins, “is that being married to you seems to suddenly drop a man’s life expectancy. Twenty six years old, and all three of your marriages have ended with your husband’s untimely deaths.”

Laurent’s face goes ashen.

Jord doesn’t fall for it. He’s not going to be swayed by such a pretty face — isn’t going to be another victim in Revere’s life.

He knows Laurent’s history by heart at this point; he and Lazar have been vigorously studying it for the last two days.

Laurent’s first husband, a refined gentleman from a small village in Kempt, had died just seven months into their marriage. The second, a professor at one of Akielos’ most renowned universities, had died in his sleep. He’d only been married to Laurent for six weeks. Laurent’s last husband, a famous socialite with ties to the Patran royal family, had dropped dead in the middle of his speech last Saturday at a private gala with over five thousand witnesses, just shy of their one year anniversary.

All three men had several unfortunate things in common: each had been extensively older than Laurent, wealthy, and had been so enamoured by Laurent, they had married him within months, sometimes weeks, after meeting him.

Jord has done this long enough to know that three of anything is never a coincidence.

Sitting in a multi million mansion, watching the sun catch the gold of Laurent’s hair, he can see exactly why a lonely, older man with a fortune to spare would be so eager to capture Laurent’s attention.

Laurent’s response is cold, composed, but underneath his thin shirt, his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood, detective, but are you — insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s death?”

Lazar leans forward. “You do have to admit, Laurent, that it is incredibly suspicious that every single husband you’ve had has died shortly after marrying you.”

It’s oddly gratifying to see how much colour drains from Laurent’s face. But the tears that suddenly well in his eyes makes Jord pause.

“Get out,” says Laurent, quietly. His words are so choked, at first, it’s hard to make them out. “You have no right — how dare you —” Laurent cuts himself off, frustrated, and still breathing heavily. “Just go. I don’t want either of you in my house.”

Jord almost declines; he wants to push more answers from Laurent, wants to let him know that a few tears won’t dissuade him from getting to know the truth. Then he thinks better of it; they have time. Jord isn’t going to rush this case.

So he stands. Lazar does too.

“We’ll be off then,” Jord says. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr Revere.”

Laurent mutters something too quiet for Jord to pick up on. From his tone, it isn’t hard to guess what, though.

Still, probably trained under his husband — husbands — to be as gracious as possible, Laurent stands too, intent on leading them to the doorway.

In the foyer, there’s a tall, well-dressed man standing near the staircase. His features suggest he is Akielon through and through: his nose is straight, eyes and hair both dark, and underneath his suit, it’s obvious he is nothing but muscle. He is stunningly attractive, although not exactly Jord’s type.

When he sees Laurent, the sheer joy on his face is blinding. It dampens considerably as his gaze shifts to Jord and Lazar.

“Hey,” the stranger says, in rough Akielon, addressing Laurent. “Erasmus just let me in, but he didn’t say you had company over.” Once again his eyes roam over Jord and Lazar, but almost against his will, his attention is quickly stolen by Laurent.

Laurent offers a small smile. “Damen,” he greets, and his voice is pleased, a little relieved. “These lovely gentlemen were just on their way. Detectives, this is Damen Vallis, my best friend.”

Jord watches Damen’s eyes narrow at the word detectives, but his smile is friendly as he shakes their hands.

And then Damen steps closer and finally takes a good look at Laurent’s face, his red eyes and pink nose. The anger that contorts his face is so sudden, it startles Jord. From the corner of his eye, he can see Lazar raise his eyebrows.

Still in Akielon, Damen says, “What the fuck did they say to you?” It comes out biting, harsh.

Laurent winces. In a placating gesture, he places his hand on Damen’s forearm. “Nothing, I swear. I’m alright.”

Damen shakes off his hand with a grimace, mouth pulled tight. The disgust on his face is evident.

Laurent looks hurt, but doesn’t outwardly react. He seems to realise that Jord and Lazar are still there because he says, “Just wait in the living room, okay? I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Damen nods, curt, and stomps off, his fists clenched. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone else.

“Sorry,” Laurent says, after a brief pause. “He isn’t normally so rude, but his clients have been giving him grief lately.”

“He’s a lawyer?” Lazar asks, and Laurent nods.

“Best in the state,” he says, genuine pride in his tone.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Since forever. Our families are very close.”

Jord nods, only half listening. While they walk through the same marbled hallways, he thinks of the look on Damen’s face when he had caught sight of Laurent: smitten, completely besotted. There was a strange violence thrumming under the surface of his anger when he had realised Laurent had been crying. But those things aren’t necessarily abnormal. It isn’t uncommon for best friends to be so loyal.

It’s the way Damen reacted when Laurent had touched him that keeps replaying in Jord’s mind. Something about it had seemed off.

It isn’t until they’re back in the car that he realises what had bothered him about it. Laurent had touched Damen with his left hand, the hand that still had his ring on it.

Damen had seemed… outraged over the fact that Laurent was still wearing it.

As they drive off, Jord watches Laurent step back inside his mansion and thinks he might have misjudged him, after all.

[frunbuns]

As the World Falls Apart

Read on Ao3

Padmé watches Obi-Wan rock Leia around the ship, willing her to stop crying. He shushes and coos at her as he gently pats her back. Nothing seems to work. He’s been trying for the past hour or so. Leia has a strong pair of lungs and doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Even as Obi-Wan practically begs her to stop crying. Nothing works. They’ve tried feeding her. They’ve tried changing. At this point she’s just crying for the sake of it. She’s sure of it.

Obi-Wan looks dead on his feet as he paces from one part of the cockpit to the other. His eyes are bloodshot, red and splotchy. Dark bags under his eyes. His clothes are scorched and burnt. Hair tousled. He’s limping slightly. She hasn’t said anything about it, but she assumes it’s from his fight with Grievous. He hasn’t smiled once since they got back from Mustafar - not even one of his fake ones he puts on sometimes. (Except when the twins were born, but even that smile, while fond and loving, had been filled with heartbreak.) In fact, he looks miserable right now. Like he’s on the verge of crying. He probably is, Padmé muses. Padmé kinda feels like crying too.

She had offered to take Leia off him, but he had refused. Told her to remain seated, a dozing baby Luke in her arms. It was typical of him, really. Obi-Wan had always been good at giving pieces of himself, even at the expense of himself. He had been like that as long as they’d been friends.

It’s strange. How it has merely been hours since the twins had been born. And now they were hurtling through hyperspace. Master Yoda had told them to go to Naboo with the twins and go into hiding. Obi-Wan would serve as protection and a teacher once Luke and Leia start showing force sensitive abilities. They’ll need to learn how to control it. Padmé is just grateful she’s not going to be alone, and she’s sure Obi-Wan feels the same. She is grateful for his company, no matter how miserable they both might be right now. At least it’s something.

She’s glad he snuck onboard the ship when she went to Mustafar. She’s not sure what would have happened if he hadn’t. She thought she could talk some sense into him. Obi-Wan had probably thought so too. Even after all he’d done she still loved him. She continued to love him, even if he broke her heart. Obi-Wan too.

Anakin had always said he and Obi-Wan were closer than most jedi. That they were like brothers. That Obi-Wan had been like a father to him. Looking at him now, there’s no doubt the love was mutual. And as a mother now, she feels like she gets him better than she ever has. All of Anakin’s stories about Obi-Wan. Their little misadventures.

They were like two halves of a whole, and Padmé can’t help but feel like Obi-Wan died with Anakin on Mustafar in some way. The Obi-Wan in front of her is almost like a shell of the man she knew.

She can’t imagine having to do what Obi-Wan did. It’s just not fair. But things are rarely fair. With the war rampaging the galaxy, sith lords at every corner. The galaxy has never been fair, but it could at least try for Obi-Wan’s sake. Padmé can’t imagine being only thirty-eight years old and knowing as much heartbreak as Obi-Wan does. She can’t help but admire his strength. That he’s still standing right now. Padmé honestly feels like she’s going to break any moment.

