#I am simply channeling my desire to own all of these shirts.

[yvesdot]

Modern AU?

bonus:

[nothing-but-dreamy]

RECKLESS

Pairing: FFXV!NYX ULRIC x FEM!READER

Words: 2.559

Warnings: cursing, erotica

Synopsis: Yn is a reckless Glaive. One of her comrades is not okay with her behavior and so, he wants to talk with her.

"We need backup in the west! Behemoth and Imperials. More to come. Nyx, where are you?", Luche asked through the intercom.

"I'm on my way-", Nyx answered through the ear-piercing noise of the battlefield.

"Am already there, Luch!", Yn answered Luche's request through the channel.

"No! Yn, don't! There are too many enemies! Yn!”, Nyx tried to call Yn through the channel but he got no response, “God damnit!", he cursed frustrated.

"Go! I'll manage it here!", Libertus' shouted over the impact of another grenade. Nyx cursed and left his friend's side, knowing exactly what Yn was about to do.

As Nyx reached the position, he already met a bunch of comrades, helping each other to fall back to a safer spot behind some crumbled ruins, "Where's Yn?", he asked concerned as he couldn’t see the small woman. An explosion enclosed them in a cloud of sand. As an answer, someone pointed at a Behemoth in some distance.

The angry creature screamed violently and tried to reach the position of Nyx and the others as it saw the Glaives. Nyx got ready to fight, almost throwing his Kukri, as he watched how a person appeared on top of the Behemoth's head out of nowhere, encircled with magical aftermath.

Immediately, Nyx noticed the small frame as Yn's and watched worriedly how she jumped from the head, aiming for the ear of the roaring animal to land on it before she pushed herself from it to slam both her blades into the throat of the creature as deep as she could to kill it. As the animal fell lifeless to the ground, sliding a few metres through the dust, Yn jumped from it and landed elegantly in front of Nyx' feet with a grin, "Oh, hey, Ulric! Wanna join the fun?"

"Fun? You-", but Nyx got stopped as Yn pushed him out of the line of fire the Magiteks had started. They were rolling over the ground until Yn landed on top of him, straddling Nyx' lap, her hands on his chest, "Well...nice view, hero.”, she whispered seductively, “But I have to go. Was my pleasure to save your sexy ass tho.", she said grinning before she got up on her feet, fighting against the closing imperial troops.

Cursing with annoyance, Nyx jumped back on his feet and joined her in the fight. She still had the upper hand but he knew that could change quickly. The Magiteks were merci- and countless. Nyx jumped next to her side the second she decapitated a mechanical soldier who knelt to her feet. Her daggers were sparkling in the setting sun while she smirked, her face covered with blood and dust.

"Yn! Nyx! What's your status?", Luche asked serious. He already had gotten the information that both Glaives were fighting in the most dangerous area. Alone.

"We're at the west wing.", Yn answered while killing another rifleman, stemming her foot on his chest to pull out her blade, "We're fighting against Magiteks but they're coming in steady waves. Behemoth is down, tho.", she called out, jumping at the next two soldiers and killed them both at the same time with her blades digging deep into their throats.

Nyx did the same and landed next to Yn with his back against hers to cover each other, "Luche, what are the next orders? We can't hold the line here without backup.", he called out seriously while the next wave was already on their way.

"Okay, all Glaives fall back! I repeat, all Glaives: fall back and regroup!", Luche ordered.

Nyx moved to follow the orders but stopped as he noticed that Yn wasn't behind him. As he turned around, he saw her fighting against the next Magiteks. Even another Behemoth was on its way, straight aiming for her position.

Fascinated and amazed at the same time, Nyx watched how easily Yn wielded the blades in her hands. As if she was dancing, she flew over the battlefield, warping back and forth. Effortlessly and merciless, like an angel of death, Yn took out one enemy after the next.

A Magitek shuttle dropped new soldiers while Yn aimed for the Behemoth. She was already running to it. Once again, Nyx cursed about her blind recklessness and was about to follow her, but as a grenade exploded near Nyx, he warped aside to get save. As he looked around the little piece of wall he was hiding behind, he saw nothing else then dust, debris and dead bodies.

***

"Yn!", Nyx called out as he saw the small woman walking down the hallway of the headquarters, joking with Furia about something random. The konvoi had brought them back five minutes ago and now, everyone was looking forward to taking a shower, a drink or to get some sleep after this long, exhausting fight against Niflheim.

Yn turned around as she heard her name and saw Nyx closing up on her, "Yeah? Oh, hey...", she exhaled, rolling with her eyes about his stern expression with the frown chiseled into his features.

"What was that back on the field?", Nyx asked angrily.

"Could you be more precise? You mean as I have saved your ass? Or as I had this little dance with the Magiteks?", Yn asked with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I mean the fight with the Behemoth? And the imperials? And the other Behemoth?", Nyx pointed out as the other comrades passed them, ignoring the two who were always fighting about something since Yn had joined the Kingsglaive.

"Oh, I see! You're mad because you fear I would try to snatch away your little title as a hero. Don't worry. I'm not eager to steal anything from you. You can keep your reputation.", she said with an arrogant grin and walked away.

Nyx groaned annoyedly before he ran after her. Quickly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into an abandoned room where he closed the door and pressed her against a wall, caging her with his arms.

"What are you doing, Ulric? Let me go!", Yn hissed angrily.

"No! Not until you told me what your plan is. Are you so eager to die? Do you wanna get killed?", Nyx hissed through gritted teeth. He had much respect for this young woman and her skill but she was a bit too reckless for his liking.

"Oh, you're so quick to judge others, huh? Can I remind you that you're not even better than I am? What I have heard about you is that you're the incarnation of recklessness, hero! So, what makes you think you have the right to question my decisions? I'm still alive and also everyone else around me! That's all that matters! Always!", Yn said and stared serious at the man in front of her.

"You play with your life as if it would be just a game!", Nyx said through his gritted teeth.

"Yes! I play with my life! And? No one cares what I do with my life anyway! No one cares if I'm alive or not!", she snarled.

"I care about your life, fuck damnit!", Nyx hissed aggressively and in the next moment, he crashed his lips on hers to silence her. For weeks, he had been hungry to taste her lips. She drove him crazy with simply everything: with her manners, with her thoughtless will to fight against everything, with her undeniable beauty... Nyx felt frustrated when it came to her and to silence her and her nonsense was everything he wanted. That and to kiss her breathless.

But Yn wasn't amused and even if she had to admit that Nyx tasted seductively like sweet danger and kissed addictively, she hated when someone tried to silence her. So, she pushed against Nyx' chest to shove him away from her before she slapped his cheek violently.

Nyx' head snapped to the side with a stinging pain and after the first shock and panting for air, he looked slowly back at Yn who stared at him with a hatred filled glance.

Yn looked straight into his blue, dark sparkling eyes, "Don't you ever fucking dare to silence me again! What I do with my life is not your concern. You care for me? Fine! But that won't change any of my decisions! Got it? And now", she growled, grabbing the collar of Nyx' uniform, "Kiss me again, idiot!", she ordered and pulled him back to connect their lips with a bruising force.

Nyx gave her no second chance to change her mind now, as he had her where he wanted to have her: in his arms. As he kissed her desperately, he pinned her with his lower body against the wall while he roamed appreciatively over her curves with his hands. From her chest down to her hips to her back and to her ass to squeeze it softly.

Yn enjoyed his admiring touch but she wanted more of him. She wanted to feel him under her hands like she had dreams about it when she was alone with her imagination. Quickly, she opened everything from his uniform jacket to push it down his shoulders. As the jacket fell to the ground, she undressed his vest and quickly, she also undressed his shirt to toss it away.

"Hell, are you done already?", Nyx hissed, annoyed as he had to leave her lips for the second time.

"Next time, you should consider to dress less of these irrelevant clothes. Just a tip.", she whispered husky with a smirk.

Nyx leant closer matching her smirk, brushing along her nose with his own, "Next time?"

"Depends on what you have to offer now, hero.", she whispered lasciviously against his lips and scratched down his back with her nails, which caused Nyx to moan with pleasure.

"You little minx. You're not even better than I am.", he breathed, pointing at the fact that she was still fully dressed.

Slowly, she opened her jacket to undress it. She undressed her vest under his observing glance and with her eyes still connected with Nyx' dark gleaming orbs, she undressed the shirt and the bra in one go. Yn noticed how his eyes flickered down her exposed chest. Slowly she opened her belt and then even her pants to let them fall down, stepping out of them, the underwear and the boots, "Now, tell me, what do you desire?", she breathed while shoving her hands over her head to display herself. With soft moves, she lolled underneath Nyx’ eyes, showing him what he could have if he just reached out.

Nyx gnawed on his lower lip as he enjoyed the view in front of him. Even after a battle, her skin seemed to be so soft. The countless, little scars were signs of her rough past and how persistent she had been so far. Her right rib cage was covered with brandings from the Magitek tortures she went through before she had come to Insomnia. Bruises were already building from the latest fights on the battlefield. And yet, she was breathtakingly beautiful, strong and determined to fight as long as she could.

Possessively, Nyx placed his hands on her hips, digging into her flesh which earned him low moans from her lips, "You wanna know what I want?", he whispered, "I want you, Yn. For a very long time, I'm just longing to have you.", Nyx breathed.

Yn smirked, "Then, make me yours, Glaive.", she breathed seductively, grabbing his belt to open it and then his pants to push them down his hips with an untamable, passionately, hungry fire.

Nyx didn't need another invitation. Quickly, he scooted her up with his hands underneath her ass, bringing her into position. Yn snaked her legs around his hips and pulled him even closer. The moment he entered her, he groaned deeply by the feeling of her wet walls enclosing him. Still adjusting, Nyx leant with his forehead against her shoulder, kissing her soft skin while she snaked her arms around his neck.

Yn rolled with her hips to increase the friction between them even more while she raked her fingers through his soft hair, tugging on his braids and strands to tease him. Never before, she had felt so wanted by someone like in this moment as Nyx showed her his affection through his lips and hands, "God damnit, Nyx.", she breathed, panting for air as she just concentrated on the hot feeling of the man inside of her.

As he heard his name falling from her lips, Nyx raised his head to look into her eyes. She looked straight into his eyes as he started to grind with his hips. He saw the pleasure in her features. Whenever he reached her pleasure point, Yn moaned with relish and closed her eyes while she just enjoyed what he did.

Amazed, Nyx grinned while he felt how her legs tightened around his hips, keeping him in place. As he noticed that she was close, he kept his moves steady to give her what she needed. Yn's breath became more erratic and before she could betray their hidden position with her scream, Nyx captured her lips with his so she was moaning into his mouth as she rode out her orgasm on him.

Nyx shuddered as Yn's nails dug into his shoulder blades. Her walls clenched around him and she bit down on his lip. While she tried to come down, Nyx rolled his hips into hers to satisfy his own desire.

Still breathless, Yn smirked as she saw his dark, lust-filled glance. He looked her in the eyes once again as if it would turn him on to see her reaction. Slowly, she tightened her walls around him again while she scratched along his neck and shoulders with her nails to push him over the edge with sweet pain.

To muffle the sound of his own climax, Nyx buried his face into the crook of her neck, biting into her soft skin under her ear which let her shudder against his solid body. As Nyx came slowly clear, he put Yn back on her feet while both were still panting for air. Softly, Yn cupped his face, cradling his stubbles, tracing the lines of his lips and jaw with her thumbs to worship his handsomeness.

Nyx leant against her forehead with his own, enjoying her softness towards him, "Please, stop being reckless.", he breathed against her lips, embracing her frame to pull her against his naked skin, not able to let her go just yet.

Yn felt touched. No one before was so eager to keep her alive or in their life at all, "Well, I can't promise you that, Nyx. But ... What do you think of the following idea: Come to my place later and show me your arguments again why I should be more cautious, huh?"

Nyx grinned, kissing her softly and caring before he looked her in the eyes again, "Trust me, I will be there."

"Like you, I trust more in actions than in words. So, convince me, hero.", she breathed with a smirk and a pat on his chest before she passed him to dress her clothes again. Yn left the room with the hope he would follow her request later so she would be less alone for the first time in her life.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 13

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638162885025120256/odins-ward-chapter-12

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 2678

Warnings: Adult themes

True age: Y/n: 1197 // Loki: 1323 // Thor: 1575 // Audunn 2961

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 19 // Loki: 21 // Thor: 25 // Audunn: 47

Loki’s POV

“Your Highness, rebels have attacked one of the outer villages and stolen their food supply.”

Damn. I purse my lips in frustration. This is the third attack by rebels in as many months. “Take six of our warriors and station them in the village with enough grain, wine, fruits, and vegetables to feed everyone for half a year. By then it should be harvest and the people will have enough to feed themselves.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The advisor bows deeply as he records my decision. Pride gathers within me.

“We need to re-think our security strategy for our borders. These rebels keep finding chinks in our armor. We must—” In my mind’s eye, the old painting in the attic glows purple.

All breath leaves me.

“My Liege?” The advisor looks at me with concern.

“I have to go.” Without another word, I stalk out of the room. Once I’m sure no one can see me, I teleport to the attic in the turret.

The last place I had a nice moment with Y/n.

The painting of the door, the one I told her to use to contact me if she ever needed me, glows her favorite shade of purple.

With shaking hands, I reach into the painting, open the door, and retrieve a letter. Just seeing her elegant script—the first sign of her in over sixty years—nearly brings me to my knees. It reads:

Dearest Loki,

Can I even still call you that? I’m not sure I should, given our circumstances. Nevertheless, it is true. You are dear to me.

Anyways,

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I read the words in her voice, I can see the faces she makes as she awkwardly stumbles through writing this letter. It points to her still being the Y/n I once knew.

I read on.

Anyways, I have a favor to ask of you. It’s a pretty big one and could get us both in a lot of trouble if we’re found out. Due to my current situation, I am willing to take that risk. Are you? If so, please agree to meet me so we can discuss the specifics of what I’m asking of you — in person. It is better to keep as much of this as possible out of writing.

I realize that you said we needed to keep out of each other’s lives, and I understand why that is the best way for us both.

Still, I cannot help but be excited at even the possibility of seeing you again.

~ Y/n

P.S. Please burn this letter as soon as you’ve read it. Thanks.

Had the tone of her letter not been so concerning, I would have grinned at her sign-off.

After teleporting to my chambers, I throw the letter into the fire, as instructed, and sit at my desk to craft a response.

My Dearest Y/n,

I hope I have not overstepped in returning your greeting. You raise a valid point in wondering if we can still be that to each other—dear—but I believe our hearts cannot be lied to. There is no point in ignoring the fact when it is just us.

I know you would not contact me unless you absolutely needed my help. Fret not, my dear; I give it freely. If it is to your convenience, I shall meet you tonight in your bedchambers in Alfheim.

To respond, simply write on the bottom of this letter, and it will appear on a copy on my own desk.

I, too, look forward to seeing you again.

~ Loki

I glance over my letter. For all that I want to say, it seems incredibly short. But a voice in my head reminds me that, although seeing Y/n will be fresh air for a drowning man, I cannot lose myself in her completely. She is married. And denial and wishes are no way to live for two people who must spend their lives apart.

After using magic to send the letter to Y/n, I find a book to distract myself while anxiously awaiting her response.

{***}

Y/n’s POV

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a piece of paper appear on my desk in a hazy green glow. My breath hitches.

“Ragna,” I fight to keep my voice steady. “Could you go and find out what the cooks are serving for dinner?”

“Yes, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves my room. As soon as she’s gone, I snatch the letter from my desk and open it.

Seeing Loki’s handwriting, so familiar after such a long time, makes my heart flutter and ache. After reading the letter, I take a moment to breathe.

I will see him again tonight.

With shaking hands, I write a single word on the bottom of the paper:

Yes.

The letter shimmers once more and disappears. I bite my lip, doing my best to contain my excitement.

There’s a knock on the door and I quickly try to calm my expression. “Yes?”

Ragna enters with a curtsey, as always. “Lamb, My Lady.”

“Hmm?” I find my gaze wandering back to the desk, waiting to see if another letter has appeared.

“For dinner, My Lady.”

“Oh, yes!” I snap my attention to Ragna. Oh, shoot! Ragna. I’ll have to get rid of her for the night. “You know, I’m actually not feeling very well. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight.”

Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong, My Lady? I will have a healer come to check on you.”

She begins to leave. Ugh, I need this room free of other people, not filled with them. “No!” Ragna turns around, a questioning look on her face. I take a breath, trying to calm myself so I can focus on how to make a convincing lie. Channel your inner Loki. After another breath, I put a soft but assured smile on my face. “My ailment does not require healers, but thank you for the offer. It is nothing more than a headache. I would prefer to be alone. Please alert the guards that I am to have no visitors tonight.”

Ragna looks convinced by my explanation. “Yes, My Lady. I hope you feel better. Please call for me if I can be of assistance.”

I smile. “Thank you, Ragna. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves the room.

Now I just have to wait.

{***}

I alternate between pacing and reading as I watch the sun sink deeper into the horizon. Every minute that passes seems ages longer than it actually is. A relaxing candle does nothing to help. I change my outfit twice before going back to the original.

Finally, it’s pitch black outside.

Should be any minute now.

My heart flutters and my hands shake. I find myself nervously tucking and untucking my hair, unable to decide which is best.

“Hello, Y/n.”

The smooth, familiar voice stops me in my tracks. The voice that, for a short time in my life, brought me both great peace and excitement like no other.

I turn around, unable to wrap my mind around the reality of seeing him again.

But there he is, just as tall and handsome and wonderful as I remember him.

“Loki.” The breath escapes me and suddenly I’m running across the room. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me with as much force as I use to cling to him.

“Y/n, I—” I look up to see him beaming a smile of disbelief. “I cannot believe I’m seeing you again.”

“Nor I, you.” I stroke his face, running my hands over the angular lines that were once so familiar to me. He hasn’t changed a bit. “I,” I take a steadying breath in an effort to calm my shaking hands. “I cannot thank you enough for coming to see me. I know there is risk involved for us both.”

He shakes his head and pulls me to the couch, where we sit. “I trust your judgement and I am here to help. What kind of trouble are you in?”

I look down at our hands, still intertwined. “Please, we can talk about that in a moment. How have you been?”

He shrugs, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, Asgard is prospering, minus a few rebel factions that would see us undone. We avoided a trade embargo with Vanaheim and—”

I smile, cutting him off. “I asked how you have been, Loki, not the kingdom.” An uncomfortable, insecure feeling pricks at the back of my mind. Why isn’t he talking about his personal life? Oh, how I did not want to feel this way. I try to mask it with nonchalance. “Tell me about your life.”

He sees through me in an instant. He shifts in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You’re asking me if there have been other women.”

I huff, annoyed at my own insecurity and at having been found out. “I am not!”

He chuckles lightly, returning to his state of ease. “You are, and that’s fine. The truth is, yes, there have been others.” He looks at the ground, running a thumb absently over my knuckles. “None of them stick. I’m not sure I want them to.”

Now I feel guilty. How utterly unfair of me. “Loki…” At the mention of his name, he looks up. “I am with someone else now. For as long as he and I both shall live, as they said in the ceremony. The union between Audunn and I is,” I swallow, willing myself not to sound full of despair over these words, “forever. I hope that one day you find someone who is good for you.”

He smiles softly, though there is too much sadness in his eyes. I pull a hand free to stroke his cheek, letting it come to a rest on his chest when the tenderness re-enters his eyes. “I did.” Subconsciously, I clutch at his shirt, remembering our fleeting time together. After a heavy pause, he grins. “700 years ago a sniffling child was placed in my clubhouse and I was told to entertain her.” He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back into the couch. “How was I supposed to know I’d grow up to fall in love with her?”

Breath catches in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him say that.

Loki can tell this affects me.

He leans in and I can see the deep emerald of his eyes. His voice is soft and sincere when he declares, “I do still love you.”

“And I love you,” I whisper without hesitation.

I’m not sure who reaches for who, but by the next breath, we’re intertwined. The kiss is desperate, hopeful, sad, and passionate all at once. Heat floods through my body. Vaguely, I realize that this is the first time in 63 years that I’ve felt desire. I’ve never once wanted Audunn as I want Loki. And as soon as Loki leaves, he’ll take this desire, this connection, with him.

Because Loki isn’t here for long.

With that realization, I stop holding back. Loki meets me there, and soon we’re undressing each other on the couch.

“Wait,” he pulls back, lips pink and slightly breathless. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I had a plan. I was going to be a gentleman. This is not being a gentleman.”

I smirk and quirk an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about a gentleman?  I called you here, didn’t I? And I think I’ve been quite clear about what I want.”

That mischievous look I adore pops into his eyes. “Well, if the lady so wishes….”

We pick up where we left off.

{***}

“To be completely honest, I’m not convinced he can. Audunn is very old.”

It’s the early hours of the morning, and we’re leaned against my headboard, comfortably naked, me tucked under his arm. Loki throws his head back and laughs, pulling our entwined hands up to his mouth for a kiss. “That’s awfully unfair of you.”

“It’s true!” I join him in his laughter, loving this time we have together. “All he does is grunt and then he’s done! Absolutely no work required on my part.”

He scoffs playfully. “So what, you’ve just suffered through sixty pleasureless years?”

Now it’s my turn to grin. “There are ways in which a woman can pleasure herself, you know.”

“Yes,” a glint comes into his eyes. “But why should she have to when I am here and oh so willing?”

He kisses me deeply then, shifting so we’re buried in the covers once again, him on top of me. We break the kiss, and I sigh sadly, knowing that our time is running out. “I wish you could stay here forever.”

“What I wouldn’t do to stop time,” he responds sincerely, laying his forehead against mine.

I smile softly, the sadness creeping back in. I kiss him lightly on the nose before pushing against him so we’re sitting up.

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain why I called him here in the first place.

I look at my fingers, contemplating how I want to frame this. If I tell Loki too much of the truth, that Audunn is manipulative and abusive and filled with hatred, there is a real possibility that Loki could do something rash and ruin future relationships between Alfheim and Asgard. Norns, he could start a war! Besides, it’s not like confiding in Loki would change anything. Even if Audunn were to suddenly be removed from the picture, it is likely that I would just be passed onto the next eligible suitor, not returned to Asgard to be with Loki. With all this in mind, I go with a half-truth.

“I don’t love Audunn, and I don’t want to have his children.”

Unexpectedly, tears enter my eyes. It’s so freeing to be able to share this with someone other than Ragna, to not have to pretend to enjoy Audunn’s company, and to be able to be, well, mostly honest with someone I love and trust.

Loki runs a comforting hand through my hair, looking at me with understanding and sadness. “You will be ridiculed. Alfheim views women as being required to provide heirs for their husbands. If you do not…” He trails off, hesitation in his eyes.

“I know,” I assure him, gripping his hands. “I’ve already been subjected to some of it. It has been over sixty years, after all.” I look him straight in the eyes so he can see just how sure I am. “But I can handle it. I can handle anything if it means saving myself from being bound to Audunn in that way.”

Loki nods steadily, and I can see that he’s made up his mind. “I will do as you ask.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thank you.”

He brings a tender hand to my forehead and murmurs softly. After a moment, my body warms with the barely-tangible weight of his magic. I feel no different, but when he removes his hand, I know it is done.

“It will either take myself or another sorcerer to remove the spell, so if you change your mind…” His voice trails off.

I shake my head, completely resolute in my decision. “I won’t.” And, heavy with exhaustion and the weight of how my life has just been changed, I lean forward into Loki’s chest. His arms encircle me immediately, and I try to memorize exactly how this feels.

Because it’s likely I’ll never see him again.

He runs his hands gently up my back, easing me into rest.

“You’re a good man,” I remind him, because sometimes he forgets.

Before I hear his reply, I drift off to sleep.

{***}

In the morning, my bed is cold, and I know that he is gone.

A/n Happy holidays! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Also, stop by and check out my masterlist! 

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639152911075672064/odins-ward-chapter-14

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki

[yamisnuffles]

Dig Down

Part 9 of Too Much of a Good Thing

Hell comes to congratulate Crowley on the Spanish Inquisition. When Crowley's curiosity gets the better of him, he ends of shaken to the core.

Read on Ao3

-

“You, my friend, are a terrible model.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at Leonardo. “What? How can anyone be a terrible model? All I have to do is sit about. Maybe you’re just a terrible artist.”

“Maybe so.” Leonardo laughed and set his sketch aside. “But I would hardly call what you do sitting.”

Crowley had one foot tucked underneath him and the other thrown over the arm of the chair. He was reasonably certain he hadn’t started in this position. He’d done his best to channel Aziraphale, back straight and hands folded neatly on his lap, when first Leonardo had started his drawing. He flung both of his legs out and used the momentum to stand. His floor length braid swung pendulously behind him.

“Can’t help it,” he said with an easy shrug. “Sitting around that long is unnatural.”

Leonardo gave him an appraising look. “What’s unnatural is the way you walk.”

Crowley stilled instantly. “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“I didn’t say it was wrong. Really, it’s quite pleasant to watch but it does make me long to see the muscle and bone beneath. There is certainly something intriguing going on there.”

Aziraphale had commented a few times on the way he walked. Then again, Aziraphale had also commented on his hands, his nose, his hair, his eye, his freckles, his knees, his teeth, and everything else about him. To hear it from another, he worried he didn’t look as convincingly human as he hoped. It made him conscious of every step to a degree that very nearly caused him to trip. He saved himself by leaning against the table where Leonardo’s sketch had been cast aside.

He plucked the red chalk drawing up between long, spindly, ostensibly human fingers and examined it with eyes he knew were not a color found amongst mortal men. The face was cleverly rendered but everything from the shoulders down was decidedly more gestural.

“Mind if I take this?”

Leonardo dismissed the image with a wave. “Go right ahead. I can hardly use it for anything, though perhaps you can repay me by sitting for a portrait. Your face makes for a good study, even if the rest of you refuses to behave. You’d make an interesting angel, I think.” When Crowley sputtered incoherently in response, Leonardo laughed again. “A piece I was commissioned for,” he explained. “Or, part of one, anyway. For now, I have other work to do and I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your angel.”

