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yzafre · 23 days

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we're flying above the valley below | Interlude 7

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Ienzo hunched into himself, crying in front of his mentor, who tenderly held his shoulder. Aeleus was a step behind, stoic as ever except for the shimmer in his eyes, obviously affected by the return of the Master he’d once betrayed. Dilan watched from the edges of the room, blank-faced, and Vexen stood beside the whole tableau, looking vaguely smug with a bundle at his feet.

Axel supposed it should have been a touching scene, but all it really inspired in him was a sickening sense of dread.

What the hell had they just walked in on?

All heads turned toward them as their corridor snapped shut, and Axel found himself shifting without thinking, placing himself between Xion and those gazes, familiar adrenaline sharpening the edges of his mind. He felt Xion’s own attention crystallize in response to his own, going deadly still at his back.

“Is this a bad time?” he drawled, trying to cut through the tension, though he couldn’t keep his grin from being more threat display than humor.

“Axel!” Ienzo said, straightening up and scrubbing his face clear, “You’re back – and, it seems you found what you were looking for.”

“Mhm. And I see we’ve got visitors. Vexen, DiZ.”

“Young Axel,” Ansem said, tipping his head, voice rumbling with a paternal edge that had Axel bristling, “Though, if you will, I have cast that name behind me, as I should have long ago. I am Ansem once more.”

“Uhuh,” Axel said, sliding his gaze between DiZ and Vexen, “How’d the two of you get here, DiZ? Last I saw, you were Saïx’s problem – and on top of that, I don’t imagine the Organization would just let their body-builder go.”

“Hmph. You think you have the whole situation all figured out, do you? But, as usual, you are lagging far behind,” Vexen mocked.

Oh, Axel did not miss this guy.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed. This moment was planned all along.”

Axel arched a brow, “You planned on finding the guy we all thought was dead?”

“Oh, obviously not,” Vexen bristled, “I meant my work with the Replicas, my return!”

“So, you’re a plant.”

“What - that is not what I’m saying!”

“And we should just believe you?”

Seething, Vexen marched several steps forward, poking finger in his direction.

“And why should we trust you – you murdered me in cold blood! I, at least, have been putting my work to good use,” he said, swinging a hand around to gesture at Xion, “Use that has benefited you, I might add, despite what you have done to me.”

“Yeah, yeah – we've all tried to use and-or kill each other,” Axel groused, “We don’t trust each other, we don’t like each other, but we'll work together if it means taking down the Organization and because we feel bad about it, or whatever – is that the sum of it?”

“You - “

“Enough,” DiZ said, and every one of them fell silent, “This arguing will amount to nothing. Besides, we have been impolite. Axel, you have yet to introduce us to your young friend. Although, perhaps we have met before – the memory is... shadowed.”

DiZ’s attention drifted down to Xion, who had slowly shifted around Axel’s side for a better view of the room, and Axel bristled, moving to step between them once more – only to be stopped by Xion’s hand on his arm. Her eyes turned up to him, gaze resolute and a bit condemning, her heart echoing with both understanding and frustration, a current of resignation under it all that had him pulling up short.

He clenched his teeth, but knew she was right; he couldn’t... do this again. Couldn’t try and keep her off the field, keep her tucked away and secret. So, as much as it galled him, made something deep inside him snarl, he stepped back, letting her take the lead.

The grateful affection she passed to him made it worth it.

“We met once, briefly,” she agreed, turning back to DiZ, “You called me a ‘blasted puppet’.”

“Ah,” he tipped his head, regretful, and Axel grit his teeth, “Another sin, for which I must apologize.”

Xion watched him with cool eyes, her heart churning down their bond, and Axel waited for her judgement, ready to intervene if necessary. Finally, she sighed.

“Help me find Roxas. He’s the one that you really hurt.”

“Yes. Yes, he is one of the ones I have hurt the most. However, I believe we can begin to make amends in that front immediately,” DiZ said, turning to Vexen.

“Is that so?” Axel asked skeptically.

“Beyond tampering with the code intended to control Xion’s body – which, you’re welcome, by the way,” Vexen said, “Actually, now that we’re away from the Organization, “I really should take another look at the code in that body of yours, its - “

“No,” Axel said immediately.

“Axel,” Xion admonished, and Axel sighed, waving her forward with a rush of chagrin-you're right-sorry. She nodded with easy forgiveness, turning back to Vexen.

“No,” she repeated, and Axel had to work quickly to restrain his amusement, tipping his head to the side and pressing a fist against the laugh trying to escape.”

“You - !” A vein pulsed in Vexen’s forehead before he regained control of himself, continuing with his voice tight behind gritted teeth, “I believe that it would be in your best interests to let me look sooner rather than later.”

Xion frowned, “I’d prefer not having anyone tampering with my body, anymore.”

“You don’t know what you’re – “

“Fine, yes, you two can hash that out later,” Axel interrupted, “Your original point was?”

“Take a look,” Vexen said, waving a hand to the bundle on the floor. For a moment, frustration merged with confusion, bubling heatedly in his stomach, but then Xion gasped beside him. A quick touch of his heart to hers let her realization flow in to him -

A replica.

“To the point: while doing the Organization’s bidding, I was able to make one extra Replica,” Vexen said, “I thought it might come in handy. You can thank me now.”

Axel and Xion exchanged a long, loaded glance.

Aqua stared down at the bowl of chicken noodle soup, stomach turning.

Something about the Realm of Darkness let her survive ten years without food, but her stomach was still empty for all that time. When she woke up at Radiant Garden, one of the first things they did was bring her a full meal.

That first plate had smelled heavenly, but at the first bite she’d hunched over, hand skittering across the table and nearly knocking her water over, barely managing to swallow the bite down without gagging. It had simply been too much, too much flavor and texture and weight.

The meals they brought her after that were much simpler, and supposedly easier on the stomach.

“Come on Aqua, you’ve gotta eat,” Ven urged, “I’ll get better the more you do.”

Cheeks burning and tension rippling up her spine, she methodically scooped up another spoonful of soup.

“I know. Just… taking it slowly,” she said, immediately moving the spoon to her mouth, pausing to fight down the squeezing in the back of her throat, ignoring the static-like feeling as the chicken rolled across her tongue and forcing the whole thing down in one go.

It settled in her stomach like lead.

If she got the solids down, then she’d just have the broth left. That was easier. In a few days, she thought she’d even be able to enjoy it.

She kept her eyes locked on the bowl, powering through each bite. Ventus tap-tap-tapped at the table where he sat catty-corner to her, a counterpoint to the tick-tick-ticking of the large, ornate clock against the wall.

His emotions were so loud. A constant buzz of hope-happy-worried!-patiencepateincepatience-affection-distractions-fear-determination and on and on and on. It alternated between comforting and overwhelming in turns.

He really didn’t need to be so worried.

She reached out, soothing over the mass of feelings with quiet now-assurance-you're safe-I'll take care of it. Immediately he cut his eyes to her, sharply, a sharp spike of something that tasted of bitterness-frustration being quickly suppressed by a determined wave of hope-comfort-love as he smiled.

She blinked back in confusion.

Fake-fake-fake, a voice in the back of her mind hissed, recognizing the smile for a lie, Imposter, false, don’t fall for it.

She shoved the voice down. It had no place here.

They lapsed back into silence, nothing but the clink of her spoon on the bottom of the bowl and that clock, still ticking away in the background.

“Hey, Aqua,” Ven said abruptly, “I’ve… been afraid to ask the others, since I woke up, but – what happened to Terra?”

Aqua paused, the food in her stomach going from a heavy weight to a writhing beast. Swallowing the bit left in her mouth, she pushed the bowl away. The locked door in her heart was suddenly a looming presence. She refused to look.

She couldn’t afford it.

“Terra,” she began slowly, picking over her words, “Xehanort took over this body - and infected his heart.”

“Infected?” Ven asked, nose crinkling, “What’s that mean?”

She shivered, a phantom sensation of thorns dripping poison digging in and tearing open cutting through her chest.

No, she told herself, shutting the memory away. That was past – she was out of there, she could fix things now. She didn’t need to go back to that.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she said, “I’ll take care of it; I won’t let Xehanort keep him.”

“Aqua – wait. If you explain it to me, maybe I can - ”

“No, Ven.”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended, pinched by the vice grip fear had on her throat. Breathing deeply, she sorted through her emotions till she could collect up both regret and firm decision, tossing them his way. She didn’t mean to yell, but she couldn’t – she couldn’t.

He sent back tender acquiescence that couldn’t quite disguise the mutiny-worry behind it.

She stared down at the bowl. There was still one more bite, but….

Pushing away from the table, she picked up the bowl and took it to the sideboard, where the tray that the meal had been brought in on was left. Ven’s bowl was already there, along with some cups and a pitcher of water.

As she busied herself collecting the used dishware, she heard Ven stand up behind her, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. He gave a little hiss, and then –

A Dark presence, rising in the room. It prickled over her skin, little hairs rising along her arms, the taste of it bitter and familiar on her tongue. Heart pounding in her throat, she spun, eyes wide and teeth gritted. She summoned magic to her fingertips instantly – wait, no, she had her Key now - !

She tried to summon both, and both fizzled out futilely. No good, no good, where was the threat - ?

Ventus stared at her in confusion, hand poised like he’d been rubbing against his forehead.

“Aqua?”

It was Ven. It was just Ven. …Was it Ven? What if –

No. Pressing the thought down, she stepped over to him, slipping her hand beneath his to run along his hairline.

“Ven? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I just felt…”

“Hm?”

“No, it’s nothing. What about you?” he asked, turning those concerned eyes on her, “It looked like you…”

“I’m fine,” Aqua denied, “Don’t worry about me.”

Ven pursed his lips, eyes darting down to the ground. Seeming to come to a decision, he looked back up.

“I think you should have this back.” He held up a hand, light sparkling for a moment before Master’s Defender formed, “It doesn’t really sit right, with me. And… you seem to be having issues with your normal Key, right? You’ll need a weapon that works, with what we’re facing.”

“So, you noticed.”

Bitter, bubbling shame bit at her stomach. Ven frowned up at her, brow furrowing, chasing after the echoes of the feeling until she shooed him away.

Hesitantly, she reached out, curling her fingers below Ven’s on the hilt. Through the touch she could feel its connection to Ven, loose though it was, alongside its willingness to return to her once more.

She’d forgotten how heavy it was.

Swallowing down her reluctance – she couldn’t just leave this burden with Ven, the Master had entrusted it to her – she firmed her grip, tugging resolutely and pulling its allegiance into her grasp, letting the responsibility nestle in her heart next to Stormfall.

“Alright,” she said, “You’re right. We’ll need to be ready, for the fight ahead. Where do we go to practice, here?”

#kh #kingdom hearts #fanfiction #wingfic #wrap your wings au #Yza writes a thing

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

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Serendipity

This was originally a prompt on here that I promised a follow up to, but got carried away.

The original prompt is in italics, so you can refresh yourselves on what it was!

Words: 3.6k

Rating: Mature

Read over on ao3, or below the cut.

Let me know what you think!

It should never have happened. Emily hadn’t intended for it to, and she knew Aaron hadn’t either. They hadn’t meant to fuck at JJ’s wedding, hidden in Dave’s guest bathroom as Aaron’s girlfriend danced with his son downstairs.

Things shifted between them that night. The dance they had shared, his hand in hers and his breath against her neck had ignited her skin, set something on fire that she had tried to ignore. Emily had tried to walk away, to put some distance between them. Aaron had followed her, knocking softly on the bathroom door when she had been in there a little too long.

Emily wasn’t entirely sure who kissed who first, but she remembered him pressing her up against the counter. How it felt when he pushed her dress over her hips, her own hands not idle as she undid his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

The aftermath had been awkward, but that hadn’t stopped it from happening again the following day. Him coming to hers for the coffee they had promised each other, ending up on the couch instead, clothes shed and desperate hands palming against each other's skin.

She stiffened when he said he had broken up with Beth, the gentle hope in his voice breaking her heart. Emily still remembered the look on his face when she said she was still going to London, his cheek against her hand.

She had been in London for two months before she called him, lied and said she was in town for a consult. Aaron obviously didn’t believe her, but he came to her hotel room anyway. Emily realises she should have known it would be inevitable, that they would have sex again. She wants him as much as he wants her and she has spent so much of her life denying herself the things she wanted. It isn’t lost on her that this is the first time they have done this in a bed, and she sits up as he gets dressed, the silence in the room deafening. She pulls on one of the robes hung up in the wardrobe, pulling the tie tight around her waist.

“Aaron, we still need to talk.”

He looks at her, his face stern. “Are you staying?”

Emily opens her mouth, unsure how to even begin to answer that question, to say what she needs to say. Aaron takes her hesitance as an answer, shrugging on his jacket as he shakes his head at her.

“I should go.”

“Aaron, please.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.” He says, his voice full of defeat and she hates that she's the one that put it there. That she caused the man who she cares for more than she should to feel anything other than happiness. Aaron turns to leave, his hand on the door of her hotel room and a heavy sigh escapes him. “See you next time you’re in town, Emily.”

Emily closes her eyes and wraps her arms around herself, pulling the robe she had put on tighter, as if it could hold her together in the soft material whilst she tells him what she came here to say. What she couldn’t bring herself to tell him on the phone.

“I’m pregnant.”

Aaron turns to look at her. Her eyes are fixed on the floor, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Emily.”

She looks up at him, a small smile on her face. “I think it goes without saying it's yours.” She clears her throat awkwardly when he just stares at her, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. “We should sit down.”

She moves over to one of the armchairs in the corner of the room. She curls up into the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Emily feels relief ease some of the tension in her chest when he joins her, sitting in the chair next to hers.

“Are you ok?” He asks, and it makes her smile. Any frustration he had aimed at her had melted away, replaced by confusion and something she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m ok.” She answers. “Although morning sickness is the most poorly named thing on the fucking planet.” He laughs at that, and it’s nervous, making her raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you ok?”

He nods. “I think we have a lot of things to discuss.”

“Yeah.” She replies, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “We do.” ____________

The flight back to London is rough. Her constant nausea makes the hours drag by, her desperation to just be on solid ground almost overwhelming her.

She’s never been more grateful to see her apartment, the place still not quite feeling like home yet. She sinks into her couch and groans when her cell phone immediately rings, rolling her eyes when she sees Clyde’s name on the screen before she answers.

“Do you track me or something? I’ve only just made it back.”

“That's for me to know and you to wonder about, darling.” Clyde says, smugness in his voice that made her smile despite herself. “How did our dear Agent Hotchner take the news that he’s going to be a father again.”

“Quite well given the circumstances.” Emily answers, unwilling to divulge anymore of her conversation with Aaron to her friend, knowing if there was one person on the planet he wouldn’t want her to talk to about this it would be Clyde Easter.

“You’re going to go back aren’t you?”

Emily laughs, frustrated that he could read her so well even over the phone. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.”

“Not now.” She replies. She looks down at her abdomen, still flat with no indication of the life growing underneath her skin showing yet. “I can’t keep the baby from him, or him from the baby. He’s a great dad.”

“You left DC for a reason.”

Emily places her hand on her belly and smiles to herself. “And now I guess I have a reason to go back.” ____________

Aaron visits her a month later. His insistence on coming to London for a long weekend made her laugh. She feels nervous when she picks him up at the airport, but it fades away when she sees him.

It’s strange, having him there in her apartment, like two very distinct worlds were colliding. She liked it though, couldn’t help but smile as he walked around and made himself familiar with where she lived.

“I had a scan this morning.” She says, smiling at him nervously when he turns to look at her, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Would you like to see the picture?”

“Of course.”

She beams at him as she digs the scan photo out of her purse and hands it to him. “Everything looks good, even if I am a ‘geriatric mother.’’ She said, using air quotes as she spoke.

Aaron has the gall to laugh at her, which makes her raise her eyebrows at him. He steps towards her, ultrasound scan still in hand, and he hugs her. She hugs him back, breathes in the scent of his cologne. She pulls back enough to look at him, and before she can think better of it she leans forward and kisses him. It crosses the delicate line they hadn’t crossed since he had left her hotel room a month ago, still reeling from the life changing news he had told him. They’d been in contact every day since, exchanging texts and phone calls around both of their gruelling work schedules. They’d been acting like friends, nothing more, but her hands grasping the back of his head, pulling him closer to her, changed that.

“Wait.” He says against her lips, pulling away so he could look at her. “Is this a good idea?”

Emily heaves in a breath and licks her lips before looking at his. “Maybe not.” She presses another quick kiss to his lips. “But it’s not like you can knock me up again.”

He stares at her for a second before pulling her back into him, kissing her fiercely as she drags him to her bedroom. ____________

They don’t talk about anything important until the day he leaves, neither of them wanting to ruin the little bubble they had created in her apartment. It’s him that tentatively brings up her plans over the breakfast they had ordered in.

“When are you coming back?”

“In three months.” She says as she takes a sip of her tea. “That’s when my replacement can start here, and when the role at the DC Interpol office opens up.”

Aaron frowns at her. “The DC Interpol office?”

Emily nods. “It’s essentially what I’m doing now.” She senses his confusion and clears her throat as she sets her mug back down. “I was never going to be coming back to the bureau, Aaron.”

“It’s your choice, I just thought you would have mentioned it.”

Emily can feel her temper flaring, annoyance rising up in her before she can stop it. “We’re not in a relationship, Aaron. Just because we fucked a few times and accidentally made a baby doesn’t mean I have to run everything past you.”

He stares at her, a hard look on his face. It seems to take him a moment to speak, and the way he carefully chooses his words pisses her off even more. “Would you even be coming back if it wasn’t for the baby, Emily?”

She looks at him, her fury written all over her face. “No. I wouldn’t be.”

He leaves pretty quickly, claiming he needs to get to the airport even though his flight isn’t for another 12 hours.

____________

After that they speak less often. She updates him on the baby and he asks her how she is, how both of them are doing.

When she starts to show she takes a photo of her bump and sends it to him. The next day a package from Amazon arrives full of pregnancy skin care, a gift note from Aaron that tells her Haley had sworn by the bump cream. The tenderness of the gesture makes her cry, the affection she feels for him almost bursting out of her chest.

She calls him when she finds out they are having a boy, her enthusiasm seeping down the phone and filling his voice with wonder.

As she boards the plane to DC 3 months after she last saw him, all of her belongings shipped, she feels something a little bit like hope bloom in her chest. ____________

Aaron comes to visit her at her apartment almost as soon as she gets back, a smile on his face and a bag of takeout in his hand.

“Hi.” She says, almost shyly as she lets him in.

“Hi.” He kisses her cheek before he thinks about it, pulling her into a hug. He steps back and looks down at her abdomen. “Wow.”

Emily laughs, her hand landing on her belly. “Yeah, he’s getting big.” She takes the bag of food from him. “We should eat.”

They eat and make conversation, and it’s as if 3 months of awkward conversation between them hadn’t happened. He asks her about Sergio, and she says Penelope would be keeping him for now, but that she had full visitation rights.

Aaron clears up the plates, and she rolls her eyes at him as he tells her to put her feet up. She feels the awkwardness seep back in when he sits on the couch next to her, the unanswered questions hanging in the air.

“I’ll get you your own key.” Emily says, tearing her eyes from her lap to look at him. “It makes sense for you to just be able to come over, see the baby whenever.”

He nods, an awkward smile on his face. “I’ll get you one to my place too. Jack keeps asking when you’re coming over.”

“That’s sweet. I missed him.”

“He missed you. We both did.” It’s awkward again for a moment, and she can see the second he decides to simply say whatever he had been holding back for months. “What are we, Emily?”