And if Leia doesn’t stop crying soon she might start crying too.

Leia’s screeching is ear-piercing. She’s red in the face from the sheer effort of it. Tiny fists balled into the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic, tears streaming down her small face. It’s a miracle she hasn’t worn herself out by now. Padmé sure would have.

God she hopes this isn’t going to be a regular thing. She’s not sure she can take it. And from the looks of things Obi-Wan doesn’t either. Taking care of twins is going to be enough work, but having to deal with twins and a screaming baby sounds damn near impossible. Even for two people.

R2 beeps in sympathy from where he’s piloting the ship.

Padmé closes her eyes, preparing for the impending headache she knows she’s gonna get soon. But then the screeching stops. It just stops. Padmé can’t believe her ears, but when she opens her eyes again Leia seems to have settled against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, eyes half lidded and body lax. Obi-Wan looks at her with bewilderment. As if he can’t believe it either.

A range of emotions crosses his features before he closes his eyes, in utter relief, and lets out a choked sound. Something like a sob. It’s an utterly pathetic and pitiful sound. Something that’s not very becoming of a Jedi master. But she finds that she agrees as she smiles at him. Wet and a little crooked, but relieved.

But that’s not the end of it. It’s like the floodgates have finally opened - that the dam has broken - because Obi-Wan chokes back another sob. And another. And another. And then there are tears running down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard. And he’s sniffling as he suppresses shudders in an attempt to not disturb the now calm baby.

“Obi-Wan?” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear her. “Why don’t you sit down. You must be exhausted.”

He nods. “Y-yes that— that— I’m so-sorry. I—” He gasps and hiccups as he stumbles over the words. It’s truly a pitiful sight.

She does her best to put on a warm and comforting smile. Even as her whole body aches, she stands up and walks over to him, careful not to jostle Luke too much. She’s never seen him like this before, and if her heart didn’t feel like it was already shattered into a million pieces it would break even more now. “It’s okay,” she tells him, putting a hand on his arm. His tattered sleeve full of burns and holes. “It’s okay.”

Gently, she guides him back to the pilot’s seat and he slumps down into it. His sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles and silent tears. Leia appears to have drifted off to sleep, thank the stars. Padmé isn’t sure she can handle much more at this point. She envies them. The twins. And their ability to just fall asleep as the world falls apart around them. They haven’t got a clue what’s happening around them. Everything is in shambles, and she’s grateful that they’re blissfully unaware of it all.

The ship rumbles beneath their feet. It’s a sturdy craft. Skillfully built and probably expensive, but awfully boringly decorated on the inside. It’s nothing like Padmé’s ships. But she supposes the jedi don’t really care for such.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan croaks after a while. “I mean it.”

Padmé raises a brow at him. “Why?”

“I failed him. I failed Anakin,” he says, voice tight as he avoids her gaze. the light of the stars dancing across his features and glimmering in his glassy eyes. “I should have realised something was wrong. He was my padawan. I should have known.”

“Obi-Wan,” she murmurs. “Palpatine groomed and manipulated him for years. It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done. We did our best.”

“I shouldn’t have let him see him. I always knew there was something about him.”

The corner of Padmé’s lips quirk upwards. “I never liked him either,” she says. To which Obi-Wan smiles at her, albeit faintly and ever so briefly. At least it’s something.

Leia continues to doze on Obi-Wan’s chest, ear pressed to his chest where his heart beats below his ribcage. She looks so small with his hand almost covering up her entire back. She just wishes anakin was here. So he could enjoy his children with her. Like he should. But she supposes Obi-Wan will have to do. As far as she’s concerned, he is the next best thing. He did raise Anakin, after all.

Padmé breaks the silence. “So what does this make you then?” she asks, humour in her voice. “Grandpa Obi-Wan?”

She hears the jedi snort. “Surely I’m too young for such a title.”

“Oh yeah, old man? Pretty sure I heard your joints pop when you sat down just now.”

“You’re going to regret saying those words in ten years time when you’re my age.”

Padmé smiles, a real, genuine smile, for what feels like the first time in forever. She even chuckles a little. A little quiet and awkward, but genuine. When she looks at Obi-Wan he is smiling so wide it reaches his eyes.

They’ll be exiting hyperspace soon, but right now they can rest. Just her, her children and Obi-Wan. Some ragtag team for a family, but she doesn't really mind the idea of it. There’s just something missing.

Obi-Wan strokes Leia’s back so gently it almost looks like he’s afraid to break her. He watches her with such softness and adoration it makes Padmé’s heart swell. He has only known them for a day and he already loves them. Anakin would be ecstatic.

“I just wish Anakin was here.”

Obi-wan stops stroking Leia’s back momentarily, fixing her with a gaze she can’t quite deschipher. “Me too,” he murmurs. “They’re wonderful, Padmé. He would have adored them.”

Padmé nods, a sad smile on her face. “He would have.” Her heart aches at the thought of it, but she appreciates the sentiment. “I’m glad you’re here though, Obi-Wan. It means a lot that I’m not alone.”

“I’m glad too, dear,” he tells her softly. “I’m not sure what I’d do if— I mean—” He swallows thickly. “—Almost everyone I knew is dead. Mace, Bant, Luminara, Quin… Ahsoka. Oh god, Ahsoka.”

Padmé can almost feel the grief in the air. She wonders if this is what it’s like to be a jedi. To have one of those bonds that Anakin had talked about.

“I’m sorry too,” she tells him. “About the jedi, and the clones… And Anakin. I know you loved him.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and nods solemnly. He doesn’t need to say anything. She understands. She reaches out and grabs his hand where it lies limply in his lap. It’s calloused and scarred, but warm and gentle. Obi-Wan’s hand is warm and firm in her hand. A little bigger than hers, a little rougher. The hand of a jedi. Of a long life lived. Of a friend. A mentor. Even a father. She can imagine him ruffling a young Anakin’s hair with. Righting Ahsoka’s grip on her lightsaber. Shaking her hand at events. She gives his hand a squeeze and hopes he gets it. He does. He squeezes her hand back. They sit like that for the rest of the journey.

They exit hyperspace, the ship jolting slightly from it. In the distance Padmé spots Naboo. As long as she had lived on Coruscant Naboo would always be her home. And now it would be Obi-Wan’s too, she supposes. She looks over at him and finds him with his eyes closed. As if he’s asleep. She smiles. She can wait to wake him until they’ve landed. He could use the rest. She could too, honestly.

She misses Anakin already. Not the man she saw on Mustafar, but the man she fell in love with. The father of her children. The man that loved, and was loved in return. Her Anakin. Obi-Wan’s Anakin. Ahsoka’s Anakin. A man that was flawed, but good. A man that was kind. Her husband. Ahsoka’s master. Obi-Wan’s padawan. God, she misses him. Just the thought of him makes her heart ache.

They’ll be okay, Padmé thinks. Not right now. Maybe not for a while. But one day. She’s sure of it. They’ve survived so far. They’ve got each other. They just need a moment of quiet. Just a little moment. They’ll be okay. Just not right now.

[bbrandy2002]

The Arms Of A Woman

burnsoslow said:

Dear TBFF, I'm requesting a My Love one-shot with Ellie screaming for Drake while he talks to his beautiful girlfriend, and then him hanging up to call her back on Facetime ... and other details. 😍😍😍😍😍

I don’t even have words for what I just wrote. You asked for a simple request a week and a half ago and it blew up into this monstrosity of 8225 words. 

Pairing: Drake x OC (Alyssa)

_____________________________________________

He was Liam's best man.

She was Riley's matron of honor.

Drake first laid his eyes on Alyssa at the wedding rehearsal, but couldn't meet hers. The petite brunette with the brightest blues flashed a dimpled smile at him when they were formally introduced. He swore her face was glowing. It was as if the sun itself shone directly on her at that moment. If beauty could be adequately defined, this woman was the epitome of Drake's definition. 