Crowley felt his cheeks burn. Rather than try for a reply he knew would only come out as a garbled mess, he carefully rolled up the drawing and bobbed his head in thanks. “Well, whenever you want to get that portrait done, you know where to find me,” he said as he hastily made his exit from the studio. He could only take so much embarrassment in one day and he was sure Aziraphale had stored some up for him back at their villa.

Once he was out of the busy streets of Milan, he snapped his fingers. A note appeared, tucked into the drawing. A gift from our mutual friend, it read, to help you anticipate my return home. A grin and another snap sent it ahead.  He could have gone with it but he enjoyed walking the Italian countryside. It put him in mind of breathless, startled confessions of love and kisses under the stars that added a spring to his step. He couldn’t bring himself to worry if that walk was passably human or not. He was all but skipping down the sun baked road when the smell of something putrid wafted through the summer air. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid tripping over Hastur as he rose up through the hard packed dirt.

Crowley scowled. He should have miracled himself home and saved himself the trouble. He could very well still leave but if Hastur was bothering him, it was for a reason. It always was. It was also always something miserable that he didn’t want Aziraphale dragged into. He’d had a few hundred year’s peace after their initial meeting and, while Hastur hadn’t come around with any more job offers, he usually bore information. Wretched, gut wriggling stuff that Crowley was probably better off not knowing but could never seem to resist.

He had enough time to collect himself, to cross his arms and pretend at calm. Annoyance. He knew he could fight if he needed but he really preferred not to. Luckily it had been some time since a demon had forced him to it. Chances were today would be no different. All the same, he’d keep himself wound and ready, should it come to it.

Hastur emerged fully with a sneer already on his face. Crowley resisted the urge to push him right back down into the earth and instead asked, “What do you want? You’re sort of ruining my attempt to enjoy the fresh air.”

The corners of Hastur’s mouth widened slow and sloppily as the filth he reeked of until it formed a too wide smile. “Just came to congratulate you, Crowley. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Crowley merely blinked. He couldn’t think of anything of note that he’d done in the past couple of centuries. Really, he’d been remarkably good, even by his own sometimes nebulous standards. He’d helped inspire a saint or two, been a patron of the arts, and had handed out the occasional blessing. Mostly he whiled away the time with Aziraphale, wherever they found themselves living as Aziraphale did jobs for Heaven. He’d even taken on a few of Aziraphale’s jobs, first as a way to let Aziraphale chase his own pursuits and then simply because he’d wanted to. Aside from helping a fellow angel skip work, he’d practically been a model angel.

“Hit your head on the way up from Hell, did you? I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t be so modest. Weaponizing questions, really. Everyone Downstairs is impressed with this one. I’m almost jealous.”

Crowley felt a prickling down his spine. Something about this put his teeth on edge. Other than the obvious, that it was Hastur speaking to him, he didn’t know what it was about this that made him so uneasy. He wanted urgently to be home with Aziraphale. It wasn’t just the usual desire to be with his husband but something deeper than his bones. Deep as his very essence. This was the sort of warning urge that had sent him deep into the stars, once upon a time, a warning that things would shift irreparably if he did not act.

He shook the stiffness from his limbs. No need to be tense. No need to run. It was just Hastur and whatever he was babbling about. He hadn’t done anything- he really hadn’t- and nothing the demon said would change that. He took a step to walk around the demon. “If you’re done…”

Hastur angled himself to stop Crowley. He would have grabbed him if Crowley hadn’t already been on the defensive and ready to slip away. “Tell me how you did it? How’d you talk the humans into this Inquisition in Spain?”

- - - -

Crowley wasn’t sure what day it was. He wasn’t sure where he was but the near empty bottle in his hand implied a tavern or something of the sort. Usually drinks were poured into cups, though, so there was a chance he’d grabbed a bottle and taken it somewhere. That, or someone had let him simply drink from the bottle. Either way, probably not any sort of fine establishment. He wasn’t sure if he felt good or bad, either, but that was by design— don’t feel anything, don’t think. Seemed to be working fantastically judging by the fact that he could neither see, sit, nor think straight.

“There you are.”

That voice was familiar. Made something warm settle into the sloshing sea of alcohol in his system. “Here I am,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you should stop drinking a moment and look at me.”

Crowley sank down to embrace the bottle. The glass was cool against the side of his face. It felt nice. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay like this,” he said. Or, tried to say, judging by the slurred garble that slipped out of his mouth. 

There was a long sigh. “Crowley.”

The bottle was carefully pried from his grip. He tried to resist, muttered a few choice curses, but was easily left slumped against his own folded arms. A gentle hand landed on his right elbow and when he turned to look at it, a face came into view. It took a moment for him to focus well enough to bring any of the features clarity but it could have stayed a bright, blessed blur and he would have known that face anywhere.

He picked up his head and beamed. “Ziraphale, s’good to see you.”

“I’m surprised you can see anything, judging by the state of you. Why don’t we get you home?”

Crowley shook his head. He abruptly stopped when the whole world seemed to shake with it. “Nope. Too drunk. Would probably discorpra- discapor- die if I tried a miracle.”

“Well then, why don’t you sober up?”

Aziraphale’s voice was low, sharp, and even. It was the sort of voice that in any other situation would have had Crowley worried but he’d done too good a job of getting rid of silly things like worries at least half a dozen bottles ago. Maybe more. He’d lost track after the first five or fifteen.

“Told you,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of one hand, “no miracles. B’sides, I don’t wanna.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You don’t want to?”

“Nope.”

Crowley popped the ‘p’ and then repeated the sound until he fell into a fit of giggles.

“Then allow me—”

Everything was too murky for Crowley to remember why exactly the idea of sobering up sent his heart pounding and his stomach plummeting but he instantly snatched Aziraphale’s wrist to stop it from happening.

“No.”

“If you really feel so strongly about it, I won’t. Can you at least tell me why?”

Crowley opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. Every time he reached toward the source of that feeling, something fractured and threatened to fall away completely.

He heard another long sigh. An arm wrapped around his back and another under his legs. Suddenly he was being carried. The lift into the air made him dizzy. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest. His shirt smelled nice. Like… flowers or something. Something pretty and nice. Like Aziraphale.

“You smell nice.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale replied flatly. “Do you have a room?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t— where have you been staying all this time?”

“Dunno. Has it been a long time?”

Yet another sigh. Crowley felt like he should start taking count.

“It’s been over a week since I expected you back.” They started moving and Crowley had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop feeling dizzy. “Well then, if you don’t have a room and you won’t let me sober you up, what do you say to me bringing us both back home?”

Home. For much of his existence that had been a moving target with Aziraphale as a constant center. It didn’t need to be a physical place, the heart of it would always exist someplace beyond, but at the moment it was. More importantly, it was somewhere away from here. Whether he could articulate why he didn’t want to be here any longer, he knew how happy he was at the thought of leaving, particularly in Aziraphale’s arms.

Crowley hummed appreciatively and pressed in as close as he was able. There would always be a part of him that worried he would forget this form if he shifted back into his serpentine one but he missed the simplicity of it. He could never feel quite so much as a snake and he could instead rest easier, coiled around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Maybe he still would, when he sobered. He knew that Aziraphale would love him no matter his shape. It might not be better but it would be easier and, at the moment, that sounded very tempting.

There was a feeling of compression and then expansion as a miracle sent them both home. Instantly Crowley was inundated by the rich smell of oak from Aziraphale’s heavy wooden desk with a whiff on top of ink and parchment. He remembered the sound of wind rustling through the olive trees and the scratch of a quill as Aziraphale passed the nights writing while Crowley slept. Or tried to, anyhow. Oftentimes he would lay with one eye open and watch Aziraphale work by candlelight.

He thought of those nights as Aziraphale laid him on a bed that was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Apparently neither of them was willing to break the silence that had fallen between them. Instead, Aziraphale quietly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Or tried, as he got caught in hair that had managed to tangle despite being braided.

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” Aziraphale asked as he drew his hand back to himself. “Or bathed? Or did anything to care for yourself?”

“You said I’ve been gone over a week? Then, uh, yeah. Probably something like that. S’not like we need to bathe or anything. Not like humans do.”

“You do if you’re going to soak yourself in alcohol and drunken humans.”

Crowley groaned and buried his face in a pillow. As it happened, an angel’s metabolism didn’t allow for passing out drunk, or that had been his experience over the last however many days of attempting to reach blissful oblivion. Maybe he could sleep, though. That might be alright.

He forgot why he’d been avoiding sleep until it overcame him. He’d gotten complacent since his marriage to Aziraphale. Even in the worst of times, life with his Principality had been a waking dream and the sleeping world had shaped itself accordingly. But the world wasn’t painted in only soft shades of cream and powdery blue, sometimes it was the harsh, steely grey of cruel human ingenuity or the slick scarlet shine of blood. The blood wouldn’t wash from his hands no matter how ferociously he scrubbed. It gathered under his nails, stained his skin, and blemished the band of gold around his finger.

Then there were the screams. They were never ending. If he pressed his palms tight as he could over his ears, they still rattled through his bones. He suspected he would continue hearing them even if he banished his ears altogether with a miracle. He just wanted them to stop. He screamed for them to stop. He begged and pleaded like he had for little else in his long existence. 

Silence returned with two words. “Wake up.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. He breathed in gulps through a raw and ragged throat. He looked impulsively at his hands but they were clean. The screams had been his own, the blood imagined, and yet he couldn’t seem to free himself of the sensation of either. He rubbed senselessly at his forearms until a pair of arms encircled him like a vice and forced him to stop.

“It’s alright, dearest. You’re alright.”

“It’s alright? I’m alright?” he repeated, each statement transforming into a question in the mouth of a non-believer.

“Yes. I’m here. You’re safe.”

This time there was no doubt. There never would be, not in Aziraphale. He relaxed into Aziraphale’s arms.  “Yes.”

“How about a bath?” A snap and the scent of lavender filled the suddenly humid air. “I’ll take care of it. All you’ll have to do is relax.”

Crowley let out a hollow puff of laughter. “Is that all?”

Aziraphale gripped him by the shoulders and sat him up so that they were face to face. There were tears obscuring his storm grey eyes. “Then you don’t need to do even that. Simply let me take care of you as best I can, alright?”

Crowley nodded when his throat tightened too much to make a reply. He loathed seeing Aziraphale cry.

Aziraphale helped him to his feet and out of his clothes. Each article of clothing was removed with more care than it deserved, stiff and smelling as it all did of a week’s worth of drinking in whatever establishment would have him. If he thought too closely on that he was liable to consider once more what had driven him to drink in the first place and, for Aziraphale’s sake, he was determined to at least try to relax.

He set his eyes on their bath. It was a lovely thing made of delicate white marble. Carved on the outside were scenes of angels dancing and drinking and generally having a lot more fun than real ones did. Bathing came and went in vogue with humans, but Aziraphale had developed a special fondness for it in Rome and so they’d kept a private bath wherever they settled since. Such, he supposed, was the luxury of not worrying whether the locals had plumbing anymore or not. One quick miracle and they had a full tub with steam that rolled in easy clouds off the surface.

“Come now,” Azirphale said as he took one of Crowley’s hands, “let’s see if this helps you any.”

Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to the bathtub and then climbed in without letting go of Aziraphale’s hand until he’d lowered himself most of the way down. Aziraphale carefully undid the braided hair that trailed after Crowley like a train. Once done, he gathered it up into a careful coil and deposited it in the water with Crowley. The water rose to the edge but didn’t spill over. It was just enough for Crowley and not a drop more.

Crowley let out a long, trembling breath as the hot water worked its wonders on him. He wasn’t quite as fond of bathing as Aziraphale but he did very much enjoy the act of being bathed. It was a bit like sleeping, without the danger of nightmares. Instead it was the very best sort of dream, shaped by the one he loved the most. Strong, calloused hands worked at the tense muscles in his shoulders and scented water poured over his head from a glittering copper vessel. The ritual of it was a comfort bordering on the sacred.

Aziraphale rubbed a small dab of scented oil on Crowley’s temples. “I got Leonardo’s sketch,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Crowley replied, “or I would have to worry my miracles are starting to go awry.”

Aziraphale nudged Crowley into a seated position so that he could better comb out water loosened tangles. “It was quite lovely. I do hope that you told him that and that you thanked him for his patience. I could tell you were as restless as ever at your sitting.”

“Er—” Had he thanked Leonardo? He couldn’t remember. “Oh! He asked me to come back for a proper portrait. Said I’d make a good angel.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “At least someone thinks so.” The comb hit a snag and was replaced for a moment by careful fingers. “I don’t know how you managed this.”

“Dunno.”

“You do have a talent for finding trouble.”

When one segment was finished, Aziraphale moved to the next and the next in meticulous fashion. Crowley’s eyes fell closed as he sank into the comfortable rhythm of it. He felt like a bit of flotsam tossing gently in the waves without a care in the world. 

“I suppose this hair is what put Leonardo in mind of angels,” Aziraphale continued. “I don’t think you’ve had it this long since Eden.”

Crowley opened his eyes again as he pulled himself from his quiet reverie. “I mean, I was a snake for quite a while after that, so hair was sort of off the metaphorical table.”

“Indeed. But… it’s nice. I like it quite a bit when it’s this long. Of course you know how I love it no matter the length—” Crowley ignored the burn in his cheeks and Aziraphale continued to comb. “—but it’s nice to remember simpler times.”

“For the, what, handful of minutes we had them?”

“Even so.”

Simpler times. Crowley hardly remembered them. Yes, he’d forever recall his first sight of the delightfully soft Principality, high on the eastern wall of Eden, when he’d been nothing more than an out of place Seraph with perhaps a few too many questions on his lips. But any memory of that time was overshadowed by what came after. And then what came after that. And after that. And on and on and on despite all the good mixed in.

Crowley pulled his knees up and hugged them close. “Hey, so, uh, with my rude awakening earlier, I think I’ve sobered up enough to, er…” He ran his tongue over his teeth and pressed extra hard on his left incisor, which had always run a bit sharper. He didn’t want to talk about it but it was a dark and hungry secret that he worried would devour him from the inside out if he didn’t. “I remember everything, if you wanna hear about it.”

Aziraphale stilled for a moment and then continued combing Crowley’s hair. “Only if you want. You can take whatever time you need.”

“No, I should— I want to now. Maybe then I can start to forget without an ocean of alcohol to help me along.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut but when he did, he could see that faces of humans contorted beyond recognition by unfathomable pain. It was no wonder Hell was impressed. The humans were up here serving up the sort of punishments even demons might not have dreamed of. He looked instead at his hands beneath the surface of the water and reminded himself that they were not stained in blood. He tried to remind himself also that they were clean of any guilt in this, but he was less successful on that count.

“So,” he continued when Aziraphale didn’t make any response, “ran into Hastur on the way home.”

“What did that wretched demon do this time? If he’s the one that caused all this, I’ll… I’ll… well, let me think on it but it will be suitably ghastly, I assure you.”

“No, it’s not— he didn’t do anything. Well, guess he did but not like that. Not that I’m against the idea of you laying down some holy wrath on him, if you’re so inclined. But I’m—” Water splashed as he gestured broadly at himself. “Because, well, how much have you heard about the Spanish Inquisition?” He only waited half a heartbeat before charging on. “Hell thinks I cooked it up, since it’s all being done in Her name and with the whole, you know, inquisitive nature of it. Aziraphale, it’s awful.” He emptied his lungs into that word and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “Monstrous. Wretched. Abominable. Really, really… bad. I’d say hellish but apparently they hadn’t even thought up half the things these humans have. Got the impression they’re taking notes.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded so small behind him. “Oh, Crowley. Why did you go look?”

“Had to, didn’t I? If everyone thinks I did it, I should at least know what I’m getting my name on.”

Aziraphale’s hands fell away from Crowley’s hair as he rushed around to the side of the bath. “But you didn’t have anything to do with it! You know you didn’t, my dear, so why torment yourself over what a pitiable bunch of damned creatures think?”

“Well, it’s not like they’re completely out of bounds thinking I’d gone and corrupted the humans again, are they?”

“It’s not— Crowley, how many times are we going to have to have this argument? You can’t take all of humanity’s sins on your shoulders.”

“I can try.”

“You certainly can and I know that you do, but I wish you wouldn’t. The humans will do whatever they will do, for good or ill. You know that. Not even the Almighty can stop that.”

“Why the blazes not?”

Aziraphale froze except for a sudden fluttering of his lashes. “What?”

“Why can’t She put a stop to this? They’re committing atrocities in Her name. She’s fucking well put a foot down in the past, drowning a whole load of people and—”

“Stop!” The walls of the villa shook at the command and for a moment Aziraphale seemed much larger. He shrank back down as he grabbed either side of Crowley’s face. “Stop, please. Not another word like that.”

Aziraphale crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss. He kept kissing until Crowley no longer had the mind or breath to argue further.

“Please,” Aziraphale said once more. “Not this. If there’s one thing in the entirety of existence you don’t question, let it be this. For me.”

Crowley could feel the drip of tears onto bath wet skin as their foreheads pressed together. He wanted for all the world to agree to that. Even being able to lie about it felt like it would be a weight off his shoulders. His life— their lives— would be so much easier if he could. If he could just trust in whatever damned plan there was, he might not have spent the last week drunk out of his mind.

He pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes and frowned at what he saw. “I made you cry again.” He bent forward and kissed the tear tracks off round, ruddy cheeks. “I’m sorry, angel. I won’t say anything like that again. Not to you.”

Aziraphale’s brows lowered over watery eyes. “Not to anyone.”

“Right. Not to anyone.” Crowley sank into the bath and deeper into himself with a hunch of his shoulders. “I promise I’ll try not to even think on it, not ever again. I just want to be with you and to be happy with that.”

Aziraphale laced their left hands together so that their rings pressed together. “You have me and you always will.”

[relaxedreptile]

Habit

Pairing: Hyunjin X Female Reader

Sexual content: protected sex. Swearing. Mentions of cheating. Jealousy.

A/N: I tried to channel as much emotion into this as possible while struggling to still keep any sexiness! I hope you all enjoy this.

-

“Did you get home safe?”

It took him a few minutes to respond.

“Yeah, got a ride with Chan”

It took you a few minutes to figure out how to word your next text.

“I had at least three people send pictures of you and Jisoo”

You took a deep breath and watched as the three dots popped on and off your screen.

“Jesus Christ”

Not what you were expecting.

“We didn’t even fuck”

There it is.

You were giving yourself a moment to think before you typed back but Hyunjin must have spent too much time on “read” for his liking and opted for calling you.

“Are you really that mad?”

“What the fuck do you think Hyunjin?” You usually kept your cool for longer whenever this kind of thing happened, this must’ve been your tipping point.

“Come on! I told you nothing happened-”

“No, you just said you didn’t sleep with her and I know exactly what that means.”

Hyunjin was stunned, simply breathing into the microphone.

“I’m coming over.”

“No, not this time. I’m not letting you inside just so you can get in my pants.”

“…I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

“Hyunjin you’re drunk-”

“I’ll walk,” he cut you off, “just keep the door unlocked if you’re gonna be such an asshole.”

He hung up right as the words left his mouth and you were left with the silence of your bedroom.

Your feet hit the ground next to your bed and you searched frantically for a sweatshirt to throw on, hoping to look as unappealing as possible to make Hyunjin second guess any plan he had in place to win your favor. 

No matter how desperate or anger either one of you were, you would never force the other to do anything but you were more worried about giving in to your own desires than something like peer pressure. 

Hyunjin was probably the most beautiful boy in your city (you would argue for a wider sphere) and everyone knew it. Anyone who didn’t like boys watched, jealous out of their minds, as everyone who did like boys drooled over the perfection that was Hwang Hyunjin. 

Both his hair and his body were always styled to perfection along with his proportions to match. One moment his eyes were practically ordering you to get on your knees and the next he flashed you a smile with his half-moon eyes and you were weak for a totally different reason. 

This was precisely the reason why Hyunjin practically had girls hanging off his dick no matter where he went, regardless of him or the chick’s relationship status.

You never expected Jisoo to be his next prospect but you couldn’t blame him.

Catching sight of yourself in the mirror, you inspected your appearance. You turned side to side to get the full picture, scrutinizing your butt, your waist, your hair, anything of yours that didn’t look like Jisoo’s.

This happened every time, the comparisons. It usually didn’t last very long, even the few times that Hyunjin wasn’t able to come over and mumble countless comparisons of his own into your flushed skin, comparisons that always put you above the other girl.

While you would love some reassurance right now, you knew the comfort would fade and leave another hole in your heart that would be filled by Hyunjin whenever the next thing that wasn’t you piqued his interest. 

Your socks glided across the floor as you sulked over to the front door, answering the call of three signature knocks.

You had to tilt your head up to stare into Hyunjin’s eyes. They looked clear enough, no red in sight, an uncommon sign of sobriety for him after a party. 

“I didn’t have sex with her.”

He wasn’t even inside your house and was already starting something.

You stepped aside, signaling for him to come in to avoid your neighbors hearing anything. You didn’t want anyone knowing how much of a fucking loser Hyunjin made you out to be.

“Seriously, my dick’s been soft all night! You know I don’t get horny when I’m high.”

“You are something else, Hyunjin.” Disgust was evident in your face. “Cheating isn’t just sticking your dick in other people! Everything I saw in those damn photos counts and I have a right to be upset about-”

“How can it be cheating if we’re not dating, Y/N? I’m not your boyfriend and I never said you were my girlfriend.”

“Dating or not, if you didn’t feel guilty about all the shit that you did then you wouldn’t come over and apologize.”

He took a step closer. “Or maybe I just know you’ll spread your legs for me regardless.”

You took a step of your own and raised your eyebrows. 

“You expect me to believe that you go through all this trouble just to fuck me? Even though you can obviously go to anyone else and get it there?”

“Maybe I like the chase,” he shrugged.

“Or you’re just an immature little boy who’s only capable of thinking with-”

“Stop acting like I’m some airhead! I know what I’m doing, okay?”

You had never heard him say something like that before.

“It sucks not being able to have the one girl that I want because she’s ‘too busy’ for a relationship or whatever the fuck your new excuse is. You treated what we had between us as some type of anomaly back in high school and managed to carry it with us into the real world too. You don’t come to my games, you won’t hold my hand in public, and you refuse to come to any parties with me.”

“We just like different things Hyunjin. You’re a dance major! The homework and projects you get are just an excuse for you to do the thing you love more than anything but I don’t get that luxury. I have essays, annoying partners, and hundreds of pages of readings a night; how am I supposed to make time to get high with you? Especially when I know what’s gonna happen if I leave you alone for more than a second.”

Hyunjin laughed, a quick burst of air from his lungs and a pump of his chest left you confused and a little bit annoyed.

“I thought you were smart, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have sex with girls because they’re there, I do it because you’re not.”

Your brain shut down, your mouth stayed shut.

“Every time we fight, it ends with us spending the night together without fail. This is the only surefire way I can get you to admit to and show how you feel about me.”

Hyunjin started walking around your kitchen, pacing back and forth as his hand slid along the countertop to his left.

“You may think I use those girls to get off but I’m really just using them to get back at you. I want you to feel as pushed aside as I do.”

A tear splashed onto the countertop. 

Hyunjin always cried first.

“Jinnie.”

Nothing. “Jinnie, please look at me.”

You wanted to keep some distance between the two of you but walked towards him anyway.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t know that was how you felt. I was convinced you didn’t care, that you were just doing all of this because you could.”

You knew that kind of accusation was going to make Hyunjin mad so you kept talking.

“But that was incredibly stupid of me! You’re my best friend, I know you better than that and I never should’ve let my jealousy alter how I felt about you.”

You took a deep breath. 

“I love you so much, Jinnie, I was just too afraid to show it because I thought you never would. I didn’t want to be clingy and end up pushing you away because I know you could have anyone else in the fucking world if you wanted-”

“But I’ve never wanted someone else. Sure, sex is nice, but I only do it because these people that throw themselves at me want me in a way that you don’t.”

“That’s not true, I promise that’s not true. I want all of you Jinnie but I’m… I’m so scared that I don’t deserve it or that you’ll take it all away from me one day.”

Neither of you could get rid of the other’s insecurities no matter what you said or did. There were things that would never change, habits that could never be broken, but there were steps you both could take to offset any pain, to prevent any future problems.

You and Hyunjin were standing right in front of each other by this point, desperately clinging onto the love that you felt for one another and hoping it would be enough. 

You rose up on your tip toes to wipe a tear off of Hyunjin’s cheek and he used this as an opportunity to grab your arm and pull you into him.

Now chest to chest, you could see all the details of Hyunjin’s face. It was no secret why everyone loved him, but you suppose it wasn’t the love that he wanted. It wasn’t the kind of love that you gave him.

“Can we show each other? Can we show each other how we really feel?”

Your answer was stolen by Hyunjin’s lips, chasing yours as hungrily as ever. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair and held him close to you as Hyunjin’s hands did the same as they gripped your hips.

You could feel Hyunjin’s nose pressing into your cheek and still it wasn’t good enough for either of you. He was kind of right unfortunately, thinking about Hyunjin with someone else always doubled the desire you had for him in the sense that you desperately needed to be that someone. 

The honesty that had surfaced in your messy kitchen had developed such a strong sense of vulnerability in both of you and the need to be reassured and touched and loved was overwhelming.

Your fingers left Hyunjin’s air with a gentle tug that made him moan into your mouth and you willed your hands to stop shaking so you could unbutton Hyunjin’s shirt as fast as possible. Another pair of hands joined in from the bottom so that you could meet in the middle in record time.

You were allowed one moment to admire the smooth skin of Hyunjin’s toned chest before lips were dancing across your neck. Marks were to be expected and the harder Hyunjin sucked the deeper your nails sunk into the ridges of his stomach. 

He came back up to kiss you again, softer than last time but this time he was using his tongue in a way that made your eyes roll back behind your eyelids.

One of your hands slid down his body, fingers resting on the waistband of his jeans before continuing a few inches lower to trace the outline of Hyunjin’s hard-on. You cupped him through the fabric and applied enough pressure to get his hips to jerk into your touch. 

You might not have been as confident as Hyunjin was when it came to sex, but you knew what he liked and what to do to make him feel as good as you felt with him.