She sighs. “I don’t know, Aaron.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it. “I care about you. So much. But if we hadn’t had sex at JJ’s wedding we wouldn’t even be here right now. How is that the foundation of a relationship?”

“By itself it might not be, but we have a lot more than that.” He cups her cheek. “We’ve known each other for years. I know I’m not the only one who has felt that there could be more between us.”

Emily closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his. “There is so much more at stake now.” She puts their joint hands on her bump. “We can’t mess anything up for him, or Jack.”

“Don’t we owe it to them, to us, to try?”

She pulls back enough for her nose to brush against his. Emily decides that she’s going to let herself have what she wants. She nods before she kisses him, sighing as they both lean further into it. She breaks off with a laugh when she feels the baby kick against their hands.

Aaron looks down at her stomach in wonder. “He’s kicking?”

She nods at him. “He’s kicking.”

For the first time since the test came back positive she genuinely feels like everything might work out. ____________

By the time she's 8 months pregnant she is spending the vast majority of her time at his apartment, even when he was away on a case, and she tries to ignore what that means. That she’s 2 months into a relationship with a man and practically living with him and his son. Whilst being pregnant with his second son.

Her mother had always told her that she didn’t do anything by half.

Emily is sitting on a park bench, watching Jack play on the swings, with her hand pressed into her belly when she feels it. The familiar feeling of being watched. She feels a shiver run down her spine, goosebumps raising over her body.

Her first instinct is that it’s Ian. All of her logical thoughts that he was dead, that she’d watched him die, being beaten by the anxiety coursing through her. Every reason she had left DC in the first place comes flooding back and she has to take several deep breaths. The feeling doesn’t go away, she looks around the park quickly. She can’t see him, can’t see anyone that looks like they’d be associated with him, but she feels like she needs to leave. Like she needs to get Jack, and her baby, back home as quickly as possible.

She’s about to walk over to Jack, make him leave his friends so she could take him home, when she hears a familiar voice.

“Emily?” She whips round to see Beth standing next to her, an awkward look on her face as she takes in Emily’s appearance. “I saw you from across the park, I thought it was you.”

“Beth. Hi.” She tries to smile. “How have you been?”

“Good.” She nods. She looks at her again, eyes landing on Emily’s bump. The unspoken understanding from the other woman that she was pregnant with Aaron’s child. “You look well.”

Emily’s smile falters. The last time she had seen Beth had been at JJ’s wedding, the night she’d had sex with Aaron when his girfriend was just downstairs. Beth would know that. Emily knew that Aaron was a good enough man to have told her everything when he broke up with her.

“I am really sorry, Beth. For how everything happened.”

Beth laughs and sits on the bench next to her. “That is almost exactly word for word what Aaron said when we got back to his place after JJ and Will’s wedding.” Beth looks over to where Jack is playing and smiles. “I knew something had happened, neither of you were very subtle.”

Emily feels her baby roll in her belly and she presses her hand to it, hoping the gentle circles soothe her son as well as herself.

“I...I guess saying we didn’t mean for it to happen won’t mean much.”

“It doesn’t.” Beth says, a wry smile on her face as she turns back to Emily. “But are you both happy?”

Emily doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. We are.”

“Then maybe it was all worth it.” Beth says as she stands. “I should get going, tell Jack and Aaron I said hi.”

“You should say hi to Jack.”

“It’s ok. I don’t want to confuse him.” Beth smiles at Emily one last time. “Tell Aaron I’m glad he’s happy.” ____________

Aaron gets back to his apartment, the case he had been on two days too long for his liking, to find Emily fast asleep on the couch, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, with her hand pressed into her stomach. He smiles as he hangs up his keys and sets the alarm, setting his briefcase down on the side. He walks over to the couch and sits on the edge of it, gently waking her. She opens her eyes and looks at him.

“You’re home.” She murmurs, the roughness to her voice giving away that she’s been asleep for a while.

He hums in his throat as he strokes his hand over her head. “Why are you on the couch, you know it doesn’t do your back any good.”

“I was waiting up for you.” She sits up slowly, accepting his help to get her upright. Emily leans against his side as he sits next to her, smiling when he puts one of his palms on her belly and kisses the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” He tilts her head and kisses her properly, feeling her smile against his lips as the baby rolls in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Good.” Emily answers. “My entire body is sore. But good.”

He hums his sympathy and rubs his hand over her stomach, the baby forever active in a way he knew had caused Emily to lose sleep.

“I’d like to take you on a date.” He says, smiling as Emily pulls back from him, a look of curiosity on her face. “I realised today that I've never taken you on one.”

“Aaron.” She replies, a smile on her face. “I’m 8 months pregnant with your son, I think we’re a little past dating.”

“True, but you have only just agreed to be my girlfriend.” He laughs when she scrunches her nose at him, leaning down to kiss the tip of it. “What?”

“The word ‘girlfriend’ makes it sound like I’m 14, not in my 40s.”

Aaron smiles at her again and kisses her, smiling against her lips. “Well, I’d propose to you so you could call me your fiancée, but I worry that would send you running back to London.”

Emily laughs, kissing him again quickly. “I wouldn’t run away, but I might check if you were feeling ok.” She rests her head against him again. “I saw Beth today.”

He stiffens, his arms tightening around her. “How was that?”

“Awkward.” She answers, turning her head to kiss his shoulder through his shirt. “But she was very nice. Nicer than I might have been in her shoes.”

“I’m glad.” He kisses the top of her head. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else happened?”

She scoffs. “Can’t keep anything from you.” She sighs. “I could tell someone was watching me, and before Beth came over I thought it was Ian.” He doesn’t say anything, and it spurs her on. “I know he’s dead, that I don’t have to be afraid anymore, but I was for so long.” She feels her emotions rise in her chest, tears flooding at her eyes as she was at the mercy of her hormones. “And I have so much more to lose now.” She wipes her face. “You, Jack. The baby.”

He kisses the top of her head again, then her temple, holding her impossibly tighter. “You aren’t going to lose any of us, sweetheart.” He tilts her chin so he can kiss her properly. “This is it now. Forever.”

She ignores the voice in her head that tells her he can’t promise her that, and she nods.

“If that’s a proposal I’m leaving.” She jokes and it makes him laugh, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Trust me, baby. You’ll know when I’m proposing.” ____________

He takes her on a date the following week. She lets him take her to a restaurant and spoil her, and he doesn’t make any comments when she orders enough food for at least 3 people for herself.

He takes her for ice cream after, going into the store and getting it himself so she doesn’t have to get back out the car, her ankles sore and swollen.

That night they lay in his bed, the one she really knows is theirs, and as he runs his fingers up and down her bare spine she drifts off to sleep.

“I love you.” She whispers into the room, the first time she has said it to him.

She stays awake long enough to hear him say it back. ____________

It should never have happened, but when their son, Benjamin, is born three weeks later Emily is so glad it did.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #Season 8AU #fluff #angst #family #accidental pregnancy #this has it all folks

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rrasado · 3 years

Text

• Realization before Reconciliation •

Hngggggg Gomen Gomen Gomen

I tried getting this out on my birthday but schooldwork said No💙

And I feel really bad that this is all I can give ✋. Anyways who knows.

Tagging: @cherryxart, @anuswaterlily, @raymiazaki, @dittoqueeno, @thatweirdomidas, @bnhastakenover, @jae-tries-writting-stuff, @nightcore-re-val

———————————————————————

...

“Psst! MC wake up!”

The human groaned as she sat up from the white sheets of her bed. Ah, that’s right...

She’s a resident of purgatory hall now.

How long has it been...a month now? She’d rather not keep track honestly, that day she left the House of Lamentation, carrying her bags and never looking back, was it the right choice?

“Ah! Sorry Luke, I’m coming don’t worry!”

She groggily stood up, quickly getting changed into a more casual outfit before treading out of the room to meet the other exchange students.

“You’re finally awake MC.”

Simeon gave his usual serene smile while solomon only crossed his arms and chuckled.

“Let’s go, we’re meeting up with satan at the place correct?”

“Yeah! Just let me go grab my D.D.D real quick.”

The device was plugged in prior to charge before the human pocketed it, dismissing the notification as the four of them treaded out the doors of Purgatory Hall.

———————————————————————

How long has it been?

Mammon was slumped over the edge of his bed, scrolling through his D.D.D, taking in every old picture and selfie he took the last few months.

The months he spent with the human. He pushed back his hair and let out a frustrated groan at the memory of the exchange student. Damn his stupidity, damn his ignorance, damn his selfishness, damn his greed, damn everything about him for not realizing that his human was hurting. Honestly, What did he feel about the whole ordeal? Would things be different had he noticed the subtle changes in her routine? Everything frustrated him to no end. The day she left... does he even remember what happened then. That day was still vivid, the venom that seeped out of the human’s gaze when he tried to chase after her through the door was still engraved in his mind, and he hated it. But what he hated more was how he just gave up on the spot, watching her leave the gates with her bags.

He stood up to go grab a drink from the kitchen, abruptly opening his door garnering a loud crash through the air.

“Tsk Mammon!”

The fourth born stood their with eyes squinting. He caught the door with his bare hands, which showed the almost accidental crashing had it not been for his reflexes.

“Satan bud you scared me.”

His azure blue eyes flickered to his brother’s attire, is he going somewhere?

“Where’re you headed?”

“It’s none of your business, tell the others i'll be going home late tonight”

His usually calm tone dripped with spite as he marched down the velvet ebony staircase, his coat trailing behind him leaving the Avatar of Greed to his own devices.

“Tsk...jeez what’s his problem…”

He ran his hand through his stark white locks, treading towards the kitchen to get his mind off of everything so far.

———————————————————————

“Hey Luke! slow down”

The human chuckled while being pulled by the angel, the child had a skip to his step as he whined even more.

“Oh c’mon MC! I can’t wait any longeeer. We might lose our seats if we don’t make it there in time!”

The white haired wizard gave a chuckle whilst Simeon pried off Luke from the other human.

“Luke it’s called a reservation for a reason, besides! We still need to wait for Satan to correct?”

The younger angel gave a pout as he crossed his arms.

“He better show up in the next five minutes or else-”

“Or else what?”

The familiar tuft of blonde hair approached the group with a wave, garnering the angel to shut up before he could say anything else.

“Fashionably late as always”

“Well as fashionable as Satan can get anyways…”

“Oh haha very funny”

An amused chuckle escaped the human’s lips as she shoved her hand in her pocket.

“Shall we get going? The cafe is a 15 minute walk from the campus’ gates”

A series of nods and grunts of agreement had the peculiar group on their merry way.

———————————————————————

The white haired demon pulled his hair in frustration while the Avatar of Gluttony hunched over the table behind him, stomach demonically growling in hunger as Mammon gave an exasperated sigh. The first born merely sipped his coffee as he read through whatever documents he was holding, only working there instead of his study because of the need for a change of scenery.

“Oh for hell’s sake the fridge is empty again! The cabinets ain’t in better condition either!”

Lucifer pushed back his hair as he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Stop complaining like a child and go ask Satan, He’s on grocery duty for this week anyways.”

“That’s the thing tho Lucifer, Satan left earlier to who knows where.”

“Tsk oh for crying out loud is there no one in this house who knows how to be half the least competent!”

Beel only sunk his head further on the table letting the hunger consume him.

“...MC would usually accompany Belphie during emergency grocery runs…”

A deafening silence wrapped the dining hall in tension, daring the occupants to make the first move.

There it goes again… that human, the former resident of the House of Lamentation. It still stung them all, was it the guilt? The guilt of not being able to ease her hurting? The guilt of being the very reason why she was hurting in the first place? The guilt of repeating history’s misdeed?

Oh how cruel of them to be so selfish.

‘Diavolo would be disappointed’

‘You had no hand in helping’

‘You’re no better’

‘You had the audacity to even smile’

‘You have the gall to even eat?”

‘You dare have the right to be angry’

The first week was a hell in of itself, Lucifer was snappier than usual, Leviathan never came out of his room, even taking his classes online rather than showing face at school, Asmodeus partied out late less than usual, it’s even noticeable by his hair that he disregarded his self care routine by a bit. Beel and Belphie took it the worst out of all of them. Beel couldn’t bear himself to eat any food MC was fond of. His appetite abnormally dropped and his palette shrunk down to mere bread and stale meat, all washed down by nothing but water. Belphie on the other hand… oh gosh Belphie , the youngest never woke up unless it was Lucifer himself who commanded him, even then he was asleep for 23 hours a day, not even giving a single care wether he understood the school material as he naturally would due to his mind going static at anything that reminded him of the Human.

The Deafening silence was broken by a loud thud from the stairs as the Avatar of envy rushed down with a rare frantic expression.

Leviathan heaved heavy breathes, reeling over to his knees in nothing but an energy drink stained sweatshirt and old sweatpants that he probably wore for a week straight. His usually unenthusiastic voice echoed throughout the dining room.

“LOOK!’

The third born shoved his D.D.D in their faces as their expressions faltered, the bright screen illuminating a shot of a candle lit dessert in front of a close eyed genuine smile they failed to keep.

And the oh so daunting caption ?

‘Happy Birthday MC’

..The mug of coffee was now shattered on the floor..

Oh how cruel of fate to torture them this way...

———————————————————————

Aaaand cut, the end...? Idk what’s angstier the fic or how disappointing the ending is. I don’t know how to end this honestly, that one insomnia induced fic blew up two months ago for some reason and I never had a plan in the first place 😂. The demand was high and I tried my best to deliver but I am no writer. 👉👈

Anyways thank you for all the love and feedback for this crappy mini series. I didn’t want to end this fic abruptly but alas my mind said No💙.

The prequel.

The first part.

The thought.

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

lame

07.

look, i know i’m an asshole but at least i’m trying

“Look at that, isn’t he amazing?” the blond boy yells, pointing at the TV on display, showing one of those heroes in work.

“Uwah, All Might’s so cool!”

(E/c) eyes followed the boys’ gazes, watching a big hulking figure power through villains.

She could only nod, half-heartedly, keeping her eyes on the screen, listening to the two boys go on about how amazing he was.

Booming laughter sounded off from the screen, the two boys anticipating as the hero turned to the camera. “I am here!”

And then, the boys went wild – gesticulating wildly, words of admiration leaving their lips, eyes twinkling with amazement. Honestly, it was easy to like someone as big and prominent as All Might.

But in a world ruled by quirks, and your perception of them tainted at an early age, it was difficult to really set yourself on where you stood.

“Isn’t he the coolest, (Nickname?)” green eyes turned to the (h/c) girl.

“Uh, yeah…” came the girl’s reply, rather dull and lacking in the same energy as the two boys.

“That was a weak reply, (Name)!” the blond boy turned to her, a bit offended. “You should be crying out like me and Deku! All Might’s the coolest!”

Chancing a look at the said hero on screen, she shrugged, unsure how to reply to that. “I mean, I guess he is.”

Both boys froze at their friend’s lack of admiration for their favorite hero.

“Sorry I’m not like you guys.”

“T-That’s okay, (Nickname).” The green-haired boy says, voice shaky and his eyes sheen with tears he’s fighting off, smiling warmly at her.

“Hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t like him, though. He’s just not my favorite hero.”

The blond boy’s carmine eyes widen at that, the three kids began to walk home together once the show was over.

“Then, who is your favorite?”

“Hm…I guess I prefer the quiet heroes, I guess?” she nods, mind thinking of policemen, teachers, cooks, train staff, and fishermen. “Ones that don’t really stand out but are cooler in other ways.”

“Ah, there’s this one hero I heard about from Kyoto!” Izuku tells her. “He has a healing quirk, but he’s also really good at martial arts and carries a cool staff with him.”

“That’s Merlin!” the girl gushes excitedly, her walking having a bit of a jump. “The Wandering Hero: Merlin! He’s so cool! I think my grandpa mentioned him before, having trained in our dojo when he was still in training. Ma says he was the prettiest looking man next to Pa. And Pa says his quirk’s extra cool if you get to see it in person!”

(E/c) eyes sparkled the more she gushed about this hero of hers, one he’s never heard of because of his rather elusive nature as a hero.

“That sounds amazing, (Nickname)! I wish my family could have known All Might as well!” the green-haired boy’s tiny fists shook with excitement, sharing her enthusiasm.

“Tch, All Might’s still better. Just wait ‘til I become a hero, (Name)…” muttered the blond, hands in his pockets. “Then you’ll see that I’m definitely the best outta the rest.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking at her friend in disbelief. Then mischief.

Getting behind him, she kicks the backs of his knees, causing him to topple to the ground face first.

“Ah, Kacchan!”

“What the hell was that for, (Name)!?”

“That was so lame of you, Katsuki!” laughed the girl, sticking her tongue out as she grabbed the green-haired boy’s hand and proceeded to run ahead of him.

Angered the boy rushes to his knees, cheeks definitely not flushed, and gives the two a chase. “HAH!? WHO’RE YOU CALLING LAME!?”

Three little kids ran down the streets, laughing in their wake.

Traditions in Japan were rather a thing that made the country quite known to the outside world, as many adhered to certain types of customs.

And as per family tradition, certain family never fails to hand over ochugen gifts to the people in your lives.

A (h/c) girl was headed off to the Bakugou’s first, a box full of fresh harvest from her grandpa’s garden. Coincidentally, it also happened to be Izuku’s birthday and she got him special tickets to that superhero exhibit. To commemorate, she had even worn an All Might shirt!

Reaching the Bakugou’s, she put down the Midoriya’s box, before reaching for the doorbell. Someone yelled inside, followed by explosive remarks, which was something she’s rather used to.

Patiently waiting, she felt a buzz, taking her phone out of her shorts pocket, smiling when she saw a text from the birthday boy, feeling the excitement through his text.

The door clicked open, her smile still in place as she furiously texted Izuku back. As she pressed reply, she then pocketed her phone and readily met a pair of carmine eyes.

Except, the owner of said eyes came from the last person she cared for, smile flattening.

For a second there was surprise in his features, softening slightly as his usual scowl set in. His eyes took in her form, the box, then at the ridiculous shirt she had on. “What the fuck are you wear-“

Behind him, a voice called out. “(Name)-chan!”

It was Auntie Mitsuki.

Smile finding its way back, a rather polite one at that, the teen greeted her back. “Hiya, Auntie!”

Shouldering her son aside, receiving a snarky reply she didn’t bother with, the Bakugou matriarch’s eyes shined at the sight of the young teen. “Look at you, growing up so fast to be this cute!” unable to help herself, she reached over to pinch the younger girl’s cheeks before swallowing her into her arms for a hug. Releasing the girl, her carmine eyes then focused and shined at the items in her hand. “Ah, Shihan really has the neatest harvest every summer, thanks for these!”

“We most graciously bestow our gratitude to you, oh great Bakugou Mitsuki!” the teen implored, rather dramatically, earning a laugh between the two, like a running gag.

Bakugou could only watch, quite amazed at their relationship.

“Oi brat, get this will ya?” snapped his mother over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell me what to do, hag!” screamed the blond back, carefully taking the box from her hands.

Their eyes met briefly before she easily slid them away to focus on his mom, an instantaneous reaction.

“You seem dolled up, (Name)-chan. Got a date?”

Humming, she tilted her head to the side. “You could say that,” at that, Bakugou nearly stumbled in his step but she didn’t notice. “it’s Izuku’s birthday today and I’m just having a birthday date with him in a while!”

At the mentioned of Deku, Bakugou froze in his step, looking over his shoulder to take in her attire once more – a gaudy All Might shirt tucked into some simple denim shorts, then some sneakers.

“Aw, ain’t that cute. Oi, Katsuki, why aren’t you with them!?”