She wasn't noble. She wasn't from a wealthy, pretentious family. She wasn't even from Cordonia. She was the opposite of every woman he had become accustomed to knowing. Simple, upbeat, and not fake, all of which was an instant attraction to her. Having spent the entire week getting to know each other, she made him feel more carefree than he had been since childhood. He smiled more with her and because of her, and yet still, he considered her out of his league.

Drake tried to shake away the connection he felt with her. He was whiskey and beer, where he saw Alyssa as a fine wine that deserved to be savored by the most delicate lips. A woman like that would never want someone like him. 

She asked him to dance with her at the reception with that sweet voice that penetrated his heart. Fuck if he didn't want to with everything in him, but -- it was her. It was her. What if he mis-stepped or was out of rhythm or made her embarrassed with just how inept on his feet he truly was? 

What if he wrapped his arms around her and couldn't let go? 

What if he never wanted to?

Drake's heart skipped a beat when she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. 

Her skin was soft and smooth. 

His was worn and rough.

The young Walker tried to resist, but the urge to touch her was too powerful. He had to know what her body felt like pressed against his. 

She seemed to want the same thing. 

Alyssa's feet glided gracefully, and her tiny little form fit perfectly in his arms. Her eyes flitted when she laughed. And her nose wrinkled when he said something funny. 

Her lush brown hair smelled of raspberries and mint. 

The same scent that would remain on the pillow next to his for weeks.

She took his heart with her when she returned to New York the next day, but didn't know it. Was it possible for this woman to fully grasp what she did to him?

Drake and Alyssa would come face to face again one year later at Riley's funeral. If either of them ever needed someone to take the grief away, this was the time. Neither one spoke as they commiserated over a cheap whiskey bottle in his room and collapsed into each other's arms. There were no words that could be spoken to take the pain of losing their best friend. 

Comfort would come in the form of insobriety, and his lips brushing over hers as both of their tears meshed together. 

Drake took her as his that night for only the second time. 

Their bodies cried out to one another as if the other held all the power in the universe to mend a broken heart. To chase all the pain away.

And as if a gust of wind swept through Drake's room that morning and carried her away, she was gone again. No goodbye, no note, no fuck you -- just nothing.

But Drake learned something about Alyssa that night: She may be a rare vintage, but she was all whiskey. 

His whiskey.

The only brand he ever wanted to thirst for again. 

He needed his hands on that bottle and the taste of its liquid on his tongue. 

It drove him insane that she was no longer there to quench his thirst. To make him laugh again and feel like a lovesick fool. He hated the feeling, but at the same time, he had never felt like that with anyone else. Perhaps that's how he knew she was real.

That what he felt was real.

Drake stood in front of his mirror each morning, glaring back at the reflection of a man who had a craving so intense for a woman that his body shook and his heart bled with want. 

Who the fuck was he kidding, though? He was Drake Walker. Just a simple commoner lost in a sea of glitz and glamour, gold and filigree. He never belonged in that world and never would. Except for Liam and Maxwell, no one wanted him there. Hell, even his own mother and sister, left him. 

As the days turned into weeks, then weeks into months, he couldn't help but believe Alyssa Claire Devereaux would do the same given a chance. Fucking forget her Walker, she will never want you the way you want her. She's gone! And even if she comes back, she'll just leave … they always fucking leave. Forget her. YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

That's what he did … forgot. It was so much easier to conceal his heart in a hard shell and protect it from the hurt everyone inevitably caused him than to let it consume him. Besides, he had to take care of Liam and Ellie. They needed him more than he needed to think about his own affliction. 

But, God, that woman was hard to forget.

Drake moved out of the palace shortly after Riley returned for good. It relieved him that one of his closest friends was back, but he needed to get out from under Liam's wing. Drake wanted to be his own man in the quiet solitude that his dad's old cabin in the woods provided. It was everything he ever wanted, and yet somehow, there was still something missing.

Drake spent months upgrading the cabin to become more habitable for himself, but also hoped he would one day be able to share it with someone special. He felt kind of silly fixing this old lakeside cabin up. Not that it didn't need it. The log home had certainly seen better days. It was just that every nail he hammered and the walls he painted and carpeting replaced was always done for someone he knew would never see it. His heart and soul went into perfecting a home that he was sure she would never share with him.

Alyssa flew to Cordonia to visit Riley twice after she returned, and each time Drake was asked to stop by. 

He never did. 

Seeing her would only serve as a reminder of his place in this world. Not that she ever made him feel like that, but Alyssa would never … could never want him with the depth of desire and yearning he had for her. He was a man of little means and had nothing to offer her. Alyssa should have … no ...she deserved to have the best. The best wasn't something he could give her or anyone else for that matter. 

Damn it, if he didn't want to, though.

Standing on the front porch of his cabin one evening, Drake spoke on the phone with Liam, who wanted to know why he hadn't shown up for Riley's baby shower. Drake rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried to explain how busy he had been in the past few days. He hated lying to his best friend but knowing that Alyssa was there was all the excuse he needed not to attend. Besides, what the hell would he do at a baby shower? And it was the couples, second child, in one year; how many more damn things did they need?

He grazed his thumb along the smooth wood railing of his porch and tossed back another cold one; it complemented perfectly with the chilly air that stung his bare arms. 

The pain reminded him he could still feel outside his heart.

Hearing the gravel crackle in the distance, he glanced at the long winding driveway that rarely saw another vehicle aside from his old truck. Drake shielded his eyes from the bright yellow of halogen lights weaving and bobbing over the rocky terrain and coming to a dead stop behind his truck. He arched his neck and squinted to see who the hell was at his house this late in the evening. Did some dumb fuck get lost like the last two cars that stopped by?

"Is … is that Riley's car?" Drake muttered to himself. 

His heart sprang from his chest when he saw the small, curvy figure with long brown hair that he had long since memorized. Alyssa hastily stepped out of the driver's side and slammed the door. 

Drake tentatively walked off the porch and paused at the bottom of the steps, stunned to see her. 

She stood next to the car with her chest heaving, brows knitted. "Well? Say something," she demanded.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Looking at her was painful, and yet it was like the sun emerged from the black cloud that was his life. "What do you want me to say, Alyssa?"

"Anything! Something! I don't know! Maybe start with why the hell you've been avoiding me every time I'm here."

Drake didn't move nor speak. Fear controlled him like a rope wound so tightly around his neck; it stifled him. Why did she have to be there? 

Alyssa moved closer to him, and Drake panicked. He took a step back and held a hand up to stop her. "Don't… just fucking don't. Not this time, Alyssa. You need to get back in that car and drive your ass back to wherever you came from like you always do and never come back here again."

Her eyes welled up at his words, and her voice broke with emotions. "Why are you saying that? This has nothing to do with me, and you know --"

"IT HAS EVERY DAMN THING TO DO WITH YOU!!" He snapped. "I'm in love with you so goddamn much it hurts! I think I have since the first time I saw you, Alyssa! And … and I'm so fucking tired of not knowing what to do with that. I just … I'm just … I'm not good enough for you. And I never will. I've accepted that." 

Drake covered his eyes; he never cried in front of anyone, and he sure as hell wasn't about to break down in front of the woman he shouldn't love more than his own breath.

"Not good enough for me? NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME? Why do you think I came all the way out here tonight? I needed you to know that I love you too. So don't you dare give me that, not good enough, bullshit, Walker." Alyssa erupted into her own grievous tears and ran to Drake, enveloping him in her arms. As much as he wanted to refuse her embrace and shield himself from the eventual hurt that he had convinced himself she would cause, he couldn't do it. The truth was, he missed her.

Every good thing that he had or ever would have, he saw in her. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I know, Drake. I know."

Drake balled a fist full of her hair and slightly tipped her head back to look deeply into her eyes. "No, you don't know. I want you. I always wanted you. And damn it, I always will want you." He crashed his lips into hers with such force, with such need and unyielding fervor, it nearly took her breath away.