“Take your sweatshirt off,” Hyunjin forced out. He was so out of breath and still dived down for another kiss before beginning to work on getting his belt off. 

“Why are you wearing so many layers?” You were still working on your tank top and bra while Hyunjin’s belt clattered against the floor.

“To try and control myself.”

Hyunjin reached around your back to unclasp your bra, “Am I that irresistible?”

His lips were already attached to your left nipple before you could tell him to shut his pretty mouth and he was sucking on the sensitive skin before you could even steady yourself with a breath of oxygen.

Hyunjin had always loved your boobs and touched them whenever he got the chance. Even when you were friends in high school, they were always the first part of your body he complimented when you asked for outfit advice. He picked the dresses that showed the most cleavage when he came along for prom dress shopping and surprised you with a necklace that sat right between your boobs when he asked you to be his date.

It was hard to ever feel insecure about them when they were covered in hickeys.

While he was working on marking the other side of your chest, you stretched your arms so that you could start unbuttoning his pants. He swatted your hand away and you whined, confused as to why he didn’t want to go farther. 

“We’re not having sex on your kitchen floor and I can’t carry you to your room with my pants falling down.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Kitchen sex would be kinda hot though.”

Hyunjin pecked your lips. “Next time,” he promised. 

You gave his hair a tug and his lips a kiss to seal the deal. You tried not to focus on the way Hyunjin’s fingers danced across your skin, closer and closer to where you needed him most with every eight-count. 

He didn’t even bother teasing, his hand slipped right underneath the waistband of your sweats. The underwear you were wearing was barely a barrier because of how wet you were. Hyunjin’s skilled fingers knew exactly where to go first and you swore you could’ve cum with just one of his fingers pumping in and out of you, his palm applying the most delicious pressure against your clit at the same time. 

You were practically clinging onto Hyunjin for dear life, your legs started shaking when he added a second finger and picked up speed. He probably could’ve supported you all on his own while still making you feel good but you didn’t wanna waste any more time on his fingers. 

“Please,” you pleaded, “please fuck me.”

Hyunjin’s hand stalled before gradually slowing down. The other nudged you towards the closed door at the end of the hallway, forcing you to move while you were still practically getting finger-fucked. 

He followed right behind as you stumbled to your bedroom, his knees just as wobbly as yours with anticipation. Hyunjin knew you were practically dripping underneath all those clothes which meant not being inside of you was a major inconvenience for him at the moment.

You and Hyunjin had walked down this hallway so many times together already. Sometimes while tearing clothes off the other, making out, or making the executive decision to just fuck right there against the wall. This time, it felt three times as long as any other night (or day) you two had spent together (with or without the prospect of sleeping together).

By the time you had finally made it to your bed, Hyunjin had already unzipped his jeans and was searching through your top drawer for a condom while you watched from on top of your bed. 

Hwang Hyunjin truly was the definition of beautiful. Not pretty, not handsome, he had a universal beauty about him that combined masculinity and femininity into one. A sweet smile, striking eyes, and a jawline that could kill you. Toned muscles, dimples, and legs for days. 

You knew his looks were a soft spot for him and this made you appreciate his sympathetic nature, sense of humor, and kind words more than his body. Your best friend was beautiful inside and out, something you made sure to remind him of.

When he finally got what he was looking for, he held it up with a proud smile on his face and dove down to kiss you. 

You wasted no time in pulling him on top of you and nudging him in between your legs; the weight of his body on top of yours was the biggest relief to you in that moment.

“Can I take your sweats off, princess?”

You usually would’ve cringed at the pet name but it sounded so good coming from Hyunjin’s pretty lips.

He curled his fingers around your waistband after you nodded and tugged your pants down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace. The offensive fabric was tossed off the side of your bed and Hyunjin bent back down to kiss a trail up your thighs before getting rid of your underwear too. 

You sat up to watch him pull his jeans off and actually whined when you saw the bulge in his black underwear. It wasn’t about your body needing his anymore, you were so desperate to have this boy in every sense of the word and he was taking so damn long.

“Why do you choose tonight to take your sweet time?” You tried to mask your neediness with a joke.

“Shouldn’t I be taking my time?” Hyunjin climbed back on top of you. “We have all night, Y/N.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re nice to look at, but I don’t wanna spend all night watching you roll a condom on.”

You were laughing at your own joke until Hyunjin raised his eyebrows and handed said-condom out to you, waiting for you to take it.

“You do it, then.”

You gulped, taking the shiny packet from him and sitting up. You were embarrassed to admit you had never put a condom on anyone before, Hyunjin always did it himself and it was a bit too intimate for you to want to do it for any of the rare one night stands you had encountered.

He helped you yank his briefs down and he groaned once his cock was finally free, resting on his smooth stomach.

You rose up on your knees as you pulled the plastic open. Hyunjin watched your face, smiling a bit at how concentrated you were.

“You’ve seen me do it a million times.”

“I’m usually too distracted to focus on your technique, Jinnie,” you replied as you placed the condom on the tip of his cock, holding it in place as you rolled the rest of it down his shaft.

“Good girl,” Hyunjin’s praise made your thighs clench.

“You like that? You like being called a good girl?”

You buried your head in the crook of his shoulder and whined, pleading for him to stop teasing you.

He giggled, the sweetest sound you had ever heard, and wrapped his strong arms around your waist.

You enjoyed the contact only for a moment before pulling back a bit to look at Hyunjin’s face. He brushed the hair out of your eyes and pecked your lips, making you smile and give him a deeper kiss in return. 

You pressed your hips down into his, trying to relieve some of the pressure in your gut by grinding against the hardness between his legs. You tried to ignore how the slick from your pussy made it all the more easier (and messier), but this didn’t escape Hyunjin’s attention.

“You’re dripping down your thighs, baby.”

Hyunjin stared at the most beautiful cunt he had ever seen in his life and was left in awe of how much your body wanted him, he just needed the rest of you to confirm it.

“Are you ready, baby? Can I show you how much I love you?”

You kissed the tip of his nose. “Make me yours, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin held you in place with one of his arms while the other went between your legs, sliding his dick back in forth through your wetness to make the stretch easier. You locked eyes with each other as you sunk down on his length, throwing your head back once all of him was inside of you.

The hands on your hips helped guide you as you rocked back and forth on Hyunjin’s cock, crying out whenever his lower stomach rubbed against your clit in just the right way. Hyunjin’s eyes were glued to where you two were joined, amazed at how tightly your cunt was always wrapped around him. He seemed to disappear inside of you, your body trying to pull him back in every time you rocked forward enough for just his tip to be left inside of you.

The pace was slow, but just what you two needed for the time being. The ability to enjoy each other’s bodies was appreciated, but nothing compared to what being nose-to-nose did for the two of you. Every gasp of yours was stolen by Hyunjin’s lungs, every vibration from his throat swallowed by your chest. 

You fought the urge to close your eyes and lose yourself in the moment, choosing instead to keep eye contact with the boy you loved. The pressure building in your lower stomach and blooming in your chest was overwhelming, only heightened by the intimacy the two of you were sharing in the moment.

Hyunjin pulled your body closer to his, leaning forward and repositioning the two of you so that he could hover above you while you laid on your back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling Hyunjin closer as he rocked into you.

You new it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore Hyunjin had never felt this deep inside of you. You’ve had your fair share of sex but nothing else compared to what you were feeling right now and you let Hyunjin know with every whimper and whine that left your lips.

Hyunjin was smirking into your shoulder, relishing in the sound of his skin slapping into yours with every thrust of his hips. Any moment spent outside of your warm cunt was a sin, he was thinking of slamming back into you the moment he pulled out. 

Hyunjin’s pace quickened, now going impossibly fast. His cock was hitting that spot inside you with every thrust and you were being stretched in the most delicious way possible because of how thick he was. You couldn’t even breathe properly, electricity was being shot through your veins every time Hyunjin moved his hips and you thanked the gods for making your boy a dancer.

One of his arms left the space beside your head to go between your bodies, sliding against your clit effortlessly with every movement because of how wet you were. 

“I love you… I love you so much,” you dug your nails in Hyunjin’s back to get the words out. “You make me feel so good,” you continued, “you always take care of me, you-”

A sob was torn from your throat as the knot in your stomach finally came undone, your body being reduced to a burst of light and what felt like endless waves of pleasure.

Your pussy tightened around Hyunjin’s dick, making him groan into your shoulder as his pace faltered. 

“I’ve got you, baby, you did so well,” Hyunjin promised.

With a final snap of his hips, Hyunjin forced himself as deep as he could go inside of you, releasing into the condom. You ran your fingers through his hair as he leaned his head on your collarbone for support, his orgasm taking too much out of him for him to hold it up himself. 

His pretty lips left open-mouth kisses on your chest, tracing the marks from earlier as he was too spent to leave any new ones.

Hyunjin was so fucking sweaty it was almost funny but in reality, the way his hair stuck to his forehead was kinda hot.

“You’re so sticky, Jinnie.”

He groaned in embarrassment, sliding his body against yours with the movement and further reinforcing your point.

“You love it,” he offered.

You giggled and nodded, smiling harder when Hyunjin nuzzled deeper into your chest.

“I love you too, by the way.”

You hummed in acknowledgment.

“Rest up, okay? Now that I’m your boyfriend, I’m taking you out for breakfast in the morning.”

“We’re gonna fall asleep like this?”

“I don’t plan on pulling out so…”

They say it takes two months to form a habit and one to break it. However, you and Hyunjin were years in the making and neither of you planned on spending any more time pushing the other away. Your deepest insecurities were out in the open and you both had silently pledged to help the other ween away from such thoughts.

Hyunjin had spent a lot of time and many nights between your legs in hopes of achieving what had finally transpired tonight. 

While dreaming of sharing hot chocolate with the one he loved most, Hyunjin slept like a baby.

[fleckcmscott]

The Knot

Summary: Arthur and Y/N finally have the wedding they discussed on their sprint to City Hall.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,238

A/N: This was requested by @sweet-nothings04​. It is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for the support and beta-reading!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The nightly routine Y/N had developed over the years was a simple one. Her barely-there foundation, neutral eye shadow, eyeliner, and light mascara would be washed away with soap and water. After changing into a nightgown, she'd brush her teeth and hair. Moisturizing cream would be dabbed on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. (A couple of thin lines had formed at the corners of her mouth, and she hoped to prevent more.) She'd crawl into bed beside Arthur, they'd talk and cuddle, then she'd kiss him good night and wait for sleep to take her. It was a relaxing end to the day that didn't require a lot of effort.

But this evening was not routine. What Patricia seemed to have planned for it put Y/N's habits to shame. Peeking into the mint green satchel she'd brought caused a grimace. It was possible the clay and honey cosmetic masks wouldn't be too bad. The toe separators and nail polish and pumice stones didn't interest her. And the floral, spray-in hair perfume was pungent. God. All this fuss prompted Y/N to pour the both of them the rest of the wine.

"This is too much for me." Y/N frowned in the bathroom mirror and examined the mud on her face. "How long do I need to keep this on?" she asked, the alcohol making her grumble.

"Ten minutes." Patricia set a timer and placed it on the sink. "And don't whine. This stuff is why no one knows I'm over fifty."

"And here I assumed it was your vibrant personality." After taking a sip from her glass, Y/N turned to the tub. There were about five inches of hot water in it, topped with pink foam that smelled like artificial roses. It reminded her of the dusty, scented candles her grandmother had kept in the bathroom, but never lit. Patricia sat on the edge, dipped her feet in and waved for Y/N to join her.

Patricia started scrubbing the ball of her foot. "Are you excited?"

Y/N made a thoughtful noise. When she and Arthur had gotten married at city hall a year ago, she hadn't needed a wedding - she'd needed to be married to him. He'd wished for one, though, and she'd promised him that. "The wedding I had before was stressful. I could go without it." A gentle smile came across her cheeks. "But I am for him." She sighed contently as she submerged her feet. "When we were filling out the invitations a month ago, he was so happy. He pasted one in his journal - he showed me the page - and put exclamation points all around it."

That wasn't all he'd done. Arthur had convinced her to practice a slow dance to one of his mood music records. It hadn't taken much effort for him to talk her into it. ("I've imagined this a lot," he'd told her.) She figured she'd gotten pretty good, having learned to let him lead her instead of trying to anticipate his steps. His generous encouragements and the pleasure in his eyes had helped.

Snorting, Patricia grabbed a nearby smoother and began working on her heel. "How did a hard-ass like you end up with a sweet man like him?"

"He thinks I'm sweet." Y/N shook her head, splashing around with her toes. "Don't tell him he's been had."

At the buzzing of the timer, Y/N sprung up and went to the sink. Getting the mask off was as annoying as she'd suspected. The packaging said to use a cloth, lukewarm water, and circular motions. But the clay was stubborn and didn't want to leave her face. Patricia apparently found it hilarious, laughing all the harder when Y/N looked at her with indignation. Three washrags and an empty glass of wine later, her skin was clear. Irritated, but clear.

Patricia gestured over her shoulder as she dried off. "There's a present for you in my bag. You said no gifts, but it's nothing. And I didn't want to give it to you in front of Robert and Matt tomorrow."

Intrigued, Y/N retrieved the bag from the floor and sat next to her on the tub's edge. Matt, Y/N's former boss, she could understand. But what would Patricia give her that she didn't want her own husband to see? It only took a little digging to find the box, slightly bigger than her hand, with a red ribbon around it. "You shouldn't have." She opened it and pulled out what was inside. Her best friend had given her a black, satin thong with side ties. She stared at it a moment, then burst out laughing. "It's so tiny," she exclaimed, the triangle front barely large enough to cover her palm. "I don't have the ass for this!"

Winking, Patricia nudged her upper arm. "It won't stay on long enough for Arthur to notice."

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Arthur was at a pub with a friend for the first time in his life. He'd been to comedy clubs plenty of times, and Y/N had introduced him to numerous restaurants. But his general lack of interest in drinking and absence of companionship had never made bars a desirable destination. It had been Gary's idea, though. And with his company, Arthur was part of the crowd instead of apart from it.

They were seated at a small booth near the kitchen, away from everyone. Their conversation was sparse. Despite his overall increase in comfort, Arthur still had a hard time with social situations. Granted, Y/N had told him he was steadily getting better at them. And now, with the effect of the Fuzzy Navel in his hand, he was doing all right. There had been no forced laughter (which only happened a few times a month), no bouncing of his legs, and no nail biting. He was proud of himself for that, especially given the hint of nervousness he felt.

Tomorrow was their big day. The wedding was going to be at their apartment. There would only be four guests: he'd made it clear Penny wasn't welcome, and the elderly woman Y/N had invited, Ms. McPhee, had declined with an apology and cookies, saying she was too ill to go anywhere. Dinner would be potluck style. Finally, he'd fucking have what he'd dreamed about for years. Although it was implied every time he touched Y/N, he'd get to vow, publicly, to stay with her forever. To take care of her, no matter their circumstances. To love her ceaselessly. And, he reflected, she'd promise to belong to him, too. He grinned around his cigarette as he smoked, looking into his drink, joy rushing through him at the thought.

Gary took a swig of his porter. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?"

"Yes." Arthur answered without hesitation. "But I don't know why Y/N wanted me to spend the night out. We're already married."

"You can't sleep with the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."

Tradition. His chest tightened at that. Tradition hadn't meant anything most of this life, anything besides futile yearning. He couldn't remember if he'd been read to as a kid. Lost teeth probably ended up in the garbage. Holidays had always been too expensive to take part in, and with Penny's apathy and all the hours he'd worked, he hadn't had the energy to try. He was glad to be making up the deficit with Y/N. Still. This was an odd custom, and not really applicable to them. "But I've been sleeping with her for two years." Almost as soon as he spoke, he realized his double entendre. He brought a hand to his forehead. "Shit. Sorry, Gary."

A sly smile crossed Gary's face, but he didn't seem upset. Which made sense - filthy jokes and dirty tales often flew around the locker room at HaHa's. The shorter man reached into the breast pocket of his striped shirt, then held out a small package. "Here. I got this for you."

Curious, Arthur examined the cellophane enclosed carton. The teal box of NoDoz said it would keep him awake, was fast acting, and safe as coffee. And there was a sentence, written in a cursive font on the bottom edge: "Number 1 with Newlyweds!" Oh. Oh. He knew what they were for. Once in a while he'd come across The Honeymoon Game when flipping through channels. The tablets were often mentioned, along with comments about "being busy all night long." The burning in his cheeks only amplified his giggles as he tucked them in his pocket. "Thanks. For letting me stay over, too."

"You're welcome. It's just the sofa." Gary gave a shrug. "What time did you want to get back home?"

Arthur recalled the list of errands Y/N had helped him make. He had to stop at the flower stand near their place and get a white carnation for himself and a bunch for her. Garlic bread needed to be ordered at Marchetti's, to go with the lasagna Y/N was attempting. He wanted to give himself a good half hour to change, fix his hair, and practice saying what he'd written.

Gary agreed getting back to the apartment in the early afternoon would be fine. Arthur wasn't expecting his follow-up question. "How'd you know she was the one for you?"

Trying to hide the embarrassment behind his answer, he sipped his cocktail. "Gary, no other woman ever wanted to be with me."

"I'm sure that's not true," Gary replied. Arthur didn't move to correct him. Maybe he'd successfully hidden his prior failures from his former co-workers by simply not joining in when they all talked about women.

It took time to come up with a response. When he gave it, the words were quiet, his tone almost reverent. "She never acted like there was something wrong with me." The corner of his mouth quirked up as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "No one else ever did that. Not even my mother." Realizing he may have insulted Gary, he backtracked quickly. "You- You were always nice."

Gary visibly brightened and waved at a waiter to order them both another round. Arthur sat back against the torn cushion of the booth, already slightly dizzy from the first one. It was going to a long, hopefully good, night.

~~~~~

The preparation for the 4:00 PM ceremony did not go as smoothly as planned. The dish Patricia brought, which she had wanted to keep a surprise, was macaroni and cheese. Y/N ran out and bought three salads from the deli so there'd be an option besides pasta. She'd made a small tear in the hem of her light blue wedding dress, one she'd picked up at a consignment shop, when she'd gotten caught on a doorway. And Arthur insisted on not seeing her in her dress beforehand, so she spent most of the time cooped up in the bathroom. She could hear Arthur's hushed tones as he paced the living room and spoke to Gary ("I'm gonna fuck up. What if I start laughing?"), and Gary trying to reassure him ("Arthur, just read it.").

But those snags were nothing compared to the issues at her first wedding. The flowers had never arrived. The cake topper had fallen, splitting the groom's head in half and breaking off the bride's arm. And, about halfway through it, she'd realized she was making a mistake. Presently, standing in front of the mirror while she fiddled with her high, split neckline and waited for Patricia to get her, she knew she hadn't erred. Doubt never entered her mind when it came to Arthur - only love, happiness, and gratitude.

When the door opened, Y/N ran her palm along the embroidered lace of the dress's bodice, smoothed the chiffon of the full-length, A-Line skirt, pulled at the wrists of the long, translucent sleeves, and took a deep breath. Her heart quickened when the faint notes of Arthur's favorite, sentimental Jackie Gleason Orchestra LP reached her ears. She stepped out. All the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, leaving space in the middle of the room. Their four friends stood there expectantly. Then she looked at Arthur, and the excitement she'd told Patricia she felt for him suddenly became her own.

He'd slicked back his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be formal, curls loose around his ears. The white button-up he was wearing was a tad large around the shoulders. But the likely second-hand black vest and trousers he wore fit perfectly. The carnation in the waistcoat's breast pocket was a nice addition. He was wearing his red and yellow tie, still the only one he owned, in spite of it being part of his Carnival outfit.  As she approached him steadily, she studied his face. The affection in his soft expression caused her breath to hitch, as did the drawing together of his dark brow as he admired her. She giggled, hoping he liked the nontraditional dress.

There was no need for the question, however. As soon as their hands met, he clutched hers and smiled. The autumn sun, which was already halfway down the sky, brought out the deep chestnut undertones of his brown waves. And the clear green of his irises glistened beautifully in the bright light. If it would have been acceptable, she would have kissed him on the spot. Instead, she settled for mouthing, "You're gorgeous." The blush that resulted, the way he lowered his head as he grinned happily, and his silent, "You, too," made her stomach flutter.

Listening to what the yellow-pages officiant said was nigh impossible. And from the expression on Arthur's face, he couldn't concentrate, either. But they managed to get through the basic vows, those same, time-honored words spoken at nearly every wedding she'd attended. (Except for "worshiping" and "obeying" - she'd insisted those parts be removed, explaining they were equals.) They'd each come up with their own short pieces, too, and at his insistence, she went first. "I didn't come to Gotham to find love. I just wanted to leave everything behind. Then I met you. You made getting remarried the easier decision I've ever made."

What Arthur said in return, reading softly but clearly from a worn piece of paper, had her beat. "People think I'm weird. But you don't." His Adam's apple bobbed and a slight tremor entered his voice. "You're my one and only person that can understand me." His rasp turned into a hiccup at the end, and he sniffled and scoffed while he tucked his notes away. The clench of her throat was immediate, and she threw her arms around him, not waiting for the words "you may kiss the bride" before joining their lips.

~~~~~~

​​​A wedding day was supposed to be special. Out of the ordinary. Exceptional. Anything but regular. But Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt normal for as many hours in a row as he did today. The flash of a pocket-camera when he'd cupped Y/N's face and kissed her after she'd lunged at him. Their short dance, with the shallow dip they'd practiced and her stepping on his foot only once or twice. The gentle "I love you" he'd murmured against her lips. The acceptance of her friends when they congratulated them both. All of these extraordinary moments coalesced into a warm, tender, soothing ache that, in spite of his doubts, confirmed he was a real person, worthy and capable of love.

The glass door opened behind him, and, expecting Y/N to drag him back inside, he flicked his cigarette away. But upon turning he saw Patricia, drink in her hand. They'd spoken briefly a few times since initially meeting a couple years ago. Arthur didn't yet have a clear impression of her. Y/N and she were close, he knew, and they often met for lunch. And Patricia had helped her try to stop the Wayne Foundation case from going forward. Observing the older woman, he noted the gray scattered throughout her hair, the lines on her face that were less prominent than his own, the minimal rouge on her cheeks. She reminded him of Penny before her health had declined. Before everything had changed.

"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked, indicating the pack he was holding.

He blinked at her. "Sure."

She stepped to him as he retrieved one for her. After she plucked it from him and placed it between her lips, she took his lighter. "Y/N doesn't know. Keep it that way. You may not have picked up on it yet, but she can be bossy."

Chuckling, he cocked his head. Y/N had warned him about her bossiness early on, but it wasn't as bad as she'd claimed. Sure, she was assertive about certain things. But smoking was the only thing she was overly pushy about. The reason for her nagging prevented it from being more than a minor annoyance, though: she wanted them to spend a hundred years together, she'd said, instead of him dying prematurely of lung cancer. Blunt to a fault, as usual, with an inkling of sweetness underneath.

"Y/N was crazy about you from the start," Patricia said, pulling him out of his musings.

A glow blossomed in his chest and he dropped his gaze bashfully. "She talked about me?"

She smirked up at him, as if she was about to reveal a secret. "She gave me a note with hearts and exclamation points on it after you slept together."

Eyes widening, he turned back towards the street and focused on a manhole cover. It shouldn't have surprised him - he'd spoken with Gary about Y/N - but it did. And meant the world to him. But he was beginning to wonder what else she'd disclosed. Christ, was Patricia aware he'd been inexperienced? Had Y/N said he'd done a good job? Had she...Could she have talked about his body, the way the men at HaHa's described the women they were seeing? Those notions were laughable, he tried to tell himself, and attempted to push through them amid his growing discomfort.

Patricia gave his forearm a maternal pat, allaying his unease. "It was because you were gentle with her." He watched her angle her body towards the window and peer inside, and he followed her gaze. Y/N was pointing at a spot in the living room for the folding table they'd rented, along with six chairs. "She's gritty - she's been through a lot. I'm glad she has you to let go with."

Nodding slowly, Arthur understood. He was a good partner, a good husband to Y/N. And it wasn't only the woman he loved more than his own life saying it - it was her closest friend, her confidante. Intermittently, his conditions made it difficult, particularly on those days when he needed repeated validation, or the fury he carried deep within him threatened to bubble up. (Though it had gotten better with treatment, the stability his life now had, and Y/N's support.) Patricia recognized that he was trying and believed he was doing well. Accomplishment wasn't a sensation he often experienced, but the foreign sensation creeping into him must have been it. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. "I love her a lot, too."

They went inside and put up the chairs and set the table. There wasn't a table cloth, but Y/N had taken out their "good plates," with gold filigree on the rims. One of their cotton napkins went missing, so Y/N put a paper towel under her cutlery. After he lit the two cream taper candles he'd found in a drawer, everything looked perfect.

The food and drink were something else. The only macaroni and cheese Arthur had ever had come out of a box. Patricia's tasted savory rather than salty, but he wasn't sure if he liked the tomatoes it had in it. Although the pasta was too soft, Y/N's lasagna was good, if a bit heavy on the sauce. The garlic bread helped with that. The salad was mostly ignored; he only ate the small serving she stuck on his plate. The scotch Gary brought was passed between himself, Matt, and Robert. Arthur did try a sip, but it was exceedingly strong and stole his breath. He decided to stick with wine.

As the evening went on, Arthur grew pleasantly warm and drowsy. Y/N and Patricia had taken over most of the banter, guffawing and being mildly foolish. Matt had brought a chocolate sheet cake for twenty-four instead of six, and Y/N had to hold her stomach to quiet her tipsy laughter when it was sliced. Arthur's hand crept to her thigh and squeezed lovingly, his eyes locked on her with adoration. The depth of his feelings, his keen awareness of her, her presence at his side, was drowning out the rest of the room. It didn't take long for her to turn to him and mouth, "Let's say good night."

Y/N sent everyone home with leftovers and a hug, and forced Matt to take most of the cake with him. Gary gave Arthur a wink and a nod as he left, and Arthur snorted as he shook his head and shut the door. Propping himself against it, he sighed, trying to clear the fuzziness from his head. She came up behind him and kissed his shoulder. "Patricia's going to have the photos developed in triplicate and give us the negatives."