Caught, he burst out a reply. “HAH? Why the hell would I spend time with those extras?” his words got the best of him before he could control himself, her brows knitting together, pain flashing through (e/c) eyes for a quick second. He instantly regretted opening his stupid mouth.

“Anyways," he couldn't help notice the slight strain in her voice, feeling his heart drop "I just came to drop by our ochugen gifts. Thank you again for all your help, Auntie.” Grabbing the Midoriya’s gift box from the ground, the teen worked on a smile. “Please tell Uncle Masaru I said hi!” And with that, she was gone.

Both blonds watch the young girl walk away before the door closed. Without a word, Mitsuki walked back in, giving a quick smack to her son’s head before disappearing into the kitchen.

Her hit was rather soft, reprimanding.

Something unpleasant filled his gut as he dropped the gift box on the dining room table and headed off to his room, pained (e/c) eyes haunting him.

You always hurt the ones you love.

Does it feel weird to feel close to someone you haven’t spoken to in years? That there’s always been this sort of connection between the two of you that instantly links you together even after days, months, years of zero contact?

Well, that’s how Bakugou Katsuki feels towards Yuroichi (Name).

Ever since they were kids and he was introduced to (Name), she was all he cared about. Well, there was Deku, but he was second on his list.

(Name) had always been special for him.

But then, things changed.

Since being paired up with Deku for his practical exam, he was unsettled. Well, he’s been unsettled for a lot of things for lots of reasons. But basically, what he’s been unsettled about with Deku was (Name).

While he remembered wimpy Deku trailing behind him, there was always (Name) ready to drag him away or be beside him. Where there was Deku, (Name) was sure to follow. They were like a combo; one was never without the other. He hated it.

Deku had no fucking quirk, was weak, small, a shitty nerd, yet he had the fucking gall to stand up and try to be a hero. With that, (Name) shifted her attention and adoration to him and him alone.

Honestly, he didn’t mind that they were quirkless – they honestly just got in the way.

Still, it fucking hurts that (Name) wouldn’t bother looking his way or even saying a word to him. Fuck, even Deku would acknowledge him even if it were outta fear!

Bullying probably made sense to keep her distance, especially since he loved targeting weak quirkless like Deku and her. But to be on the receiving end of those angry eyes, it made him weak. It may have enforced and asserted his dominance in middle school, but to her, it was a disgusting power play.

He may not be close with her compared to when they were younger, but he’s always kept an eye out for her (and Deku, shut up). He knows that she’s an expert martial artist, bagging and winning several competitions and tournaments, was the pride of the school and her family dojo, sleeps a lot during classes, and sometimes, the older kids would pick on her because they knew she was tough.

(However, after that one time in middle school, she stopped with the fighting and worked on a clean slate.)

She never befriended anyone without a quirk lightly, the majority of her friends either were quirkless or had a really minor, insignificant quirk. She didn’t seem to care nor mind. However, Deku remained her closest companion.

He’d see her a lot – in hallways, in class, on the way home, but he never got to be with her.

Nonchalant, lax, yet kind and sweet to others, but to him, she was forcibly polite and civil.

Those adoring, reassuring, warm (e/c) eyes were reserved for that one shitty nerd.

He hated to admit it, but he craved for her attention, yearned for her approval, and desperately lingered on the fact that they were childhood friends, so he’s obliged to keep a relationship, even when now they’re barely acquaintances.

On his middle school graduation, while he was surrounded by his so-called friends and his parents, his eyes easily caught on two people laughing amongst themselves.

Just seeing them, laughing together with cherry blossoms fluttering to paint an idyllic image, suddenly made him feel extremely lonely. His hold on his diploma slackened, fingers and foot twitching, eyes taking his childhood acquaintances in.

Graduating top of his class, with a bright future set for UA High School. He should be excited, right? Ecstatic even at what he’s gained? Yet why does it feel so lacking?

Carmine eyes began to soften, especially at the smaller of the two. Realization dawned unto him, the occasion was rather bittersweet for (Name), as it was nearing a year since she lost her parents and she couldn’t share the joyous occasion with them. Thankfully, she had her grandfather with her, then Auntie Inko, and Deku.

But not him.

Irked, he left before his mom could find them, no doubt, to use the opportunity to snag a photo of the three.

Nothing hurts more than to realize that the one person – he swore to protect, to keep by his side, had completely shunned him.

At first, they were inseparable. But as the years passed, they drifted apart.

The day (Name) punched him was a literal awakening, a prologue really. It got him worked up. Then the Sludge Incident happened. Her parents died. The light in those (e/c) eyes weren’t as bright as before, even when she got a part-time job.

He knew he was wrong; he won’t deny that (but he won’t say it out loud either), but he won’t ever hide from it either.

After getting into UA, he felt her punch even more at the introduction of his classmates with quirks, as she aptly put it “better and flashier” compared to his.

That stung, hurting his ego.

Damn, the top was a challenge.

But he wasn’t backing down, damn it.

So, what is he was a proud asshole? He had every reason to be! He had compensated with his talents, smarts, and versatility.

Still, to be called out on having a shitty personality boosted only by the fact that he had a strong quirk could do a number to him.

When it came to matters of the heart, he sucked in that aspect.

(h/c) locks, framing a pretty face with (e/c) eyes, they always, always, always manage to catch him off-guard.

Unbeknownst to the green-haired nerd, whenever he opened his big mouth to his friends in 1-A, he’d hope there was something about (Name), no matter how small or insignificant. They even texted.

Pride would always win over him whenever Deku would openly talk about (Name) – Bakugou would pretend to be uninterested, looking out the window while he was actually taking in the nerd’s words like a starved man, he was the only source of news he had because for the first time in their life, (Name) was not there with them. It sucked. (She was very clear on steering away from heroics or people who had a quirk, despite having one herself)

The days were lonelier and duller without her. Deku’s ramblings were something – slightly comforting, but don’t tell him that, but it just missed that one figure next to him.

For all his bravado, just the mere mention of Yoruichi (Name) made him weak. Wait, scratch that, (Name) was a strong person by herself, he did not make him weak, shut up. Hesitate, yeah, that’s the word, she made him falter, hesitate. Whatever.

Thankfully, none of his idiotic ragtag of friends keyed in on that. Save for Deku.

Deku, who’d always known. Deku, that sharp fucking nerd who always tried to be the goody-two-shoes and goaded him to talk to her.

Like fuck he’d talk to him about (Name), fucking no way. He’d rather have his nails done with half-and-half bastard than to have a heart-to-heart talk with fucking Deku.

Still, there was just one thing he was sure of about Deku, one thing he’ll never admit to anyone – or even him, out loud: compared between the two, Deku was always the bigger person. He was kinder, gentler, better.

A part of him would forever be jealous of the fact that Deku had been there for her when he couldn’t. Deku had access to parts of (Name) he was barred from. Deku was protective of her. Deku had (Name).

And as for him? Well, he was probably good as a dead fuck to her.

The punch still stung.

Nothing hurts more than to realize that you never had a chance, to begin with.

From: (Name) Yuroichi

To: Bakugou Katsuki

I’m glad you’re safe.

A day after Kamino…

For once, the Bakugou household was at peace, a day after his kidnapping. The day before, there was screaming, yelling, crying from both parentals that probably had dried off for today. At least for the first few minutes of the day.

The doorbell rang, Katsuki called out to get it, desperate for a bit of distraction from the silence around him.

He opened the door then froze, breath hitching. Two breaths, actually.

Carmine met (e/c).

For once, indifference was not the expression set on her face that he was looking at, but a softened expression. So incredibly soft.

An image of a younger her suddenly came to mind, back to when they first met each other.

“Katsu- “stopping, her lips pinched together, a small frown setting in, not ready to say his name just yet.

Hurt flashed in his eyes, desperately taking her in.

When he was kidnapped, first of all, he was annoyed as fuck, but most of all, he was scared. The League of Villains had him by the neck, literally, immobilized him, just to lure out All Might. And the thing that kept him grounded was her, (Name). The memory of her soft expression after they’d washed the dishes, comforting silence between them, that burnt mark on her neck, her telling him to have fun at summer camp. Her text message.

Remembering her presence at his doorstep, his eyes caught hold of the item in her hand – ochugen gifts, he uncharacteristically gestured at it.

“U-Uh…”

“Y-Yeah…ochugen.”

“My mom’s not home, so…” his words came out lamely, weakly. So, unlike him.

But she was so lost in her head that she could only nod.

Gently, he reached for the box, their fingers brushing against each other lightly.

Something fluttered in his chest, wildly and tightly. Summer seemed to have come quickly as he was beginning to sweat, the smell of burnt sugar bleeding through.

“T-Then…”

“Hn,”

Head still hung low, he took it as her parting, something in his chest twisting painfully, and he slowly turned on his back.

(Before he headed back in, instincts – maybe, or her heart forced her to, she grabbed hold on the back of his shirt, stopping him, and pressed her head between his shoulder blades, taking in his scent.)

Bakugou didn’t move, feeling her shaking hands balling into fists, as though to ground herself.

“I…I know I said this already, but still, I want you to know,” her voice was shaky, but she continued to speak, taking a deep breath. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” The thing in his chest continued to flutter wildly, threatening to come out. “And I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Silence followed, likening to a pregnant pause, there was more she wanted to say, but the fear of having your feelings get the best of you seemed off-setting in the given situation, so she settled for that.

Before another word was said, she hurriedly grabbed the Midoriya’s box and clumsily left, completely red in the face.

He watched her leave over his shoulder, she almost ran into the gate, fumbling with the box as she headed to the Midoriya’s.

Suddenly, he felt lighter. The punch no longer hurt, leaving a bruise in its wake. This was the beginning of progress with her, it was something. Proud as he is, Bakugou’s never one to admit his mistakes, but for her, he’ll try.

If anything, she was right about everything she thought about him. Especially the part that he was lame.

masterlist • eight

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou katsuki angst fic #bnha #bnha fic #bnha angst #bnha angst fic #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #mha fic #mha angst #mha angst fic

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chaseatinydream · 4 years

Text

pirate king (18) || atz

You and Wooyoung are sitting in the rigging, staring out to sea.

The Treasure has left Tortuga for a few days now, sailing in the open sea for the town of Nassau. From what Wooyoung has told you, Nassau, Seonghwa’s hometown, used to be a port thriving with pirate activity… until one day, the Royal Navy decided retake the town from the pirates. Pirate ships were burnt to the ground, the crews hung at the gallows and anyone associated with them brought in for questioning.

It is during that purge that Seonghwa’s parents were killed.

Seonghwa has finally left the confines of the galley, escorted to the sickbay to sleep and rest. Yunho is keeping a vigil beside Seonghwa, while you’ve taken over his cooking duties and Yunho’s lookout role. You may not be as well suited to the job as the two of them are, but it’s the most you can do for being to blame for Seonghwa’s condition.

If only you had known what to do.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

If only you hadn’t let the herbs be stolen.

You know it’s stupid, but the thoughts won’t stop echoing in your head.

If only you hadn’t gone out to celebrate your name.

You chew your lips.

If only you hadn’t come to this ship.

Guilt tears at you from the inside like the teeth of a piranha. The pain is all too acute, all to real.

“Hey.”

You’re jerked back from your thoughts by Wooyoung, who’s grinning at you. Somehow, the head gunner has pushed past the air of gloom surrounding the ship, managing to keep a broad smile on his face despite the weight on everyone’s shoulders. How he’s doing it, you don’t know, but part of you resents how easily he can seem to forget that Seonghwa is still in the sickbay, struggling to block out the voices of his dead family from his ears while all of you are absolutely powerless to help.

Even now, Seonghwa’s still refusing the sleeping incense, but Yeosang has given given him back the steak plushie, which he hugs to sleep every night. Jongho helps by singing his hyung to sleep. San mixes relaxing teas for him. Captain and Mingi studying the overlay of Nassau, trying to find the most inconspicuous way they can enter the town without garnering the attention of the authorities.

It’s only you and Wooyoung who can do nothing. And the guilt you feel is swallowing you whole.

Wooyoung suddenly leans forward, shackles clanging as he uses his fingers to turn your mouth up in smile. “I’m sure captain and Mingi will think of something. We’ll help Seonghwa-hyung and everything will be fine soon. Don’t be sad.”

Anger rushes forth.

“Don’t be sad?” You snap, smacking his hand away. Wooyoung looks visibly wounded, pain flashing across his face as his hand falls to his side, but you’re too caught up in your fury to notice. “Seonghwa-hyung is in this state and you have the gall to smile and act happy?”

Something in Wooyoung’s normally bright viridescent eyes darkens suddenly as he silently watches you rant.

“I hate how you’re still so happy go lucky! It’s like you don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone even though you’ve had family like Jongho-hyung and Yunho-hyung!” You continue raving, not seeing the way Wooyoung’s fingers clench so tight around the ropes his knuckles turn bloodless. “ I’m the only one who has no family, alright? I’m not like all of you, I don’t know what it’s like, but you’ve had family before, so shouldn’t you try to be more understanding?”

Silence falls between the two of you as you finish. Then you realise that you’ve just literally just thrown everything, your hurt, your pain, your guilt onto Wooyoung, who must be suffering too somewhere deep down inside. To your horror, his head hangs low so that you can’t see his expression, but from the way his shoulders are curled in on themselves, you must have wounded him deeply. Regret and guilt fills you.

You can’t seem to do anything right.

“Wooyoung-hyung, I’m sorry-”

“What else am I supposed to do, then?” Wooyoung breathes, turning to meet your eyes head on. You desperately want to look away, but his gaze is unbreakable as steel. There’s something utterly frigid about them, almost terrifying, like a dragon rearing its head. “Cry? Complain? Feel pity for myself? Curl up in a ball and hide until all the problems disappear?”

That’s exactly what you want to do right now under the weight of his of his intense stare, pinning you down.

“Hyung, I didn’t mean it-”

“You did.” Wooyoung cuts you off fiercely, his green eyes burning. “You meant every word of it and I don’t blame you. But I want you to know that I don’t intend on moping around because that’s not going to help anything. So get those stupid thoughts about it being your fault out of your head because none of them are true and smile because you need to believe things can get better.”

The resolve in his voice is unshakable, and you curl in on yourself to avoid Wooyoung’s stare, shame burning on your cheeks. All this while, you’ve only been thinking about yourself and your guilt, forgetting that you also affect the members of the crew and that moping around hasn’t helped at all.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper quietly under your breath, but Wooyoung hears you anyway and his smile returns once more.

“I forgive you.” He beams at you gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your head rests against his shoulder, seeking comfort. “I understand.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you swallow down your emotions. Right. Smile. Be positive. Staying negative isn’t going to help anything.

Then Wooyoung frowns as he looks down onto the main deck. “Yeosang is coming over. I wonder what he needs.”

“Wooyoungie! Is Chin Hae up there with you?” The navigator stops in front of the main mast, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks up. Wooyoung nods. “Yeah! Do you need him?”

“Can you tell him to come down? I have something to discuss with him.”

You frown, a little confused as Wooyoung glances at you in surprise. Then he leans forward to pinch your cheeks into a smile again, mirroring his own. “Go on. Don’t forget to smile.”

You manage a real smile for the first time in days.

“Thanks, Wooyoung-hyung.” You say as you climb over the side of the crow’s nest, making your way down and dropping lightly to the main deck. Yunho would be so proud if he saw you doing that. “What do you need, Yeosang-hyung?”

“San spoke to me earlier about your encounter with a fortune teller.” Yeosang explains to you as the two of you make your way across the main deck. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s talking about. “Since Hongjoong-hyung is steering and Mingi is sleeping in the main hold, the captain’s quarters are empty and I thought that I could take this time to research on what the fortune teller said with you.”

Your heart leaps into your chest with ecstasy at what this could mean, but then you pause a little.

“Should we be doing this now? With everything that’s going on?”

Yeosang stops in the middle of pushing open the door to the captain’s cabin to look at you seriously. You’ve never realised how big and clear his eyes are, completely genuine and free of any trace of ill will. “It’s not like we can do anything now. What we can do is keep our spirits up and be strong for Seonghwa-hyung until we reach Nassau. And you’ve been looking down lately, so I thought I could try to cheer you up by clearing some of your questions.”

Warmth blooms in you at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Yeosang-hyung.”

The navigator smiles happily at you, almost radiant. “No problem. It’s my honour you’d trust me with such an important piece of information.” He opens the door and ushers you in.

You’ve never been in the captain’s cabin without the captain being present, so the room is unnaturally quiet and still. Yeosang, however, seems to know the room like it’s the back of his own hand, moving towards one of the shelves at the far end of the room while you hover awkwardly at the door.

“Please sit.” He indicates to the bed as he pulls out a scrap of parchment. You recognise it as the one Seonghwa had written your prophecy on the other time when you were discussing your visit to the fortune teller. Yeosang brings the paper over to you.

“So, what part haven’t you figured out?” He asks seriously, as he reaches in his pocket for a small wooden case, producing a pair of thin, gold rimmed eyeglasses and placing them on his nose delicately. You look over the words.

“The sea witch and the jar of clay.” You answer honestly.

Yeosang nods and moves over to his array of books. The walls are covered in them, from texts to maps to travel rutters to books of varying languages. There are even some tied up in stacks and placed neatly on the floor, all of them well kept and not a speck of dust on them.

He pulls out a few books, putting them in his arms as he mumbles to himself, eyes flitting among the shelves. Then he returns to you, setting the books on the table with a huff. “Let me look through these for a moment.”

You study him intently as he flips through the books faster than you can blink, fingers flying along the pages. The title on some of the books read ‘Legends of the Sea’, ‘Mythical Folk’ and such.

“The sea witch is a powerful entity who was once human with a bond to both the land and sea. She holds immense power, drawing upon the sea to cast spells. In return for a high price, she grants both magical and non magical folk alike what they desire.” Yeosang reads aloud, meticulously focusing on every detail. “Only people in great desperation can find the sea witch, as her lair lies hidden in a magical realm of the sea in which mortals cannot find. The entrance is rumoured to be off the coast of several uninhabited islands in the Atlantic, guarded by the sirens and fierce tidal straits rip through the waters, smashing any ship that dares pass through.”

“That’s… good to know.” You swallow uncomfortably. The only one who probably knows exactly who you are, and she’s probably out of reach. You’re unwilling to put the crew in danger because of your own problems.

“Those who have made a deal with the sea witch tend to have a token on which the deal was sealed.” Yeosang continues, glancing at the necklace hanging from your neck. “The price is often exorbitantly high, and is rarely something of material worth. It often is something of immense value to the person making the deal.”

Your memories.

You had given up your memories.

“In popular folk stories, she was responsible for taking the voice of a mermaid who’d fallen in love with a prince of the land in return for her legs. She also gives out pieces of ropes with three knots. Pulling the first knot could yield a gentle, southeasterly wind, while pulling two could generate a strong northerly wind, but the third knot would unleash a hurricane.” Yeosang looks slightly interested. “Hongjoong-hyung has one of these, but he’s used the first knot already.”

“Really?” You gape. This sea witch can’t be mere legend now.

The navigator nods as he picks up another book. “We were being chased by the Royal Navy, but he used the wind to blow the ships away. That’s when hyung really started to believe in myths a little.”

He opens a book called ‘Symbolism Through Ages’. “Jars of clay, jars of clay… Jars of clay refer to humans. In many books such as the Holy Bible, humans were described to be jars of clay, having mortal bodies while holding precious souls of great value in them.”

A jewel resting in a jar of clay.