"I want you too, damn it. Only you," Alyssa said through their heated kiss." Just don't give up on me."

Drake broke his lips from Alyssa's, breathless and filled with hunger. "I won't. Not this time." He lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her inside the cabin. 

Through desperate kisses and hot tears, scattered clothes, and impressed skin, he laid her down on the rug in front of the fireplace. All the pent up disappointments, the hurt, and the staggering need he mounted up over the past two years manifested itself through every passionate grip and curled tongue. He wanted to show his worth, still not believing he could be anything she needed.

Their hearts drummed to the same beat and rhythm. It matched the cadence of his thrusts and her pleasured moans.

Everything he ever wanted to say to her was told that night through his touch, taste, and sight. Drake wasn't sure she would get the message, but he damn sure would try.

And as the flicker and flames of the fire's red and orange hues danced like fireflies over her rounded breast and the junction of her quivering thighs, he couldn't have been clearer.

And he did this over and over and over until she finally fell asleep in his arms. 

Does she really love me?

Would she still be here in the morning? He worried 

He hoped.

Pulling her sleeping form as close to his as he could, he kissed her shoulder and nestled his forehead against hers, and would meet her again in his dreams.

The next morning, as the black sky disappeared behind a spreading wave of yellow rays and luminous shades of pastel blue, Drake's eyes fluttered open to empty arms -- again. His heart spontaneously crashed into the pit of his stomach, and a burning sensation formed at the back of his constricted throat.

It was then that he decided the rest of the day would be spent wallowing over every intoxicating beverage he could get his rough hands on. To hell with her. 

No, fuck that -- TO HELL WITH HER!!.

Laying flat on his back with an arm draped over his cloudy eyes, he damned the world and himself for allowing her another chance, for letting his guard down and thinking that maybe she cared.

He sat up with a heavy groan and stared at the pile of clothes that trailed from the door to where he laid. Mixed in with his jeans, old white tee, leather work boots, and socks, was her red lacy panties, bra, two black heels, and a dress. His heart raced, and he swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. Was he foolish enough to believe, to hope, to wish, that she was still there? That … that maybe she did want him. 

That he was good enough for her.

Drake rose to his feet and quickly threw on his boxers. The smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen, combined with her melodic voice singing hit him like a bolt of electricity through every cell in his body. 

She … she stayed.

He walked hesitantly toward the sound and pushed the carved cedar door that led to the kitchen open. There she was in front of the stove with a spatula in one hand and the handle of a pan in the other. She was sashaying her hips to the music she created with a towel draped over her damp hair and wearing the buttoned-up denim shirt he wore last night -- the globes of her ass peeking out.

Alyssa didn't hear him approach as she flipped over a piece of bacon, and both of his greedy hands grabbed on to her bare ass. She jerked up at his touch with a shriek, then giggled playfully. 

The scent of blueberry pancakes and bacon filled the kitchen, but the only scent he wanted to inhale came from her.

He twisted the knobs on the stove to turn the burners off and moved the hot pans aside under her confused stare. "Drake, what are you doing? I'm trying to make you breakfast."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and sunk his teeth into the side of her neck. "Forget the breakfast for now. You're the only thing I've wanted to devour for two damn years, and the only thing I ever will again."

"Drake --"

Without warning, he hoisted her up, lowered her onto the opposite counter, thrust her legs apart, and before she even had time to prepare herself for what was happening, his tongue separated her pink slit.

HIS whiskey.

Drake's blood pumped frantically like an addict getting his first fix in years until her legs contracted and squeezed around his head. The tighter she clamped down, the louder she moaned, the higher her hips bucked, and the deeper her fingernails clawed into his rumpled hair, the more intoxicated by her taste he became. It couldn't have been clearer, Alyssa savored every sensation he gave her, but the greatest feeling came from knowing he loved and desired her. 

It was the only thing she ever wanted from him too.

After they showered together and finished breakfast in the kitchen, he had some place special he wanted to show her. Taking her by the hand, they walked to the lakeshore just behind his cabin. The calm and solemnity of the water's edge lapping and brushing against rock and sediment was a welcomed retreat from the world around them.

Not that anything or anyone else mattered outside the two of them at that moment. 

Alyssa's face lit up in wonder when the pair approached a clearing just past the dock filled with ducks. She had heard their calls from the cabin porch while eating breakfast, but couldn't believe her eyes at the multitudes of mallards that floated elegantly on the surface. Seeing her so mesmerized by something so simple only made Drake's feelings for her that much stronger. As Alyssa's eyes glittered from the picturesque scene before her, Drake walked over to a storage bin on the dock and pulled out a small paper bag. 

With her hands clasped over her mouth, he held the bag out. "Wanna feed them?"

Alyssa lowered her hand with a grateful smile. "Really? I would love to." She excitedly took the bag from him and filled her small hand full with the tiny pellets. She looked at him as if she were asking for permission before he nodded, and she tossed them into the water.

Drake chuckled over her self-satisfied smile that beamed through those large dimples he loved. For such a small woman, he mused, she was larger than life.

He watched with amusement as Alyssa made sure every duck got at least a little something to eat. She even made Drake get another bag full as she got onto the bigger ducks for stealing from the smaller ones. 

"This is amazing, Drake." She lit at as she tossed out her last handful and rubbed the residue from her hands.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and nipped at her ear. "Well, I think you're amazing."

Drake led her further down to a cove covered with large, overhanging tree branches encased in Spanish moss and a canvas of corded vines. There was scarcely enough room for the sunlight's rays and warmth to shine through the tethered foliage. Alyssa squealed as soon as she saw the rope with the tire hanging down. Drake released his hand from hers, knowing she would most likely do so anyway, eager to get to the swinging object that caught her eye. 

He let out a chuckle when she did exactly that. 

She hadn't changed from that enthusiastic girl he first met at the wedding rehearsal two years prior when they spent the better part of the week touring the capitol. She made him stop everywhere, always mesmerized by the beauty of a flower she'd never seen before, to make conversation with a local vendor that took no less than an hour, or to watch an elderly couple embracing one another in love. All the things that generally pissed him off when Maxwell was with him, never fazed him when Alyssa did it. He found her bubbly personality, endearing.

Among other things.

Such as all of her attempts to get her little legs through that tire swing. Alyssa insisted she could do it by herself when he offered to help, so he stepped back, but was always ready to catch her if she were to fall. Upon her sixth and final attempt, she got her foot stuck on the inside rim and dangled backward with her other leg wrapped around the outside of it. As she grasped the rope tightly for her life and spun in wild circles, she laughed out, "HAHA, I told you I could do it!"

Drake dropped his face into his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter at the sight before him. She seemed perfectly content twisting around that tire and rope, but he couldn't let her stay like that long fearing she would get hurt. He reached under her arms and held her in place so she would be able to get both legs through. 

Alyssa paused to glance up at him with a humored grin. "I still did it all by myself."

He nodded with a snicker back at her. "Yeah. I agree. you did do that all by yourself."

Drake placed his hands on her slender back and pushed her gently forward. While she swung, they caught up on what they had been doing since seeing each other last.  She was still teaching Kindergarten and was currently on Spring Break. He had just landed a new job with the transportation department as a survey technician.

She hadn't dated anyone seriously since they were together after the funeral.

He hadn't dated anyone at all. 

She would have to return to New York in two days.

He would be left behind without her again.

And as much as he didn't want to think about her leaving, he found some solace in knowing she loved him. 

Alyssa loved him. This incredible, funny, intelligent, beautiful, throw-caution-to-the-wind, woman loved him. And she loved him not for what he could buy her or where he could take her in life, but just because he was Drake. It blew his mind; very few people saw him as nothing more than a shadow in the corner. Alyssa wanted to shine a light in that corner or die becoming a shadow with him.