He twisted to face her and put his arm around her shoulders, slightly dizzy. "Does that mean we'll get copies?"

Giggling, she pressed into him and nuzzled his cheek. "Yes. We'll get three copies." She looked up at him as she leaned back. The ardor in her gaze made his pulse skip a beat. Then she lead him to the bedroom without preamble, blowing out the candles on the way.

He'd read and seen enough to recognize what was expected of him. This was their wedding night. It was when the music would swell and the screen dissolved to black in the old movies he would watch. He was supposed to take charge and make love to her. And he wanted to. Truly. But he'd eaten more than he usually did in two days. That combined with only having slept a couple of hours the previous night, anticipation having kept him awake on Gary's couch, lead to the tiredness he now felt.

Her hands were everywhere, though, roaming his back as their mouths melded together. Arthur slid his tongue between her lips, and he could taste the wine they'd toasted with and spent the rest of the night drinking. Breathing raggedly, he swallowed her moan and held the nape of her neck. When she presented her back to him, he paused before caressing the lace on the back panels of her dress. He took the dainty zipper between his thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled it down. The intimacy of what was happening, of Arthur Fleck unfastening the dress of his bride, made him shudder. Once the bodice was completely undone, he pushed his forehead to her and kissed the soft skin at the top of her back.

The dress fell slowly, catching on her breasts and hips as she brought it down. When she turned to him, his brows lifted. She was wearing the smallest pair of black panties he had ever seen. They barely covered her sex. He huffed. "Where did these come from?"

A grin broke out across her cheeks. "Patricia was convinced you'd love them."

Smirking, he gave a little nod. "I do." They were tied at her waist. If he just pulled the string, she'd be revealed to him. "You're so pretty." His fingers teased a bow, trying to will himself to perform. But he wasn't feeling it. "Um." He chuckled sadly, knowing he was about to disappoint her. "I ate too much. And I think I'm drunk. I'm sorry." He winced and looked away from her.

Y/N stared at him, then laughed throatily and squeezed him close. "Oh, thank god. Me, too. It's been a busy day."

His grasp on her tightened. "But a good one?"

"A wonderful one." She pecked his mouth and moved towards the bed, not bothering to take off her bra before slipping beneath the blankets. "You can untie me in the morning."

As Arthur undressed, he folded each piece of clothing and placed it on top of the vanity. He'd take care of it whenever they got up. By the time he sat on the bed in his briefs to take off his socks, Y/N's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm. Sleep always seemed to come easily to her. Carefully, he got in beside her and stroked her hair back. Not wanting to wake her but needing to touch her, he kissed her brow bone faintly, gliding his fingers along her cheek. Then he ran his hand down her side and teased the string on her hip, loosening the knot until he could whisper his fingertips over her without obstruction. She mumbled quietly but didn't stir.

Smiling, he breathed against her temple. "I hadn't been happy one minute of my entire fucking life before you." He sniffled and swiped at his nose, sighing contentedly. "Sometimes I am now. Like today." He rested his head next to hers on the pillow, his arm going around her waist to tuck her back against him. "Thanks, Y/N Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @ithinkimaperson​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​

[reynesofcastamere]

Pressure Points[β]

(A/N: The prompt I got for this was ‘Maul giving Ahsoka some NSFW stress relief.’ And. Uh...Well, I’m not sure if this is what you wanted, anon. But it’s what you’re getting. ORZ. So yeah, this gets fairly dark. Readmore is going under my notes again. Warnings for: blindfolding, non-negotiated bondage, dubious consent/morals, possessiveness, mentions of past self-abuse(reckless sexual behaviour/masochism) and sensory deprivation. I’m...not certain whether some of Maul’s lines fall under gaslighting or any other form of verbal/emotional abuse, but keep an eye out for those too. Potentially triggering sections have been marked off with ‘****’. This takes place about 2-3 years after ROTS and events are closer to canon (ie Maul is a crime boss but Death Watch and the Nightbrothers aren’t allied with him). Unbeta’d.)

There is tension in her frame as she waits, the strip of black cloth about her eyes her only adornment. Marks cover her, old and new, dappling the sunset colour of her skin with sharp points of red and pools of purple, blue, and yellow. They are not his work, nor do they belong to a single individual. Such a curious creature. Ahsoka Tano is knelt on a large cushion in front of a chair, the very image of powerlessness and debauchery. And yet... “Are these meant to provoke me?” Maul questions, fingertips trailing from the centre of her back and over one shoulder as he circles around her to take his seat. “Or have you come to request my aid in killing those responsible?” The latter seems unlikely, given her limiting morals and considerable skill, though the prospect does intrigue him.  “Neither.” She murmurs, voice slightly roughened from strain as he cups her jaw in one hand, slowly tilting it upwards. The blindfold only prevents him from reading her eyes, but there is a wealth of information waiting in the tempo of her breath and heartbeat, the subconscious tells of movement and expression. “Don’t pretend you’re concerned for anything other than your own ego.” The bitter tone to her voice is hardly subtle, though. “If you wished to avoid interrogation, you should have been more patient.” He coaxes her upwards with guided touches until she sits bestride his thighs. “Instead you summon me here, covered in these tokens-” A single fringertip traces a line from her lower abdomen all the way up to the edge of the blindfold. “-and this insulting barrier.” She jerks her head away when he toys with the edge of it, clearly not willing to relinquish whatever ‘safety’ it afforded her. “What am I to do with you, my Lady?” “Don’t. I’m not yours. Not-” Ahsoka trembles as he discards his gloves to touch her properly. His hands stroke her outer thighs, over her backside and up her spine to curve around and palm her breasts. He indulges himself for a few moments, tasting the vulnerable skin that rests above the pulse beating in her neck as the callused pads of his thumbs rub and circle her stiffening peaks. “Reluctance does not become you.” Maul whispers as her hips twitch, hands blindly seeking out the armrests and gripping them tightly, as if to anchor herself. Or perhaps, to  have something else to touch besides him. “Evil.” Her reply comes, followed by a sharp cry when he roughly tugs and worries at her nipples with his fingers. He is familiar with this kind of deprivation: How taking away one or all of the senses can increase the body’s reaction to pain. Such knowledge had never been meant for the purposes of pleasure; of making another being pant and writhe, seeking more. The first -and only- time he’d had the satisfaction of seeing her in this state was a far more...rushed affair. Punctuated with savage cacophony, nails and teeth tearing at each other as they were swept into a frenzy of unrestrained lust. There simply hadn’t been the time or inclination to truly explore her. But now... He laughs, soft and brief and cruel. “And you know for a certainty that none of your paramours were thieves, murderers, or worse?” One hand trails downwards, stopping just above her sex. The edge of his thumb just barely teases her engorged nub, drawing out a shaken exhale. “Or am I to believe that you screened every one of their backgrounds personally.” A statement of dry scorn as he observes her internal struggle, seemingly repulsed by and drawn towards him all at once. “It’s not the same. They weren’t-I don’t even have a word for what you are.” Ahsoka retorts, low and tinged with sanctimonious fury. She hisses when he slips a single digit inside her, a frission of genuine discomfort travelling up her spine and into her shoulders. Hm. She is certainly wet enough, so the soreness in her channel cannot be his doing. He will need to prepare her gradually if he wants to achieve much more than this. “Oh, but you do. Say it.” “...Monster.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not even going to try and deny it?” “A waste of my time and an affront to your intelligence.” He hasn’t stopped touching her this whole time, lips ghosting along her throat as his fingers carress her, inside and out. Her hips are rolling in minute increments, her grip on the chair practically white-knuckled at this point. Maul pauses for a few moments to remove his upper garments, pry her hands loose, and place them on his back. Specifically, on the furrows she’d left in his skin over the course of their heated entanglement.  ****

“I can’t do this.” She breathes, fingers clenching as the heel of his right palm drags over the bundle of nerves at the apex of her slit. “Mmmn...-haaahh- It’s...it’s wrong.” Her back arches as he re-inserts one digit, then another, still providing the friction that’s causing her to start losing coherency. “An interesting choice of words.” They imply a certain degree of...latitude in her thinking. That it is some form of obstacle preventing her from giving in, rather than a total resistance to what is happening.  “What’s that supposed t-ahhhhn-to mean?” Ahsoka demands, before their lips meet. It does not take long for her to melt, moaning as his tongue teases her lower lip, then lightly draws it between his teeth. When he pulls back, it is purely to admire the image of desirous ruin she inspires, flushed and breathing raggedly as she trembles. “Do you not realize how close you are to oblivion?” He curls the digits inside her for emphasis, feeling her jolt at the sensation. She has been attempting to shield herself from him in the Force, but Maul is both relentless and patient, and the conflict in her is simmering so very near to the surface.  “If you are so diminished by wanting this from me, leave.” His free hand digs into a set of bruises on her right hip, her hands clenching against his back as her core quivers. “Run back to your masters, secure in your nobility and virtue, but know that the monster you marked will never touch you again. Not unless you beg, Ahsoka Tano.”  It is a clear choice. She cannot accuse him of being obscure or unreasonable in his logic or wording. Yet she does not move away or speak. In fact, her jaw is clenched so tightly that one might worry for the state of her teeth. With how...outspoken she usually is, this development is quite odd. He lightly scrapes his teeth over her pulse point as he puzzles it out, circling the fingers still buried inside her. She is visibly struggling now, caught between body and mind as she clings to the last vestiges of self-control. “Ah...” Maul breathes in sudden epiphany. “There it is. You cannot bring yourself to ask for these...perversions.” The stiffening of her posture and the turn of her head is all the answer he needs. “So be it.” He tears a strip of cloth from his shirt, using one hand and some assistance from the Dark Side to tie her wrists behind her back. “I will ignore your sorrow, your guilt, your shame, and you will have the comforting illusion that this is not your choice.” He bites down on her throat as she comes apart, voice and Force signature finally released from their self-imposed restraints. The chaos in her is so exquisite that he cannot resist being overtaken, keening and snarling into his own climax.  

****

There are long moments spent between regaining breath and sense of self, but she does not object when he changes their positions and spends a full hour pleasuring her with a clever mouth and dextrous hands; her releases bestowed as gentle gifts. Nor does she protest once he bears her down onto the floor and claims her again and again, their mutual cries filling the enclosed space with each brutal thrust. Maul is merciless as Ahsoka pleads for him to slow down, that he’s splitting her apart, and she can’t possibly come again. He simply folds her in half, legs placed over his shoulders as he proves her wrong. The final climax is wrought in shrieking agony for them both. It is almost...cleansing, in a way. He pulls out cautiously, readjusting her legs to a more comfortable position before untying her wrists. Ahsoka is limp and pliant, chest heaving with gulps of air. When he removes the blindfold, it is easy to see why. Her eyes are reddened and watery with unshed tears, haunted exhaustion making the blue of her irises lifeless and hollow. His lips press tenderly against her forehead as she closes them. “Shh. Sleep now, ja’ti mirtis {my death}.” He rumbles, just enough of the Dark Side layered into his voice to compel her obedience. A feat that would not be possible without her...current state. Perhaps it would be best to keep her with him for at least a few days, if not longer. His current base of operation is not far, and in this way he can be assured that she is only scratched, not shattered. The Rebellion will whine at him for absconding with their precious former Jedi, no doubt. Let them. He has had larger headaches than their petty grievances and slights. The only outrage that will matter is Ahsoka’s, once she regains herself and takes her freedom. Until then, she is his, and he will tend to her as he sees fit. (A/N: MAUL, ABDUCTING PEOPLE IS NOT HOW YOU SHOW PROPER AFFECTION OR AFTERCARE, FFS. -_-*** So yeah. I might do a single follow-up to this later from Ahsoka’s POV, depending on a number of things. This...might be the first smut drabble I’ve written purely from Maul’s perspective, come to think of it. The line in Sith language is repurposed from captainmazzic, and a couple of others from TLJ. The important thing to remember is that Maul is both Very Persuasive and convinced that he is Always Right. And he is, kind of,  but only from a very selective point of view. Ahsoka has every reason to question the morality of what it means for her to not only want sex from him, but also that she likes having some degree of physical pain involved with sex in general. (Some people aren’t fully comfortable with masochism/painplay in their BDSM, especially when first starting out.) I wanted to explore a version of her that wasn’t as put-together or as sure of herself, because everyone has a point where they either get run down or break entirely; and it doesn’t make her any less for doing so. Anyway, I’ve rambled on a fair bit again. Cheers, everyone!)

[mcustorm]

Thoughts on Jamie Johnson 5x07

And there you have it, people! We’ve spent close to 5 seasons with Dillon Simmonds, and tonight we got to understand him on a deeper level than ever before. I mean, it was already true, but tonight firmly established Dillon as the most fully realized character on the show. As for our titular character, well…

First things first, I actually think Zoe played her cards correctly tonight, despite generally being in the wrong. Giving Kat the pendant when she found it would have been the best thing to do, but she’s Zoe, so this was the next best thing. Giving it back just before or during the game might have caused animosity between the girls on the pitch, so Zoe instead went into pep talk mode. And get this: she actually sounded genuine!

Bruh, I am tide of these youngins and their drama. Eric was in the wrong in regards to the bag incident with Liam last week, but the situation is clearly more complex than that which Alba of all people should understand. As leader, she should sit them both down and have a fair and nuanced (or as nuanced as a 13 year old can be) discussion about *all* the factors that brought us to this point. 

But this whole “Apologize! Don’t wanna? You can’t sit with us!” schtick that she’s pulling yet again does not sit right with my spirit. She’s minimalizing Eric’s feelings. Just because she’s ready to forgive Liam doesn’t mean Eric should be as well. Especially since her desire to forgive Liam conveniently lines up with her wanting/needing Liam to win some games. Maybe the cost of winning for Eric isn’t the same as Alba’s. And if Eric wants to run off and find himself a boo thang? YOU DO YOU, KING.

Jamie Johnson is a hot mess, and I am about to start printing  #JusticeForBoggy t-shirts, 50% off Pride Month special. On the one hand, I am interested in these recent plot developments concerning Boggy because it means that his character will finally get something to work with. On the other hand, WTF Jamie? I admit that I don’t have the best memory, but did Jamie not look both ways when he was in the street? Wasn’t Jamie’s Dad not looking where he was going because he was too busy seeing dollar signs? Due to their own negligence, that makes both of them more at fault than Boggy. Not that we should be assigning fault anyway.

How, how did Jamie arrive at the conclusion that the accident was Boggy’s fault? And this is why I say those kids don’t appreciate Boggy. What he did for Jamie is perfectly in line with him being there for him literally every step of the way since season 1. Even Boggy’s involvement in the accident was because of him wanting to protect Jamie. You have to wonder, does Jamie really appreciate Boggy? His convo with Freddie said one thing, his actions told a whole nother story. If I were Boggy, I’d write Jamie a nice letter saying how I feel and then leave him all the way alone.

And Mike and the team kept heralding Jamie as someone they should be fighting for. Jamie not wearing any team colors, not cheering anybody on, not even wanting to be in a picture is to me not somebody I want to be inspired by. If I were Kat (having shown up with no knowledge of the team), I literally wouldn’t even think twice about Jamie since he clearly cannot be bothered. I get that he’s angry, but he can’t just lash out at the people who have been most supportive of him.

Anyways, I am glad that the team won and went out on a high note. Even though Jamie’s a mess, this was still Dillon’s episode. And it was great. We got more “straight” puns, we got the hintiest-hint of Delliot, but most importantly we got several acknowledgments of how far Dillon has come. And now that he’s coming to terms with himself *and* may have secured the bag with Foxborough, Dillon may well be entering the greatest years of his life yet.

It’s amazing just how far we have come with gay characters. When I was Disney Channel young, that was simply unheard of. Now, so many teen dramas have some variation of LGBT representation, and what with shows like this, Diary of a Future President, and Andi Mack, even the tweens are starting to tell more stories. I will say that my peeps from across the pond are much more firm and uncensored and unapologetic about their message, which makes the whole thing feel more genuine. 

So there you have it. Now that we’re halfway through, there’s a few questions left to answer. Will Jack show up one more time to get Zoe more pressed than a panini sandwich? Is Dillon about to embark on a coming-out journey, or is he about to be outed? How much of a dick can Liam and Dillon’s Dad be? Is Delliot even a thing? Will the girls get their chance to get on the women’s team? Will Alba stop doing the absolute most? Is Indira ever going to come back on this show in any capacity? Will there be justice for Boggy?

Questions that need answers.

BTW, y’all did notice the missing scene, right? And did you see that the Indian guy who replaced Kat was behind Mike again when he cheered at the final goal?

[shadowjack12345]

Three’s Company 3 - The Date

Been a while lol

Beast Boy woke up even later than usual. He'd been up late and yesterday had been exhausting anyway. He rolled out of bed and let himself flop onto the floor. He mumbled into the carpet, still not really wanting to begin the day, when he remembered what the end of it held. He rose to his knees, a sock stuck to his forehead.

"I have a date with Raven and Starfire," he said to no-one. He then stood and started walking in a tight circle, his hands fidgeting with each other. "Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man. I have a date with Raven and Star. They're going on a date with me. And with each other. Are we all going on two dates? No, that's dumb. I can't do this. I can't do this." Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to point at himself in the mirror.

"You ca-HGHGHKK!" As he'd opened his mouth to speak, the sock, previously resting backward on his hair, flipped forward and fell into his mouth.. He spat the garment out and coughed for a few moments. "Ahem. You can do this. You got this. I'm sure they're just as anxious."

In the common room, Starfire hummed happily. She was rather looking forward to tonight and already planning what she might wear. True, she hadn't asked where they were going but it made sense that she at least consider her options. She did wonder where Raven was at the moment - it was long past the time when she usually woke up, but remembered that yesterday might have taxed her more than an average day. She shrugged and continued her task, which was petting her dear Silkie, while rifling through her wardrobe in her mind. Still... it would be nice to see Raven. She was running late but when she did arrive, no doubt she would desire her tea. Starfire put Silkie down and headed to the kitchen to wait.

In Raven's room, the woman herself sat on her bed (or more precisely, slightly above her bed) in meditation. She had a need of it after last night and suspected she might need a little extra serenity today as well. After another ten minutes, she let her eye crack open when she felt Beast Boy's emotions start to stir as he woke up. Looking at the clock, she saw it was after ten and decided she'd had enough meditation for now and would rather have some breakfast instead. She floated a little higher and let her legs unfold beneath her before drifting forward and alighting silently on the carpet. With a glance, her cloak flew from its peg on the wall and settled around her shoulders. She took another centering breath and made to leave, just as she felt Beast Boy's anxiety spike. She smirked.

"I guess he remembered our plans." She exited her room and made her way to the common room. The door swished open, as usual, and she made a beeline for the kettle, as usual, while Nightwing read the paper and Cyborg surfed the TV channels, as usual. Starfire was already in the kitchen, as usual, and she turned when she heard the doors close behind Raven, as usual, and she looked at Raven. More than most people, Raven appreciated the value of routine, and she had learned to use it almost as moving meditation. Any second now, Starfire would sing out various flowery greetings and Raven would humour her and... and... oh. Starfire was looking at her. She looked at her the way people do when they share a secret but, underneath that, there was an unmistakable longing. Raven knew Starfire had concealed her feelings for Beast Boy and herself and now she was clearly relishing that she could express them in any way, even something as small as a very attentive look across the room.

"You okay, Rae?" Raven turned to Cyborg who had spotted her standing still in the middle of the room. How long had she been there, she wondered, staring back at Starfire, who had now turned away from her.

"Fine. Just... thought I'd forgotten something for a moment," she said. Cyborg shrugged and turned back to the TV as Raven resumed her route to the kitchen. Feeling suddenly bashful, Raven went to pull up her hood as she stood alongside Starfire.

"If it is all the same to you, Raven, might you leave your hood down?" Starfire said, quietly. Raven looked up at her.

"Why?" she asked, her hands still holding her hood. Starfire smiled wider.

"You are very beautiful, Raven. I like seeing you, if you are willing to be seen," she said, lowering her voice. Raven flushed under Starfire's gaze and felt her mouth go dry. She let her hood fall, clearing her throat as she set about brewing some tea. Starfire's smile became slightly sheepish. "I am sorry if I made you at all uncomfortable, Raven," she said, her eyes drawn to Raven's red cheeks.

"No need, Star, it's just that... Beast Boy might be a little put out when he finds out you've been flirting with me before he gets here, especially when you do it so well," she said. Starfire grinned, gratefully accepting a proffered cup for herself.

"Oh, I am sure he will be pleased by my flirting," she said.

"Just don't make him panic, he's nervous enough already," Raven said, her mouth curling up a little. To emphasise the point, the door opened to show Beast Boy clearly in the middle of taking a deep breath before stepping in.

"Hey, guys," he said as he walked in, waving his hand in Nightwing and Cyborg's general direction and they grunted in acknowledgement. "Uh... morning," he said to Raven and Starfire, rather less confidently than he had greeted the others. They smiled at him, and he fidgeted under their gaze. He seemed strangely unwilling to enter the kitchen while Raven and Starfire both stood in it. They looked at each other and silently agreed - they moved to one end of the kitchen but didn't altogether leave, Beast Boy circling around to come in the other way. He poured himself a bowl of cereal while glancing sideways at the two women who continued to watch him as they sipped from their cups. Beast Boy finished preparing his cereal and stood, bowl in hand, visibly hesitating. He looked over toward the TV, where Nightwing and Cyborg sat, then over toward Raven and Starfire. He took another breath then marched to his chosen destination.

"Good morning, Garfield," Raven said between sips. He placed his bowl on the counter beside them and started to eat, smiling at them and at his own behaviour. Starfire looked between them a few times before speaking herself.

"Good morning to you... Gar." Raven and Beast Boy both blinked at her. She shrugged and looked away. "Did I do something strange?"

"Not strange, exactly. Unusual," Raven said. Beast Boy swallowed a mouthful of his cereal.

"You've never called me by my name before," Beast Boy said, wide-eyed. Starfire smiled sheepishly.

"I believe that, after our conversations last night, we might prefer our given names over our codenames," she said. Beast Boy looked to Raven.

"Don't look at me, I only have the one name," she said. Beast Boy looked back at Starfire and his mouth slowly stretched into a wide smile.

"Sure thing... Kori?"he tried. Starfire beamed at him.

"That is entirely acceptable, from either of you," she said. Raven nodded.

"Kori it is. So here we are, Raven, Garfield, and Kori'Andr," she said.

"Yup. Here we are," Beast Boy seconded. Starfire nodded and took a swig of her tea.

"One question I have, though," Raven said, "is what do Raven, Garfield and Kori'Andr tell Dick and Vic?" She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward their two oblivious comrades. For her part, Starfire didn't particularly relish telling Nightwing that not only was she embarking on a new potentially romantic relationship, but that it was with not one, but two, of their mutual closest friends.

"Nothing," Beast Boy said, interrupting her train of thought. "At least nothing right now. We haven't even had our date yet, I think we're allowed to keep it private." Starfire smiled in secret relief and Raven agreed as well.

"Okay, then. Second question: what are we wearing?"

Between them, they decided on fairly casual civilian clothing, but something smart enough to mark the occasion. They agreed to meet up at about quarter to eight, as Raven had agreed to simply teleport the three of them rather than have everyone fly there. With that decided, the three stood slightly awkwardly as they finished eating and drinking, then carried on with their day as normal. Beast Boy plopped down next to Cyborg and watched TV with him and Nightwing.  Raven followed her treasured routine of meditation and reading, expanding her consciousness and her knowledge in turns. Starfire might normally join Raven at this point but decided instead to pamper Silkie this morning. However, each of them, even Raven, found their eyes occasionally drawn to the nearest clock, even with hours left to go.

LATER

Beast Boy admired his reflection in his room, dressed simply in jeans, a blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up, that he wore open to show the t-shirt he wore under it. The t-shirt was grey and read 'party animal' in fading letters. He also glanced at his shoes, a pair of immaculate white sneakers, that still sat on his desk. He smiled at himself, satisfied, and checked the time.

It was seven o'clock.

He sat heavily on his bed and held his face in his hands, careful not to disturb his artfully messy hair, and grumbled impatiently.

Starfire twirled in the air, examining her own reflection. She wore a light skirt, dark red but with a white floral design, that came just past mid-thigh on her, as well as a loose, white sleeveless blouse that had small, pale pink flower designs on it. She wore a simple pair of black, heeled ankle boots to complete it and, as she did in everything, looked spectacular. Happy with her outfit, she again fussed over Silkie to pass the time, whispering her hopes for their date to go well.

Raven looked down at herself. She had a smaller wardrobe than most of the others, at least when it came to outdoor clothes (she secretly had an impressive collection of extremely comfortable pyjamas) and so hoped her choice was acceptable, as she didn't have many other options. She wore grey, high-waisted jeans and a blue crop top that ended barely an inch above her waistband. Over that she wore a long, thin black cardigan with sleeves slightly to long for her, her fingertips only just poking out when she held her arms at her side. After a great deal of procrastination, she elected to wear lipstick - black, naturally - and sat on her bed to don a pair of grey fuzzy socks (her comfy sock collection rivalled her pyjama collection) and a pair of heavy black boots. She glanced at her clock, it read twenty minutes to eight.

She realised with a start that they had forgotten to say where they would meet before heading out, but it was quickly taken out of her hands when she heard a rapid, excited knock on her door. She opened it and saw Starfire, hovering some inches from the floor and beaming down at her.

"Hello Raven, are you ready?" she sang. Raven looked her up and down - she looked amazing, as she always did. With their mutual attraction now in the open, she allowed her eyes to drift down for a moment, admiring Starfire's legs unadorned with her thigh-high boots. When she returned her gaze to her face, she found that Starfire's own eyes lingered on the skin that showed between her jeans and her top. When they met Raven's, there was a knowing look in them - she had caught Raven's admiration and so hadn't hidden her own. Raven felt her face heat up as Starfire touched down on the floor. She cleared her throat.

"Well... ready as I'll ever be, I think. Have you seen Garf-?" she started.