Yeosang’s eyebrows pinch together as he continues reading. “This is a interesting explanation, but not rather helpful as it’s quite metaphorical. You said that the fortune teller asked you who’d made you?”

“Yeah…” You shiver a little at the words. “Then she told me the sea witch was my mistress.”

Yeosang frowns thoughtfully, and you can literally hear the gears in his mind turning. He picks up another book, flipping through it absentmindedly as he glances through it. “Made… Clay… Vessel… Humans… Sea Witch… Bargain...”

Then he stops.

All at once, his eyes fly wide open, pupils dilating in realization, mouth going slack, face ashen. The expression on his face can only be described in pure, unadulterated shock, and he stops breathing for a second as if air has trapped itself in his lungs.

Your heart skips a beat in excitement.

“Did you find something?” You begin to ask excitedly, but Yeosang barely seems to hear you, staring in horror at the page, then at you.

Unease begins to crawl up your skin, but you force it to the side and ask. “Yeosang-hyung… what is it?”

That seems to snap Yeosang out of his daze and he desperately tries to smooth his face in a neutral expression, but he can’t quite hide the terror in his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just thought of something, but it’s no big deal.”

The way his voice is trembling tells you it is anything but.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and barely restrained anger. “Yeosang-hyung, what are you hiding from me?”

“It’s nothing.” The navigator insists, slamming the book shut. You get a mere glimpse of the cover. Prome-, but then Yeosang’s hand slides over the title and you can’t see it any longer. “It’s nothing at all, so just let it go, please.”

Usually, you’d let anything he says go, but this is different.

“Then let me see it.” You hold your hand out to take the book, but Yeosang wrenches it from your grasp before you can even hold it, eyes flaring in panic.

“Don’t touch it!” Yeosang shouts furiously, clutching the book to his chest. Rage fills you, what may be an answer to your identity is right there, but Yeosang won’t give it to you. You storm over to him, ready to rip the book from his hands if you need to.

“What are you doing?” You snarl at him, almost animalistic as you reach to tear your only clue from him, but Yeosang shakes his head, arms folding around the book.

“You can’t see it!” He screams at you, tears streaming down his cheeks and you feel red hot anger thrumming in your veins, purring to life like an awakening monster. Icy calm washes over you, in complete contrast to the fury burning in your heart. How dare he cry as if he’s the one losing anything from this?

Yeosang must see the shift in your eyes as your expression settles into one of dark determination, because his knees start knocking uncontrollably and his eyes dilate with pure, undiluted and primal fear.

“Give the book to me, Yeosang.”

In this moment, Yeosang makes a decision.

His fingers fumble with the latch behind him. Before you can realise what he’s doing, he’s opened the pothole, turned away from you and tossed the book into the ocean.

You feel like your last hope has been crushed into shards and scattered to the wind. Broken fury and grief screams within you like two clashing hurricanes, tearing you apart and ripping through you. Your eyes land on Yeosang, who looks stunned by what he’s just done.

You finally manage to find words in your rage to convey to him what exactly you’re feeling now.

“I hate you.” You spit with every bit of loathing you can muster, and with that, you whirl around and dash out of the cabin, the door slamming shut behind you.

Yeosang doesn’t say anything. Instead, he merely slides to the ground on his knees, body curled into a ball, wishing he could beg for your forgiveness.

And his fist pressed against his mouth to stifle the sobs pouring from his chest.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez wooyoung #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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kopikokun · 4 years

Text

Pity Party Crasher༄ nakamoto yuta

↳ Just great. You’ve just been dumped at this stranger’s party and all you want to do is curl up in a corner and cry, which is... exactly what you do. To your surprise though, there’s been an uninvited guest to your pity party.

pairing: nakamoto yuta x reader

content: fluff, comfort fic, alcohol consumption

wordcount: 1912 words

author’s note: ehehe can you guys guess who yuta’s supposed to be? also, this is a little rushed which i hope you can forgive me for since it was supposed to be short but turned into a full oneshot

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

They don’t seem to stop. No matter how many times you swipe at your puffy eyes, the tears keep pouring down in a constant stream, falling in droplets onto the fabric of your costume and no doubt smearing your makeup beyond all repair.

People are starting to stare, you realise which does nothing to boost your crumbling self-esteem at the moment. Nobody even bothers to approach you and ask you what’s wrong. All they do is ogle at you like you’re some sort of strange creature at the zoo. But then again, if someone walked up to you right now and asked you what’s wrong, you’d probably start bawling like a baby and humiliate yourself further. Even so, you wish at least someone here bothered enough to ask you if you were okay. Call it selfish, but you really wish you had someone to turn to right now.

All this extravagance does not faze you though. The second the toilet door locks with a click, shielding you from everybody’s eyes, you make a beeline towards the toilet--well, one of the two toilets--flip the lid shut and fall into it. You tuck your knees to your chest, burying your face as you finally allow a sob to wrack through you.

In the back of your mind, the self-assured, rational part of you knows that this is dumb. That foul man doesn’t deserve your tears after what he’s done. He doesn’t deserve even another ounce of your energy or another second of your time. He deserves absolutely nothing from you, and you know that for a fact, yet the tears are still hot and wet as they continuously trickle down your cheeks.

How embarrassing, you think. Here you are, looking nothing short of stunning in your Halloween costume, isolating yourself in some stranger’s bathroom, mascara running down your face all because your no good boyfri--ex-boyfriend, stood you up and proceeded to dump you over text, leaving you completely alone at this party filled with people you’ve never met because he had pleaded for you to go. God, just thinking about it makes your blood boil.

Your very own pity party is swiftly sabotaged when you hear the unmistakable sound of a shampoo bottle dropping and a barely whispered, “Crap!” coming from none other than the bathtub.

At this sudden intrusion, you immediately lunge to your feet, grabbing onto the nearest available weapon (which is a hairbrush in your case) and soundlessly tiptoe towards the source of this mysterious sound.

You pause, swallowing dryly. “Hello? Is there somebody there?”

The shower curtains almost immediately slide open in response and a scream gets caught in your throat as you raise the hairbrush menacingly over your head, in what you think is the best position to strike this person in.

“Woah! Oh my God, calm down!”

The identity of the culprit is revealed, although upon seeing his face you still have no idea who he is and, more importantly, why he was hiding in the bathtub. The stranger has his hair dyed a bright, almost neon pink, and little equally as pink antennas sticking out of his head. It’s painfully obvious they’re handmade by how asymmetrical they look, but you applaud the effort. He has his hands up defensively as he peers at you with caution, like you’re some feral, untamed creature, though to be fair, you probably look like one. All this while, this weirdo is still perched in the bathtub.

“What are you doing in here?” you hiss, letting the hand which was holding your makeshift weapon fall limp to your side. The man’s shoulders visibly loosen.

“Look, I know how weird this looks--”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“But I genuinely didn’t mean to be here and listen in on you,” he says. “In fact, I was here first.”

While that statement is true, his argument just leaves you with more questions. “Okay, but why the hell were you camping out in the bathtub of all places? Who does that?”

The man smiles sheepishly. “Look, I have my reasons.”

You expect him to explain himself, but oddly, he keeps quiet. You tap your foot impatiently and cross your arms like a disappointed mother reprimanding their child. “Okay, well, do feel free to explain these reasons.”

“Okay, well, you might want to take a seat for this one,” he says, gesturing to the toilet you were previously sat on, and you can’t help but snort. Nevertheless, you take this peculiar man’s advice and sit back down on the cold, hard toilet lid. “So, long story short, some guy out there really wants to kill me.” He pauses for extra affect. “In the most agonising way he can come up with.”

You physically recline back in what can only be shock. “Oh, wow. You’re serious?”

“Excuse the pun, but yes, I’m drop-dead serious.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, that’s dumb. Why’d you choose to hide out in here of all places then? Why not just go home?”

The man’s mouth hangs open, almost like he’s about to say something in retaliation before he promptly shuts it. “Hey, you know what?” he says, head tilted. “I didn’t think about that.”

You roll your eyes at his confession, though you can’t wipe the amused smile from your face. You briefly wonder exactly why this man is on someone’s hitlist. But you think that asking that question would only lead to equally--if not stranger answers.

“What about you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you camped out here in the bathroom?”

You chew on your bottom lip, sudden anxiety beginning to grip onto you. You didn’t expect him to ask that. No doubt he had heard your heaving sobs through the flimsy material of the shower curtain, but you didn’t expect him to ask any further questions. Really, you were sure he was just going to brush it off and pretend like nothing ever happened, and that you were just in the toilet for more normal toilet-like business.

“I mean,” he leans on the wall behind the bathtub, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I totally get that. But if you want to say something, I’m willing to listen. I’ve got a lot of time to kill. Excuse the pun. Again.”

You smile softly. You’re not sure what exactly compels you to confide in this stranger, maybe it’s the genuine concern present in his voice, the delicate look in his eyes behind those green-tinted glasses, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s somehow made you at least chuckle, just moments after your breakdown, which in the moment, was something you thought you’d never be able to accomplish, at least for another week.

“I--” you start, searching for the right words to say. “I got dumped by text by my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend,” you correct yourself. “And I didn’t even want to be at this dumb party to begin with. The guy had the gall to beg for me to come, and fucking dumped me after I dressed up and everything. Through text.” Crap. You can feel them coming. Another onslaught of fresh tears bombards you. You try your best to suck them back in, but a few stray ones stream down your cheeks.

“What a dick. Without a doubt, I can tell that you’re way above his league. He’s just a fucking prick.” Somehow, him dissing your ex-boyfriend makes your chest feel a little lighter. “But hey, are you okay?”

You angrily swipe your tears away with the back of your palm. “Yeah, whatever. I’m over it.” You know that’s a lie. But it’s more of a lie to fool yourself into believing than the man before you.

“If it makes you feel any better, the guy who’s trying to kill me is actually my girlfriend’s boyfriend.”

“What?” you sputter. You blink back your visible shock. “You mean you were seeing some girl who’s already in a relationship?” You can’t hide the evident disgust on your face.

“No! No! Of course not. I’d never do that!” he almost yells, appalled you’d ever accuse him of such a heinous act. “You know me better than that.” Again, his antics bring a humoured snort out of you. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I thought she was single. At least, that’s what she told me, but obviously, she was lying. She didn’t think I’d be at this party, so she brought along her boyfriend and now he’s found out and he’s trying to murder me, hence why I’m in the bathtub.”

You grimace. You should definitely offer him some consolation. It’s the least you can do after what he’s done for you. “Are… Are you okay?” you find yourself repeating his line of question back to him.

The man grins lopsidedly. “Yeah, I’ve drowned all my sorrows in alcohol and,”--He reaches into the bathtub before pulling out and entire bottle of some expensive looking champagne--“I’ve got more.”

You snort. “You stole the alcohol?”

“In my defence, this is so little compared to what’s out there that I really doubt anyone noticed.” He shrugs. “Plus, have you seen the size of this house. I mean, take this bathroom for instance. There’s two sinks! Who the hell needs two sinks? Even if I stole a truckloads worth of alcohol--which trust me, I was tempted to do--that would barely scratch the surface of this guy’s no doubt massive alcohol collection.”

You slump in your seat. “You know what? A truckload of alcohol sounds really nice right now.”

“Is that you telling me that you’re willing to help me in my alcohol heist?”

You laugh. “What? I didn’t say that… Although, my little hands could probably hold a bottle or two…”

The man leaps from the bathtub, outstretching his hand to you. “Alright then, come along my partner in crime. I’ve got some crisps in my car and we’re getting wasted tonight.”

“You’re just inviting a stranger into your car?” you tease. “What if all of this was just some extravagant ploy to get me close enough to kill you?”

The man grins cheekily, rouge beginning to dust his cheeks from the alcohol he’s consumed. “I wouldn’t mind being murdered by such a pretty girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you scoff, a bit taken aback by this brazenly flirtatious comment. Admittedly, you’re not opposed to it.

You place your hand in his, and his smile broadens as his hand tightens around yours. His smile is infectious, you find.

“And what might be my partner in crime’s name, may I ask?”

The man laughs as he tugs you from your seat, and it’s the nicest laugh you’ve ever heard.

“Nakamoto Yuta. My name is Nakamoto Yuta.”

“Well, Nakamoto Yuta,” you grin, “lead the way.”

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

————

She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd.

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines.

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves.

It smells.

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole.

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back.

Hook lifts his eyebrows.

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop.

Quickly. Immediately, even.

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date.

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her.

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it.

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight.

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that.

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before.

That might not be the right word.

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here.

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

Her stomach noticeably sinks.

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook.

That’s more unimportant syntax.

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard.

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth.

He used her name.

Eventually that will feel very important.

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect.

God, he was good at kissing.

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling.

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now.

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once.

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again.

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace.

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore.

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her.

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room.

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing.

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement.

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on.

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then.

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet.

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand.

And one very specific finger.

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake.

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably.

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to.

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch.

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair.

Anywhere he can reach, it seems.

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least.

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good.

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing.

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous.

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing.

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream.

Ah, goddamn.

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch.

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked.

And who Hope is.

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain.

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all.

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds.

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth.

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent.

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips.

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland.

This has to be a dream.

So, it seems they live in a mansion.

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her.

That was never her strongest subject in school.

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion.

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint.

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter.

Emma presses her lips together.

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point.

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures.

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook.

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual.

It makes her mouth go dry again.

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers.

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really.

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them.

So as to stare at her incredulously.

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements.

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook.

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses.

Emma seriously considers dying right there.

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced.

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser.

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian.

That’s probably for the best.

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—”

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair.

He really likes to do that.

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him.

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly.

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable.

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality.

If her other assumptions are right.

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before.

His arm doesn’t move.

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here.

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway.

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly.

Not hers.

Not as is.

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face.

He tries to blow it away, several times.

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream.

She doesn’t want to know.

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly.

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too.

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like.

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue.

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks.

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here.

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses.

Noticeably.

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright.

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her.

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home.

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well.

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it.

As silently as possible.

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma.

In their bed.

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally.

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking.

Aimlessly, really.

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything.

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol.

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be.

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens.

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise.

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek.

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it.

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About?

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it.

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #i really will fill those other prompts now i promise #sorry i'm such a constant and consistent flake internet #also! this is apparently the 40th captain swan work of mine on ao3 #which is slightly skewed since there are so many collections but still #that's a heck of a lotta words #thanks for reading em

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linkspooky · 4 years

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The Kids Who Can’t Cry

Plenty of people besides myself have pointed out this pattern, but what does it mean? Why are Dabi, Himiko, and Shigaraki essentially the main trio of the league of villains all drawn making this face? Analysis underneath the cut.

1. Shigaraki

What’s important is all three of these scenes where Dabi, Himiko and Shigaraki are all drawn smiling in the most inhuman and unsettling manner possible are all parallels to one another. In those scenes the villain is talking with the heroic foil, and trying to express themselves some way only to be misunderstood. Shigaraki is with Deku. Himiko is with Uraraka. Dabi is with Hawks.

The common point between all three scenes is that these three characters are fumbling, trying to express something inside of them. The first scene happens between chapter 68-69 when Shigaraki wonders lost in the crowds trying to find an understanding with himself.

During the scene Shigaraki genuinely talks to Midoriya and asks him what he thinks. He expresses the feelings inside of himself.

However, Midoriya describes Shigaraki as someone he can neither understand nor accept. He rejects him entirely.

We, as the audience know all of the similiarities between Shigaraki and Midoriya. We know that Shigaraki was once Shimura Tenko, a boy with a dream of becoming a hero who was told by everyone he couldn’t. We know that Tenko once stood up to bullies and tried to make friends. It’s understandable that Midoriya doesn’t understand this, he’s not a mind reader, but there’s still a great deal of ignorance in the way Midoriya acts.

Shigaraki shows clear signs of trauma and mental illness, especially in his connection to All Migt, and yet Midoriya’s understanding of him is shallow and two dimmensional. He can’t possibly conceive of Shigaraki having any othr motive for hurting people besides “Wanting to destroy them.”

Shigaraki is trying to express himself to somebody unwilling, and unable to understand him despite all the similarities between them. This is a pattern in hero society, immediately after the UA attack nobody can conceive of a reason why Shigaraki would want to attack UA besides him being a man-child who enjoys destruction.

When Midnight suggests that somehow Shigaraki might not have gotten the same quirk counseling as everyone and that’s why his quirk is out of control and he uses it so dangerously, Vlad even directly questions why they should even bother talking about his motives.

Does Deku have to go out of his way to try to understand the motives of him and his friends? No, not necessarily. However, Deku is somebody billed as an empathic and caring character. It’s a character willing to empathize with anyone before this point showing a complete lack of empathy. To a character who shows clear signs of instability and mental unwellness. Shigaraki’s genuine signs of trauma, his itching, his fickleness, his inability to process his emotions in a healthy way just get him demonized as a man-child.

The kid who was able to see the kindness, in Eri’s quirk.

The hero who says that he can’t call himself a hero unless he saves a crying little girl in front of his eyes. The hero who says he wants to save everyone, just sort of treats Shigaraki like he’s a one dimmensional monster even though his circumstances are literally exactly the same as Eri’s. Just because Shigaraki can’t cry the same way Eri can. But some people smile when they express trauma.

When Shigaraki experienced the worst trauma of his life, he smiled and tried to ask for help when his family just died five minutes ago, and this was used to deahumanize him and as an excuse for everyone else in the busiest intersection on the road to ignore him. This didn’t just happen to him as an adult, it happened as a kid as well, nobody helped because he couldn’t beg and cry for help, because he looked ugly instead of like a perfect helpless victim in need of saving.

Shigaraki smiles in response to his trauma. He remembers his worst trauma, literally his family dying, and he grins. It’s literally an attempt to distance himself from his own emotions and process them because he has no healthy way of doing so otherwise. He’s trying to express himself in the only way he knows how and he gets ignored.

2. Toga

Toga acts similiarly to Shigaraki. She tries to express herself to Uraraka, tries to compare the two of them. As Himiko is much more emotionally intelligent than Shigaraki she also gives a voice to Uraraka’s innermost feelings.

Once again Uraraka doesn’t see her as a human, or try to listen to anything she’s said. Himiko isn’t a person with feelings and her own reason for doing things, she’s just a psycho.

Even though Himiko is really perceptive of Uraraka’s own hidden feelings the same is not true the other way around, even though we know that Uraraka is a very kind, emotionally intelligent girl who is always noticing the pain on other people’s faces she loses all that perceptiveness when dealing with Himiko.

Does Uraraka have to empathize with a girl literally trying to stab her and suck her blood? No, not necessarily. However, at the same time this is a character we are told always goes the extra mile to understand people, notice their pain, and always being motivated to help just kind of ignoring Himiko.

This relates to Himiko’s backstory as well. What was Himiko explicitly told to do by her parents? Always hide her pain. Always keep herself hidden for the sake of blending in. Wear a fake smile and be a nice, normal girl.

Himiko couldn’t even cry when she was sad and alone. She had to repress everything for the sake of being normal, for the sake of being acceptable to others, and now she doesn’t know how to anymore.

Himiko at least tried to be normal, tried to express herself in normal ways only to be misunderstood by everyone around her and is continually misunderstood and dehumanized even now. The easy life she wants is just the normal life that everybody else has, the one a normal girl like Uraraka has. But she doesn’t know how to express that, and Uraraka who has not been traumatized in any significant way doesn’t really understand what she’s been through. She can’t.

3. Dabi

We finally get to Dabi and his foil Hawks, where we can see not only is Dabi misudnerstood like in the previous two examples but his feelings are outright denied. Uraraka and Deku are ultimately both children, it’s understandable they don’t get the feelings of villains who have tried to kill him but this.