Drake would wake up the following two mornings just as the light tinted the sky, brush her hair aside, and admire the woman who captivated him in ways he'd never understand.

They made love several times, fished on the lake, and spent their evenings wrapped up together in a blanket on the porch swing listening to crickets and talking until their eyelids grew heavy.

Well, Alyssa did most of the talking, but he never enjoyed listening to someone more than he did her.

Two days later at the airport, lost in a sea of faces all coming and going, chatting, carrying on with their hectic daily lives, two lovers stood amongst the crowds wrapped in each other's embrace and spoke their last farewells. 

Drake placed his hands on the side of her jawline, his thumbs grazing her cheeks, and placed a kiss he hoped would last them both until she returned nearly two months later. Alyssa's face fell into his broad chest with tears pouring down her red hot cheeks, and clung to his shirt, not ready to leave him. When the last call for her flight was announced, he sucked in a deep breath feeling that old familiar ache he had experienced without her before. 

He placed a gentle peck onto the top of her head and swallowed hard. "You'll call me when you land, right?"

She looked at him earnestly, with swollen eyes and a quivering chin. "I promise I will. And every day after that."

His hand shook as he swept a strand of hair away from her eyes, disheartened, but not wanting her to leave without saying one last thing to her. "I love you, Alyssa," he declared through a broken whisper he wished could have been spoken louder, but his heart stung.

With a stuttered breath, she smiled back at the man who captured her heart and soul in every way possible. "I love you too, Drake."

Following one last longing kiss and glance, Drake stood motionless while watching Alyssa disappear through the gate that led to her plane and out of his presence again. 

And as the crowds hustled around him trying to catch their flights, Drake was unwilling to move from that spot. Even after a shoulder bump and a luggage cart slammed into the back of his heel, he refused to budge. He knew it was crazy, but a part of him wanted to wait there until she returned in six weeks. Six weeks was a long time to go without her and driving back to an empty cabin was not something he was looking forward to. Alyssa made that place so much more enjoyable -- she made it a home. The only home he would ever want again. 

A smirk curled his lips when a sudden thought crossed his mind. It was more like an idea he was surprised he hadn't entertained before this moment. Would it still be there, he pondered. 

With his heart racing, he drove back home and ran straight to his bedroom. Drake pulled the top drawer of his dresser out and tossed it onto his unmade queen-sized bed. A handful of socks were hurled aside, and a stack of briefs was lifted to peek under. 

Nothing but an empty wooden surface was below.

The second drawer dropped to the floor, and Drake fell to his knees as he hurriedly sifted through folded shirts and some old mail he had no idea why he saved anymore. 

Nothing. "Damn it."

He was confident the last place he put it was in this dresser, so panic set in as he stared at the third and final drawer. Drake rubbed the back of his neck and inhaled deeply. "Pull yourself together, man," he said to himself, wrapped his hand around the brass knobs, and pulled back. 

Hidden under a pile of old photos and magazines was a small metal safe with a combination lock. Drake's eyes shot to the ceiling as he ran a series of numbers through his head. Biting his lip in deep concentration, he twisted the turn style of numbers and pulled the lock off. 

It was like discovering an untouched gold mine as he grabbed the ring box and lifted the top. Inside was his grandmother's simple gold band engagement ring with a small Old European cut solitaire. It didn't have a lot of sparkle or shine to it, but if he dropped it off at the jewelers in the morning, perhaps they could bring it back to life. He wanted Alyssa to have the greatest symbol of his love and devotion to her, and this ring was one of his most treasured items. Only someone as special as Alyssa deserved to wear it. 

________

As promised, Alyssa called when she landed and every day following.  

Four weeks after leaving Cordonia, she stepped out of a cab following a later than usual dinner with some work friends. She unlocked the door to her Brooklyn apartment and tossed the keys onto her kitchen counter. The dinner had been dreadful; she knew better than to order a steaming plate of fajitas. When the waiter swept the plate across her face, the smell of hot green peppers and onions hit the bottom of her stomach like a boulder. It didn't take long before a warmth spread throughout her body, and a cold sweat erupted across her flushed face. 

Alyssa let out a small chuckle to herself as she began digging through her purse for her phone. She hoped the poor waiter had forgiven her for the mess she made on his shoes. A $20 tip was enough, or at least she forced herself to believe it was. Mortified by the mishap, Alyssa had apologized profusely to the patrons of the restaurant and her friends who were demanding their money back from the hostess as she left. 

She swore she would never return.

It was 10:03 p.m. Alyssa was three minutes late with her daily call to Drake. She pulled out loose tissues, dozens of flair pens, her wallet, and some ginger candy she purchased yesterday, from her purse.  

Her cell wasn't in there. 

She searched around her feet, thinking maybe she dropped it when she set her purse down. 

Slamming her fatigued eyes shut with a groan, Alyssa remembered exactly where she saw her phone last: sitting on the table at the restaurant.

She gestured animately toward the heavens. "Why? Why do you hate me today?"

Swallowing what little dignity she had left, Alyssa locked up her apartment, hailed another cab, and shuffled back to the place she had just cleared out with her bout of evening sickness. 

The line of angry guests had dwindled to only an elderly couple since she left—a fact she was thankful for. 

The hostess recognized her immediately, rolled her eyes, and reached under the podium. "I suppose you're looking for this," she said with a condescending tone and a scowl, holding out Alyssa's cell phone.

Alyssa smiled back sheepishly and retrieved the device from the woman she now wished she had vomited on instead. "It is. Thank you." 

As she rode in her third cab in the last 30 minutes, she swiped her phone cover to unlock it. The ultrasound photo to confirm her pregnancy yesterday was visible on the home screen. Alyssa glided a gentle thumb over the picture, swearing this tiny little peanut looked like its father already. How was it possible to love someone you'd never met this much?

Smiling down at the little black-and-white photo, Alyssa sighed, feeling nothing but joy. "Our baby."

Scrolling through her contacts, she pressed Drake's name, and he picked up on the first ring.

"Devereaux!"

"Hey, baby. I'm so so sorry that I'm calling later than usual, but I had dinner with some friends and left my phone at the restaurant." It was killing her not to tell him, literally killing her. She swore when she took the pregnancy test, and the next twenty tests after that, Drake just had to be told in person. No one should get news like that over the phone. Plus, she felt like she knew him well enough to know he would worry and want to catch the first plane to New York. With a new job, Alyssa didn't want Drake to make the wrong impression on his new employers already.

"Nah, it's okay," he lied. Drake had been worried sick she changed her mind about him, or that something terrible had happened. "I'm on my way to the hospital with Liam and Ellie to visit Riley, and I guess now celebrate two birthdays."

Alyssa chuckled. "Riley always was terrible with dates, so it's a good thing both girls will have the same birthday. Speaking of which, is that the birthday girl I hear screaming in the background."

"Yeah. She's not happy with Uncle Drake talking to his other girl. She keeps reaching for the phone and shit." There was a long pause as Ellie screeched in the background. Alyssa could hear Drake trying to calm her down with the most gentle and patient voice she had ever heard him speak in. If Alyssa weren't already slightly nauseous, she would swear the butterflies in her stomach had taken over. He is going to be such a good daddy, she thought.

Drake got back on the phone. "Hey, baby girl, do you mind if I facetime you? I think seeing her Aunt Lyssie would help."

"Yes! Aunt Lyssie approves of that idea. It also gives her the chance to see Uncle Drake's handsome face that she is missing real, real bad."

The cab pulled up next to the curb outside of Alyssa's apartment, and she asked Drake to give her a moment to get upstairs and then call.

Alyssa sat on the edge of her bed, exhausted, but loved seeing Ellie on the video chat, and it calmed the little girl down. And as much as Alyssa missed him, she was somewhat thankful the limo was so close to the hospital when Drake called back. She didn't know how much longer she could keep her eyes open, and Drake could tell after her fifth time yawning he needed to cut it short, anyway. 