"HOLY GUACAMOLE!"

"Never mind." Sure enough, Beast Boy stood some distance down the corridor, staring at the two women. Starfire tittered at his wide eyes and open mouth.

"I... am under-dressed," he said, looking down at himself. Just as he seemed ready to turn back to his room, Raven called after him.

"Garfield, you look fine," she said. He paused but didn't seem particularly encouraged by that. "Actually, you um... you look really nice," she tried again, glancing away and fidgeting. Beast Boy stared again while Starfire sidled up to him.

"Agreed, Raven. I think Beast Boy looks very handsome tonight," she said, taking his right hand in both of her own. Beast Boy turned to face her, a shy smile crossing his flushed face.

"Thank you," he whispered. Raven watched them for a moment before beckoning them inside.

"Come in so I can close the door. Then we can go." They did so and Raven closed her eyes. "Azarath, metreon, zinthos!" Her power flared and they were gone.

Outside Alessandro's Italian Restaurant, the three stepped out of a black vortex - fortunately, there was no-one to be startled by it - and, after a momentary confusion where all three of them tried to open the door for the others, they stepped inside, immediately greeted by the effusive man himself.

"Mr Logan!" he yelled, throwing his arms up as he made his way to them. He wasn't especially tall, only slightly taller then Raven, and had a heavy build - he often joked that he loved to eat almost as much as he loved to cook - and appeared to be middle aged, his mess of black hair speckled with grey. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and he weaved through the tables in a way that was strangely reminiscent of their obstacle course, always with his eyes on them. He reached them and pulled Beast Boy into a bear hug.

"Hey Alessandro," Beast Boy laughed as they slapped each others backs. "How've you been? And I keep telling you, Gar or BB's fine." Alessandro stepped back, his hands on Beast Boy's shoulders.

"I have been well. I have been alive, Mr Logan, thanks to you," he said with a fond smile and a wink. He turned to Raven and Starfire. "Did you know this man is a hero?" he asked while Beast Boy groaned through his smile.

"Well... yes," Starfire answered. Alessandro chuckled.

"Yes, of course you do. But I do not simply mean his powers or his costume: he has the courage, the fire of a true hero, right here!" he exclaimed, thumping Beast Boy's chest with one of his heavy hands.

"We know that as well," Raven said. "It's nice to hear that you know it too." Beast Boy flushed again. It was a fact of their profession that they would have a great impact on people's lives in the city, but rarely did they interact with those people later. Aleesandro had found Beast Boy nearby one day, purely by chance, and had all but dragged him back to his small restaurant to show his gratitude. From that, a genuine friendship was born.

"Oh but where are my manners?" Alessandro cried, releasing Beast Boy. "Miss Raven and Miss Starfire, you are great heroes also! My niece is a very big fan," he said. "Please, let me show you to your table."

The restaurant was cosy, the tables close together and not remotely uniform, but it was charming and the smells coming through from the kitchen were divine. They reached their table after passing by a few other patrons, all of whom noticed their famous company, and found it to be clumsily but effectively screened from the rest of the room by a hanging curtain. Alessandro gestured at it.

"I knew you wouldn't want everyone grinning and gawping at you while you eat, my friends. Mr Logan, I have your favourite ravioli made just for you. Miss Starfire, Miss Raven, someone will come by for your order very shortly. Drinks?" They only asked for water for now and Alessandro vanished through the curtain.

"He's interesting," Raven drawled. Beast Boy laughed at her understatement,

"I know, right? Great guy, just a little overbearing when he's excited. Which is always."

"How did you become his friend?" Starfire asked.

"Remember when those runaway Joker goons tried to carve out a piece of Jump City?" he asked.

"The so-called Circus Squad," Raven said with a grimace.

"Right. Alessandro was with his family in the park and almost got in their way. I got there first," he said with a shrug. "He saw me one day and brought me in here to feed me as a thank you. Food was great, so I kept coming back. He really is a great guy. I might need your help to convince him to take money from us for this, I still have to argue with him about it," he laughed.

"Consider it done. I shall make the sad face until he accepts remuneration," Starfire said. Beast Boy shook his head with a smile.

"Aw man, no one can resist that!" he said.

"Not even me," Raven added. Starfire grinned slyly at them both.

"I shall remember that," she purred. With a jolt, Raven and Beast Boy remembered why they were there in the first place, shrinking a little under Starfire's gaze.

"Hi, welcome to Alessandro's can I take your oh shit in a bucket!" A young woman had passed under the curtain to take their orders and had, apparently, not known exactly who she was serving.

"Can you take our what?" Raven asked. The server left without a word. "That was odd." Before Raven could add more, the woman reappeared, smile back in place.

"Sorry about that. I'm here to take your order?" she said. Raven quickly glanced at the menu and Starfire did the same.

"Uh, any recommendations?" Raven asked.

"I might suggest the meatballs, they're always good," the server said, pointing them out on the menu. "Or the pizza. Alessandro does a great calzone."

"Calzone sounds great," Raven said.

"Meatballs sound very nice," Starfire said. The server took note of their order and turned to leave, but stopped mid step. Raven smirked - she thought this might happen.

"I just wanna say, you guys are awesome. Just awesome," she blurted before vanishing again.

"I guess Alessandro couldn't hide us from every fan," Beast Boy chuckled. "She seems nice, though." Raven and Starfire nodded their agreement. Then there was silence. None of them seemed to know what to say.

"Well. It got quiet," Beast Boy said. More nodding and more silence. Raven frowned - this was stupid. They talked all the time, why was it so hard now? She searched her mind for something to say...

"May I ask you something, Gar?" Starfire said. He grinned, glad for the conversation.

"Sure, Kori," he replied.

"What does it feel like when you fly?" she asked. Beast Boy cocked his head.

"But... don't you know how flying feels?" she smiled back at him.

"I know how it feels for me. It feels like freedom and exhilaration and-"

"Unbridled joy?" Raven volunteered. Starfire chuckled.

"Yes, unbridled joy. You remember," she said. Raven sighed deeply.

"Kind of hard to forget," she said. Understanding dawned on Beast Boy's face.

"Right, the Puppet King." He shuddered.

"Yes. So... what does it feel like for you?" Starfire asked. again. Beast Boy took a moment.

"Well, when I swap out for an animal, a lot of it is instinct. Hardwired in, you know? Like there's no way me or any human could walk as a spider or something, we'd just trip over ourselves. It's the same as a bird, I just know how, I can feel the air under my wings, and my tail and I fly. I don't consciously turn my tail to steer I just... go one way or the other. I guess when I'm a bird, flying feels like... I feel like I belong up there. The really weird part is that some birds can see UV light - world looks way different through their eyes." Starfire rested her chin on her hand.

"Fascinating," she said. Beast Boy flushed, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Your turn, Raven," he asked. She blinked for a moment.

"Well, St- Kori already knows this but, essentially I hitch a ride on my soul-self. I project my soul-self in whatever direction I want to go and anchor my physical self to it. It sounds more involved than it it, at least after some practice. It's like driving, it almost becomes instinctive." Beast Boy nodded slowly.

"So cool," he said. Now it was Raven's turn to blush. Not long after, their meals arrived and the conversation flowed much more naturally. Once they were finished and Alessandro had been bullied into taking payment, they lingered at the table, unwilling to see their night end.

"This was... a lot of fun. It was nice," Raven said at last.

"It really was," Beast Boy added. "Also, I know I didn't say it earlier (though I think I gave it away), but you both look amazing. You're just amazing all around, actually," he said, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"Thank you, Gar," they said in unison, which caused a few giggles among the trio.

Shortly after that, they emerged from Raven's power in her bedroom. Starfire turned and gently embraced Raven.

"Goodnight, Raven," she whispered, before turning to Beast Boy and embracing him in the same way. "Goodnight, Gar." She released him and, with a wan smile, she opened the door.

"Goodnight, Kori," Raven said as she left.

"Yeah, 'night Kori," Beast Boy added. They looked at each other. "She didn't ask."

"No, she didn't," Raven said. "I'm guessing she didn't want to chance spoiling tonight for herself. It was a very nice night."

"Yeah... See you in the morning?" he asked.

"You don't want to talk about it? About us and Kori?" Raven asked. He shook his head.

"I think it's pretty obvious what happens next, Rae," he said. She sighed.

"You're right."

The next day, Starfire didn't emerge from her room at all in the morning. She hadn't planned it but just felt safer in there for now... at least until someone knocked.

"Kori?" It was Raven. Starfire took a deep breath. Then another. Then she answered her door.

"Raven," she answered, timidly.

"Gar and I are going to grab some lunch," she said. Starfire nodded, looking at the floor. "Are you coming with? Or shall we bring something back for you?" Starfire looked back up to see Raven, hand outstretched, waiting for her. Carefully, Starfire took the offered hand.

"I would like to be with you," she breathed. Raven smiled and Beast Boy stepped into view, holding out his hand as well. Starfire took it and floated between them as they walked to the elevator, her smile as radiant as her name.

So I guess I haven't updated this for... three years. Oops.

-Jack

[wistfulcynic]

The Very Witching Time (5 / 6)

SO I would like to begin by sharing a snippet of conversation I had with @thisonesatellite when I first told her my plans for this fic. I don’t remember all the details but here’s the gist: 

Me: *tells* 

Me: “It’ll be four chapters, about 20,000 words.” 

Her: “It’s so cute that you think you can write that in 20,000 words.” 

Me: “20k. Max.”

HAHAHAHAHAHA so obviously I WAS WRONG. I tragically underestimated the number of words I would need to tell this story. So now there are six chapters. AND THAT WILL BE ALL. 

Ahem. ANYWAY. 

In this chapter Emma and Killian deal with the aftermath of the curse breaking, there is some bonding and some sexy times and a library that will make you DROOL. 

Thanks as always to @cssns for the brilliant event and @gingerchangeling for the gorgeous art. 

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.  

RATING: M

AO3 | Tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4

TAGGING: @thisonesatellite, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @jennjenn615, @resident-of-storybrooke, @teamhook, @thejollyroger-writer, @winterbaby89, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd @shireness-says @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree

(if you’d like a tag, please let me know!)

Chapter 5: 

Emma was never quite certain how she got home that morning. A soft haze obscured her recollections of the journey, like the delicate lace of frost on a winter windowpane or a particularly tedious Instagram filter. On top of the woozy exhaustion that always plagued her after intense magic use there was also the discovery of Killian’s true nature, the visions with their troubling revelations about Cora and his past, plus breaking a freaking curse, and if that weren’t already more than enough to make her head spin, that kiss… the soft, wet warmth of Killian’s mouth on hers would render her dizzy and faint even if she hadn’t channeled immense amounts of magic mere hours before. 

It is therefore, as you will surely agree, unsurprising that all she could ever remember of making her way back to her house was the radiant sunshine dappled by late autumn leaves, the sharp bite of frost the air, and Killian’s hand warm in her own, his arm around her shoulders and his body solid and reassuring as she leaned against him, her head tucked against his shoulder, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin. 

He guided her straight upstairs to her bedroom, helping her out of her wrinkled and leaf-strewn gown and into her pajamas before tucking her under her quilt. His fingers traced her cheek with the gentlest touch and she caught his hand, sensing his intent. 

“Don’t go,” she murmured. “Stay with me.” 

“Are you sure, love?” 

Such a simple phrase but she could hear every shade of meaning in the tone of his voice, Emma marvelled. The desire not to leave her warring with hesitation, uncertainty over what exactly his place was in her life now that he no longer wore the guise of a dog. She understood, and she knew there were important conversations they needed to have, but also she was desperate for sleep and certain she wouldn’t manage a wink without him there beside her. She squeezed his hand. “Stay.” 

He smiled and nodded and removed his own rumpled shirt and trousers before sliding into bed behind her, snuggling close and wrapping her securely in his arms. Emma sighed and was asleep in an instant. 

She awoke in the late afternoon just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, its bending rays bathing the sky in fiery blaze orange and softer coral, shot with streaks of heliotrope and brilliant rose. Only a sunset could make those colours go together, she thought with a smile, but in it they were breathtaking. 

Killian was still behind her, the protective curl of his body around hers so achingly familiar despite his altered form. From the cadence of his breathing she knew he was awake, though his only movement was his fingers twisting absently through the ends of her hair.

She turned in his arms and was met by his smile, brighter and more brilliant than any sunset, flooding her racing heart with a wave of warmth and sparks born of a different sort of magic. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Better.” She smiled back at him. “Good. Wonderful, in fact. Starving.” 

He laughed. “Shall we have some dinner?” He moved to slide from the bed, halting on a sharp inhale when she laid her hand flat against his bare chest. 

“I’m not just hungry for food, Killian,” she said. The tingle in her blood was making her dizzy again but the day of restful sleep had restored her strength and she was buzzing and energised and ravenous. 

He caught her meaning instantly and his eyes widened, glazing with answering hunger and heat and a trace of doubt. “Are you—” 

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she cut him off. “I am, completely. I’m still not certain how we broke your curse or shared my magic or what any of this is or what it means, but I know that I’ve never felt anything like this connection between us and I really, really want to make it physical. I need to. Is that okay?”

“You will definitely not hear any argument from me, love.” 

He gave her another of his impossibly familiar grins and she took a moment to marvel at just how much of the man had been present in the dog without her even noticing and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

In common with many witches Emma’s beliefs, in the abstract, were very open about sex. Far from being considered sinful it was seen as a natural and integral part of life, elemental as water and air, earth and fire. 

In the abstract. Practically speaking Emma was a shopkeeper in a small town where everyone knew everyone else and people talked. Where the local witch taking up with anyone would be a point of extreme interest to far too many people and there would be expectations and pressure and questions, and all things considered Emma had always found that celibacy was simply easier. 

Meaning it had been some considerable time since she’d been touched. And she had never, never used her magic during sex. 

Yet when Killian’s mouth opened under hers and his hand caressed her bare skin she found herself overcome, helpless against the rush of power that thrummed through her. Not her power, though. His. 

“How…” she gasped when they broke apart for air, unable to form any more complex words but certain he would understand. 

He did. “It’s in my hand, I think,” he said. “The magic that healed it. There was so much of it and not all got used. It’s— part of me now.” He stroked her cheek with his left hand and she could feel the vibrations of the magic it held. “And what’s part of me is part of you,” he whispered. “That’s how you feel it too. I think.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. It’s— I mean, it shouldn’t—” 

“Emma.” His hand slid from her cheek to her hair, his eyes soft and amused and desperate. “I’m sure there’s a fascinating explanation but right now I do not care. Do you?” 

“No.” She pulled him back down to her, surrendering completely to the energy that sparked wherever their skin met, and the intensely arousing sensation of someone else’s magic flowing through her. 

Why the fuck not? she thought. Nothing about Killian had ever been what she expected, why should sex with him be any different? 

He took the lead and she let him, another new departure for her, let him slip the clothing from her body with an infuriating lack of haste as his hands and mouth unerringly sought out every spot that yearned for their touch, heightening her pleasure layer upon layer, higher and higher, impossibly high, until she was sobbing and clawing at him and prepared to beg. 

And when he finally —finally— slid inside her, joining their bodies in tandem with their hearts, the magic was an inferno, consuming them as they clung to each other, as they moved together in a rhythm both ancient and uniquely their own until the waves of magic turned to ecstasy and they fell apart, in pieces and more whole than they had ever been. 

Emma had no idea how long they lay together, entwined and still joined, but by the time she felt capable of thought and movement the last rays of the sun had faded and the light through her bedroom window was the glow of the pale moon above the treetops. 

“Gods, I’m starving,” she said. 

“Again? Give a man a chance to recover, love, after you wring him dry like an old flannel.”

She laughed. “This time I’m talking about food.” 

“Well thank fuck for that. I could definitely do with some nourishment.”

~~ 🌕 ~~

They raided the kitchen and feasted on whatever they could find that required no cooking: roasted corn and squash left over from the Samhain bonfire that seemed so much more than just a day ago, bread spread thick with butter and honey or generous slices of cheese, apples and slightly stale soul cakes and very hot tea. 

Emma was so hungry she’d have eaten anything and cared little for the taste but it was all delicious, spiced by the magic still sparking in the air and the pleasure of eating with Killian, properly this time, with him sitting next to her at the table rather than under it. 

“So,” said Emma, once the most demanding of their hunger pangs were quieted. “It feels really weird asking you this, after… well, after everything, but your last name is Jones, right? I remember from the vision.” 

“It is.”

Emma’s brow creased as she tried to kick her sluggish brain into gear. “Killian Jones,” she mused. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“I’ve no idea. I spent most of my life on the sea or in England, though I have lived in Boston for the past few years—” 

“Boston,” she interrupted, as faint bells began to chime in her memory. “Harvard University Press. Was it a book cover? Did you write a book?”

“Aye.” 

A very inelegant snort of laughter burst from her.  

“What?” Killian grinned at her mirth but his eyes were puzzled. 

“Sorry.” She held up her hand as another wave of giggles overcame her. “Sorry. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear you say that without remembering how you used to bark it.” She laughed again and this time he joined her, blue eyes twinkling. 

“You might want to get over that,” he teased. “I say ‘aye’ rather a lot. It’s a navy thing.” 

“I’ll do my best.” She wiped her eyes and breathed deeply to stifle the giggles. “Anyway, you were saying you wrote a book.”  

“Ay— er, yes, I did. A history of the traditions of witchcraft from England to North America.” 

“That’s it!” She snapped her fingers triumphantly as the pieces fell into place, then waved her hand in a circular motion ending with it palm up in front of her.  Nothing happened. She frowned and waved it again, with more of a flourish this time but the same lack of result. Killian watched her curiously as she stared dumbfounded at her empty hand then rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m an idiot,” she said. “I forgot I’m so low on magic. It’s practically zinging through the air but none of it is the kind I can use. It’s a weird feeling. Anyway, I was trying to summon your book from my library but it looks like that’s not happening so I guess we’ll just have to get it the mundane way.” She looked at him, mischief glinting in her eye. “You’re a history professor, right?” 

“Ay— I am.” 

She grinned. “You’re going to love this.” 

Grabbing his hand she pulled him up from the table and along behind her out of the kitchen and through the living room to a door that he had never seen opened for the whole of the time he had lived in her house. Emma opened it and guided him up a narrow and winding set of worn stone stairs, her movements quick and certain despite the darkness. 

“Sorry there’s no light,” she said. “I’d put some on, but, you know, no magic.” 

“It’s okay—” began Killian and then they arrived at the top of the stairs and the words died in his throat as his mouth fell open and his eyes widened and he gaped with an expression of mute stupefaction that he would have known was comical even if Emma hadn’t burst out laughing at the sight of it. 

“Pretty great, huh?” she said. 

Killian had been in many extraordinary libraries in his time, from the stately magnificence of the Bodleian at Oxford to the hushed gravity of the Reading Room at the British Museum, from the sprawling glory of the New York Public Library to the actual Vatican Archives, where he hadn’t even been able to enjoy himself for fear of breathing improperly and getting kicked out. 

But none of them had prepared him for Emma’s library. 

Every inch of the walls was lined with carved wooden shelves, precisely fitted to the graceful curves of the circular room and broken only by the door they’d used to enter and another on the other side, and randomly placed windows of varying sizes and shapes through which pearly moonlight slanted, illuminating the round and sturdy oak table at the centre of the room and the rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of books. These rows curved around and around in the endless arc of a helix, twisting up much farther than his eye could see to the very top of the sharply pointed tower. 

Killian swallowed hard and with immense effort found his voice. “Why did we never come in here before?” he croaked. 

Emma shrugged. “I usually just summon the books I need. It’s kind of a pain to dig through them by hand so I came up with a spell that sorts them based on the criteria I give it.” 

Killian turned his astonished gaze on her. “You have a librarian spell?”  

“Yeah.” Emma frowned at him as he began to laugh. “Why is that funny?”

He shook his head. “It’s just my friend Belle would not be happy if she knew that was a thing. You could put her out of a job.” He looked around again, struggling to grasp the extent of her collection. There must be thousands of books, he thought. Hundreds of thousands. “You really have my book in here?” he asked her, ridiculously flattered at the idea. 

“Yep.” The room shifted with no apparent motion and a tall, rectangular window that Killian felt certain had been a good ten feet above their heads moments before was right where they stood. Emma pulled a book from the shelf beside it. “Here it is.” She held the book up in the shaft of moonlight from the window so he could see its familiar cover. “I enjoyed it.” 

“You read it?”

“Of course. I read everything written about witchcraft. It’s important to know what’s going on in people’s minds. Your book was better than most, though of course there’s a lot missing.” 

“Missing?” 

“Uh huh. Oh, don’t worry, it’s not your fault,” she hurried to add when she caught his disgruntled look. “Most of the stuff you left out I’d’ve been worried if you’d included. We keep it hidden for a reason.” 

“That… makes a lot of sense, actually,” acknowledged Killian, somewhat mollified. 

“Mmmm,” agreed Emma. “Um. Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“What made you want to study the history of witchcraft?”

His expression shifted and he gave her an odd look, wondering and tinged with awe. “You did,” he said softly.  

“Me?” 

“Aye. I didn’t know it was you at the time, of course. I just wanted to find out more about the witch Cora was looking for.” 

“But why was she looking for a witch?” asked Emma, voicing the question that had been niggling at her for some time. “For me, I guess?”

Killian blew out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Now that is a tale,” he said. “Do you mind if we sit, love, and I’ll tell you all I know?”

“Sure.” Emma returned his book to her shelf and they sat together at the table, in large and ornately carved chairs that were far more comfortable than they looked. 

Killian took her hand in his, absently, caressing her knuckles with his thumb as he began his tale. “Cora has practiced witchcraft all her life, taught by her mother as I believe most witches are,” he said, looking to Emma for confirmation. She nodded, and he went on. “She was always fascinated by the High Magic and by the stories of ancient witches who had great power, and she spent quite a lot of time studying those things. During the course of her studies she found a prophecy—” Emma made a disgusted noise “— just fragments of it but it enthralled her to the point of obsession, and from then on she pursued it single-mindedly. Over the years she pieced together more and more of it until she believed what she had was nearly complete.” 

“And what exactly was in this prophecy?” spat Emma. 

Killian looked startled at her tone but replied easily. “It speaks of a day when dark magic would be driven from this world for good. Of a witch descended from centuries of those who did not have to hide their gifts, with distilled power of her ancestors who would seal the breach. It... speaks also of that witch’s true love, whose aid she would require to complete the task. A man who could be her saving or her undoing.” He lowered his eyes, the flush on his cheekbones obvious even in the moonlight. When Emma remained silent he looked up to see her staring at him in disbelief and building fury, and his embarrassment became consternation. 

“What is it?” he asked.  

“That’s what this has all been about?” she hissed. “Nearly tearing open the barrier, nearly killing you? All because of that old thing?”

Killian frowned. “What old thing?”

Emma pushed her chair back and stood as the room shifted again. She stomped —there was no other word for it— over to a bookshelf and grabbed a leather-bound book as large as a dinner tray and thick as a club sandwich, then stomped back to the table and dropped it in front of Killian with an echoing thud. Killian’s eyes widened as he caught the title: Viarum Finis Omnium. The end of all roads. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. 

Emma hefted the book open and began ruffling through its pages. “Hmmm?” she said absently. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Killian waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture, though she wasn’t looking at him. “It’s just when I was doing my dissertation I’d’ve given my left nut to read this book.”

“Oh.” Emma paused, frowning at the book like she couldn’t fathom why anyone might find it important. “Well, you can read it now if you’d like. But I’ve got others that are loads better.” 

“Others…” said Killian faintly as she turned another page and found what she was looking for. 

“Here it is,” she said triumphantly, it being apparently the wrinkled and faded and folded piece of parchment she snatched from the book, handling it with a casual indifference that made the historian in Killian want to cry. She snapped it unfolded with an angry flourish and held it out to him. 

“Is this the prophecy you mean?” 

He took the parchment from her gently, touching only the edges. “This is it!” he exclaimed. “This is the whole thing. But… have you always known it was about you?”

“It’s not about me.”

“What?” He looked up at her and she scowled. 

“I mean, it’s not necessarily about me. It could be about anyone in my family. It could be about no one. It could —and I’m gonna be honest, this is my take— be complete bullshit.” 

He managed not to roll his eyes. “I know you don’t think much of foretelling, love—” 

“That’s the truth.” 

“But are you sure there’s never been anything to suggest that this is about you? Cora is not nearly as clever as she thinks she is but she did devote her life to figuring out this prophecy and she did identify us both… and if you and I aren’t the witch and the man it refers to then that leaves rather a lot of odd things unexplained.” 

Emma folded her arms across her chest, her expression that of a child who won’t admit it’s bedtime. “Such as?”

“Well, there’s your garden magic,” said Killian. “For a start.” 

“What about my garden magic?”

“It recognised me. The first time I stepped into the garden the magic there knew me. It welcomed me like an old friend, and warned me that danger was coming. It told me to protect you.” 

“Hmmm,” said Emma, still scowling.  

“And your own magic, love,” continued Killian, gentle but relentless. “You shared it with me.” 

“I did do that,” Emma unfolded her arms and sighed. “Which shouldn’t be possible. Witches can link their power but to share magic with someone who has never practiced, and so easily… Well, it basically can’t be done.” 

“And yet it was done.”

“But not because of a stupid prophecy—” 

“And how can you explain my hand?” He held it up. “How did I get my whole hand back, and with added magic?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. You’re right. There’s a lot that’s weird about all of this, though I’m just never going to believe that any of it can be explained by a prophecy. There’s gotta be more to it.” 

She took his left hand in hers, examining it closely. “Why did Cora take your hand in the first place? I’m assuming she arranged for it to be damaged.” 

“Aye, and then she amputated it with magic. I’m not certain why exactly but I imagine she was Shown something that told her you would need it, or need something I could do with it.” 

 “Shown,” echoed Emma grimly. “Which means she has the gift of sight,”

“Sight, aye,” Killian agreed, “but interestingly not perception. She found the prophecy but she couldn’t fully understand it, so she turned to her Sight for answers. Which it provided. But I’ve always suspected she misinterprets the things she Sees.”