Hawks is not any better than Dabi in this situation. He just murdered Twice in cold blood right in front of him, but even though Hawks is actively the agressor in this situation look how he treats Dabi.

He accuses Dabi of nearly killing Twice, even though not only did Dabi show up to intervene for Twice’s sake, but he showed up to rescue Twice, from Hawks. The sheer gall of Hawks to try and kill twice but at the same time accuse Dabi of being the one to put Twice in danger.

The way they interact is completely different. Twice is someone who trusts Dabi. Dabi literally puts himself directly in between Hawks and Twice so Twice won’t get harmed any further. Yet, Twice still sees himself as the hero in this situation. Even while actively harming, and trying to kill Twice in his head he still thinks of himself as saving him.

Then after murdering Twice in cold blood after going on and on about how he was avoiding his vitals, and how he was going to carry him out of here and save him, when he’s directly confronted with Dabi’s anger over his dead friend, Hawks invalidates those emotions.

You’re not sad because you’re smiling. Hawks says. Hawks, literally the person who killed Twice, right in front of Dabi, then criticizes Dabi for not being appropriately sad about it. This is when Hawks has expressed no remorse for what he has done.

In his own head, Hawks is the hero and Dabi is the villain. Hawks feels guilty for his own actions. His own inhuman ability to shut off his own emotions and do what must be done. However, Heroes don’t kill people. Hawks must somehow remain the hero. He must be the one who is right. Therefore, he blames Dabi as the villain. Dabi is the scapegoat. Dabi is the one who was wrong. Dabi is the cold blooded killer even though he has done nothing more than try to protect his friend.

Dabi must be evil, must be a villain so that Hawks can be good. Hawks has to justify his actions and emotoins by dehumanizing the person in front of him. It’s not about Dabi at all. Dabi’s emotoins don’t even factor in or matter. It’s all Hawks self justification and the narrative he tells himself where he is the hero doing the right thing. And this is something that appears in Toga’s fight against Curious too, the villains literally have to fight for control of their own narrative, to be able to tell their story about their trauma in their own way because the heroes will always try to render it in easily digestible forms. They can’t be people, complex, messy people they must either be categorized as hero or victim.

Toga can’t be a normal girl, she has to be a martyr. Toga’s own feelings or opinions don’t matter. Hawks goes one step further and suggests that Dabi doesn’t even have feelings, he’s not even properly sad that his friend is dead.

Which Dabi finally replies with what is true for Himiko and Shigaraki. It’s not that he doesn’t want to cry, he can’t cry. Heroes continually confront villains with their actions and act like they feel no guilt at all, like they’re heartless psychopaths and treat them as such when the manga has shown us again and again the opposite.

Even if Dabi was crying his eyes out it wouldn’t matter though. Jin was crying, and that did not stop Hawks. The heroes who view themselves as heroes, who view themselves as empathic and good people who would never ignore a cry for help all stop acting that way when confronted with Shigaraki, Himiko and Dabi.

It eventually crosses a line into deliberate ignorance. It’s not seeing those on the other side as human beings, which is dangerous because it can literally turn murderous in the case of Hawks and Twice. It’s cries for help that go ignored because they’re not presented as easily digestible narratives. It’s a breakdown in empathy in a story where the stated goal of the main character is to be a hero who “never loses, and saves everyone.” There are people not being saved. There are people who are not being helped because they can’t ask for help.

Thanks to @savetenko for pointing out this parallel to me here!

#shigaraki tomura #himiko toga #dabi #todoroki touya #shimura tenko #uraraka ochako #midoriya izuku #hawks #keigo takami #league of villains meta #lov meta #mha meta #my hero academia meta #my hero academia theory

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its-nebula · 3 years

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You Could Do So Much Better

Leon Kuwata x Fem!Reader, inspired by the song "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavigne

Warning: Some cursing, slight NSFW?

I wasn't really that fond of Leon before starting to write this, but then this idea popped into my head and as I did more research I think I like him a bit more!! Anyways there's a lack of fics for him so here y'all go. This is looooooooonnng so enjoy

You were starting to get impatient now. You looked like a loser sitting on the bench by yourself, with your arms crossed wondering where the hell he was. He was never usually this late! Seriously, he could’ve at least called ahead and told you he was going to be late, or even a text would’ve sufficed! Well, whatever. He would explain himself whenever he showed up.

“S/O! Hey!”

Well, speak of the devil, and he shall appear. With... oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no he didn’t. Who was that clinging onto his arm, giggling like a little schoolgirl? Did he really have the nerve, the audacity, the gall to bring his girlfriend Sayaka along? Without so much as warning you? Immediately, you could feel the blood inside your body start to boil, but you kept your calm, putting on the must realistic smile that you could.

“Hey, Leon.” You greeted, and then you turned to Sayaka. He didn’t seem to notice, but she also seemed to be displaying the fakest grin that you’ve ever seen. “Hello, Sayaka.”

“S/O! It is so good to see you again!” Sayaka greeted back, in the most annoying voice that you’ve ever heard in your life. “Sorry that we were late, buuuuuut Leon and I got stopped on the way here by some fans, and we just HAD to take some pictures with them!” You winced as you heard the emphasis she put on the word “fans”, as if to rub it in your face that they were famous and you weren’t. She was doing it on purpose, you could feel it in your bones. It made you want to scream inside.

Leon nodded as he agreed, with a sheepish look on his face. “Yep, hate to disappoint the fans, y’know? But really, we’re sorry. Come on, let’s go now. Are you hungry?”

You were honestly famished after waiting all that time. “Actually. I’m-”

You were interrupted by Sayaka getting in Leon’s face, a pleading look on her face. “Would it be alright if we went in the music store first? I’ve been meaning to get a new tuner.”

Leon smiled at her. “Sure thing, babe! S/O, you coming?” He and Sayaka were already walking, so all you could do is follow behind them. At least you didn’t have to put on that stupid happy grin for a few minutes as the 3 of you walked around the gigantic mall. You did, however, notice her glance over her shoulder, smirking at you for a quick second before turning her head back to Leon. Oh, his girlfriend was such a bitch. Why was he with her again?

Well, he wasn’t always the “deepest” guy, in fact it wouldn’t be too inaccurate to call him quite shallow. She had everything he’d probably ever wanted in a girl; she was stunning, she was talented, she was insanely popular, and everyone seemed to like her. How could he not fall for her, while you were just some lowly Reserve Course student that he just so happened to take an interest in? He’d compliment you and pay attention to you sometimes, sure, but when Sayaka was around or when Sayaka called he would drop his so called “friend” and bow to her. Sayaka this and Sayaka that. Sayaka, Sayaka, fucking Sayaka. You hated it. You hated how he would talk about how hot her body was, or how good it felt to touch her in various ways, but he could talk about this stuff to you, because you’re just friends, right?

Oh, whatever. All that did for you is confirm how you definitely won’t be anything more than friends anytime soon. Yes, you longed to be the one to feel his touch. How desperately you wanted to feel his lips on yours, his fingertips sliding up and down your sides, trying to pull you closer to him. “Sayaka who?” Is all you wanted to hear him say to you, before he started kissing slowly down your neck, biting and leaving marks that would surely be there for days.

Alas, it was just a fantasy, and you were stuck with the couple laughing giddily with each other, listening to samples off various music CDs and commenting on them. It made you want to throw up, but you couldn’t help but think as to why that couldn’t be you. She was not right for him, and you knew it. That made seeing them kissing and forgetting about you-- even when you’re right there-- all the more painful.

Finally, Sayaka found her way to the tuners, and she said that she would check out and would be right back.

“Leon, you know you can do better than her.” You said bluntly, but quietly, as she sashayed off.

“Pfft. What, better than a pop star? Do you think I’m stupid or somethin’?” He laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Get real, what isn’t there to like? I’ve met a lot of ladies, but she’s totally hot, she’s-”

“Rich, popular, blah blah blah, I know, I know.” You interrupted him angrily, rolling your eyes and turning your back from him, shrugging his hand off. You let out an even angrier sigh, trying your best to calm yourself down.

“Yo, are you okay?” His voice lowered. “You’re not still mad about us being late, right?”

“I’m fine.” You grumbled, and walked out of the store, deciding to just wait for them outside. You leaned against the wall, attempting again to calm yourself down.

“Where are you going?!” So he’d run after you then. Just great. Why was he pretending to care about you now? Didn’t he have a girlfriend to look after? “You don’t look alright to me. Really, what’s wrong?”

“I said nothing, Leon, I’m fine.” You stated again. “Go back to your girlfriend who you love so much.”

“But I don’t...!” He let out a long sigh, crossing his arms. “What is it, did she say something to you? I wanna know!”

“Why do you care?” You snapped, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously you worship the ground she walks on.”

Leon’s eyes darted back to the door for a second, but he moved closer towards you. His voice got quieter, and his expression got more serious. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, S/O.”

You could feel yourself blushing at his sudden closeness, but you couldn’t let yourself lose composure like this, or else he would definitely know how you felt about him. Instead, you avoided eye contact, but you couldn’t help but glance into his eyes occasionally. God, he was so close. You could smell his cologne wafting into your nose, and lord, did he smell good. All you wanted to do was just pull him closer and...

“Leon? Where did you go?”

“Shit!” He whispered and turned around quickly. You could’ve sworn you saw a blush on his face, but now the moment was ruined. “U-Uh, I’m right here!”

“There you are! What are you two talking about?” She asked innocently, her eyes darting back and forth between you two. However, you could tell by her expression that she saw at least something.

“It was nothing! Nothing at all.” Leon laughed nervously, scratching his neck. You didn’t say anything, just looking away from both of them.

“Right...” She eyed you suspiciously, before clinging on to her boyfriend’s arm once again.

Leon cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. “H-Hey, um, do you guys wanna see me hit a few pitches? I know where the batting cage is around here!”

“Sure!” Sayaka chirped as they started to move together again. Well, it was fun while it lasted, but now it looks like you were the 3rd Wheel once more. Just what you always wanted, right? Yay!

As he went to set himself up in the cage, Sayaka turned to you. If looks could kill, you would most definitely be on the floor right now, dead as dust. “I see the way you look at him, you know. You need to stop.”

“Leon’s my friend.” You defended yourself. “We’re just friends. It’s not my fault you cling to him like a crazy bit-”

“Don’t. Say anything. About me. Do you really think he would believe me over you? All I have to do is give him one little night of fun and you’ll be gone so fast your head will spin!”

“I...” You didn’t have a rebuttal, because you knew she was right. You knew for a fact she was correct. After all, she had him, and you didn’t. She already won. “Fine. I’ll leave you both alone then.”

“He doesn’t need you, you know. You’re nothing. He has me. He probably won’t even notice that you’re gone.”

“Shut up.” Your expression darkened, and you balled your fists by your side.

“As if you actually have a shot with someone like him. Please, don’t make me laugh, If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay in your lane.”

Without thinking, you pushed her. She gasped, and she pushed you harder, causing you to fall on the ground with a thud. Leon heard this, and he turned around, his eyes widening as he saw the scene before him. “Huh? What the hell’s going on over there?!”

Sayaka instantly stopped what she was doing and started tearing up, trying to wipe her eyes of tears. People started staring at the both of you as she started to sob. Oh, now you’ve done it.

“S-She h-hit me! Why is she so mean to me?” Sayaka cried, and you could hear the crowd’s disapproval. Leon didn’t say anything as he looked at you pick yourself up and run out of the area.

Specifically, you ran to the nearest restroom, and started to cry to yourself while leaning on the wall. Who were you kidding? Everything she said was the truth. She and Leon were together, and you weren’t in her position, and you probably never would be. Why would you ever allow yourself to gain such an unattainable crush? You felt really, really stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...stupid.

It could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been seconds, you weren’t sure, but you heard someone opening up the door, locking it behind them. Wow, you didn’t even lock the door to the bathroom. How else were you going to mess up today?

“I’m sorry, S/O.” You heard a very familiar voice say softly. You lifted your head up to see the face of the one that you love. You were a bit confused as to why he wasn’t consoling his girlfriend right now, but you were in no mood to argue.

A bit of silence passed, and he decided to speak up again as you dried your tears. “So, she told me what happened. At least, her side of the story. I should’ve known.”

“Her side...? Y-You mean...?”

“I barely ever believe a word she says anymore.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky you don’t have to hear her whining and complaining every single day. Every time I try bringing you up, it’s like she turns into a total bitch.”

You blinked at him. You could honestly believe what he said, but why would he stay with her then? “But you always seem so in love with each other. You call her hot every single day.”

He shrugged. “She’s attractive, but truthfully, she’s nothing compared to the girl I really want to be with. At least she’s got brains, beauty, and personality.”

“The girl you really want to be with.” You repeated, thinking to yourself. “Who could that be?”

Without warning, he leaned down and connected his lips with yours. Instantaneously, your eyes fluttered to a close, and now you could feel yourself smiling. It just felt so right, being here in his arms. He laughed a little when he felt you smile, and he pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

After a minute or two, you pulled away for air, both of you gasping breathlessly. “But what happened to Sayaka?”

He kissed over your ear, before he whispered into it, “I could do a lot better than Sayaka, don’t you think?”

That was all you needed for you to passionately kiss him again, one of his hands in your hair, with the other one sneakily creeping up your shirt, which you happily let happen.

Looks like fantasies come true after all.

#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #leon kuwata #thh #imagine #leon x reader

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

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April Contest Submission #12: The Seal-Wife

Words: ca. 1,500 Setting: Scottish myth AU Lemon: no CW: coerced marriage

Long ago, when the world was younger and smaller, a township stood atop the great cliffs of Clo Mor. It was home to many, and one of those was a young woman named Anna. Anna was the apothecary’s apprentice, and a forester’s daughter besides, and so full well knew she the lore of the wild lands beyond the steadings, of the rivers and lakes, and of the great and endless Sea. She was a happy girl, or so folks would say, with a ready laugh and rosy cheeks, and her flame-kissed hair and emerald cloak left aught but smiles in their wake.

On the day her life would change forever, Anna walked the paths that led down the great cliffs, gathering golden samphire for her mistress. She stepped without a care down narrow ledges scarcely a hand’s-span across, for the heights held no fear for one who had walked their length since she could put one foot before another. Above her the sea birds squawked in their endless debate, and below her the waves beat the endless rhythm that every child learned in their cradle, and all things were as they should have been.

All things, save one.

On the rocks, far below, a patch of white seemed to glow against the umber cliffs. Anna climbed down, flower basket in hand, to see what had washed ashore. And when she had gotten a little closer, Anna was shocked to find it was not an old sailcloth, or a goodwife’s bedsheet blown far astray, but a woman. Naked she lay upon the sand, and for a horrible moment Anna thought her drowned. But her paleness was no corpse-pallor – her flawless skin was like cream on ewe’s milk, and her silver hair shone like moonlight. Anna could not help but drink down the sight of her from her stony perch. But then she spotted the tawny mass of fur piled next to the woman, like an old fireplace rug, and her breath caught. For the fur was no fur, but a sealskin, and the woman was no woman, but a maighdeann-ròin, or a selkie, as most folk named them, come to sun herself upon the shore.

Anna crept down the path as quickly as she dared, staying silent with all the craft she could muster. Two things she saw, as she came close. First was delightful confirmation that the selkie in her human form was the most breathtaking, exquisite creature Anna had ever laid eyes on, and so intent was she on her pale lips and the rise and fall of her breasts that Anna nearly stumbled from the ledge.

The second thing she saw was her brother, Kristoff, creeping down the rocky beach, one hand outstretched towards the sealskin.

Anna screamed, and half-ran, half-fell down the remainder of the cliff-side path, but it was too late. The selkie stood tall, and Kristoff was on his knees before her. In one fist she clutched fast his sandy hair. In the other, a knife of knapped flint pressed tight to his neck.

“Please!” Anna begged. She stumbled to a stop a respectful distance away. “Please, my brother wished no harm upon you. Please, do not hurt him!”

“No harm?” The selkie turned, and even through her terror the creature’s beauty struck Anna like a blow. She dragged Kristoff forward by his hair. He was a strapping lad, but she swung him forward with the same ease that Anna had swung her now-forgotten flower basket. “Tell your sister why you came upon me like a thief, man-o’-the-cliffs.”

Kristoff’s fearful eyes met Anna’s, and she prayed that he spoke true, even if his words damned him, for she’d been taught that selkies hated lies with a fury.

“It-it is said that if you can steal a selkie’s sealskin, she’ll not be able to return to the sea, and that for it’s safe return she’ll… she’ll have to… barter with you…” Kristoff’s voice trailed off, laden heavy with shame.

“Do you hear him, lass?” spat the selkie. “He intended not only to take from me what is mine, but to use it to compel me into some filthy act that he hasn’t even the gall to name.”

Kristoff’s eyes would not meet hers, and Anna knew that the selkie had the right of it. She felt disgust curdle in her stomach. “It’s just a story. A-a foolish lie boys tell each other when they’ve had too much drink and their blood is up,” Anna pleaded quietly. “Like pissing on wild oats or leaving mistletoe under the bed of a boy you like. It’s plain as day that he couldn’t have done you harm. Please, let him go.”

“Intention counts for naught, then, does it?” The selkie was still for so long that Anna was certain that her words had swayed her heart, but then she brought the flint again to Kristoff’s neck. “Nay, `twas my skin he sought to steal. And it’s his skin I’ll take in restitution.”

With a cry, Anna hurled herself at the selkie, and vainly she tried to pull the blade from her brother’s throat. But, however delicate her frame, the selkie’s arm was as iron forged, and Anna dropped to the ground at the creature’s feet, sobbing.

“Please,” she cried. “you have the right, but if it’s a skin you must have, take mine, I beg you!”

Kristoff cried out at this, but as hard as he thrashed in the selkie’s grip, he could not free himself. The selkie bent down and lifted Anna’s chin with the hand that still bore the knife. Her smile made Anna’s race. “And a far prettier skin it is, lass.” She sighed. “But… a man should pay his own debts.”

Anna clutched at her hand desperately. “If not my life you’ll take, then name your price. Anything I have, any service I can render, it is yours. Please, there must be something.”

At this, the selkie seemed to hesitate. “A… considerable offer, lass,” she muttered. She rose to her feet and offered her hand to Anna, who took it.

“My name is Anna,” said she.

“Well, Anna, tell me true: are there any oaths that bind you to the people of the cliffs? Any claims upon your person? Any debts you must repay?”

Anna did not hesitate. “No,” she lied.

The selkie pursed her lovely lips. “Say it out loud, Anna. Swear to it, on your brother’s life and fortune.”

“There are no oaths that bind me.” Kristoff sputtered at the lie, but Anna silenced him with a furious glance. “No man has claim upon me. I have no debts. So I swear, on my brother’s life and fortune. And my own.”

Her brother fell back onto the rocks as the selkie released her grip, and he gaped up at both of them.

“You are fortunate, little man, that your sister’s love speaks to your character better than your actions,” she said. “Now, go. Return to your homestead, and tell your kith and kin everything that transpired here today.”

Kristoff staggered to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me-“

“Kristoff!” Anna shouted. “Kristoff, please. Do as she says. And tell mother and father that I love them.”

He made as if to protest again, but finally he nodded in grim acceptance, and Anna and the selkie watched him scrabble up the cliff path until he was out of sight.

“That’s that, then.” The selkie turned to Anna, and she was somehow even more beautiful with the righteous anger gone from her face. She stepped closer still, and all at once Anna remembered that she was naked. Color leapt into her cheeks, and she had to struggle not to retreat from the selkie’s advance.