"Baby doll, we're pulling up now, and you look like you're ready to fall asleep on me. I'll let ya go."

Alyssa shook her head. "No, no. I want to talk ..." She covered her mouth to disguise another yawn. "It's just been a really long day, and the dinner, and my phone, and --"

"Lyssa, Sweetheart, go to bed. It's fine. I have to get inside, anyway."

"I know." She sighed. "I'll call you tomorrow. On-time ... probably."

Drake laughed. "Then, I can't wait ... probably. Get some rest. Love you, sweet girl."

She blushed every time he spoke those words. This time was no exception. "I love you too."

The next two weeks passed by at a snail's pace for both Drake and Alyssa. The anticipation of seeing each other again after what felt like an eternity apart made the days unbearable. Keeping busy with work and friends could only sustain their sanity for so long. Both were eager to share life-changing news—both a little nervous over what the other would say.

With school officially wrapped up for the summer, Alyssa packed everything she would need for a few weeks and left her apartment key with a friend to water her nearly dead plants while she was away. With her pregnancy now in the eighth week, taking care of those plants became more important to her. If she couldn't take care of them, how would she care for a baby?  It made no sense to her either, but hormone changes made her a little more irrational over the past week.

Liam was kind enough to send the jet for her. Alyssa had initially planned to visit Cordonia after school let out anyway to help Riley with the babies and spend some time with the friend she thought was deceased almost one year ago. Liam nor Riley was ready quite yet to trust another nanny. With Alyssa being so good with children, they were hopeful they could persuade her to stay and take on the task full time.

She boarded the plane just before midnight, trying to stay awake for most of it to compensate for the jet lag that awaited her. Early pregnancy would not cooperate, and she slept almost the entire duration of the flight. 

Upon landing in Cordonia at near dusk, she was pleasantly surprised to find Riley waiting for her on the tarmac next to the limo.

Running to her long-time friend, Alyssa wrapped her arms around her. "Riiiiiillley!!!" 

"Alyyyyyyssa!!"

Alyssa pulled back and looked over her best friend. "I can hardly tell you just had a baby two weeks ago. Look at you! You look great."

Riley subconsciously rubbed her hand over the small bump she had and smirked. "God, I love you."

Alyssa hugged her former roommate once more. "Not as much as I love you."

As they rode in the limo back to the palace, Alyssa helped herself to a ginger ale in the mini-fridge and took a long drink. "Not that I"m not thrilled that you came, but I thought you were sending Mara to pick me.

"Liam insisted I be the one to meet you. He and Maxwell are taking care of the girls, which gives me a chance to get a little break."

Alyssa took another sip and screwed the cap back on. "Have you seen Drake?"

Riley shook her head. "Not since Evie was born. He really hasn't been around much lately."

"Not ... not even today? Like, before you left?" She asked with a tinge of surprise.

Riley rubbed a comforting hand up and down Alyssa's slender arm. "I'm sorry, sweetie. No."

Alyssa sunk back into her seat, somewhat disappointed. Drake knew she was arriving today. In each of their conversations this week, he told her how excited he was to see her. As much as she wanted just to shrug it off, it hurt her that the man who professed his love to her, wouldn't be there to see her today. She knew it was silly -- he probably worked late today -- but it didn't stop her from fretting. She pulled out her phone to see if he tried to call or text, and there was nothing from him. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry ... I'm going to cryyyyyyy.

The limo pulled into the palace; Alyssa and Riley grabbed her bags from the trunk. She glanced around to see if Drake's truck was there.

It wasn't.

Sucking her lips between her teeth to prevent the desperate urge to burst into tears, she hoped Riley didn't ask her too many questions. Speaking was not something she could risk at that moment. She knew if her mouth opened, the sob she had staved off during the ride would erupt.

Staff was ready to take Alyssa's bags when they passed through the gilded doors. Liam was standing at the foot of the grand staircase with a phone in hand and shoved it into his pocket when he caught sight of the girls. 

"Liam?" Riley asked with a puzzled looked. "What are you doing down here? Where are the girls?"

He kissed his wife. "They're fine, love. Both are sleeping, and Maxwell is with them." Liam then turned to Alyssa and greeted her with a kiss to the cheek. "Alyssa. It's great to have you back with us. I hope your flight was comfortable."

She nodded with half a smile. "It was very nice. Thank you for letting me use the jet."

"You didn't answer my question, Liam." Riley furrowed her brows." Why are you down here? Is everything okay?"

"Sweetheart, you and I need to go upstairs." He grabbed Riley's hand and then looked to Alyssa with a mischievous smile. "And you. You need to go into the ballroom."

Confused, Alyssa gestured to herself. "Me? Why?"

"Just ... trust me. Go in the ballroom. Your Prince awaits."

Riley did not understand what the hell was going on, and knowing she couldn't keep a secret from her best friend, Liam knew it was for the best she didn't. She prodded him for information all the way back to their quarters -- he never relented.

Alyssa placed her hand on the gold handle set that adorned the ballroom door and pulled back. He came.

Her breath hitched when the darkened room that held fancy royal gatherings, suddenly lit up with thousands of small white lights. She crossed the entrance, unsure of what was occurring. "Hello," she called out.

The quiet ballroom abruptly came alive with an old familiar tune that she knew by heart. It was so special to her that her heart grew with nostalgia ... or perhaps, deja vu. She clutched her chest with an enormous smile that shined brighter than all the lights in that room combined. Playing in the background was the first song she danced with Drake to. I can't believe he remembered that.

At last, my love has come along

My lonely days are over, and life is like a song

At last, the skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped in clover the night I looked at you

Out of the corner of her eyes, Alyssa spotted Drake, dressed in his nicest pair of blue jeans, a buttoned-up flannel dress shirt, and a suit jacket. She bit her bottom lip and cast a bashful glance his way. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and the way he was swaggering toward her with that wide grin made her belly clench. 

“Drake. What's going on?"

He grasped hold of her hand and leaned down to place a gentle peck on her eager lips. "Maybe, I missed you a little." 

Still holding her hand, he led her to the center of the ballroom, never taking his love-filled eyes off her. "Maybe, I missed you a lot."

When they reached the midpoint of the room, Drake stood in front of her and circled his brawny arms under hers, his large hands resting on her back. He studied her eyes with so much desire and affection that it sent a surge of heat throughout her body and made her knees tremble.

"And maybe ... I wanted to take the most beautiful woman in the world to the same spot I fell in love with her two years ago."

Tears pricked at her bright blue eyes. "Drake," she muttered fondly.

"I believe you forced me to dance with you that night."

She chuckled through a soft cry. "I did. Yes."

He nipped her nose softly and then her forehead. "No one's forcing me now."

Drake still hated dancing, but by God, he would recreate that night for her even if it killed him. His feet never lifted from the floor, but he shuffled side to side with her in his arms. 

If he didn't hold on to her, Alyssa would swear she'd float away. She rested her head on his bulky chest, his heart pounding against her delicate cheek. The smell of his cologne drifting like lead through her nostrils.

He lifted one of her slender arms above her head and twirled her around twice. It was the most romantic gesture anyone had ever done for her. And she smiled through the sudden queasiness that his cologne and those two turns had exacerbated.

Drake caressed the center of her back with tiny circles of his thumb. Every stroke was delicate and deliberate. He gazed down at her clammy face, feeling convinced she was charmed with him and his actions.  Now was the perfect time for the big finish. 

""Alyssa. I've dreamt of this moment for almost two years. Ever since we stood on this very dance floor for the first time, and I held you tightly in my arms. I didn't want to let go of you that night, and ... I don't want to let go of you now. Ever."

Every word he spoke enchanted Alyssa. It touched her on another level that she relished and savored. She also felt the gurgling in her stomach that made her desperate for the ginger candy in her purse. Fuck, where's my purse.

Drake reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the velvet ring box. 

He bent down onto one knee. 

Alyssa's hand shot to her mouth.