“And that is why the Sight is next to useless,” scoffed Emma. 

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that Cora’s Sight what drives her. She asks to be Shown things and then acts decisively on what she Sees. She asked to be Shown the witch from the prophecy but her Sight couldn’t conjure you, so she asked to See the man instead. And was Shown me. This was years ago, when I had just joined the navy. It took her about two years to track me down after that.”

“The first vision,” said Emma. “She— did she really destroy your whole ship?”

“Aye,” said Killian grimly. “A few well-placed blasts of magic and the whole thing went under. It was the worst disaster in modern British naval history, and there was no logical explanation for it. And I was the only survivor.” His hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop. “It was declared an Act of God and afterwards the navy gently suggested that perhaps I wasn’t best suited to a career with them. Gave me an honourable discharge and no option of appeal.” 

“Oh, Killian.” Emma covered his fist with her hand and he unclenched it to grip her fingers tightly. “What did you do?” she asked. 

“Well, I had no family and no employment and no place to go. And a rash deal with Cora that left me in her debt, which is of course exactly where she wanted me. She came to me in what she claimed was generosity and offered me a job doing her dirty work and I thought why the fuck not? How much worse could my life get? Only it turned out that my life could get considerably worse. Cora was in search of any information she could find about the prophecy, and she, as you saw, did not hesitate to use her magic, and me, as weapons to obtain it.”

“But you stayed with her.” 

“Aye, because I felt I had no other option. Exactly as she knew I would. I believe her aim was to corrupt me to the point where I could be used to destroy you. ‘The man can be her undoing,’ remember. Cora interpreted that literally to mean I would be able kill you as she couldn’t.” 

“But what stopped her from killing me? Or at least trying to, I’m actually  not that easy to kill.” 

He chuckled, as she’d hoped he would, and shifted his hold on her hand so their fingers were linked. “Her Sight told her it would be disastrous to attempt it. I can only assume it Showed her the same thing about me.” 

“Which is why she cursed you instead of just killing you.” 

“Indeed. It was a bit of a gamble, my challenging her like that, but I figured what else could I do? It was either run with my theory that the Sight had instructed her not to kill me or die anyway, either of starvation or wolves.”

Her hand tightened on his, her mouth thinning as she thought of how she had nearly lost him before they’d even met. 

“What was on that paper you found? That you threw in the fireplace?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “It said ‘Killian Jones is the man in the prophecy.’ Not much, I grant you, but once I knew that, and realised that she knew it and had likely known it since the beginning, a lot of things that had always struck me as peculiar suddenly fell into place. Like why she needed me, why she would go to so much trouble to get me in her control.” 

“But do you think she showed you that deliberately?”

“I do. She must have, she’s not careless enough to leave anything lying around unless she intended me to find it.” 

“But why?”

His thumb rubbed absent patterns on the back of her hand as he thought. “This is all just conjecture,” he said after a short pause, “but I believe she realised that I wasn’t fully on board with what she was doing. As awful as the things I did for her were, as much as they ate away at my soul, some small part of me always resisted, found little ways to thwart her. And she needed me fully committed. I believe she thought that if she let me go I would be lost again as I had been after I was discharged from the navy. That I would eventually come back to her of my own volition and then she would have me.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t go back.” 

“No. I was determined not to, no matter what it took. I knew I had to find a way to stop her, and the first step would be to learn as much as I could about that prophecy, and about witchcraft, and about the particular witch she sought.” He smiled at her. “About you. So I became a historian, specialising in the history of witchcraft and the occult.” 

“And Cora kept waiting for you to come crawling back,” said Emma, an edge of deep satisfaction in her voice. “But you never did, so she had to come to you. And she found you a successful college professor.” 

Killian chuckled. “Aye. She must have hated that.” 

Emma thought about everything he’d been through, all he had suffered, and how he had still come through it all and beaten Cora at her own game. Love for him surged in her chest. “You’re amazing,” she sighed. 

He flushed bright pink and rubbed at a spot behind his ear, exactly the spot, Emma noted, where he had loved to be scratched when he was a dog. “Ah, I don’t know about that,” he muttered. 

“I do.” Emma wanted to crawl into his lap and have her way with him right there in her library, but she suspected he would be horrified by the prospect of fucking anywhere near ancient books so she settled for leaning across the table and kissing him gently. 

He returned the kiss but when they broke apart he shook his head. “I’ve done some awful things, Emma. You don’t know—” 

“I don’t need to,” she interrupted. “I’ve seen you, Killian, the essence of you. You’re a good man.” 

“I’m not—” 

“You are. And I love you. All of you.” 

“Gods, Emma,” he whispered, leaning close to her again, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve— I’m not— ah, I love you so much.” He kissed her and she sighed, snuggling as close as she could get. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured against her lips.

“Why not stay here?” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “We could—”

“On the books?” He pulled back to gape at her, his eyes as horrified as she’d known they would be. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Love, I don’t think you fully realise just how valuable, how important these books are—” 

“I was kidding,” she soothed him. “We’ll go to bed. And afterwards, I’ll tell you all about my plan for giving Cora what’s coming to her.” 

“Mmmm,” he growled. “That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

~~ 🌕 ~~

The next morning they went to the shop together, almost as they always had except that the forest was as warmly welcoming as a frosty collection of trees can be and they walked along the path side by side and hand-in-hand. When they reached the edge of the village Emma could feel Killian tense, but they strolled unimpeded down the streets and no one they encountered reacted in any way to the sight of Emma holding hands with a strange man or stopped to ask her where her dog had gone. 

“Hmmm,” said Killian, frowning as Leroy went past them with a gruff nod and no hint of surprise. 

When they reached the shop door he kissed her and squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I think I’ll go see if I can find some new clothes, love,” he said. “And discover if my credit cards still work after I’ve been missing for several months. And I really should contact someone and let them know what happened. Er, as much of it as I can tell them, at least.” 

Emma nodded. “You can use the computer in the back room if you need to. And there’s a shop at the corner of Main and Oak that sells men’s clothes.” 

“Aye, I think I remember it. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her again, then headed off towards Oak Street. Emma watched him go and tried not to feel bereft. 

“Don’t be an idiot, he’s only going two blocks away,” she told herself firmly. But after nearly three months of Killian being constantly at her side even a short separation felt weird, and the shop empty and echoey without him. 

Fortunately he returned in less than an hour, dressed in new jeans and a soft blue sweater that brought out his eyes. “This is nice,” she murmured as she snuggled into his chest and rubbed her cheek against it. “Almost as soft as your fur used to be.” 

He chuckled. “I thought you’d like it.” 

The shop door opened and Mary Margaret entered. 

“Hey, Emma,” she said, not looking at them as she rummaged in her bag. “ I have to get to school but I just wanted to be sure you were okay, since you were closed yesterday. And yes I know you’re usually really tired after Samhain but I thought I’d check in anyway. Aha, there they are. Classroom keys, thought I’d left them at home.” She looked up, grinning. “Oh, hey Killian.”  

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance and waited. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes darted from Emma to Killian and back again and her bright smile began to fade. She opened her mouth then closed it again. Her forehead wrinkled. She began to blink rapidly and pointed at Killian with a shaking finger. 

“What… you’re… who…” she stuttered. “You are Killian… aren’t you?” 

“Aye,” he replied, short and sharp like a bark, and Mary Margaret’s eyes bugged.  

“Oh my god,” said Emma, elbowing him in the ribs. “Do you have to?” 

Mary Margaret’s eyes were so wide Emma was afraid she’d lose them. “But you’re… how… what… WHAT?”

Emma took pity on her. “Killian was cursed,” she said. 

“Cursed,” repeated Mary Margaret. 

“Yep. By Cora, actually.” 

“Cora— wait, my stepmother Cora?”

“Mmm hmm. Remember I told you I thought she might be a practitioner.” 

“I—” Mary Margaret swayed slightly and Emma darted over to catch her before she could fall. “This is a lot to take in,” she gasped. 

“I get it,” said Emma. “Really I do.” She rubbed her friend’s back in a soothing motion as Mary Margaret concentrated on breathing. “And I hate to put pressure on you,” Emma continued, “but actually I’m glad you’re here because Killian and I could really use your help.”

“Well, I mean, of course I’ll help you if I can,” said Mary Margaret, once her shock had passed. “What do you need?”

“Do you think you and David could come to my house tonight?” asked Emma. “We’ll give you dinner. Killian’s promised to cook.”

“Come to your house,” repeated Mary Margaret, eyes bugging again.  

“Yep.” 

“Your house?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Your house where I’ve never once been because you never invite people there, even though I’ve been your best friend for ten years?”

“Ah. Yes, that’s the one.” 

“And you want us to walk there, I suppose?” Mary Margaret had gone into full teacher mode, hands on her hips and eyes shooting daggers. Emma had to make a conscious effort not to squirm, and not to hex Killian who was leaning against the apothecary counter, trying without much success to stifle his laughter. 

“You’ll have to really,” she told Mary Margaret. “There’s no road.”  

“So you want David and me to walk through the forest? After dark?”

“Yeah, well the forest right now isn’t as scary as it used to be,” began Emma, trailing off when Mary Margaret fixed her with the Look she gave her students when they refused to share their coloured pencils.“But Killian and I will walk with you if it makes you nervous,” she hastened to add.  

Mary Margaret took a deep breath, then another. Then she nodded. “I think… we’d like that. The company and the dinner.”

“Great.” Emma sighed in relief and sent a fervent prayer to the goddess that she would never have to see Mary Margaret’s teacher face again. “How about you meet us back here at about six?” 

“Okay.” 

“And don’t tell Dave about me,” Killian added, with a wicked grin. “I’d like it to be a surprise.” 

~~ 🌕 ~~

At ten minutes to six that evening the streets of downtown Storybrooke were largely deserted, which is unfortunate as anyone who had been on them would have been treated to the sight of the town sheriff being dragged down Main Street by the hand, ruthlessly and at breakneck speed, by the fifth grade teacher. 

“What is all this about?” David grumbled. “I know you’ve always wanted to see Emma’s house but this is a bit extreme.” 

“It’s not about the house,” said Mary Margaret impatiently, then amended. “Well, it is a little bit about the house. But mostly it’s about something I’ve been dying to tell you all day but I promised I wouldn’t and you know how I am with secrets, David, I’ve deleted at least ten texts to you spilling the whole thing and I can’t take it anymore. Would you hurry, we’re nearly there.” 

Seconds later she flung open the shop door and pulled him inside, to where Emma was just finishing counting the register. 

“Hey, I’m nearly done,” she said, carefully ignoring the buzzing excitement that was emanating from Mary Margaret in almost visible waves. 

David looked around, trying to figure out what had his wife in such a tizzy. He didn’t blink when Killian sauntered out of the back room, though he did scowl, as he had every time he’d seen that dog.

Hold up, thought David.  

“Mary Margaret,” Killian said, kissing her cheek. “Lovely to see you again.” He nodded at David. “Dave.” 

David stared for a moment then his face took on the deeply satisfied expression of one who had guessed right all along. “Well at least you didn’t lick her face,” he said. 

“Not anymore, mate,” said Killian. 

“KillianwascursedandCoradiditbutEmmabrokehiscursebykissinghimcanyoubelieveit?” said Mary Margaret, all in one breath. 

“I always knew there was something off about you,” said David, then his eyes narrowed. “Where did you get those clothes?” 

“Shop down the road,” replied Killian. “Thank goodness no one thought to cancel my credit cards.” 

“And what exactly were you wearing before you went to the shop down the road?”

“I was dressed when I was cursed and still dressed when I became uncursed,” said Killian with a smirk. “Good bloody thing too as I wouldn’t have fancied a stroll through the forest of a frosty November morning tackle out, as it were.” 

David opened his mouth again but Emma interrupted. “Stop interrogating him, David, you’re off duty. And anyway, we’ll tell you the whole story over dinner,” she said. “Let’s get going.” 

But Mary Margaret couldn’t wait and she peppered Killian with questions as they walked, and by the time Emma was speaking the words to allow her and David past the garden wards she had pried the entire story from him. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she said for the millionth time as she sat with Emma and David on the sofa while Killian prepared dinner. “I mean, I can believe Cora is evil and I can believe Killian has been a man all this time. He wasn’t really that convincing as a dog, was he? Now that I really think about it, I mean.” 

“I always suspected,” said David smugly.

“You always suspected he was really a history professor cursed by your stepmother-in-law as part of her attempt to flood this world with dark magic?” said Emma, with admirably restrained sarcasm. “That’s some killer detective work right there.” 

David had the grace to look chastened. “Okay, point taken, but I did always think he wasn’t quite right as a dog.” 

“Me too,” said Mary Margaret decidedly.

“Well don’t tell him that,” laughed Emma, “He’s very proud of his dog cosplay.”

Killian called to them that dinner was nearly ready, and Emma led her friends into the kitchen where the large table was set for five. 

“Are you expecting someone else?” asked David. 

“Yeah, I am,” said Emma, looking slightly shifty. “And I’m gonna need you guys to trust me.” 

“Trust you?” 

“Yeah.” The wards around the garden sounded an alarm, and Emma and Killian exchanged glances. “That’ll be her,” said Emma. “I’ll be right back.” 

She returned a few moments later, accompanied by Regina. 

David and Mary Margaret gaped. 

“Regina is here by my invitation,” said Emma, before they could speak. “She’s going to help us.” 

“Help us… how?” asked Mary Margaret.

“Against my mother,” Regina replied. “Miss Swan—” she took a deep breath and started again. “Emma has asked for my assistance in defeating her.” 

“I feel like I’m way behind here. Why does she need to be defeated?” asked David. “Didn’t you take care of that on Samhain?”

“We’ll explain everything over dinner,” said Emma. “And our plan. But first, Regina has something else she’d like to say to you.” 

She gave Regina an expectant look and the dark haired woman grimaced slightly before turning to Mary Margaret. “I want to apologise,” she said. 

“A— what?” said Mary Margaret faintly. 

Emma wondered if she should feel guilty for piling yet another shock on Mary Margaret, who had already had quite the day. But she needed her friend to trust Regina. 

“For the way I treated you,” Regina elaborated. “When we were growing up, and—” she swallowed hard. “—just before your wedding. I owe you an apology for that as well,” she said, turning to David. “I could make excuses, but I won’t. I was awful, and the reasons why don’t matter. I just— I wanted to say I’m truly sorry, and I am going to do better. In the future.” 

The room was dead silent for an uncomfortable moment, the only sound the hissing and bubbling of the food on the stove. Then Mary Margaret stood and approached Regina. Tentatively she put her arms around her stepsister, ignoring the other woman’s flinch. “I accept your apology,” she said. 

Regina’s shoulders slumped as the tension drained from her body, and she actually patted Mary Margaret’s back. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Emma smiled and Killian put his arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. “Well done, love,” he murmured in her ear. “I think the food’s all ready, now. Shall we eat?”

“Yeah. Let’s eat.” 

[irwintry]

How to Attract a Sea Bear

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: 1. Play the clarinet badly 2. Wave a flashlight back and forth really fast (flashlights are their natural prey) 3. Stomp on the ground (they take it as a challenge) 4. Eat cubed cheese – sliced is safe 5. Wear a sombrero in a goofy fashion 6. Wear clown shoes 7. Wear a hoop skirt 8. Screech like a chimpanzee 9. Run (makes them attack again) 10. Limp (worse than running) 11. Crawl (worse than limping)

Word Count: 6k

But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever, So I think I'll be six now forever and ever.”

― A.A. Milne, Now We Are Six

-

Up until Luke, there were two types of people in the world. Those who were family (the ones who had to love you unconditionally no matter how many walls you scribbled Patrick Star on) and those who were your classmates. Close friends weren’t in the picture yet. Though public school had been going on for nearly two years now, you were perfectly content with keeping to yourself in the back of the classroom. A sheet of paper and a crayon were enough to keep you happy.

And then, Luke Hemmings had to come and ruin it all.

It was his first day of school after moving to town, and he decided to waltz right up to you and compliment your drawing of the Krusty Krab. If you had kept your mouth shut, you weren’t sure what would have happened. Maybe he would have kept bothering you. But instead, you said “thank you”, and he sat down right at your table while you went on about his funny accent. The other kids stared, of course. You never talked to anyone! Not even the teacher.

When you asked your parents if you could have Luke over for a playdate, they nearly cried. You took the time to introduce him to all of your toys, and he listened. And he was willing to play with them! No one could believe it. Of all of the people on the earth to become your first best friend, they were thrilled to know that it was the nicest one possible.

Slumber parties were common, mostly so the two of you could watch cartoons together the next morning with Eggo waffles or Lucky Charms. Couches became forts while your parents tried their best not to think of the future potential the friendship could have. It was hard not to hope for their child to love someone as wonderful as Luke was to you.

First years became second years, then third to fourth, and nothing changed between the two of you. You couldn’t imagine it ever changing. Not at all.

-

“He was thirteen that year, the age when children splinter off and abandon the old loves.” ― Mark Costello

-

“If you don’t change the channel, I’ll sit on your face and suffocate you.”

“Thank god you said you’d kill me, otherwise that doesn’t sound like much of a threat.”

Luke had been in this situation with you a million times. Your place or his– he was used to constant back-and-forth banter. If there was no banter, then the two of you were most likely not together. The friendship of crude humor and gross farts had only just entered teendom, though Luke couldn’t imagine a thing would change. He knew you didn’t have cooties, and vice versa (he hoped). It didn’t matter. The seven-years-in-the-making friendship meant more than the jokes of scrawny preteens.

“I give you four seconds,” he said.

“Why four?”

“Three... two...”

“That’s a dumb– “

“One!” Luke pounced on you, his arms darting to taser your sides as you screamed and squirmed. Meanwhile, the two capri-suns had fallen to the hardwood with a small splat. “Stop screeching like a damn chimp,” he hissed, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter. “Sea bears don’t like that.”

“Don’t– “ You gasped for air, and finally, you were able to kick him off of you. The remote had dropped down to the floor beside the leaking drink pouches. “Don’t care. I’ll screech like a damn chimp if I wanna.”

“Your mum’s gonna hate that you swore.”

“Your mum is gonna hate that you swore.” You glanced down to the fallen heroes beside you. “You owe me a new Roarin’ Waters.”

“Only if you put on Spongebob.”

“Fine.”

Things were as simple as that. Luke never had to worry about upsetting you, nor you with him, and it all narrowed down to the similar personalities that had developed throughout the past three years. If Luke didn’t have you, he wouldn’t know who he would be.

He had a premonition– a hopeful tug at his heart when he thought what was to come between the two of you. Maybe it had been this way all along. Every side glance or puckered expression made sense in his mind. The humor the two of you shared was unlike any other, and he simply couldn’t fathom the possibility that someone else out there would one day share it with you as well. Luke had never considered himself a jealous person until the few times at your locker or during lunch when he wasn’t the only one in your world.

How could he have let himself get this attached to someone? It would take him years to know.

-

“Did I think he was “the one?” I’ll never know. At sixteen, everyone is “the one.”

― K.A. Tucker, Ten Tiny Breaths

-

It was a rare occurrence for you to keep a secret from Luke. You told him about your celebrity crushes and your desire to write fanfiction (there were minor judgments on his part). You told him about the darker sides to your parents’ divorce, and you always opened up to him about whatever insecurity was going through your mind. However, when your friend Hailey asked you who you though the hottest guy in school was, you knew you would never be able to let him know that you had said his name.

It was the age of formals and sappy first dates, though you still felt too young to understand the complexity of relationships. While everyone else was exploring new ways to make-out, you were too busy trying to get comfortable with yourself. Tight jeans, flannel shirts, and skater shoes were the keys to unlocking the ultimate prize when it came to high school. And Luke, well, the ultimate prize had won him.

You became the way to his heart. In order to get to him, everyone had to get through you. At first, being the gatekeeper didn’t seem all that bad. You controlled who was worthy. If they had done a few sketchy things within the past year, then Luke – through your words – just so happened to not have feelings for them.

As the year went on, more people were turned away, and things became, well, weird. Truth be told, every single person who went to you to seek out Luke was told he, unfortunately, was not interested in them, even if it wasn’t true. You were speaking through jealousy, not facts, and you never figured he would catch on.

So, when he did, naturally, it blew up in your face.

“Did you actually tell Marissa McKee that I didn’t like her?”

The walk home had been silent for quite some time. You could tell his outburst had been building ever since school let out.

“Like, what the actual fuck, Y/N?”

You huffed, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your fluffy sweatshirt. “H-how was I supposed t’know that you liked her?”

Luke chuckled dryly. “Jesus. I told you two weeks ago! You’re supposed to know because we’re best friends. Best friends know that shit. Best friends don’t tell the person their friend likes that they don’t like them back.”

“’m sorry.”

“How could you not know?” he continued. “Like– Jesus.”

You couldn’t figure out what else to say, and neither could Luke. The two of you parted ways a moment later once you turned on his block, and then it was only another neighborhood over in order to get to your place.

It wasn’t rocket science, but you couldn’t figure it out at the time. All you knew was that it possibly had something to do with calling him the hottest guy in school, but you left it at that.

-

“I wish," he said, "I had known at eighteen what I know now - that there are some things on which one does not compromise.”

― Mary Balogh, Simply Perfect

-

“Don’t eat that,” Luke said, voice rushed as his hand jumped to grasp yours. He had a point about his itchy sweater; the red, wool material scratched your skin, albeit barely grazing it. “Do you want to attract a sea bear? ‘m not a big fan of having to clean up blood from my mum’s carpets.”

You tried to keep a straight face as you lifted the cubed cheese off of the tray despite Luke’s request. “The final touch,” you mumbled and set a bland cracker just under the Swiss cube.

His eyes widened. “You’re a dumbass. A real, lactose-intolerant dumbass.”

“Shut up,” you replied with a smirk. But the cubed cheese wasn’t as good as you were hoping it would be.

The Hemmings Christmas parties carved the path for your favorite time of year. Somehow, the snow knew when to fall as ugly sweaters gathered in the living room you used to watch Teen Titans in. Cocktails and hors-d'oeuvres were served on platters, and children danced around legs longer than their own height. And the decorations... sometimes, you had no words. Everything had a place, and everything had a purpose.

This year, your nerves were on high alert. In years past, you and Luke would spend the majority of the night by each other’s side, making snide comments or talking “grown up” with other adults. His girlfriend came into the picture months ago. Nevertheless, she was invited, and she was late. You didn’t know what to do once she got here.

Luke’s nerves were also on high alert. It was the first time Lara was meeting his family, and her lack of punctuality was already not making a great impression. The funny part of it all was the fact that cared more about your impression overall. He needed your approval, whether he wanted to believe it or not. You were the only person who knew him better than he did.

The air stiffened when Lara walked in. Luke didn’t know why he noticed it, but he had, and maybe it was because he knew you better than you knew yourself as well. He could sense every dropped composure or change in expression. He convinced himself it was the twelve years of friendship that caused him to read you so intently. But he couldn’t let all of this bother him.

He hardly saw you throughout the next few hours of the night. And then, it was charades time.

“Ready to have your ass kicked for the fifth year in a row, Lukey?” you said with a smile so sweet it could melt anyone with eyes into a sugary puddle.

Luke shrugged, and his shoulders itched with the movement of his sweater. “Can you even reach my ass?”

“I have my secrets.” You plopped down into the chair across from him and began scribbling down ideas onto tiny slips of paper.

“A secret to reaching my ass? That sounds– “

“Hey, shut it,” said Liz, but she had cracked a smile. “Let’s get on with the game.”

You prided yourself in being the ultimate charades actor. Luke, on the other hand, could hardly figure out how to act out Ghostbusters. But, like you had a secret to reaching his ass, he had a secret to stumping you and your team. It was a miracle it even worked.

“Shit,” you muttered, reading the slip of paper in between your small fingers. Your eyes met his and immediately hardened into a glare. “Die.”

Luke burst into a small fit of laughter, and he hardly felt Lara’s grip on his hand loosen as he focused all of his attention onto you. With a sigh, you held up six fingers.

“Six words,” said his uncle. “Shit, really?”

You rolled your eyes before bringing your hands in front of you to begin acting. You tried your best to look as though you were playing clarinet, though a few other instruments had been shouted out as you kept going. A moment later, you were stomping and holding up the tray of cubed cheese while pounding on your chest like a damn chimp. Luke made sure he took a mental picture of this. He could never forget this moment.

“Time’s up,” Liz yelled through the loud chatter. “What the actual hell was that?”

You narrowed your eyes at your blond best friend and spat, “how to attract a fucking sea bear,” before running over to his spot on the couch to tackle him. His chest hurt from the laughter booming from his lungs, and he could hardly feel his face aside from the occasional burning of his cheeks.

Someone mumbled “that’s seven words”, but neither of you could hear as he attempted to push you off of him. Luke’s senses were overwhelmed. The loud laughing and shouting of the small yet crowded room, plus you being practically on top of his lap at the same time, were sending his brain into some euphoric state.

And somehow, he knew it would all come crashing down.

Lara took him aside moments later. “If you want to keep me around– “

Luke didn’t like where this was going.

“–you will keep your hands off of Y/N.”

Luke didn’t know how to say no.

-

“Everyone, at nineteen, is dumb and beautiful in equal parts...”

― Raphael Kadushin

-

need iced coffee rn

wanna come?

Luke had his comforter pushed up to his nose. Being home for the holidays meant feet dangling off of childhood beds, his mother’s infamous casseroles, and best of all, plenty of time to spend with you. He rubbed his tired eyes before slowly sitting up to answer your text.

You buying?

He replied and sighed, rubbing his neck and pushing his weight out of the twin-sized bed. The small murmur of chatter from the kitchen filled his ears, and if he was honest, he didn’t want to join the conversation. All Luke wanted was a long drive with you.

like hell

i’m drivin bitch

gimme gas $$

Luke chuckled at your response as he dug through his bottom drawer for a thin sweatshirt.

Fine I’m in

The next few minutes were filled with wandering around the small (and quite dirty) confines of his carpeted bedroom and humming along to whatever song popped into his sleepy brain. Your car was in the driveway before he realized, and soon, the familiar obnoxious honking bounced around the four walls.