The selkie laughed softly. “Why do you blush, dear Anna? Could it be you’ve guessed what boon I intend to ask of you?”

“I have,” Anna said. And know full well she did, for if it wasn’t her life the selkie wanted, then only one thing would balance the scales against her brother’s insult.

“Lovely and canny. How lucky I am.” The selkie leaned forward, and Anna shivered as her lips brushed against her neck. Her hair smelled of salt and something wild. Anna yelped as teeth sank into her flesh, but in a moment the pain was replaced by a breathless, luscious feeling that rolled from her scalp to her toes and back again. She would have sagged to the ground if the selkie hadn’t held her fast.

“Elsa,” she mumbled to the air, though she knew not why.

The selkie held her tight as she caught her breath. “My mark will let you live in comfort `neath the waves for so long as you bear it,” she whispered into Anna’s ear. “And you read my name from it, just like that! Truly, the moon smiles down on me, to bless me with such a fine wife this day.”

And from the cliffs of Clo Mor, far above, Anna’s brother watched as the selkie led his sister by the hand into the great and endless Sea, until the red of her hair was lost in the churning foam.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part Two

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! Hello everyone, welcome to the next installment! I hope you're all doing well. Thank you so much for being here. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @cyaredindjarin @thesadvampire @robin-writes @buckysalefty

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse, non-graphic mentions of pregnancy/labor and birth, and threesome antics. Stay safe!]

"Again!" Oberyn demanded, wiping the sweat off his brow.

You feinted left, then right, the butt of your pike nearly striking the prince in the ribs before he danced out of the way. You grunted, discouraged by the fact that you still weren't fast enough to catch him. You had been closer that time though…

The prince laughed, the noise in and of itself immensely galling. "Perhaps if you land a blow on me today, my newest daughter will bear your name!" He taunted. "Shieldove Sand has such a ring to it."

You leveled your pike at him. "Save your teasing for your courtiers, Prince Oberyn!" You snarled, "I am in no mood for your damned japery at my expense!"

"Hold." Oberyn ordered sharply.

You slumped a little, your grip on the pike loose now. "I...I apologize, your highness."

"You are concerned about her." It wasn't a question and you well understood that.

"I am." You allowed softly.

Ellaria had gone into labor several hours before and Oberyn had specifically sought you out for some particularly grueling training. His smile was tight-lipped as the two of you squared off in the empty training courtyard. You knew he was worried as well, but you were bordering on frantic.

Oberyn's heavy sigh took you by surprise. "I would give every breath in my body to be there with her, but I am told it is an excessively messy affair. She does not wish for me to see her birth." He said bluntly. "Every time it is like this. Every time I am caged, constantly pacing, driving myself mad with thoughts that grow more and more dark as the hours pass."

You bit your lip and then laid a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry Oberyn, I didn't mean to imply that...I know I am not the only one who fears for her safety." You apologized timidly.

He covered your hand with his own, thumb rubbing over your knuckles idly. "You called me Oberyn." He mused after a moment. You flinched, but he kept your hand where it was. "I am glad, my falcon. It heartens me to know that you think of her as I do."

"We can do naught but pray for her safety and keep ourselves busy until she requires you once again." You pointed out, desperate to change the subject so he wouldn't dwell on your error of addressing him by his given name. "I must train even harder, for what if the new babe is like your Sand Snake Elia?"

Oberyn burst out laughing, bumping his forehead into yours. "Truly, what if! We will have no choice but to rally the guard at that point. No one will be safe." You couldn't help your smile when he looked at you, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Thank you for the levity, my falcon."

"I live to serve, your highness."

He sighed heavily, knocking the butt of his spear against the ground. "How many times must I insist you call me Oberyn?" The prince began to back away, his spear twirling easily in his deft hands. You shook your head ruefully and did not reply, your own weapon in a low defensive position. "Prepare yourself, Ser Shieldove! You face the Red Viper of House Martell!" He announced with a grand flourish, charging in afterwards.

You easily parried his first strike, and dodged his second. The third rasped against your chain mail loudly, making the prince grin triumphantly before you brought the haft of your pike up and threw him back a step. "Too cocky, princeling!" You admonished, startling another laugh out of him. "You'll have to do better than that!"

Your pike thrust out and he slipped around it like the snake he was, his own mail clicking with the sharpness of his motions. You scoffed, swinging the shaft instead to finally catch him firmly in the ribs. The prince staggered, but quickly took advantage of your shock as his spear jabbed low, aiming for your legs.

At the pressure of meeting your body, the safety binding around the blade of the spear tore slightly. You felt something catch on the inside of your unarmored thigh when Oberyn snapped his wrist back, his spear singing through the air with the speed of his retreat. You caught his next attack with the palm of your hand around the haft of his spear, halting the blow before it could land. "Mind your blade." You warned, tipping your head to the now-exposed metal at the head of his spear.

Oberyn nodded, then his eyes widened. As he strode forward, your thigh began to sting. You glanced down, startled by the amount of blood that already darkened your hose. Oberyn shoved you back a step with the force of his approach, his fingers tearing at the laced placket on your trews.

"W-What are you doing?!" You protested, your voice pitched abnormally high out of fear as you slapped your hands down over his own to still them. He was too close, why was he-

"I have just slit your leg open and you ask what I'm doing? I should have made you wear your cuisses, I am a fool." He hissed, "Sparring with you while we are both in turmoil was me tempting fate, and now you...have…"

His words faded after he gave up on your placket and simply tore the hole in your hosiery a bit wider, exposing more of your bare thigh. You closed your eyes tightly, not wanting to see his face.

"Ser Shieldove, what are these marks from?" Oberyn queried after a moment, his trembling fingers grazing one of the many silvered scars.

"Pinching, Prince Oberyn." You answered softly.

"Pinching." His voice was flat with disbelief.

"When I would make noise or cry out during, Prince Oberyn."

"Gods, what?" Oberyn breathed.

You shrugged helplessly. "He did much worse to others. I was useful." You were certain he must be staring at you, but you could not bring yourself to meet his eyes.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he embraced you, pulling you into his chest and resting his forehead against your temple. "That is...barbarous, monstrous." He seethed. "To so boldly attempt to rob you of any delight you might ever have--I tremble with rage!" His laugh was sardonic, bitter, and he was indeed shaking. "So that you can feel the echoes of his lecherous manhandling, every time you bathe or dress?"

"I do not believe he expected me to escape." You admitted, startled by his rough inhale of breath. "I believe he expected me to perish one of those nights, but I was hardier than his usual playthings."

"No more, falcon." Oberyn whispered. "Please. My heart breaks at the notion of you enduring such heinous treatment." He kissed your forehead and you flushed. This was far removed from his usual lighthearted flirting! He sounded distraught, burying his face in your neck as he continued to hold you.

My heart breaks…

Slowly, hesitantly, you raised your hands to rest on his back. Your fingers fumbled for purchase momentarily on his armor. If he merely sought you out for comfort because Ellaria was indisposed, then comfort him you would. Somehow. "I have survived him, however." You sighed. "And thanks to you, he will not harm anyone ever again."

"It feels like too little in the wake of his reign of terror." Oberyn muttered. "I did it solely for my sister, for the dashed body of my infant nephew and the slaughter of my niece, but had I stopped to think about the debt that man must have wracked up with his nightmarish actions…" He trembled again. "It is as though I was picked by the gods themselves to strike him down. Why me, I wonder?"

His palm covered the wound he had created, pressing down steadily as he helped you hobble to the nearby bench. "You worry too much!" You waved off his concern, peering at the wound. It was deeper than you had anticipated, but it was still hardly a scratch to someone like yourself. "This parchment cut shall not fell me. Unless you've poisoned your blade, Red Viper?"

"Never!" Oberyn protested. "I would not gamble so foolishly on naught but a simple sparring match, Ser Shieldove."

"You do loathe losing." You teased. "You must tell your daughters I died valiantly, cursing your name while choking on my own spittle or something equally as glorious."

"It would be a death for the history books." Oberyn assured you, the furrow of his heavy brow lessening somewhat as he seemed to realize that you would be alright.

A servant skittered around the corner of the hallway leading to the training yard, her gauzy skirts bunched up in her hands so she could run freely. "Prince Oberyn!" She called, gasping for breath.

The prince whirled and you lunged to your feet, your leg forgotten. "Speak, girl!" Oberyn demanded of the servant, who had obviously run quite a fair bit in order to find him.

"Baby--Ellaria wants--come now-" The girl panted, gesturing vaguely behind her.

Oberyn was still for a moment, like he was frozen. You placed a hand on his rear and gave him a gentle shove, saying, "tell her no matter what happens, I am proud of her, Oberyn." The prince nodded hurriedly, shaking off his daze and bolting down the hall.

You grimaced. Hopefully, no one would question the blood that stained his hand and vambrace! You decided your best option would be to retreat to your quarters to dress your wound and wait, on the off chance that the prince or his paramour would deign to summon you.

You had hoped that the sparring would help you expend some of your nervous energy, but it did not seem that luck was on your side. You found yourself endlessly restless, pacing back and forth beside your pallet as the sun slowly sank. The bells for the evening meal rang out, but you ignored them.

You finally lit your lantern and settled down into the chair beside your bed, focusing on the flame that flickered in the glass panes. It was an old exercise, but comforting in its familiarity. You let your mind empty, let everything drift away until all that remained was the candle and yourself.

All I ask is that they are healthy, whole and strong. You were uncertain of who you prayed to in these times of meditation, daring to surmise that you prayed to anyone who might be listening. All I ask is that Ellaria is well, and the baby is well. Your brow furrowed. Please.

You did not know how much time passed while you were in prayerful contemplation, only realizing how sore your back was when the door to your quarters was thrown open. The sudden motion made you flinch in surprise, looking up. It was that same servant, the young girl, her face alight. "The prince and his lady have sent for you, Ser Shieldove!" she chirped.

Thank you, you threw your heartfelt gratitude to whoever might be responsible before snuffing out the candle.

Clad in only light hose and undertunic, you raced through the maze of outer hallways with all the speed and eagerness of a child. As you approached the birthing chambers, however, you attempted to calm your thundering heart and turbulent mind, slowing to an undignified jog.

The guard at the door saluted you stiffly, opening the door after a moment of floundering with his gauntlets. You crept into the room, closing the door gingerly behind you and then turning to survey the scene.

The first thing you noted was Ellaria sound asleep in the lavishly-structured bed, her arms supporting a swaddled, tiny babe hungrily mouthing at her breast. You heaved a sigh of relief, slumping back against the door. The next thing you saw was Oberyn beside the bed, still in his armor, with a second swaddled bundle cradled in his embrace.

The prince looked up at you and you saw that his eyes were glassy with tears. "I have been blessed." He said hoarsely.

"Two?" You whispered, barely able to believe it yourself.

Oberyn nodded, beckoning you closer. "Come see my first son, Ser Shieldove." He implored, his voice breaking. No longer caring if you seemed overeager, you strode across the chamber to the prince's side. Oberyn tugged at the swaddling by the babe's face, allowing you a clear view.

"Oh." You sighed wistfully, reaching out to touch his sweet little nose before you remembered your manners and snatched your hand back. This was a Sand, after all, and the firstborn boy no less!

Oberyn tilted his head towards the washbasin beside the bed. "Wash yourself, and you may hold him."

"A-Are you sure? What if I...gods, he is so small, Prince Oberyn." You whispered. Oberyn just nodded, gesturing to the basin again. You obliged him rapidly but thoroughly, washing yourself to your elbows and then patting your arms dry with the clean towel. You returned and you were confronted with the reality of a slumbering, swaddled babe being deposited into your arms.

"Cradle his neck, rest him upon your breast. The little ones have no real strength to hold themselves up." Oberyn instructed you softly, moving your hands until the baby was secure against your chest. "Look at him, just look." The prince didn't seem to be able to stop marveling at his new son, drawing a whisper-soft finger down the bridge of his wee nose. You were almost worried about the excessive attention he was giving to the boy, when he abruptly turned back to Ellaria. "Now, precious daughter, are you sated?" He cooed. Gods, domesticity suited him, armor and all. "Will you grant your poor mother respite? She has toiled long to bring you to my arms."

"Too long." Ellaria agreed, smiling wearily up at Oberyn. He kissed her forehead, losing the battle with his tears. "Do not cry, lover!" His paramour chided him as he sniffled.

"I am the most blessed man in all of Dorne and you would have me be stoic, woman? This one time, I'm afraid I cannot acquiesce!" Oberyn huffed, carefully scooping his sleeping daughter off of Ellaria's chest. You stifled your own giggles at the prince's petulant behavior, swaying back and forth idly.

Ellaria glanced up at the sound of your snorting, her eyes barely open as she smiled at you. "I am glad you're here, Ser Shieldove. I know my little ones will be safe now." She mumbled, obviously moments from falling back to sleep.

You nodded, chuckling at Oberyn's indignant grumble. The baby in your arms stirred and you began to sing softly, not wanting to disturb Ellaria. "The moon rides sand dunes home to me, she calls me sweetly by name. I am a child, a child of Dorne, the moon she knows my name." You crooned, still swaying to and fro in an attempt to lull the babe back to sleep. "The sun rides sea waves home to me, he calls me proudly by name. I am a child, a child of Dorne, the sun he knows my name." You continued to hum the tune, even as you felt the little one relax against your chest.

"How do you know that song?" Oberyn whispered.

You glanced up, but his expression was guarded. "I heard one of the older knights singing it and I asked him to teach me. He said it was a child's song." You replied, whispering as well. "I simply liked the tune. Should I not sing it?"

"I have not heard that song since I was only knee-high myself. I had all but forgotten it." Oberyn's eyes were thoughtful, the prince studying you closely. "You are full of surprises, my falcon. It gives me a certain joy to know that the first song my babes ever heard was Moon And Sun." His brow furrowed. "I cannot recall the third verse, the one about the stars."

"The stars crown mountains high above, unbowed, unbent, unbroken. We are the stars, the stars of Dorne, the world will know our name." You prompted softly.

"You have a lovely voice, my dove. Perhaps you are a nightingale?" Oberyn teased. "I shall ask you to perform at their naming."

"Your mockery always wounds me so deeply, your highness." You deadpanned. Tiny fingers wrapped around your index and you looked down, but the child's eyes were still closed. "I have been seized, it appears." You said with a smile, laying a careful kiss on the baby's head.

Oberyn cleared his throat suspiciously hard, thumbing away a few stray tears. You chose not to comment, allowing him his moment of paternal weakness.

…

You spread the blanket out on the ground in the blood orange grove, laughing when you caught sight of Dorea clobbering a nearby tree with her child-sized morningstar. "Lady Dorea! I believe you have vanquished that particular foe!" You called.

"Ser Shieldove, there is an orange that I can't reach and it is the best one! I need it for Mama!" She yelled back, bouncing on her toes as she tried to jump for the fruit. You shook your head, making your way through the rows of trees to where she stood.

The fruit was (probably) just within your grasp if you stood on your tiptoes and braced against the trunk of the tree. You stretched out your arm, reaching upwards and-

Someone's hands landed on your sides, pressing into your armor and lifting you with ease. You managed to grab the orange, laughing when you realized that it was Oberyn who had given you your boost. "Your highness! Thank you for your brave effort." You said with a grateful smile, tossing the orange to Dorea. The little girl tore off towards the blanket you had spread, hollering to the approaching Ellaria that she had the perfect orange for her.

You expected Oberyn to release you with some quip, but oddly, he did not. His touch was not particularly uncomfortable. Firm enough that you could feel it through your armor, but loose enough that you knew you could easily twist free should you desire to. In amongst the sheltering branches of the blood orange tree, the prince caged you against the trunk and studied you intently.

"Your highness?" You asked softly. "We should return, the children are-" His mouth on your own halted your words and you went stiff. His kiss tasted of fresh blood orange, tangy with citrus and you found yourself enjoying it a fair bit more than you should have, your chest heaving against his own when he finally pulled away.

"My falcon, my dove, shield of the Red Viper's clutch." Oberyn breathed, his pupils blown in the green-dappled light beneath the tree's foliage. "Forgive my impudence. Seeing you with my children stirs my mind to such wicked thoughts."

"Prince Oberyn!" you protested, your traitorous body still reeling from his kiss. But no, you couldn't, Ellaria-- "Please, you must think of your family." You insisted tremulously. "I will not let you ruin the beautiful life you have built for yourself. This...affection, whatever it is you're feeling for me--" You sucked in a sharp breath. "It is nothing but a misplaced infatuation. It will pass. You must consider your children, your highness, a-and Lady Ellaria."

"You truly believe that?" Oberyn asked, but he didn't sound angry. If anything, he sounded hurt. "You believe that I would seek you out due to something so cheap as infatuation? What, simply to exercise the power I have over you?" You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. "Your silence is damning, Ser Shieldove. I would never try to wound Ellaria or my children, just as I would never try to wound you. I thought I had made that clear."

His hand carded delicately through your hair, tucking a few loose locks back into your braids. "I do not believe you would purposely seek to hurt me." You amended finally, your gaze firmly fixed on the toes of your boots. "Many men do not realize the harm they cause, either through their actions or their wandering eyes."

"I am not many men." Oberyn replied softly. "I have lain with both men and women, my falcon. I know well the pain of careless touch and I do not abide by it in my partners." He stepped away from you after a moment, shrugging. "If you are so concerned about my infatuation, mayhaps you ought to ask my paramour what she thinks of inviting you into our bedchambers?" He suggested with a feigned attitude of nonchalance.

"Are you mad? Obe-Prince Oberyn, you are hers. There are certain things that one does not do, even as a prince of Dorne." You snapped, your turmoil adding a sharp edge to your voice.

Oberyn looked startled, then he had the audacity to grin. "I am hers, you say? You insinuate that I ought to receive permission? Then I'll go ask her now-"

"What? No, that's not it at--damn it, Oberyn, take this seriously!" You hissed, wanting to strangle him. "She has borne your children, have some respect for her and don't attempt to stray!"

Oberyn's laughter washed over you and you were torn between the urge to punch him in the gut and the urge to bury yourself alive. "Stray?" He finally sputtered. "Forgive my mirth, my falcon. I am...All I can say is that you really must speak with my paramour. I imagine the two of you will have a highly interesting discussion."

"Oh, of that I am certain." You said icily, stalking past him and heading towards the blanket where Ellaria played with the twins. You bowed stiffly and her eyebrow quirked, as if to ask what's wrong? "I will return to the water gardens, my lady. His highness appears to be in such ferociously high spirits I assume he will be more than up to the task of warding off any attackers."

"Do not leave, Ser Shieldove!" Oberyn boomed directly behind you, making you jump out of your skin. Gods, he could be so quiet! "I will maintain my composure, I give you my word!"

"It is not your composure I worry about." You shot back under your breath, making him struggle vainly to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit.

Ellaria looked back and forth between her lover and you, her eyes dancing like they did when she and Oberyn enjoyed one of their many secret jokes. "I see you both have been sampling the oranges." She commented pointedly, tapping her lower lip while winking at you. "They do stain so beautifully, don't they lover?"

"But Ser Shieldove has not even had any yet!" Loreza said plaintively, the younger Sand's red-stained fingers tugging at Dorea's hand. "We should get her some."

"Aye, how is it that you have blood orange on your mouth and not a mark on your hands?" Oberyn asked playfully, as if he didn't already know, this was all his fault!

You were back to warring between the two urges and the option to punch Oberyn, while absolutely certain to lead to your immediate incarceration, was looking more appealing by the second. You set your jaw, willing away the tears that were trying to build as Loreza set off with Dorea in tow. "I am--I am leaving now." You said thickly, cursing yourself for the sob that blatantly hitched your words.