He smiled up at her. "Alyssa. I love you so much. And I've gone too long feeling this way for you, and I'll be damned if I let you go again. I want you to be mine ... at last. Forever. Would you marry me?"

Alyssa shook her head affirmatively with her hands still clasped firmly over her mouth. She wanted to answer him so badly. 

Drake furrowed his brows; a troubled looked in his dark eyes. "Baby girl? Is ... that a yes? I'm... I'm not sure ... what you're trying to tell me right now."

Still holding the ring that glistened from the little lights up to her, Drake became increasingly desperate for an answer. His brown eyes were so full and glassy; she could see her reflection in them.

Alyssa lowered her hands, took a shallow breath through her nose, and slowly blew it past her lips. She did this three times before sighing in relief as the nausea she was suffering from subsided gradually. 

Feeling terrible for the man she loved with all of her heart, who just proposed to her, and was still on his knees waiting rather despondently for an answer, Alyssa flashed a radiant smile at him. "I'm trying to tell you ... YES!!!! My answer will always be yes!"

Drake slid the ring on her finger, her hand shaking the entire time. 

He jumped up and, with a broad sweep of his arms, lifted her into a passionate kiss they both got lost in. 

Drake had been madly in love with her for two years. And though she had been thousands of miles away during that time, he never got over her. And as he lowered her back down to the floor, his hands ghosting through her hair, and her soft hands gripping his sides, every part of himself couldn't believe she would forever be his. That all those lonely nights of longing and wishing for the woman that captured his heart wasn't in vain. She said yes to him.

Drake Walker finally got the girl.

He rested his forehead on hers, still amazed, but never felt more love and joy than he did at that moment.

Until ...

"Alyssa, you've made me happier than I ever thought was possible. I swear I don't think there is anything that will ever top this."

Alyssa gripped the charm of her necklace and slid it back and forth along the chain with a sly grin. "I think I may know of a way to top it."

Drake pulled her into a kiss. "Oh baby, trust me, there's gonna be plenty of that too," he said with a sexy smirk while grinding his hips into her.

"Huh?" Alyssa looked down at feeling the hardness of his groin pressed into her. "Oh. Oh. No, no ... I mean, yes, but ... no, that's not what I was referring to."

A rosy red shaded Drake's cheeks, then he watched with curiosity as Alyssa reached around to her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. He couldn't help but admire the ring on her finger --his ring -- while she scrolled and danced her slender fingers eagerly over the screen. The brightness of the light from her phone made it easier for him to catch the glow that flitted across her face when it became apparent she found what she was looking for.

Alyssa lowered the phone to her chest under his unrelenting stare, not wanting him to see just yet. A questioning smile crept across his lips. He couldn't imagine what his fiancee had on that phone she was so sure could make him any happier as she seemed to insinuate. Whatever it was, it thrilled her to show him.

Alyssa drew in a sharp breath. Nervousness would be an understatement for what she felt. Nervous of his reaction. Nervous about what the future held. Nervous about sharing something so special with this man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. 

Removing the phone she held so close to her chest, she glanced down at the screen with a soft smile and then turned it around to show Drake.

As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he bent down to get a better look.

"Do you know what you're looking at, sweetie?"

Drake knew precisely what he was looking at, and her name typed in white against the black backdrop only confirmed what he wanted to know. After Alyssa, that picture was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Pride and love simmered heavily in his chest.

With his heart pounding, he thought about how right she was. He could be happier.

Over the emerging tears that clung thickly to his wide-open eyes, he swallowed hard; unsure words could come out. "Is that ...is that --"

Alyssa nodded through her own fresh tears and finished his thought for him. "Our baby, Drake. We made a baby."

Drake's hands flew to both sides of her face and crashed his lips into hers.

Not only did he get the girl.

Drake Walker finally got the family he always wanted. 

What began as a simple flirtation at a wedding reception two years ago for their friends, that branded his heart with her name, turned into a lengthy love affair. The years had been filled with loneliness and sorrow for both, but in the end, they always knew the other was, The One.

She was his whiskey -- the one who held him together and brought him back to life.

He was her knight -- the one who would protect and defend her always.

Together, they could erase heartaches, fill the voids that had plagued them for years, and love infinitely.

The wedding was a simple affair held just over a month later by the lake in front of the cabin. The day was bright and warm; it accentuated perfectly with the western style theme. With only, Liam, Riley, the babies, Maxwell, and Hana gathered around, Drake married the woman he was always meant to be with. They chowed down afterward on a barbeque and cold beers. 

Six months later, after twelve hours of labor, and him never leaving her side, they welcomed a happy and healthy baby girl.

And Drake Walker deserved his girls in the end. He was a worthy man. Money didn't make the man he realized. It was being a good father and husband.

And he was. 

[one-boring-person]

Just A Babysitter. (Part Eight.)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, blood imagery, mentions of hallucinations,

Context: No spoilers this time ;))

A/N: This is definetly the last part of the story, so I'm sorry it's so short, but thank you for showing so much support in regards to it, I never expected it to do so well.😊💛

Part One , Part Two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five , Part Six , Part Seven

Masterlist

For once, I manage to sleep, uninterrupted, for the entire day, my body trying its best to recuperate after the events of the day before, grief still rampant in my subconscience, though I don't dream at all, my head oddly empty. When I finally come to again, the air around me is freezing, goosebumps rising along my exposed skin as I sit upright, stretching out my cramping muscles as I go, my neck paining me from the awkward position I fell asleep in. It doesn't take long for the loneliness to set in again, quickly making itself known to me as quickly as possible, drawing a sigh of despair from me, my head aching from the amount of crying I did the night before, my body intensely dehydrated.

Deciding to get something to drink, I pull myself upright and walk back into the bedroom, not bothering to look back at the ashy remains that should have gathered on the cold, hard ground, my eyes swiftly adjusting to the darkened interior of my room as I go to the bed. On my way in, I cast my eyes to the side, where I left David's corpse, only to halt in my step when I notice the lack of a shadowy shape. It's gone.

Freezing in place, I stare at the spot, incredulous and confused, trying to think up a solution as to the missing vampire; did Michael and Star come back in the day to properly dispose of the bodies? No, they would've woken me up, and they would've taken the fourth, which I noticed is still in the main room. There is nothing in its place to signify it was ever there, no blood stain on the floor, no dirt where his boots trailed across the floor when I dragged him over, nothing. In confusion, I edge over to the spot, eyeing it suspiciously, my head spinning in its grieving state, the water forgotten as I leave the room, suddenly feeling unsafe alone in the cave. As I enter the main room again, however, I come to a halt, noticing that the braziers have been lit again.

Fear starts to creep into my mind, my muscles tensing as I move, ever so slowly, back into the large room, my eyes flicking all over the place to gauge where the intruder is, before coming to rest on the spot where there should be two piles of ash, only to see that the floor is completely ash-free. It's only when I hear a footstep behind me that I straighten, body ready to fight if it has to. I turn on my heel, my eyes swiftly finding the shadowy silhouettes of four people, each of which have heart-wrenchingly familiar frames. I don't say anything until they come into the light, at which point my heart skips a beat, my breath hitching in pain as I take in the people standing there, believing my brain is now hallucinating.

There, in all their vampiric glory, are David, Dwayne, Marko and Paul, faces lined with worry and concern, eyes all fixed on me.

I don't know what to think. A part of me, a minuscule part of me, hopes that this is real, that they're really standing there, waiting for me to react, but a larger, more rational part is telling me that I'm hallucinating, that the lack of water I've drunk is finally getting to my head, and that I'm in denial. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears, the sound deafening as the silence in the room drags on, my eyes flicking between them, refusing to believe that they're actually there, waiting for them to disappear and leave me alone with their vanishing bodies. I reach up and rub my eyes, trying to blink away the mirages in my vision, knowing I'm only seeing what I want to see.