“Luke, tell Y/N to shut the hell up!” shouted Liz from the kitchen, but it was all fun.

He let out another laugh before rushing into the living room and out of the house with a squeaky “g’bye”. You continued honking even when he clambered into the passenger seat, and a part of him wanted to let you keep going. You were smiling so damn big.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, hitting your hand away from the steering wheel. “Liz was seconds away from beating you up.”

“Tell her I want that,” you replied before pressing resume on whatever song had been playing on your phone. “If Liz can take me in a fight, then I don’t need goals. Like, I’m set for life after that.”

“Oh, but fighting me is just second nature?”

You shrugged as you began backing out of the driveway. “Yeah, I mean, you’re weak, so...”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet ya wish ya could.”

“I– “ Luke didn’t have a comeback, so he cut himself off.

You gasped. “Does that mean you actually want to fuck me?”

“No!” he exclaimed, his voice jumping up to a much higher octave (which usually occurred whenever he had to defend himself... it was either that, or he was lying).

You giggled, like you usually did when pressing his buttons, and then turned the music up.

Luke hadn’t thought much about sex without anyone else since breaking things off with Lara many months ago. It was tragic but true. No one consumed his mind; he hardly had the time to focus on fancying anyone. He knew how to satisfy himself enough, though Luke couldn’t help but wonder if he was broken. The thought only overwhelmed his mind for a split moment– your poor dancing to the Jonas Brothers distracted him meanwhile.

And then, he was thinking about you.

No, he hadn’t thought about fucking you. For the majority of his life, you felt like family. Hell, you were treated exactly like family. Somehow, along those lines, he still recognized the fact that you were special to him and only him. Years ago, he would have thought it weird to think about you in bed. He still thought it weird, but the more it washed over him, the less acidic the idea tasted on his tongue.

Luke could force the feelings away if he truly wanted to. He could forget he ever spent a moment thinking about you in this way. But instead, he grabbed your dainty hand, wedging his own fingers in between yours before slipping back into the new future his brain was conjuring up for him.

Most of all, you would have no idea that his skin flushed at the thought of spending an evening with you.

-

“He was twenty. I remembered twenty. I'd known everything at twenty. It took me another year to realize I knew nothing.”

― Laurell K. Hamilton, Circus of the Damned

-

His hands held the desire to crush the two plastic cups in his drunken grip. If he focused hard enough, he would trample the toes of ditzy dancers, their hips knocking hard into his path. Instead, his eyes were trained on you. You, with the curve of your neck aimed towards a taller man, were too busy to notice your best friend.

The contents of the one red cup spilled over his angry knuckles. Luke hardly noticed the sharp sensation of plastic digging into his skin until the alcohol hit the feet of innocent bystanders. There were loud yelps and threats, but he didn’t hear a single one. He envisioned the smoke streaming from his ears the moment you leaned into the man whose hand traced circles onto your waist.

Luke locked himself in the bathroom. The white-tiled room proved itself to be more interesting than the crowded college party he originally invited you to. There were pictures of city skylines and prints of surrealist paintings, but he couldn’t stay concentrated on one thing long enough before he lost himself in the thought of that man’s hands on you. Luke could have stopped it if he had the mental strength. But truth be told, he preferred feeling pathetic over disappointing you.

He had managed to get comfortable on the small fuzzy rug in front of the sink. His black t-shirt was covered in some alcoholic drink, and he assumed it had been yours before his fingers did the deed of crushing the solo cup to death. This jealousy had sprung up out of nowhere. If he hadn’t invited you over in the first place, he would have never experienced someone captivating your attention like he was so used to doing himself.

An hour of “occupied” and “someone’s in here” passed by slowly, and Luke spent the entire time checking his phone for texts from you. The same wallpaper of your face photoshopped onto Squidward greeted him every time. It reminded him of when a friend or stranger would ask who you were, and he would spend close to ten minutes trying to convince them that, no, he was not dating you. By that point, he’d rather say yes. He had enough knowledge of you to convince them.

someone said some blond has b een pukig his guts out in trhe bathrom for lik an hour now????

is that u??

are u ok

canm i c ome pee

Luke sighed. At least you had texted him.

Yeah, but I’m not puking

Pls join me

He sighed, resting his head against the wooden cabinet behind him as the sounds of the party echoed in his aching head.

hm ok ;;)

“Knock, knock!” you shouted from outside of the door. “You better be naked.” A few giggles left your lips, and if Luke had been any drunker, his entire body would have burst into flames.

“Comin’,” he mumbled as he lifted himself up gradually. His knees cracked as they bent, and it took most of his energy to not keel over into the porcelain bathtub before him.

You were grinning as he opened the door, your body immediately falling into his chest before closing the door behind you. “Comin’, huh?” you questioned, gripping tightly onto his waist. “Thinkin’ ‘bout me as you came?”

Luke peeled you off of him. His eyes were wide as he asked, “how many drinks have ya had?”

You held up four fingers, or maybe it was five. Or maybe three. Luke couldn’t tell– he didn’t care. You dragged down your pants a moment later.

“W-wh– what are you doing?”

“Goin’ pee,” you replied before sitting yourself down onto the toilet.

Luke sighed again as he turned away from you. This whole night was a terrible decision.

“What are you doin’?” you asked him. Your voice was still light and slurred, but you sounded happy. It was hard for Luke to comprehend the emotions surrounding him at the moment.

“Givin’ you privacy.”

You snorted. “Okay. Fourteen years of like, no privacy at all, and now you decide to give me privacy?”

He tried to focus on the sounds of the party as you spoke. “Mhm.”

There was a loud flush. “So, what’s up your butt t’night baby boo? Why’d ya lock yourself in here?” The sound of rushing water filled the small space, so he turned to face you once more.

Luke shrugged. He had no way of telling you about the jealousy that coursed through his veins at the sight of you pressed against another man. He had no way of communicating the fact that this jealousy ran deeper than just friendship.

“Lukey, I can read ya like a book,” you said, plopping down onto the rug he had just spent a whole hour sitting on and waiting for you to text him.

He shook his head. “Jus’, no reason,” he replied, another shrug following.

You quirked an eyebrow up at him in suspicion. You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “You locked yourself in the bathroom when you received your first college rejection letter.”

“I promise, I’m fine.”

“You say that, but– “

“Are you having a good time?”

“What?” you asked.

Luke leaned back against the door the moment someone knocked their knuckles against it. “Occupied. I said, are you having a good time?”

“Well, yes, but– “

“Then, that’s all that fucking matters.” Luke wanted nothing more to be in bed with you at the foot as you went off about some dramatic contestant on that evening’s episode of Jeopardy. He didn’t want to be in this position with you.

You stood up, your arms folded tightly across your chest. Your eyebrows were knotted, and your lips were pulled into a frown. “What’s your deal?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled out so low he could hardly hear.

“Lu, what is your deal?”

“That fucking guy!” he shouted. “That guy who had you wrapped around his fucking finger is my deal. Okay? Happy? I’m fuckin’ jealous for some fucking reason. I wanted to punch his fuckin’ smirk off of his fuckin’ face because his fuckin’ hands were– “

“You’re jealous of a guy touching me?” you whispered.

Luke wanted to pay a random buff guy to punch him in the face so he could forget this conversation ever happened. That wouldn’t cause you to forget it, but he could at least convince you that you were going crazy.

He let out a long, shaky exhale before bringing his hands up to his temples. “I fucking guess.”

Your lips were pulled into a deep frown. It was the kind of frown that you wore whenever someone disappointed you, no matter how small the issue. If they couldn’t pick up a candy bar from the store, cue the frown.

“Can– can we go?”

Luke nodded. Both of you had accepted defeat.

-

“When you are in your twenties, even if you're confused and uncertain about your aims and purposes, you have a strong sense of what life itself is, and of what you in life are, and might become.”

― Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

-

Luke had, once again, pulled out the old red sweater for the annual Hemmings Christmas party. However, this year, no girlfriends were attending alongside him. It was relieving to know he could catch up with you whilst surrounded by the primitive atmosphere of his immediate family. Plus, he already down one beer before the afternoon began. Despite his (very) minor intoxication, he still convinced himself he was seeing things as the sight of hanging greens and white berries tied with a bright red bow caught his eye.

“Mum, what’s this?”

Liz ambled over and grinned. “Mistletoe! Figured we’d start a new tradition.”

“Wh-what?” He would definitely need another beer within the next hour, and the party hadn’t even started. “Why?”

His mother shrugged as she continued going through her decoration checklist. Wreaths were hung, platters were stacked with all sorts of foods, and champagne flutes were delicately placed beside the many bottles of alcohol. The Hemmings family took their Christmas parties seriously. The large fir in the living room had gifts below the lowest boughs for weeks.

“Jus’ need more excuses to kiss Andy,” she replied smugly.

Luke rolled his eyes, and he almost accepted that as her final answer before she continued.

“The whole family decided that it’s about time you and Y/N get together anyway,” she said, and nonchalantly at that. She was stacking the brownies without bothering to look back to see her son’s gaped expression.

“What?”

She hummed.

“Ya can’t be serious, mum!”

“Of course ‘m serious,” she chuckled. “We swore ya’d be together by now.”

Luke sighed. The past few years had changed your relationship, both distance and different feelings combined, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could. He assumed you were doing the same. By this point, there was no way he could deny the nerves that built in his stomach at the thought of being in the same room as you. Something tugged in his heart when it came to you, and it only ever pulled him closer.

The evening came, and it only took about thirty minutes for the aunts, uncles, and cousins to get absolutely smashed. Luke, on the other hand, cradled his second beer until the glass no longer held a touch of cold. You had willingly joined a few of his cousins for a conversation on the couch, while in the dining room, his uncles were yelling political statements that had no reason to be shouted. Luke was left in the kitchen to analyze the foods.

“Okay, I get that like, marriage is a thing, but I don’t wanna talk about that with your cousins,” you said on your way into the kitchen. You had done something new with your hair, and Luke couldn’t stop thinking about how soft it looked against your dark green sweater. “Don’t eat all of the little smokies!” you wailed, crossing your arms. “Ya fuckin’ animal.”

Luke chuckled and tossed his used toothpick into the trash under the sink. Meanwhile, his eyes caught a glimpse of– “your shoes. What are those? Fuckin’ clown shoes.”

Your mouth fell open. “Meanie. I bought these on sale. ‘m sorry they’re too ugly for your Christmas party.”

“Oh, no, I’m not worried about that,” he said with a grin. “’m worried about the... the sea bear.”

You rolled your eyes and started towards the living room. “Fuck you.”

“Bet ya wish you could,” he replied, following suit.

“Literally, I never– “

“Stop right there!” Liz shouted from across the living room. A little over a dozen heads snapped in the direction of you and Luke, and their smiles only widened. For a moment, Luke couldn’t figure it out.

But then, he looked up.

“Shit,” he mumbled, eyeing the mistletoe that hung above the two of you.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes followed his gaze, and once again your mouth fell open slightly.

“If ya don’t kiss, I’ll beat you up,” threatened someone, and their statement was followed by a bunch of kiss chants that sent Luke’s blood boiling.

He wasn’t angry, nor was he upset. He was nervous. Your eyes were still locked on the dainty branches hanging just above his forehead, and Luke didn’t know what to do. Your lips, the lips that he had thought about kissing for years, were pulled into a small pout.

“We don’t have to,” he mumbled, trying his best to smile through the pain of the situation. But he knew it wasn’t a bad pain. The ache was crawling up his chest and into his throat, preventing his voice from tossing out words that didn’t need to be said.

You shrugged, neck twisting to face the family that had practically become your own after all of these years. If this had occurred years ago, would he feel your hesitance the same? “Let’s just please ‘em,” you sighed with a chuckle. “They won’t let us live it down otherwise.”

“Ya sure?”

You nodded, the small smiling growing ever so slightly as your shoulders rose and fell with grace. “No harm in it.”

Luke nodded, too. You were wrong, however, because if nothing changed after this, the harm would come to him.

“So, we just– “

He took a small step forward, touching the tip of his boots to the tip of your clown shoes. Sure, he had been this close to you hundreds of times before, if not closer, but the proximity meant nothing then. It meant nothing when he crawled on top of you to retrieve the remote. It meant nothing when you attacked him after a game of charades. It meant nothing until he finally realized it always meant something.

Luke inhaled sharply, resting his hands on your waist as you gave him another reassuring smile. He truly loved your smile. “S’okay?” he whispered while leaning in and resisting the urge to back away.

You hummed. Your hands had found their way up to his neck, and his skin burned from the touch. Even without the pads of your fingers dancing along the muscles along his throat, his skin would still burn.

He felt as though years had passed by the time you closed the distance, your bottom lip gently nestling in between his. You put an ample amount of pressure into the kiss, careful not to overstep your boundaries, but Luke’s mind took control after that. His fingers dug into your waist as he took the chance to press his lips a little harder against yours. The skin on his cheeks would melt off if either of you took this a bit further. Every nerve in his body had ignited.

And then you let go, and suddenly everything felt cool again. He didn’t like the sensation of your lips leaving his, but he did like the timid smile that stretched across your blushing cheeks. There were cheers from his parents, hoots and hollers from his uncles and aunts, but he could hardly hear a single thing. Luke needed you to know how that kiss made him feel.

“Um,” he mumbled, letting out a cough as he reached for his beer to take a quick swig. Luke glanced over at the clock on the stove before looking back to you. “Grab your coat and meet me outside.” He took off towards his bedroom a moment later.

The shaking in his hands hadn’t subsided by the time he met you outside. Your teeth were chattering, but you looked too damn adorable in your knit hat. He couldn’t believe that he had kissed you. He couldn’t believe that he had kissed you.

“W-what’s up buttercup?” you stuttered with a great big smile. Maybe you hadn’t minded the kiss at all. Nevertheless, it didn’t make the upcoming conversation any easier.

Luke kicked a chunk of snow onto the sidewalk. “Uh.” He winced, brushing his curls back before adjusting the beanie on his head. “Shit, I don’ really know where to start.” He let out a defeated laugh. His hands were already raw despite the fur-lined pockets of his coat. If only he had brought gloves.

You didn’t say anything as the two of you rounded the corner onto the next street over. The street lamps and porch lights lit the path well with the help of the snow as a reflector. Luke believed that, throughout his sixteen years of knowing you, he had shared secrets much deeper than his fondness towards you. None of them proved to be as nerve-wracking as this moment right here.

“Y’know when we were like, sixteen, and you told the girl I liked that I didn’t like her?” he asked, a hot puff of air hitting his cheeks as he exhaled rapidly. Luke gazed over at you and watched your confused expression tighten.

“I-I think so?”

“I wasn’t really that mad.” Luke wanted to reach out for your hand, similar to the times he would do it just to hold onto something.

“Oh, okay.”

“And the time Lara asked me to stop– “

You snorted. “Fucking hated that bitch.”

Luke smirked in response. “Yeah, that really pissed me off. It destroyed me. I dunno why I didn’t realize that I’d pick you over her any day. Fuck, I’d pick you over anyone.”

“Really?”

Despite the conflict arising in his brain, Luke reached out for your hand, and he was relieved when you gladly complied. “Mhm.” He blinked and breathed out a few times to hopefully steady his heart rate. “’nd when I got mad ‘bout that guy at the party a few years ago.”

“Oh, Lu, I told you I hardly remember– “

“But I do,” he said, frowning. “I was so jealous. Like, so fuckin’ jealous. Didn’t know why. Couldn’t even figure it out. And then, it clicked, and suddenly– “

“What clicked?” You stopped walking, your eyes widening, but just barely.

Luke swallowed thickly. “I jus’– I guess I– “ He sighed. “I don’t even know when I noticed but– “

“Luke,” you chuckled, tugging on his hand, “it’s just me.”

He stared at you, noticing how relaxed you seemed in his presence. You were right, it was just you. He nodded and took one more deep breath. “I’m in love with you.”

Your smile faltered, and in that moment, Luke could feel his heart fall to his feet, but the smile soon grew once again. “Y’are?” You bit your lip.

He could feel his lips twitch into a grin as well as he nodded again, his grip on your hand slackened gently. “Yeah,” he whispered.

In one swift movement, you had your arms wrapped around his neck as you pressed your cold lips to his. Noses bumped, and teeth clashed, but neither of you seemed to care as your embrace tightened. Luke could feel your smile against his chapped cheeks, and he didn’t mind one bit that your toes were on his. He hardly had enough strength to balance the two of you, but if you were to collapse into the snow bank beside the shoveled path, he wouldn’t care one bit.

“Is this– um,” Luke pulled away to look at you. “Does this mean– “

“If you don’t get too bummed over losing charades again for the ninth year in a row, I might just be in love with you, too.”

[magicalgirlfumiko]

2. An early OC I remember making

I am a loser nerd that has been on the RP scene since 2006 in various means. It really wasn’t until 2009 that I can say that I established a strong world setting and character feel. So I’ll just post two of my main characters from a science fantasy thing I should be writing on as a book but I don’t feel like it:

"We all have to endure crap. No matter the form it takes, no matter what species you may be, hardships come with the territory."

"When it all comes down to it, I'm just a brat who, having spent most of her life doing for others, just wants to live her own life and make her own choices and mistakes. WHO JUST WANTS TO HAVE FUN!"

"There are times I feel if I were to vocalize what really went through my head at times people would look at me much differently. With either awe or disgust or a combination of both. Heh."

"The biggest thing I've ever wanted out of life is to become a strong, ever-evolving person who is more than capable of following her curiosity, exploring and meeting head on whatever comes her way. I definitely have the fire inside of me to do so, but until recently...what I realize what I lacked most is a specific focus for all that energy."

GENERAL CHARACTER STATISTICS

Character Name: Skie JungbluthName Meaning: Simply from the English word sky, which was taken from the old Norse word for “cloud.”Alias: NoneGender: FemaleClan: AetherAge: 24B-Day: March 21Zodiac Sign: AriesPlace of Birth: Eternium, Zeledin

Current Residence: The airship, Ethereal (she did not wish to name it that. Skie lost a bet with her boyfriend Mel. It marks the only time she has ever lost one). Skie is almost always on her custom airship which serves as her main home since her 'assignments' take her all over the known world. As a result, most of Skie's work takes place on her ship.

Occupation: Smuggler, Aryeh's mentor. Professional Gambler.

School/Grade: Finished College

Family: Joshua Jungbluth (Father), Lassilsa Jungbluth (Mother), Bill Jungbluth (Brother)

Gemstone: Diamond

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Height: 167.64 cm

Hair: She has brown hair. Her curls help to soften her square face shape, while the long side-swept bangs bring the focus to those piercing yellow eyes. Skie keeps her hair shoulder length or just a little below. Before she became a smuggler, she often wore her hair long and flowing just like her mother but has shortened it to be look less like a kid in her mind's eye.

Eyes: Yellow and catlike. The reason for this is because of her usage of arcane magic. Unlike Rane, who used external energy from others, Skie is attempting the same kind of mysteries but at the cost to her own body.

Distinguishing Marks: None

General Appearance: Skie’s eyes are usually sharp, alert and often almond shaped. She typically flushes when she feels excited. When Skie hears good news, red color will flood her face. Angry: You can always tell when she is truly angry because she will turn quite red. She also flushes when she is embarrassed or when she over exerts herself such as when exercising. She is handsome and she knows it. Skie is powerfully built but still has a womanly body.

General Clothing: Skie likes to dress classy but comfortably. Her normal wears are a white button shirt, a brown waist length jacket, black slacks, and sometimes a tie. In colder weather, she wears her father’s old brown leather trench coat which is held shut by short leather tabs.

Strengths: Skie is very adept with Aether magic. This is the power from WITHIN. It is based upon the soul, the powers that are deep within the essence of who you are. The lesser known of the styles, Aether powers are often channeled through emotions and desires.

As a swordsman, Skie's abilities are lackluster; however, those around her have noted that her fighting style, however unrefined, is heavy hitting and vicious. As it turns out, Skie's style and progress mirror that of her father.

Weaknesses: The weakness of her magical style is that it comes completely from her own body, so if she is injured or drugged or unconscious, those powers can be interrupted. It is also based upon strong desires, so her emotions must be in tune with what she wants. One of the fundamental issues with her is that she literally has a well of power inside herself. She has to constantly use magic to prevent too much from building up inside her at once.

Skie is prone to have headaches, particularly migraines, and depression because of these powers.

More: Weight: 51 kg, Breast: 81 cm, Waist: 53 cm, Hips: 84 cm

MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

Allies: Mel and Aryeh. Skie is a good friend, she always looks out for her friends with caring and generosity and will protect them should the need arise and encourage them with her natural optimism.

Enemies: Medus and the Yellow Brother's are her main rivals, but Rane is the bigger danger.

Current Goal/Purpose: She is sent out to find Medus by her brother. He has promised her a lot of money to do so.

Aspirations: She wants to succeed where others have failed. Skie wants to explore the world, change it to fit her whims and do her best at life.

Hobbies: Skie likes activities that involve mobility and less concentration like war games, fast sports, motor racing, gambling, and vibrant music. However, she also likes to grill and come up with meals.

Likes: Action, Coming in first, Challenges, Championing Causes, and Spontaneity

Dislikes: Waiting Around, Admitting Failure, No opposition, Tyranny, other people’s advice

Talents: She’s skilled at games of chance. Skie is also skilled with fixing up and redesigning airships.

Inabilities: Selfish and quick-tempered, Impulsive and impatient, Foolhardy and daredevil, if confronted, Skie can turn to be quite childish; she will fight back with her aggressive nature.

Fears: Feeling that her identity is threatened. Self-preservation is a primal instinct and goal for her.

General Personality: Skie loves to explore new ground. She reminds her friends that every moment is new and that life is about experimentation and discovery. It is through experiences that we develop and mature. We are here to advance our soul growth. We are not here to find a static, comfortable situation. We are here to go for the gold and to answer the call of our soul. We are engaged in an on-going process to release our resistance and to transmute all forms of fear into courage and compassion.

Skie is a courageous leader with a genuine concern for those she commands. Being a responsible lady, it is rare that she will use her subordinates to obtain her own objectives as a leader, but occasionally it does happen. She does not make a very good follower because she is too "taking charge".

Skie may be unwilling to obey or submit to directions for which she can see no reason, or with which she disagrees. She is much concerned with self, both positively and negatively - self-reliant but also self centered (sometimes) and concerned with her own personal advancement and physical satisfaction. Her immense energy makes her aggressive and restless, argumentative occasionally, headstrong, quick tempered, easily offended and capable of holding grudges if she feels affronted.

Skie is intellectual and objective, but can be in rare situations bigoted and extremist in politics. She is a champion of lost causes and last-ditch resistance.

Inner Personality: Skie is quick-witted but sometimes foolhardy and over-optimistic, lacking thoroughness and the ability to evaluate difficulties regarding the undertakings into which she often rushes impulsively. The great need of Skie is to exercise an iron self-control, to discipline the qualities and tendencies of her character to the advantage, not the detriment, of the society in which she moves.

Fondest Memory: Winning all the money out of the casinos that are present in Eternium.

Biggest Regret: None so far, she has lived a pretty good life so far and rarely decides to focus on the past.

Secret: She also loves the color pink.

SPECIALTY CHARACTERISTICS

Special Items: The Ivory Cross that Skie wears. It is the symbol used on Chenoan flags. This is used to show her support of the Chenoan cause against Rane.

Magic: Aether Lightning, Skie’s only usable combat spell as an arcane magus. Raw Aether magic arcs from her hands as lightning allowing limited ranged combat capabilities.

HISTORIC BACKGROUND

General History: Skie's upbringing was fairly typical for an upper middle class family in post-war Zeledin. After the Zeledin War, her father stayed out of the limelight. While Joshua was one of the founders of the Category following Rane's disappearance, he never sought a lot of personal wealth. He believed that it was better for his children to grow up modestly. When she was younger, it never crossed her mind that she’s the daughter of Joshua Jungbluth. Most of her childhood she moved around a lot since Lassilsa didn’t want to stay in the former capital of her queen. Skie and her brother didn’t get along even from this early age.

Lassilsa was her main teacher, since Joshua himself never mastered any magical abilities. Like her father, Skie’s genes were “overspecialized” with a connection to Aether. Thus, with her magical prowess in aether magic allowed her to attend the Eternium Military Academy. At age 22, she graduated with Study in Arcane magic. It was attending the school that she became close friends with Mel Rogero. They have been dating ever since.

Shortly after her graduation, Skie enlisted into the Category's AeroCorps, in Zeldin's capital city of Eternium. She wished to distance herself from the legacy of her father while enlisted, so she was made a junior officer on the CAC Drake. It was an unremarkable time for her on the airship. Her time in the military was very short. She was kicked out for being too hot headed.

At age 24, Skie left the AeroCorps and enlisted herself to be an aging bounty hunter. He gave her a new task; being a pilot and mentor figure. Her new role was to train Ary Fairwater in Arcane studies, which puzzled her. She dislikes being a teacher and doesn’t want a teen getting in her way. To this day she continues to indirectly train Ary. Though, it seems that it is Mel that does a lot of the mentoring.

Skie was recently hired by her brother to force Medus Tenpenny into the Category's Elite Unit. In response, Mel Rogero was hired to be her bodyguard by Lassie. Skie is more than aware that The Category might have plans to make Medus their trump card when they finally intervene on the war between Chenoa and Rane's forces.

Why not? One's gotta feel confident in a uniform."

"Because Skie is amazing. She has been putting in so much hard work and it payed off big time. It doesn't matter if she's not considered a "real" magus by Category standards. She is amazing as her own kinda woman."

"Once, I had a fortune told to me and usually I never take them into thought...This one I did. It said,"Greet your friends with open arms and happiness will come to you." I seriously sat there, frozen while reading it. I took it as, I should stop being so distant and accept my friends...Bring them back into my life, even if I'm not with them. I hope I can though."

"Don't you hate when you really want to say something,but don't know what?"