Ellaria immediately noticed your discomfort, her smile vanishing. "Are you well, my dove?" You hiccupped roughly, nodding. Your performance wouldn't have fooled anyone, but Ellaria seemed to take pity on you and allowed you to dismiss yourself.

You stalked off through the orchard, trying vainly to stem the flow of tears that poured down your face. You finally stopped beneath one of the many trees, sliding down the trunk and wrapping your arms around your knees so you could hide your face as you sobbed. It was incredibly unfair of Oberyn to tease you so maliciously, but what did you expect from a prince? No doubt to him, the common folks' feelings were nothing but toys. Your heart had soared and broken all at once, leaving you feeling bruised and aching.

The summer of being wanted, desired by someone, the winter of knowing that giving in to them would destroy their happiness...

"Ser Shieldove!" You started, looking up. You hadn't noticed Loreza and Dorea returning from their hunt, the two girls arm-in-arm. "What happened? Did you get hurt?" Dorea asked worriedly, making your heart break all over again. "Should we get Mama?"

"Oh, no no!" You tried to assuage their concern, giving the two girls a watery smile while you cast your mind around for a suitable excuse. "I--I saw a bee."

"You're scared of bees?!" Loreza erupted incredulously. "I didn't think you were scared of anything!"

"Not even our papa!" Dorea paused, then added, "but I'm scared of bees too. I got stung once, on my foot. That's why I wear my big boots now." She said importantly, shuffling the aforementioned boots. They did look oversized for her stature. You had never noticed…

An orange was thrust at your face, Loreza blinking solemnly down at you. "We found you a good one. It's ripe, I promise." The two of them plopped down on either side of you like little sentries, Dorea brandishing her tiny morningstar.

You turned the orange over and over in your hands. "You know, where I am from, these are only for royalty." You began suddenly, digging your nails into the peel. "I had never even touched one before I came to Dorne."

"Never?" Loreza gawked, her own cheeks smeared with red from her feast. "I love oranges. Kumquats. Grapefruits."

"Lemons are better than grapefruits. More spicy." Dorea said firmly. "Like dragon peppers."

"I don't like dragon peppers." Loreza retorted sulkily. "They burn my tongue."

The two girls bickered around you while you slowly peeled and ate the fruit, your turbulent thoughts calming under the press of the mundane task. You felt foolish for letting your emotions get the best of you; obviously Oberyn only teased you because he knew he would get a reaction! You pushed away the memory of how gently he had tucked your hair back into its braids. It was probably a force of habit for him, having had so many daughters. It meant nothing.

You tore apart the last two slices of orange and slurped the juice off the heel of your hand, realizing that Dorea and Loreza had gone quiet. A quick look confirmed your suspicions: the two of them were sound asleep.

You exhaled through your nose, then settled back against the tree. You eased Loreza down into your lap, stroking over her hair absently. The little girl yawned, but did not move. Dorea slumped into your arm and you carefully wrapped it around her instead, keeping your hand on her shoulder so she didn't topple over. Your own eyelids grew heavy the longer you sat with the two little girls, though you knew you ought to be vigilant for any dangers that could be lurking. Worn out from your crying jag, you slipped from consciousness yourself.

You were roused what must have been hours later by a cautious touch on your shoulder. You jerked awake, your hand flying to the pommel of your seldom-used sword. "Tis' only me, my dove." Ellaria soothed, her hand resting on your shoulder. "You did not make it back to the water gardens, I see." She nodded downwards at the sleeping child in your lap.

The sun was hanging low and red on the horizon, casting a pink hue over the land. "Seems I didn't." You yawned indecently wide, then carefully hugged Dorea a bit closer. "The little ones found me an orange fit for royalty to eat, and we spoke of important matters."

"Oh?" Ellaria arched a brow.

"Bees, my lady. We spoke of bees."

"Have you found them, my love?" You heard footsteps approaching. "Ah! I should have known." Oberyn continued softly, obviously trying not to wake the twins that slumbered in his own arms. "Safe and sound asleep."

Ellaria roused her daughters, eventually permitting you to get to your feet and work the kinks out of your neck from sitting in such an awkward position for so long. "I believe we should speak." Ellaria murmured, placing her hand on your shoulder once again.

You shook your head violently. "There is naught to speak about, my lady. I assure you, I shall cause you no trouble." You knew that your tone was exceptionally weary, but you hoped she could forgive such indiscretion.

"Listen to Ellaria, Ser Shieldove." Oberyn demanded. "This is a mistake-"

"I'm well aware that what occurred was a mistake." You interrupted him through gritted teeth. "And as I said, Prince Oberyn, I will cause no trouble for you or your lady."

Oberyn opened his mouth to retort but Ellaria gestured for him to be silent. "Tomorrow, then?" She phrased it like a request, but you knew better than to think you could refuse her.

You bowed perfectly, your form ramrod straight when you saluted her and the prince. Your words were dripping with false sincerity as you stated, "Of course, my lady. I live to serve."

…

The dread that you felt permeated your very marrow. You were certain you would be sent away. What else did one do with a member of their household who was untrustworthy, especially if their partner proved they could not or would not stay away from such temptations?

This was surely the end of your proud career under the banner of House Martell. You were a fool for thinking that you could have been happy here.

You packed your few possessions with an air of sorrowful finality. You hadn't acquired much during your time in these lodgings, your living space admittedly Spartan. When you were summoned, the manservant found you sitting patiently on your bed in your armor, your satchel slouched on the floor.

"Ser Shieldove, Ellaria Sand requests your presence." The older man droned, raising an eyebrow at your state of preparedness.

You nodded, trying not to let your apprehension show as you thanked him and proceeded out into the hall. Your boots felt like they were lined with lead and your eyes stung from all the heartsick weeping you had done the night before. Your stomach would not cease feverishly knotting.

All too soon you found yourself at the door to the prince's chambers, raising your hand to knock. You hesitated momentarily, flattening your palm on the door and then resting your forehead against the intricate latticework. Your shoulders heaved with a single, soundless sob before you straightened back up. You would face this trial like all the others in your life, with some bare shred of dignity.

You knocked on the door. Upon hearing Ellaria's voice bidding you to enter, you unhitched the latch and let the door swing open. You ought to have known that Oberyn would be present as well. You weren't sure why seeing him standing on their terrace felt so...final.

"Ser Shieldove, you come dressed for war." Ellaria remarked, sounding surprised. "Please, set your bag and blade by the door."

"I sought to make my dismissal simple, my lady." Your voice rasped in your throat when you spoke. You made no move to come further into the room, nor did you release your hold on your bag. "We do not need to drag this out, especially not from some misguided desire to soften the blow."

Oberyn turned to look at you, his brow furrowed. But you only had eyes for Ellaria, the woman rising from her vanity to pad barefoot across the floor to you. She stood before you, unarmed, unafraid, her hair still loose around her face. "Why do you believe you were brought here for dismissal, my sweet dove?" Ellaria asked. Gods, gods, her tenderness was going to reave your soul from your body.

You swallowed hard. "I...forgive me, my lady. Please, forgive me. I was weak and permitted my emotions to get the better of me. I did not firmly reprimand Prince Oberyn when he kissed me in the orchard. I take full responsibility for my failure." You bowed your head in grief, your dry eyes burning. "I will not bring shame to your family with my indiscretion, so I come willingly to my dismissal."

"She kisses like a virgin, Ellaria." Oberyn murmured, a hand cupping his paramour's hip and tucking her into his side. "She kisses like she has never been kissed. It was divine."

You flushed hotly, certain that he was mocking you. "I cannot believe your cruelty." You muttered incredulously. "To jest about something like that!"

"Is it true, my little dove?" Ellaria purred, her hand stroking your cheek. "Do you kiss like a virgin?" You stared at her, thoroughly confused now. You did not even notice her other hand cupping your face, utterly transfixed by how close she was. She was so near that you could see there were tiny flecks of gold in the brown of her irises.

And then she kissed you.

Your satchel fell off your shoulder, hitting the floor with a muffled thud when you reached out clumsily, gathering the other woman in your arms. She let you, she let you, gods, she was kissing you and that was her tongue teasing your own. You whimpered into her mouth, bewildered and helpless to resist her.

"I think you are right, lover." Ellaria agreed after she took pity on you and allowed you a moment to breathe. "Hot and trembling and yet so, so eager."

"I...do not understand." You said weakly.

"Oberyn and I found long ago that we share certain proclivities, my dove." Ellaria explained, toying with your hair. "Particularly in the bedroom."

You felt like your mind couldn't catch up to your mouth, stammering, "S-So...wait, the both of you…?"

Oberyn, his chin resting on Ellaria's shoulder, gave you a sly wink. "Aye, my love has excellent taste." The man tugged Ellaria's dressing gown to the side, baring her shoulder so he could shower it with kisses. "We have a special affinity for strapping, chivalrous types."

"So I'm not...I wouldn't...the-the both of you would know about me?" You stuttered.

"What do you mean, my falcon?" Oberyn asked curiously.

"Well, I just...I assumed you were seeking me out as a--a secret. Something akin to adultery." Your voice faltered a bit. "B-Behind Lady Ellaria's back." You watched as understanding appeared to dawn on the prince, his brow furrowing darkly.

"Oh no, no no, gentle dove." Ellaria cupped your face with her hands. "We indulge together and we indulge openly. You would not be Oberyn's secret plaything." She assured you sincerely.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that I think so little of you!" You apologized to Oberyn, who still looked somewhat thunderous. "I was distraught and confused, your highness. You know well that I have been wounded before. Please, please forgive me." You wrung your hands fervently. "I would do anything to-"

"Be still, my falcon. You protest overmuch." Oberyn chided, his expression clearing. "If you believe that your simple misunderstanding grieved me, I should hope that you never heard all the terrible, salacious rumors spread about me in King's Landing!" He smirked. "Such imaginative people."

"They certainly had a strange way of slandering you." Ellaria remarked, her lips twitching into a wry smile. "Do you remember what they said about your cock?"

"Oh that one was my favorite." Oberyn, no doubt noticing your horrified look, began to laugh in earnest. "There was a rumor that my cock was the same as a horse's, you understand." He finally managed to explain. "Length, girth, a hearty amount of description went into this tale. I feared I would disappoint, after hearing such an inventive story about myself! Mercifully, none of the lovely women and men in the brothel seemed particularly distressed about me lacking a cock that would outright murder them. One poor girl swooned from relief, timid thing."

"Oh dear." You said faintly. "I mean, the rumors are not wholly unfounded, but perhaps slightly less exaggeration-" You halted abruptly with a sharp squeak of dismay, what had you just said?!

"Flatterer! Always, it's in your blood I'd wager!" Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "I believe it is due more to my age, prolific partners and casual promiscuity. No one there could fathom such a thing, though in Dorne we view it as a common practice. That and the unwavering love I had for all my daughters. They claimed I was barking mad. Surely, I ought to be cursing the Seven every time a new girl was born." He scoffed derisively, blowing a raspberry as though he was a child. "Instead of being delighted with a healthy babe to love and spoil, sing songs to and dandle upon my knee. Aye, Prince Oberyn is surely mad."

His hand reached out to cover Ellaria's on your cheek and you closed your eyes, leaning into their joint touch.

"Gods, is she not the loveliest woman you have ever laid eyes on?" Oberyn mused softly.

"Truly. So strong and brave!" Ellaria answered, making you flush with embarrassment and stare downwards. "Do not shy from such ardent words, my dove! They are spoken in truth, I promise you."

"I do not doubt your sincerity, my lady! It is just...it is overwhelming." You replied honestly. "A part of me is still that terrified woman from King's Landing, trying to barter for passage aboard any vessel willing to take me. That I would be rescued by the two of you…I never could have imagined this, even in my wildest dreams."

"It was a lucky chance that my dear Oberyn spotted you."

"I'd surmise more divine providence, but all the same." You smiled. "Thank you. Both of you. I...I know not what to say."

"Join us in our bed, gentle dove." Oberyn requested, his voice deadly serious. "Join us, my falcon." His hand slid beneath your chin, tugging lightly at your gorget and no doubt feeling your rough swallow. "Let us give you something good to think of on lonely nights when duty calls you elsewhere."

"I--I-I would very much like that, your highness." You whispered.

His fingers hitched your chin, tipping it upwards so he could see your eyes. "Oberyn." He said softly.

"Oberyn." You allowed yourself to say his name deliberately and he grinned, tugging at your chin playfully before he released you and stepped back.

Ellaria caught his hand, and then extended her own to you. "Leave your sword, my dove."

"The armor as well." Oberyn added, his smile growing wider by the moment as you began to hurriedly oblige. You were thankful that the leathers slid off over your head, but the chainmail shirt took a bit more twisting and turning for you to emerge safely. "Gods, look at her, my love." Oberyn sighed to Ellaria after you had fought your way free of the mail, "the pride of her, the way she stands. I would happily cultivate such splendor."

"You did, Oberyn." You pointed out, fumbling with your cuisses. "You granted me the opportunity, after all."

"Let me help you, my dove." Ellaria murmured, her hands covering your own. You grimaced uncertainly, glancing to Oberyn. "He told me of your markings. I am no pampered princess, Shieldove." The steel in her gaze was undeniable; she dared you to think she would cringe at the sight of your scars. "I bear many of my own marks. The life of a Sand is better than most, but still fraught with its own hardships."

You nodded jerkily, letting her assist you with removing your cuisses, greaves and sword belt before she ran her hand over the laces at your groin. You swallowed hard. "I do not wish to distress you, my lady."

"Only Ellaria here, my dove. Here and everafter." The woman said, her fingers tugging the laced placket loose.

Oberyn sauntered up beside her as she slid her palm to your hip, fingers spread on the hot skin she found there. "Your consent, my falcon?" He breathed against your jaw, placing a trail of kisses over the area. "I seek your enthusiastic consent. I seek to have you undone and crying out in rapture, but first your consent."

Ellaria's fingers teased at the waistband of your hose and you shut your eyes, gathering your courage. "Yes. Yes, I...I want. I want you both." You managed to say.

"Open your eyes, knight of House Martell." Oberyn ordered and you obeyed meekly. The prince touched his forehead to your own, his brows pulled low. "Your consent, Ser Shieldove. Look at me while you give it. Look at her while you give it. We need to know. We need to hear it from your lips. No hesitation."

"We will stop if you cannot consent, sweet dove." Ellaria assured you.

"N-No! No, I do want this, I swear I do. Gods, my head is spinning from how much I want the two of you." You confessed bluntly. "I am unsure of how to proceed. I do not know what to do. Forgive my inexperience." You held out your hands imploringly. "Show me what to do?"

"Never apologize for not knowing." Oberyn said firmly. "All man should ever apologize for is not being willing to learn." He stroked his fingers over your temple, light as a feather's touch on your skin. "And you are so, so willing." He whispered. "You have sought learning your whole life, my dove. Sought to hone your body, hone your spirit with songs and prayer. You have learned how to wield our weapons and cradle our babes with the same willingness that you approach us with now."

Ellaria enfolded your hands in her own as you processed Oberyn's words, each one saved in your heart like a precious treasure. All man should ever apologize for is not being willing to learn. "Will you…" you hesitated, biting your lip. "Will you help me learn?"

"Gods, I would eagerly kiss the breath from your chest." Ellaria sighed, her smile warming you from head to toe.

"Is it...considered strange that I want the both of you?" You asked warily. "I have never lain with a woman before, b-but I would...I mean, if I could, I would like...I would like to. Attempt to! That is." You fumbled, kissing her knuckles afterwards.

"You wish to drink from the pure springs of my paramour? A bold request. What will you offer me in return for my generosity?" Oberyn's lips brushed your ear and you quivered when he continued, "will you let me touch you as you touch her, my falcon?"

You raised your eyes to meet his, startled by the heat you found there. Did he really feel that strongly about you? You freed one hand from Ellaria and reached out to take hold of his light robe. "If you harm me-" You began to warn him, your voice catching in your throat.

"Sweet dove, he will not." Ellaria assured you, her expression serious. "Neither of us will. I promise you." She cupped your jaw, her thumbs grazing your chin achingly soft. "We of Dorne are known for our passion, but a fire is gentle embers before it is stoked to hungry flame. We will not harm you."

"This incredible, delicious display of vulnerability that you are presenting to us...well, it would be wholly inappropriate to squander such a gift." Oberyn's hand covered yours on his robe, larger fingers lacing easily through your own. "We will bed you, and we will love you, my falcon."

"Do you offer such pleasures to all your knights?" You queried, half in jest as you let him lead you to their sun-drenched bed.

"Only for the ones who break the Mountain's fingers." Oberyn chuckled, leaving you and Ellaria to settle onto the bed while he went to draw the thin curtains over the entrance to the terrace.

Ellaria pulled one end of the laces on your placket, her motions teasingly slow and deliberate. The lacing unwound itself, tugging free of the grommets until your sturdy hose were slouching open. Her hand pushed your tunic up slightly, enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach for her to graze her knuckles against, then her lips. Those fingers curled around the hem of your tunic, continuing to drag it upwards to bunch underneath your breasts.

"Her body looks beautiful like that, my love." Oberyn commented idly from his position at the foot of the bed. "Ser Shieldove, touch her hair, caress her. She loves to be touched while her mouth is occupied."

Your trembling fingers barely grazed Ellaria's luxuriously unbound locks, still smooth from being brushed, and you felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest. "May I…?" Ellaria nodded and you dug your hands greedily into her soft waves, half-sitting so you could press a lock to your lips. "Thank you, Ellaria." You whispered.

"Such chivalry! Perhaps we will consider parting with a few locks for you to carry into battle as a token of our affection." Oberyn kissed the crown of your head. "Regrettably, my curls are a bit shorter than hers."

"Mm, yours would make such delightful paintbrushes." Ellaria teased, continuing to cover the skin of your stomach with tender kisses and nips. She bit down gently on the waistband of your hose, looking up at you in question. You nodded rapidly and Oberyn settled into the bed alongside you, the man yawning wide.

"Watch her now, my falcon." He instructed, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of your stomach before this thumb slid beneath your bunched-up tunic. "She is such art, the way she moves. Had I the skill for it, I would write endless poems about the beautiful anticipation she inspires in me." His touch was light, teasing, forefinger and thumb pinched into the fabric of your tunic to ease it off the rest of the way. His other hand shot up to lift and cradle the back of your neck while he divested you of the article of clothing, the inconsequential motion new and gentle to you.

Ellaria rolled the hosiery off down your legs, the light breeches sticking to your heated skin. You were left nearly bare, the only garment still on your body the simple breast binding you used when you were armored. Ellaria hummed in satisfaction, drawing her hands greedily up your trembling form to seize the edge of your bindings. "Be naked for us, gentle dove." She crooned, her sweet voice dissolving your last fear. You placed your hands over her own, helping her to untie the frantically-knotted cloth.

Oberyn hissed out a breath through his teeth when your breasts were finally freed. "Gods, you were made for us." He groaned, "I want to grab handfuls of you and gorge myself on your taste, my falcon."

Ellaria wasted no time flicking her tongue over the stiff peak of your right breast, smiling when you threw your head back in response. Oberyn lapped sloppily over your left breast and then blew gently on the damp trail, forcing you to bite down on the heel of your palm to keep from making a sound.

Oberyn eased your hand away from your mouth however, grimacing when he saw the marks your teeth had left in the skin. His facial hair felt like pinpricks when he kissed your palm, his eyes solemn. "We crave your sounds, my falcon. We welcome them." He murmured. "You can be as loud or as soft as you want, but do not smother them before they can blossom."