"Come on, say something (Y/n)." The image of Paul speaks to me, blue eyes wide and fearful for some reason, the tall, blonde vampire watching me for a reaction.

I shake my head, unwilling to give in to the images in my head, trying to dislodge their shapes from reality.

"Please, (Y/n). Tell us what you're thinking, or how you're feeling, just say anything!" Marko pleads, biting his thumb nervously. I almost laugh at how accurately my mind remembers them and their mannerisms, but I still stay quiet.

Turning around, I stare at the wall, ignoring them as much as I can, trying not to cry again, taking very deep breaths to calm myself and my racing heart, anger flaring up in me when one of them speaks again.

"(Y/n)? Plea-" It's Paul again, but I don't let him finish, clapping my hands to my ears to block out the sounds.

"Shut up! Get out of my head! Leave me alone!" I snap at myself, slapping myself across the face in an attempt to bring myself back to sanity.

"What're you doing?! Stop, we're right here!" Marko's voice interrupts my muttering again, only to be cut off by my volatile tone once more.

"No, you're not! You're just hallucinations, you're not real! You aren't really there! Leave me alone!"

There is silence behind me, the quiet making me feel slightly relieved, believing the images to be gone, until I feel an icy hand placed on my shoulder, the sensation almost too real to be something my mind has conjured up. Under the touch, I stiffen, my muscles tensing in fear, half expecting it to belong to some intruder who has heard me shouting to myself, so I'm almost surprised to find David stepping around to the front of me, icy blue eyes scrutinizing my facial expressions.

Instantly, I start to writhe in his grip, crying out when he secures me in place with his other hand, the emotion finally taking over as tears of grief resurface, spilling over my cheeks again, my mind still fighting to stay sane.

"(Y/n), calm down! We're real, we're actually here! Look, you can feel me, can't you? You can feel this," The blonde vampire soothes me, lifting one hand to cup my face, the frigid temperature of his skin as familiar to me as anything, "And this."

He finishes by pulling me into an embrace, crushing my body into his own, wrapping his arms around my shaking form as I cry into him, finally believing that this is really happening, tears of relief replacing the distraught ones from before, disbelief and happiness rampant in my mind. My hands clutch at his shirt and jacket, trying to feel how alive and real he is, feeling the taut muscles under his clothes and breathing in the smell that I've always loved about him. Three other pairs of arms wrap around me, their bodies pressing into mine as I continue to sob in happiness, their presences reassuring me, fending off the overwhelming loneliness and isolation that had previously set in, each of them catching me as my knees give out. A sudden wave of nausea sweeps through me, my body still trying to recover from the dehydration and shock, black spots dancing across my vision as I struggle to stay conscious, physically focusing on my breathing to make sure I don't hyperventilate. David pulls away, clearly having heard my suddenly heavy breathing, worry etched into his face.

"Come on, kitten, let's get you something to drink." He murmurs to me, gesturing to Marko to go to my room where he knows I have some water, quickly asking Paul and Dwayne to clear my armchair. Instantly, the three vampires rush to do their jobs, David swiftly picking me up, cradling me against his chest as he watches me, blue eyes soft and caring.

I soon find myself sat in my armchair with the neck of my bottle of water pressed to my lips, cool water spilling onto my tongue as Marko feeds it to me, a small smile on his face, the others watching me anxiously, Paul's leg bouncing nervously as it always does when he's unsure of something. As soon as I regain my composure, I look them all over, taking note of how untouched they appear, as if the last two nights never happened.

"How the hell are you three still alive?" I manage to get out, my voice hoarse from screaming.

"I used mind tricks to think they killed us all." David confirms, looking slightly smug with himself, as well as guilty, knowing he put me through a lot of pain.

"Why?" I inquire, frowning slightly.

"What do you mean, why?"

"Well, why did you convince them that you were dead? Why not just kill them?" I clarify, taking another sip of water.

"Because we need them to lower their guard properly before we take them on for real. Half-vampires can be more dangerous than us, simply because they haven't learnt to control their new strength. We also just wanted to be dramatic." The platinum blonde explains, wincing when I spit out the water in my mouth.

"You did all that just to be dramatic?!" I exclaim, annoyed at this confession.

"...Maybe." He says quietly, before defending himself again, "Mindtricking them was the only thing I could come up with when they first showed up. We heard the loud noise from the main room and only just managed to get out in time. We didn't want to risk the kids looking harder for us, so I messed with their heads to get them off our backs."

I think this through, seeing his logic but still upset over one thing.

"Ok, so why did you have to do the same to me? And who the hell is that?" I question, gesturing to the shrivelled body a little way away.

This time, Dwayne interjects, giving me an apologetic look even as the others do the same.

"That's Max, the head vampire, their original target. And as for your first question, your reaction had to be real for them to believe we were really dead, and they did. They stayed back for a bit to see if you would leave the cave. Hearing you really broke our hearts, it was terrible." The brunette admits, clenching his jaw at the memory.

"Yeah, I couldn't stand it." Marko agrees, biting his thumb again.

"We are never leaving you again so that we never have to hear those horrible sounds again." Paul chips in, coming over to me so that he can drape his lanky frame over the back of the armchair, his hair tickling my neck.

"Swear to me." My voice is decisive, needing that reassurance from them, needing to be sure that I'll never be alone again.

"We swear." David assures me, the others adding their agreements to his.

"Thank you." I say to them all, smiling at the four vampires, "What now?"

"Well, now that you know we're still alive and kicking, we can go give Michael and his friends a little surprise." Marko smirks, David chuckling at the younger vampire's eagerness.

"Of course, but we have a proposition for you first." The leader says, looking me in the eye.

"What is it?" I frown at his words, a little confused.

"We were wondering if you'd like to join us properly."

I'm silent for a minute, shocked by what he's offering, surprised that he thinks I'm ready.

"As a vampire?" The four of them nod, Paul starting to rub soothing circles into my skin, "Are you sure?"

"Of course we are. We think you'd make a great vampire, and you've never been too opposed to the idea either." Paul reasons, his hands continuing their motions.

"Well in that case, sure, I'll do it. It'll make a great surprise for them." I smirk, looking around at them as Marko hands me the jewelled bottle I know so well.

"Bottoms up."

*

The loud noises of the Boardwalk are harsh in my newly sensitive ears, but I manage to keep myself under control for the most part, even as the strong smells assault my nose, the bodies around me driving me insane. From my position leaning against my motorcycle, I watch the crowd, as if waiting for someone to appear, even though I can tell exactly who is approaching me just from the voice that accompanies them.

"(Y/n)? What're you doing here?" Michael asks, sounding confused and surprised at my appearance.

Clenching my jaw, I look over at him, keeping my expression neutral as I take in the brunette coming towards me, Star holding onto his arm as she walks with him, her own arm around the shoulders of Laddie, who looks happy to see me. As he nears, the young boy runs over and wraps his arms around my midriff, holding me tightly.

"I'm waiting for my friends." I respond coolly, returning Laddie's embrace gladly, as I know it'll likely be the last time it ever happens.

"Your friends? Who?" Star queries, sounding confused, a frown on her face.

"Oh, you know them very well." I promise her, looking over to my right, where I've just heard David and the boys emerge from the comic shop, Paul and Marko pushing each other around as they always do, "They've arrived, I'd better go. I'll see you around." I smirk, ruffling Laddie's hair as I go, pushing off my motorcycle and going to leave them, only to be stopped by a hand on my arm.

"Are you alright, (Y/n)?" Michael checks with me, expression confused by my attitude.

I turn back to him with a grin.

"Absolutely." I flash my eyes at him, relishing in the sudden fear in their faces before I leave them, joining the boys with a huge grin, laughing with them.

"This will be fun." David murmurs to me, wrapping an arm around my waist as he presses a kiss to the side of my head, the others moving in to give me a peck on the cheek.

"Oh, it will be. Let's mess with them some more." I suggest, giggling with them as we move off into the crowd, ready to torment the Emersons for the rest of the night.