Ellaria toyed with your nipple, rolling her index finger back and forth over it and you whimpered pitifully, blinking back the tears that rose and nodding hard. "I will try, Oberyn."

"It will take time, sweet dove." Ellaria's gentle smile pierced your heart, her soft words contrasting so vividly with her devious fingers. "Do not underestimate our patience. You are our knight, our shield, and we will cherish you as you ought to have been cherished."

Part Three

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Jin Rusong Lives / On AO3

An unpleasant but much needed conversation is had

Jin Yixin arrived to the Unclean Realm a few days after Lan Xichen did. Although Jin Rulan had written that she was an old woman in her seventies, she looked hardly a day over nineteen and behaved with timeless politeness. If Nie Huaisang had not been warned in advance, he might have mistaken her for a junior disciple of Lanling Jin, or at best for someone of his own age, and chatted with her as such.

In fact a few Nie juniors made that very mistake in the early days, apparently thinking that Lanling Jin had sent a nurse rather than a teacher. They tried to befriend Jin Yixin with a complete lack of care for her seniority, thinking she was of their generation. She did not scold them for their familiarity, instead explaining the true situation before sending them on their way. A few of the juniors still expressed interest in her company, impressed by her high cultivation and interested in anything that had to do with their sect leader’s ward, but Jin Yixin turned down any offers for tours of Qinghe or Night Hunts. She was here to teach Jin Rusong only, and had little interest in mingling, preferring to dedicate her free time to her own improvement.

At some other time, Nie Huaisang might have attempted to make her join at least some part of his sect’s life. If she was to stay for a long while, it seemed to him she should become part of the family, so to speak. But although her refusal to so much as eat with Nie disciples made him feel like a bad host, it was also a relief of sorts when so much of his energy was already spent worrying about Lan Xichen.

Not that Lan Xichen was purposefully causing problems, of course. In fact, for the first week or two of his presence in the Unclean Realm, he remained mostly confined to his room, to his bed even. Nie Zhilan, in her daily reports, said that he slept a lot. He only became active at night when Jin Rusong came to have dinner with him, and often begged to be allowed to sleep with his uncle Lan. That request was granted to him each time, which in turn meant that someone had to go to Lan Xichen’s quarters in the morning to help Jin Rusong get ready for his day.

Nie Huaisang missed sharing those moments with the little boy, whom he saw little of now. It upset him more than he would have cared to admit that their routine had been disrupted this way, but if it was to make Jin Rusong happy, he could deal with it. And of course Nie Huaisang could have been the one to go help Jin Rusong in the morning, if he’d wanted, but he thought he would spare Lan Xichen the displeasure of his company.

It was better if they weren’t around each other too much, Nie Huaisang had decided. Lan Xichen was there only because of Jin Rusong. Upon arriving in the Unclean Realm he had been too unwell to resent Nie Huaisang for everything that had happened, but that was sure to change as his health improved, and Nie Huaisang had no wish to bear witness to the other man’s hatred. That night at the temple had been enough.

It became harder to avoid Lan Xichen when Nie Zhilan decided that he had rested enough and was now in need of exercise and company. Jin Rusong was of course happy to provide both, having obtained permission to make his Uncle Lan visit the Unclean Realm to show him his favourite places. The two became an accepted sight in late afternoons, holding hands and walking together, usually discreetly trailed by a Nie disciple ready to intervene should Lan Xichen start feeling unwell.

It made Nie Huaisang happy that these two could enjoy their time together.

It would have made him happier if Jin Ruson’s favourite places had not also been the ones where he was mostly likely to spend time when he had a little freedom.

At first, Nie Huaisang managed to spot them coming his way and to escape unseen. Or else he would notice them when he was the one going somewhere they already were, and changed his plans quickly. It was unpleasant, and a little taxing, but he refused to impose his presence to Lan Xichen who would surely find it distasteful.

Of course Nie Huaisang’s luck had to run out sooner or later. After over a week of playing hide and seek, one afternoon Nie Huaisang found himself cornered in his aviary when Jin Rusong and Lan Xichen came to have a look at the birds. The two men stared at each other with uneasy expressions, Lan Xichen clearly unsure how to behave around Nie Huaisang now that he wasn’t exhausted to the point of sickness. Even Jin Rusong seemed to notice the tension between the adults and silently waited for one of them to speak.

It did something to Nie Huaisang’s heart to see Jin Rusong holding Lan Xichen’s hand, how that impossibly tall man effortlessly leaned toward the child to make it easier on him. Lan Xichen could have made a wonderful father. He would someday. Maybe without any previous hopes left to distract him, Lan Xichen would finally get married and have a family.

He deserved that happiness, even if it would break whatever was left of Nie Huaisang’s heart.

The silence between them lasted a while, until Lan Xichen, always polite to a fault, remembered his manners and decided to be the one to break it.

“I hope we’re not disturbing Nie zongzhu,” he said. “We were just…”

“Pretty! Pretty!” A shrill voice exclaimed behind Nie Huaisang, making all three of them jump.

As soon as he realised where the voice came from, Jin Rusong shrieked in delight. He let go of Lan Xichen's hand and ran to the mynah’s cage, startling the bird which turned silent again.

“It really can talk! Can it learn my name?”

The mynah hopped away from him, still wary of that little stranger, but came back closer when Lan Xichen too approached the cage.

“Hello little friend,” he said with a gentle smile and a gentler voice. “It had been a while. Have you been well?”

“Pretty! Pretty! What a pretty bird! Pretty!”

Lan Xichen laughed softly, and passed one finger through the bars of the cage to scratch the bird, which allowed it easily.

“Yes, you’re still the prettiest bird around,” Lan Xichen said. “The vainest too. I wonder if your master would let me feed you a treat?”

“Pretty bird, treat for the pretty bird!”

Nie Huaisang made a face, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. When Lan Xichen turned to look at him, silently asking if he could be allowed a treat for the mynah, Nie Huaisang hurriedly looked away to hide his emotion and went to pick some pieces of dried fruit he kept around. He gave a slice of apple to Lan Xichen, and another to Jin Rusong who was now frowning at the bird.

“Something wrong, SongSong?”

“It’s still not talking to me,” Jin Rusong sighed. “It was speaking to uncle Lan, not me. It hates me.”

“Of course it doesn’t hate you,” Nie Huaisang protested. “I’ve told you before, that bird just finds it a little hard to trust anyone. It will come, though. Before today, it wouldn’t even speak in front of you, right? So be patient.”

“But it talks to uncle Lan!” Jin Rusong complained, tears of frustration forming at the corner of his eyes.

Lan Xichen removed his finger from the cage and knelt down next to the child, apparently not caring that his robes would get dirty.

“A-Song, that bird has known me for a very long time,” he patiently explained. “That’s why it knows me and talks to me. With a little time…”

“But uncle Nie said it only talks to him and his friend who’s never coming back!” Jin Rusong exclaimed, before wiping a tear. “And now it also talks to you and it’s not fair!”

Nie Huaisang froze when Lan Xichen shot him a surprise look.

They both knew that his mynah had always refused to speak to anyone but the two of them. It wouldn’t even say a word in front of other people most of the time. They used to laugh about that with Jin Guangyao, who had been as frustrated as his son by the bird’s silence, and sometimes jokingly accused them of pulling his leg when they mentioned how well it spoke. It had felt like a secret between the two of them, something only they shared.

This was one more thing to add to the list of everything Nie Huaisang didn’t want to talk about, least of all near Jin Rusong.

“I think somebody is getting quite tired,” Nie Huaisang announced, forcing himself to smile and to sound as jovial as he could. “And I think this time, it’s not uncle Lan. SongSong, let’s get you some dinner and then you’re off to bed. You’ve had a long day, I think.”

Without surprise, the little boy loudly protested that he wasn’t tired at all. He tried to resist when Nie Huaisang picked him up, but by the time they’d reached Lan Xichen's door in the guest quarters, Jin Rusong was asleep in Nie Huaisang’s arms.

“Do you want me to take him to his bedroom for tonight?” Nie Huaisang asked Lan Xichen, selfishly hoping to have a morning with the child again after this long.

“No, it’s fine. Do you want me to hold him? He must be quite heavy.”

“Lan zongzhu, I’m not that weak,” Nie Huaisang protested, tightening his grasp on the child. “And Nie Zhilan is going to murder me if I let you do anything tiring without her permission. I’ll just drop him inside and have dinner sent your way. It’ll be…”

“You could dine with me,” Lan Xichen offered, having the gall to sound hopeful. “I’ve been here nearly a month, and I don’t think we’ve shared a single meal except for that first breakfast.”

Nie Huaisang looked away, pretending to adjust the way he held Jin Rusong.

“I assumed you would rather not see me more than strictly necessary, Lan zongzhu.”

“I wish you’d have asked then,” Lan Xichen gently scolded, “so I could have told you earlier that your assumption was wrong. I would be grateful for a chance to spend time together again. Unless you do not wish for my company?” he added with clear worry. “I realise that you might feel you’ve had little choice in this matter. Considering everything that has happened, if being in my presence has become unbearable to you, I will not insist of course. But, Huaisang…”

At hearing his name again instead of his title, Nie Huaisang’s heart started beating so hard that he half feared it might wake Jin Rusong.

“I’ve missed you,” Lan Xichen admitted. “I know things cannot go back to what they were, but I’m hoping it doesn’t have to be over for us.”

“After all this?” Nie Huaisang gasped, fighting against tears. “Er-ge, that’s…”

“Don’t call me that,” Lan Xichen immediately cut him, something changing in his expression. “If I never hear that again, it’ll be too soon.”

The demand, made in such a serious tone, shocked Nie Huaisang out of his tears. It made his chest clench painfully, so much that it was difficult to still hold Jin Rusong.

“Of course, you’re right. Lan zongzhu, then?”

“If you must,” Lan Xichen conceded. “But you used to call me by my name once, and I’ve never minded that. In fact, I’ve missed that too.”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t help a small grimace, his cheeks heating up at the memory of the last time he’d taken that liberty.

“Things were different then,” he whispered. “I think it would be unwise to start using your name again, lest I forget where we stand now.”

“I won’t force you, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen sighed. “I can’t say I know where we stand anyway. But I know what I used to want, and I miss that as well. Call me a fool for it if you like. But I’m convinced things would have been different if we had both allowed ourselves to be a little more foolish back then. Maybe then you would have known you could trust me.”

Hearing that hurt more than the request not to call him ‘Er-ge’. It was a fair accusation to make, a logical conclusion to have come to. Nie Huaisang didn’t feel like defending himself at the moment. He never might feel like it. He’d made the choice he had made, there was little point in talking about that. The past couldn’t be changed, the harm he’d done to Lan Xichen couldn’t be undone.

Besides, Nie Huaisang knew himself. There were few things he’d do differently if given another chance. He’d care a little more about keeping Qin Su alive, so Jin Rusong wouldn’t lose his entire family at once, but nothing else.

The rest he couldn’t quite regret, even when he knew he probably should. Everything had worked out too well.

“Zewu-Jun, I don’t think this is a matter worth discussing,” Nie Huaisang announced. It came out sounding more like a warning than he intended. “All I will say is that I’ve never stopped seeing you as my friend, even if my actions have not always been friendly. That’s where I stand on this matter.”

Lan Xichen sighed, but nodded.

“I can work with that for now. But I hope you understand there are many things we’ll have to talk about sooner or later.”

“We really don’t have to.”

“We do,” Lan Xichen insisted. “I’ve learned from my mistakes, Huaisang, and I won’t content myself with assumptions about people’s intentions and actions, not anymore. Not after what happened.”

“Zewu-Jun, please…”

“Not tonight,” Lan Xichen agreed, opening his door and motioning for Nie Huaisang to come inside. “But I’ve been lied to by a lot of people, on many subjects, and I’m tired of that. I think I’m owed the truth about why you chose to keep me in the dark, at least.”

Nie Huaisang tensed, annoyed to be cornered that way. He went inside with a huff.

“Even if I told you, would you believe me anyway?” he snapped, looking around for a place to put down Jin Rusong.

It would have been too forward to go into Lan Xichen’s room, but he wasn’t sure it would be wise to just drop the child on the sofa, in case this conversation blew into an argument.

“So far I’ve always trusted you too much rather than too little,” Lan Xichen coldly noted, confirming Nie Huaisang’s fear about the direction they were headed. "I'm not the one who brought distrust into our friendship."

Propriety be damned, Nie Huaisang strode toward the bedroom and put Jin Rusong down on the bed. The child sleepily complained, and struggled a little when his shoes were removed, but thankfully did not actually wake up. Nie Huaisang quickly wrapped him in a blanket before returning to the main room, carefully closing the door.

Lan Xichen gave him a long look. So much for respecting his refusal to speak about this, Nie Huaisang bitterly thought. At the same time, perhaps it was best to get this over with. Then Lan Xichen would know exactly where they stood, and realise that he didn’t want to maintain their friendship after all. Nie Huaisang would finally be able to stomp out the last embers of hope he hadn’t yet managed to kill, and Lan Xichen wouldn't seek his company again, making this easier for both of them.

“Fine, you want to know why I never told you what Jin Guangyao did to Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang snapped, to which Lan Xichen nodded. “Fine. Fine, right. The truth is… I wanted to protect you.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes opened wide.

“What?”

Clenching his fists, Nie Huaisang looked away.

“He’d killed Da-ge!” he exclaimed, the pain of it still fresh after all these years. “My Da-ge, who had survived everything else! And I couldn’t prove it at that time, but the fact that Jin Guangshan had died so suddenly, and… and Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun too, who were the two next in line to inherit? Zewu-Jun, I was terrified ! It felt like there was nothing he couldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t dare attempt, to get what he wanted! I knew he’d kill me,” Nie Huaisang noted with a grim huff of laughter, “and I was terrified that if you confronted him he might have killed you too. And you would have confronted him, of course. You’re so good. How could you not have?”

His voice rose a little too high, an old panic seizing him at the idea of what might have happened if he had made different choices. Even after so long, even after it was all over, that old fear still made Nie Huaisang sick to his core.

“It’s not just that he would have murdered you,” he added, closing his eyes to fight tears. “He made the world believe that Da-ge was blood-thirsty and unstable. He made sure everyone would remember Jin Guangshan as the man who loved sex so much he died in the middle of an orgy. If Jin Guangyao had turned against you, then for sure he’d have stained your legacy in some way to justify it, and I couldn’t bear it! It… it was better to keep you ignorant, to keep you safe. And I did, right?” Nie Huaisang insisted, a nearly manic smile on his face as he finally dared to look again at Lan Xichen. “He never turned against you, never hurt your reputation or your person! I kept you safe from him, until almost the end! Until…”

“Until that,” Lan Xichen mumbled, stunned by that revelation.

Nie Huaisang quickly nodded.

“I really thought he had moved. Once he was wounded and dying, I knew he would have hurt you if he could, just so you wouldn’t get out of this either. I thought… but I was very scared and so much kept happening. I really can’t be sure what I saw but… but I’m sure I don’t regret that he died.”

Pale as a sheet, Lan Xichen stumbled onto the sofa, pressing a hand against his mouth.

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” he whispered.

“Of course I trusted you,” Nie Huaisang protested, taking a step toward the other man before he could stop himself. He dared not come closer than that though. Not when Lan Xichen seemed to be having such a hard time with that revelation. “I knew you would take action if you were presented with reasonable accusations. That’s exactly what you did when Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian told you what they had found out. And even then, it nearly failed!" Nie Huaisang cried out. "Even then, he nearly managed to get Wei Wuxian killed again! I cannot imagine what would have happened if you had gone there alone, if you’d tried to do this the honourable way… He was a dishonourable man, Xichen, and so it had to be someone as despicable as him taking him down.”

“You should still have told me,” Lan Xichen retorted, glaring at him. “If you trusted me to believe you, you should have trusted me to hear your worries as well.”

"Maybe. Maybe not. I was terrified, and I couldn't risk losing you as well. I had to keep you safe."

Lan Xichen scoffed, hiding his face in his hands.

“I wonder how fragile I must appear that everyone wants to keep hard truths from me," he muttered. "First you about Da-ge, then Wangji and uncle about Jin Rusong… Am I really so pathetic?"

"You're looking at it the wrong way," Nie Huaisang replied, taking a step closer.

He clenched his hands into fists again and his them behind his back. His fingers were aching with a need to touch Lan Xichen, to comfort him somehow, but then more than ever, he doubted such a thing would be welcome.

"Zewu-Jun, you have done so much for me, and for your brother," Nie Huaisang argued quietly. "And if anyone is pathetic here, it must be me and Hanguang-Jun. We jumped at a chance to protect you, and only ended up harming you more. How foolish of us. How selfish too. We've both relied on your protection, more than once. We should have realised you never needed ours."

Lan Xichen stared at him, stunned once more. And once more, Nie Huaisang felt compelled to look away. He had promised himself he wouldn't regret not involving Lan Xichen in his scheme. It was the one thing he'd been sure he had done right, he couldn't bear having that certainty taken from him.

He couldn't have risked Lan Xichen. It was better to be in his current situation, hated and lonely, than to have given Jin Guangyao a chance to take from him the last person he cared about.

Nie Huaisang didn't need Lan Xichen to like him. He just needed him to be alive.

As an awkward silence fell between them, Nie Huaisang decided it would be better for him to go. Clearly, after this, Lan Xichen's invitation to have dinner together no longer stood. Before he could say anything about that, a small voice rang from the other room, calling out for him.

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang rushed back into the bedroom where he found Jin Rusong sitting on the bed, looking a little disoriented. Upon seeing him, the child smiled, and opened his arms to silently demand a hug. Nie Huaisang immediately complied, going to sit on the bed with him and pulling him on his lap.

"Hey SongSong. Hungry maybe?"

Nie Huaisang felt a nod against his chest, and sighed.

"Well, it's dinner time. I'll go call for someone to bring food to you and uncle Lan."

Another nod, and Jin Rusong clung tight to Nie Huaisang’s shoulders.

"Uncle Nie, are you going to eat with us?"

"Well, I'm not sure…"

"He will," said Lan Xichen, having dragged himself to the door of the bedroom, leaning hard against the frame. He seemed exhausted once more, but his smile carried unexpected warmth as he looked at them. "Your uncle Nie has already agreed to dine here. It would be very rude of him to change his mind now."

Nie Huaisang shot him a surprised look, which Lan Xichen pretended not to notice.

"A-Song, come sit with me on the sofa while uncle Nie gets food sent here,” Lan Xichen asked. “Then when he's back you can tell him about your lessons with Jin Yixin. I'm sure he'd love to hear about that."

"Yes!" Jin Rusong exclaimed, looking up at Nie Huaisang with an excited grin. "I have learned so, so many things ! Today I've done…"

As the little boy impatiently started chatting about the things he'd done with his teacher, Nie Huaisang just gathered him in his arms and stood up while carrying him. When he dared a glance at Lan Xichen, the other man's smile was still as warm, as if the conversation they'd just had was forgotten already.

In the end, they spent a pleasant evening together, the three of them. Nie Huaisang had missed having Jin Rusong with him like this, and it seemed the child must have missed him as well, staying on his lap the whole dinner, eventually falling asleep there when exhaustion overcame him again. When that happened, Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang started chatting together about the little boy's growth, and how well he seemed to be doing since coming to the Unclean Realm.

It was nice to be talking like that again, after so long.

If Nie Huaisang hadn't been so self aware, he might have been tempted to pretend they were happy together, almost like a family.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin rusong #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #jin rusong lives #I haven't updated this in two weeks oops?

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