GENERAL CHARACTER STATISTICS

Character Name: Mel RogeroName Meaning: Mel is a pet name of Maethelwine, which means “Meeting Friend.”Alias: NoneGender: Male

Age: 25B-Day: 2/26Zodiac Sign: PiscesPlace of Birth:ChenoaCurrent Residence: Skie’s AirshipOccupation: Skie’s Body Guard. Seat of Water, Unit ZeroSchool/Grade: Finished High SchoolFamily: MJ Rogero (Sister). Other relatives not mentioned.Gemstone: Moonstone

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Height: 180 cm (5’11”)

Hair: Mel wears his black hair (almost violet) really long, which is considered the sign of an unmarried warrior in the Moon Clan. It is kept braided by white wraps.

Eyes: Blue

Distinguishing Marks: He wears one beaded earring in his left ear.

General Appearance: Mel is a gentlemen and not sloppy in his overall appearance.

General Clothing: Mel loves the color black and wears a military inspired tunic and trousers. When not in combat, he wears a purple cape to add to the ensemble, the sign of his family. This has more to do with tradition than anything else. Since Mel is the only male son in his family, it suggests that he’ll inherit the title of his father someday. It also keeps him warm in the colder regions of Mirabella.

Strengths: Some think of him as weak because, like water, he takes the path of least resistance. But by flowing on, resisting nothing, Mel overcomes all and his freedom from self (his greatest secret strength) provides him with limitless access to imagination (his second greatest secret strength). His emotions are known to guide his heart and his mind. Mel possesses a great trait that allows him to come in contact with a variety of emotions and not pass judgment on an individual.

Weaknesses: Mel does not have many combatant spells, since he put most of his focus on using overclock and natural smarts. Mel is also very meek, while this could also be considered a merit; Mel cannot take the life of an enemy, for he is a very religious follower of the Moon Goddess.

MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

Allies: The Category

Enemies: None.

Current Goal/Purpose: Mel is Skie’s bodyguard and boyfriend. He is a man who enjoys helping and serving others. Mel is very observant and examines each person and situation closely. He is a dreamer, which allows him to relate intimately to Skie. Mel gives to her, a certain peace and security. He always tries to avoid all possible arguments with her.

According to Ivy Veyado, Mel makes Skie more docile and convenient. He shields her against her enemies and is able to pacify her fears and give her the emotional security she needs. Mel often possesses the fiery command and gentle nature which makes a perfect blend to keep her satisfied and affectionate.

Aspirations: To help everyone he meets to the best of his ability.

Hobbies: Mel finds infinite pleasure in the simple things, like the smile of a stranger, the touch of a child, or the tweet of a bird as it feathers its nest. Mel likes telling stories, painting, cooking, watching good cinema, and collects clothes from foreign nations.

Likes: Solitude to dream in, mystery in all its guises, anything discarded to stay discarded, the ridiculous, likes to get 'lost'

Dislikes: The obvious, being criticized, feeling all at sea about something, know-it-alls, and pedantry.

Talents: Healing magics, cooking, making tea, etc.

Inabilities: Escapist and idealistic, secretive and vague. Can sometimes be bossed around by Skie.

Fears: Upheavals are abhorrent to Mel, and stay with him for days but, it is not always understood, that he absorbs all kinds of atmospheres like a sponge and, just as the power of the sea takes time to settle after a storm, so Mel needs to be allowed time and space alone, to recover his inner calm.

General Personality: Mel possesses a gentle, patient, malleable nature. He has many generous qualities and is friendly, He is good natured, kind and compassionate, sensitive to the feelings of those around him, and responds with the utmost sympathy and tact to any suffering he encounters. Mel is deservedly popular with all kinds of people, partly because his easygoing, affectionate, submissive nature offers no threat or challenge to stronger and more exuberant characters.

He accepts the people around him and the circumstances in which he finds himself rather than trying to adapt them. Mel patiently waits for problems to sort themselves out rather than take the initiative in solving them. He is more readily concerned with the problems of Skie than with his own.

His nature tends to be too otherworldly for the practical purposes of living in this world as it is. He sometimes exists emotionally rather than rationally, instinctively more than intellectually. Mel longs to be recognized as greatly creative. Any rebellion he makes against convention is personal; however, as he often times does not have the energy or motivation to battle against the Establishment.

Inner Personality: Mel has an intuitive and psychic ability more than any other character in the series. He trusts his gut feelings and if he does not, he quickly learns to because he realizes that his hunches are usually correct.

Mel’s downfall is his sensitivity and his inability to reject another person. He does not like rejection and se tries to treat others the way they want to be treated so he will rarely say no to a person for fear of hurting their feelings.

He will help another person with their problems and like to do so because making others feel good in turn makes him feel good.

His inner conflict is extremes of temperament and conflicting emotions. He wants to learn to use his powers and his imagination in a positive, productive way.

Fondest Memory: He has many. But in reality, his fondest memories always involve spending time with Skie and making sure that she is always smiling.

Biggest Regret: He has a tendency to act like a “savior” and these are a number of times in which he was not able to help everyone that he deems needed his help.

Secret: Mel loves Skie with all his heart and secretly wishes to marry her someday. She is one of the few people who have faith in his dreams. His qualities create an excitement within her and she respects Mel whole-heartedly. To him, Skie has enough fire to spark his desires and lead him to great accomplishments, and give him the faith he needs to stand for dreams and wishes. She has always fiercely defends him in the past against those who judge him inaccurately due to his dreamy nature. She brings excitement and vigor to his life and teaches him to be a bit more practical.

SPECIALTY CHARACTERISTICS

Special Items: The Purple cloak that he is often seen wearing. It is a sign that he is from a long family of knights that work for the crown family of Chenoa. While this is more of a honorary role in the present, he is still proud of his background.

Weapons: A blade for back-up. Mel is a technical pacifist; meaning he is willing to beat people up as much as he wants. He may even get a few fatalities through. However, once it comes down to a choice between killing and not an opponent, Mel will not kill. He uses his sword in non-lethal ways to defeat his foes and to defend Skie.

Whip of the Rip Tide: A whip forged from the strongest batch of ather ever found thus far, it is a Class A weapon that is capable of causing major flooding and water spouts. It is a highly dangerous weapon that only Mel can wield with proper effect. It can also be used as a normal whip or lasso.

Magic: Mel’s magic is focused on using Overclock as his main area of study. In this case, he can separate the processes of his brain and excels at multitasking on things like paperwork and cooking. This is how he is able to use his sword effectively.

Mel does have access to using the powers of Dark Flames, which are a purple flames that extend from his palms and quickly engulfs foes in a cold binding chain. Mel’s other magic includes portal openings and displacements of weapons.

The common belief is that no one can best Mel in non-lethal combat.

HISTORIC BACKGROUND

General History: Mel is the youngest child in his family. His mother went out of her way to spoil him and make sure he excelled at something other than the normal soldiery activities of the Rogero family. Though, in the end he still chose the mantle of being a knight.

Being a member of Chenoa’s court, he had access to many of the best schools in the nation. There Mel learned all the trades to be a Knight in the royal court. However, he soon decided that he’d be better off working within the Category, since Chenoa didn’t have all the fun of the modern world like Zeldin did.

After finishing up his basic schooling, he went on to the Military Academy. During his time off, Mel would wander around the city day dreaming. It was on one of these walks that he first met Skie following one of her storming off from her barracks. She was a very different girl from the ones in Chenoa. One could almost say that she was exotic to him. .

Mel would then become an acquaintance of Lassi, Skie’s mother. Lassi’s goal was to attempt to get them to become a couple. Her greatest fear is that Skie will die a soldier. When Skie left the military, Lassi requested that her daughter be barred from Unit Zero. Skie was then recommended to become a mentor, a job not suited for her fiery spirit. Knowing that her daughter might try to run off and doing something foolish, Lassi has hired Mel to be her bodyguard. Mel was more than happy to take the assignment. While still very shy to Skie, they have known each other for a long enough time that he feels that he can get closer to her this way.

[girlwithlandscape]

“art in america” - Sophie Robinson

at dusk each day i like to think of all my new friends in different parts of the city jerking off      running baths vaping weed    getting sober    running their mouths & reading poetry aloud to one another. alice says i have the right to repeat myself so i do alice says you can cry if you need to so i do she looks away     scrolls pictures of dogs on instagram & we watch the traffic dancing towards the bridge everybody on their way somewhere                        i want to go far— jameson says i know u know it will get better i nod closed mouthed in a gesture i believe to convey quiet bravery (too little too late) it’s so hot & close u can almost lick the weather’s face today                         steam rises off the east river     in a film god kills herself by removing her own intestines                                        i don’t have the guts to watch it   jameson’s poems are so rangey on the bench like a godhead my mother’s arm is broken & strapped to her side on skype my dad calls me baby in a text when he’s drunk i don’t know what this means                                                             god’s suicide scene at the cinema last night we didn’t understand a thing but were so happy just to be there         not on our way anywhere.                          i want to go far far — the film said loving someone was the only thing to do & in it one of the characters described the music he listened to as soupy         it’s a bad translation cori laughs & made a joke in french. un soupçon — the film begins & ends with a woman covered in blood & andrew said maybe we are supposed to understand it all backwards i guess that’s how love works too                     it’s all faith until the end            & then you see it later for what it is or wasn’t or what it coulda been        the whole trick when i see your face or hear your name i want to pass out from love from sadness from shame & from regret. when i arrived in america i wished simply to drown in feeling & forget about work but then i got so wet i had to start swimming. steam rises off the east river. john giorno says it’s not what happens it’s how you handle it— i chew on language here: philly cheesesteak      rockaway park taconic state parkway     restroom     sidewalk                      mama i’m so tired some days i take secret photographs of americana    & feel like a normal  alien alice & i talk on a bench whilst the sun sets & watch the lights in the apartment building opposite turn on one by one. last week i drank bourbon & cried for four nights solid soaking through my sheets my t shirts & the mattress. over & over. fevery dream in which i see a drunk woman (me) doing shots & snorting coke from a key. i tell her let me help you & then i open a wound on her arm & remove from the wound a giant plastic egg. i crack the egg to reveal a small wooden sphere & from it emerges a large white rat. don’t ask me how. i put the rat on a leash & walk it back to my apartment. i go to sleep in my dream petting the rat & wake up feeling good. i give the rat breakfast which she eats happily. i kiss her head. i go back to the bar & find the woman (me) sicker than ever. thin, sweating, with two black eyes & a purple arm. i say hey what happened & she says you shouldn’t have taken what you took the way you took it. you shouldn’t have taken what you took the way you took it. you shouldn’t have taken what you took the way you took it. i leave her on the floor to die. what do i care. i have my rat. alice says i have the right to repeat myself so i do. on the hot drive from hudson cathy gets me to do impressions of different british accents and describe the city i come from. when I get back to my apartment i vomit in the kitchen sink then the bathroom sink then the toilet then again in the shower. pink ribbons of bile & wine. I am the only person at the john giorno installation in hell’s kitchen on a wednesday afternoon & i cry for twenty minutes watching him speak on a twenty foot projector screen. thanks for nothing america i did it all without you i sometimes wish a lesbian could be given this much room. to do  anything. you don’t love me        & the feeling of not being loved comes in waves                 steam rising off the east river i kiss my rat’s head. i am such a bad peach. seeing it all backwards. the world is so big! desire alone makes it small there’s nothing funny about being a lesbian today on my hands & knees like juiced fruit in prayer position at the gallery the cinema the bathroom floor you shouldn’t have taken what you took the way you took it when i got back to the apartment the rat was drunk when i got back to the apartment the rat jerked me off when i got back to the apartment the rat was me jameson gets me to stand on stage at the amphitheatre by the river to take a picture steam rises i lose sight of him for a second & it’s just me & the water & the bridge & the dog gently pissing         [self help / fake rumi poem says                             only when i quit believing in myself did i come to such beauty] there’s a power in loneliness i need to channel there’s a freedom in not being loved i need to channel it’s not what happens it’s how you handle it — i came to america to be a solid gold flower floating down the river & now reduced to repeating my own name out loud, my DOB, where i live the things i did today. splashing my face in the kitchen sink over & over honestly i am sick of helping jesus count days my mother’s limp white arm. the things she gave & took.                                               mama i’m so sad america begins & ends in blood                           i want to go far far far — sometimes i get off on meanness                              the holding back the love that’s bucking against the gate penny arcade says when she came to new york she saw a sign at a head shop saying      you are a daughter of the universe            this city is mine just as much as it’s anyones! today is my 32nd birthday. i wish i had never been born. andy warhol was a fraud. fame is a kind of violence. ambition makes me sick. i want to close every door. i don’t care about kathy acker. i don’t care about anything anymore. there’s no art in america, it’s all sugar & war. i shouldn’t have taken what i took the way i took it        but listen: wherever in the world                                        if i never see you again       always on your way somewhere    i will love you                  gently       the whole length of my life             i want nothing for you but endless poetry   easy ppl       slow morning strong coffee       dynamic emoji     time to read dancing dog uncracked screen     mountain     bunny         a million years                           deep sense of peace       & somebody who loves you for free     when she sees your animal grace your swagger     the way you open fruit </3   o! i am glad to have known you my devastating weakness my white rat       my river of gold       & my old         wild               american                 ��         heart   xxx

[andromeda3116]

so, @thereigning-lorelai requested this, and i didn’t realize until, oh, thirty seconds ago, that i am not the only person who took it and ran with it and tbh, i don’t know if i should apologize? i feel bad, i don’t wanna step on any toes. but um. “jyn is in hardcore denial” is kinda my jam, so i got excited and wrote almost four thousand words about this. 

eta: ao3 link! (now with a poor title because i am poor at titles)

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In spite of the knowing looks they got from most of the flagship and at least half of high command, Jyn and Cassian were not involved. They were soldiers, and professionals, and far too focused on missions, and at any rate, were friends, and entirely platonic. Jyn felt about Cassian the same way she felt about Bodhi, or maybe Han (except without the usual desire to smack him upside the head).

Everyone seemed to treat them as a unit, but they were partners. They worked together. Of course they spent a lot of time together, but it wasn’t like they shared a room — although her own roommates, three world-weary women who Jyn had thought were above such nonsense, seemed continually surprised by her presence in her own damn bed, every single night cycle that she was on base.

But it seemed like, with little else for much of the flagship to do at the moment, gossip was everyone’s favorite pastime, and there was only so much to say about Han Solo and the princess before things drifted back around to the “heroes of Rogue One”.

At first, when it had still been amusing, she had conscripted Bodhi into spreading fake rumors about them, but they had both quickly discovered that there was essentially nothing that the stir-crazy base wouldn’t accept about Jyn and Cassian’s relationship, including but not limited to:

They had gotten it on in the shuttle on the way to Scarif

They had gotten it on at Yavin IV before leaving for Scarif

They had gotten it on at Scarif, in the citadel

Jyn was secretly pregnant with his child (she had thought that one would taper off, but it instead morphed into “well, she clearly wasn’t before, but I bet she is now”)

They had shared a bed in the medical frigate after Scarif (okay, that one actually was true, but it had just been because the beds were limited and the nightmares were awful, and nothing had happened but sleep)

They were secretly married

Some of it, she felt, was at least reasonable, but mostly it seemed like the Rebellion had, collectively, decided to live out their favorite holodramas vicariously through Jyn and Cassian. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if it had at least been spread around some — but no, nobody shared the same stories about Han and Leia, or Luke and Leia, or Han and Luke, or Baze and Chirrut —

(Okay, fair enough, Chirrut would gleefully answer yes to literally any question asked about his and Baze’s relationship, up to and including whether or not the two of them had formally adopted Jyn. Baze never, ever either confirmed or denied Chirrut’s answers, which was as good as admitting that he found them amusing.)

Nobody ever just accepted the truth, which was simply that they were partners who had a totally platonic relationship.

Entirely platonic relationship. No feelings of attraction or sexual tension on either side.

Which was good, because their current situation would be embarrassing as hell otherwise.

This stupid little moon didn’t even have a name, but it did have an Imperial presence, which had struck everyone as odd — it was barely more than a stop-off with some refueling stations, the sort of place where people end up when they’re just barely not hitting rock bottom, not a place any sane sentient would bother going to. So why had the Empire built a factory here?

Jyn’s theory, which Cassian had agreed was plausible, was that they’d put a refinery here because nobody ever came here of their own volition, and the only inhabitants were people who had to keep their heads down. Nobody was likely to stumble across it by accident, and there were no rebel or Partisan cells to muck up the works. It had made sense, but it had also meant that whatever they were making or refining here was probably something important that the Alliance needed to know about.

As it happened, in parts of the moon that were entirely uninhabited for reasons that had become very suddenly clear, there was a chemical compound in the dust that could be used as a caustic agent, when collected and purified, and there were any number of reasons that the Empire would want a chemical that would strip hydrogen off of pure water.

The downside to this was that if any of the dust got on any part of a human’s (and, presumably, most other sentients’) exposed skin, it would… be very bad, and very gross. It also tended to eat through clothing, but — in a design choice that now made total sense — not the stone from which all of the structures on the moon had been built.

(It had struck Jyn as odd that, even on a featureless rock orbiting a dull-gray gas giant, there were no windows on anything, and everything was made from the same rust-colored stone, except the durasteel refinery and ships.)

Naturally, they had gotten caught by a dust storm.

Naturally, their outerwear had been contaminated, meaning that their underwear would, very rapidly if left alone, also become contaminated, and Jyn didn’t even want to think about that scenario. They’d been thankfully close to an old refueling station that had been abandoned, and so hadn’t spent very long in the dust, but getting rid of their outermost layers had been immediately necessary.

At first, it hadn’t bothered her — because the both of them had been so focused on get it off get it off get it off that it had not occurred to Jyn, at least, and probably Cassian as well, that they would be stuck in this little stone building until the dust storm passed, with no or very few clothes.

Ultimately, they’d managed to get to safety quickly enough, and get the contaminated clothing off quickly enough, that they were left in underwear and undershirts, very carefully not looking at each other.

At least, she told herself, it wasn’t cold, and they weren’t anything more than sensible friends and partners acting pragmatically in a situation that had taken both of them off-guard.

(He wore boxer-briefs. Jyn had not, as such, needed this information, but now that she had it, it wouldn’t leave her brain. She had also made the mistake of looking at him, and catching a glimpse of… well, nothing, exactly, except a… well, a bulge, and that also would not leave her brain.)

“So, we’re leaving this out of the mission report, right?” she said in a low voice, and he made a noise of agreement. She glanced at him — he was sitting, (bare) elbows on his (bare) knees, with his forehead resting in one hand — and then quickly back away, determinedly ignoring the heat rising up the back of her neck.

In the back of her mind, she considered what would this be like if they had been a little slower, and he’d had to take off his shirt and maybe —

She coughed, and ran a hand over her face.

Even though he probably didn’t know anything more about it than she did, she still asked, “How long do these storms last?” with some desperation, and her voice came out at an embarrassingly-high pitch. She was glad he wasn’t looking at her, and couldn’t see her cringe at herself.

“The storm came on quickly,” he replied, and she told herself that she was imagining the strain in his voice. “The atmosphere is… thick, and cycles rapidly. It shouldn’t last too long.”

That was… a comfort.

(He was wearing an athletic undershirt, not a tee like she’d sort of expected, and so part of his chest was exposed, and —)

She stifled another cough.

“Good,” she choked, and vaguely wished for the ground to swallow her whole.

He probably wasn’t having the same trouble she was. He was more professional than she was, and he’d kept his eyes respectfully down the whole time. He was probably just embarrassed at being caught by the storm in the first place.

Jyn, on the other hand, was struggling.

It didn’t help that there was nothing to do in this Force-forsaken little hut except dwell on the fact that her (totally platonic) partner was half-naked ten feet away from her. She didn’t even have a pack of cards with which to play sab-- solitaire, not sabacc, just… something alone and engrossing that she could look at and occupy her mind with.

(The only thing worse than the awkward silence would have been to be playing a game opposite him and his… well, opposite him.)

She closed her eyes, and tried to summon any of Chirrut’s lessons on meditation. They’d been intended to help her center herself and channel her energy more efficiently (whatever that meant), but her concern right now was dousing the heat that rose in her belly every time her brain offered up that stupid image of his —

(It had just… been a while. That was all this was. Just… plain old sexual frustration, and hey, Cassian was a good-looking guy, there was nothing wrong with finding his half-naked body easy on the eyes. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t.)

There were few things she could think of that would better dampen her stupid imagination than the memory of Chirrut’s guided meditation, but it wasn’t really helping.

Right, okay. 

Time to get drastic.

Jabba the Hutt. Picture the gummy eyes, and the slug-shape, and the tongue, and the rubbery texture of his flesh, and the slime, and the…

It worked, right up until she opened her eyes again and saw that Cassian had been running his hand through his hair, and now it was all mussed and messy like he’d been in bed, and —

Shit.

Dammit.

Okay.

That weird noise Jabba made when he moved, the guttural grunting — ugh, gross, just picture that happening in a bedroom, she wanted to vomit — the unwashed and vaguely-cheesy smell he gave off, that indulgent laugh like the worst slimy uncle imaginable. The casual cruelty, the greed. The way he kept attractive female slaves, forced them to dance for his amusement.

She let out a long, slow breath, and decided not to open her eyes again.

.

(Cassian could not stop seeing her legs. Even with his eyes closed and his head bowed, trying to mentally catalogue every single weapon he’d ever heard of just to spare his dignity, all he could see were long legs and the shape of her body in a skintight undershirt.

He wanted to die.)

.

It took three hours of horrid silence and even more horrid mental images, but finally, the dust storm passed, and shortly after, the locals’ droids — apparently programmed for immediate response in this situation, which made sense in retrospect — had swept the ground clean of the dust, so it was safe to walk outside again, even in sock-feet like Jyn and Cassian were.

Once back on their ship, they were able to put on spare sets of clothing — although at this point, Jyn would have made a toga out of a blanket, anything would do, just to not see this much of him anymore — and, still uncomfortably silent, get out of atmo.

The entire trip back was spent in the same awkward silence, carefully avoiding each other’s eyes and watching hyperspace pass by as though it was deeply fascinating. Luckily, they arrived back on the flagship halfway through the night cycle, and were able to return to their respective rooms without having to be seen, a) wearing different clothes than they’d left in, or b) desperately keeping a ten-foot space between them.

(Also, the showers were empty, which was good for Jyn to, ahem, work some things out.)

Cassian wrote and submitted the report, and Jyn signed off on it — no mention of the agonizing three hours spent in a stone hell-room, thank the Force — and between the report being finished and the, ah, showers, she figured that that was that.

Until the rumor mill started up again.

Someone — she wasn’t sure who, but was, on principle, going to blame Han Solo — had read between the lines of the mission report, and started asking, so, like, did they actually get caught in one of these dust storms? Or else the imagination-zeitgeist of the Rebellion had just decided that it would be great if that was the case.

And Jyn could not quite play it off like she had all the other rumors. Usually, she would roll her eyes and stalk off, but she found herself desperately denying them this time, even as every cell in her brain was screaming shut up shut up shut up!

As such, she had not… exactly… convinced anyone, even herself.

They were friends, good friends, the sort that she’d never really had before, and she wasn’t supposed to be feeling this… attraction to him. Wasn’t supposed to be imagining running her hands through his hair or his hips bucking against hers or waking up cradled in his arms or —

The snickers were almost as bad as the knowing glances, but not half as bad as the clawing discomfort that rose in her every time they were in the same room. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t obvious to anyone else, that it was just her own heightened awareness, but Chirrut disabused her of that happy notion a few days after they got back:

“If your intention is to convince everyone that you and the Captain are not together,” he said lightly, voice carefully plucked clean of amusement, “you are not succeeding.”

“We aren’t,” she snapped, and his expression didn’t change.

“Of course not,” he replied. She watched him carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop, which it did only moments later. “Yet.”

“We are friends,” she said through clenched teeth, and he smiled.

“Ah, I recall that tone of voice,” he sighed fondly. “Baze said the same words, in the same tone, many times in our youth.”

She had no adequate response to that, so she’d settled for stalking off, telling herself that she wasn’t skulking away like a dog with its tail between its legs, that she was a dignified adult who was walking away for good reasons, to do a better thing somewhere else.

Still, she could avoid him, more or less — or at least keep to only interacting with him in public — until the next mission they were sent on, which was only a week after returning from the one she was now thinking of as the hell-mission.

And they had not actually spoken to each other since the… situation.

Which, in retrospect, was a huge mistake.

None of it had been dealt with, it had only been given time to fester and linger in (at least) Jyn’s brain, and the more she thought of it — and the more she heard and remembered the rumors — the more tangled up her stomach got at the thought of being alone with him again, even as she really wanted to be alone with him again.

She was a big enough person to admit to herself that she was attracted to him. That was… not strange, even for platonic comrades in a time of war; in fact, she had it on good authority that no less than the princess herself had a crush on him, which she very definitely found amusing and which did not in any way inspire any kind of possessive or jealous feelings in her, because it didn’t.

Jyn had decided that avoidance was the solution, which she was now regretting, but committed to nonetheless. If she just... focused on the mission at hand, got through it, eventually things would just sort of... stop being this way, right? Her general philosophy with interpersonal issues was to ignore them until they went away, and this was no different.

It worked beautifully until they were all alone in hyperspace again and her thoughts… drifted.

He seemed agitated, eyes locked on the controls even though there was nothing new or unexpected there; even when he looked up, he wouldn’t look at her. He also seemed tense, shoulders slightly hunched, jaw clenched. The air between them was thick and heavy like cotton, almost unbreathable, and — Force be with her — they would be in hyperspace for eighteen standard hours.

There was no way they could do this. It had been bad enough when she had other things to do and focus on, but eighteen hours alone in hyperspace like this was going to drive her absolutely insane.

“All right, something has to give,” she snapped finally, and he half-glanced at her, as though afraid to actually look her in the face.

“Oh?” he replied, in a hoarsely-neutral tone, and didn’t elaborate. Of course, the bloody spy wasn’t going to give any ground on this. Half of what he did to get information was let other people fill in the blanks, he never offered up anything unless he had to (or, she recalled, very angry).

“Yeah,” she said, standing up and stalking away from the cockpit, to put some space between them so maybe she could breathe. It didn’t help. His presence still filled the room. “This is all… we’re being stupid, aren’t we?”

By the time she turned back to face him, he was standing, leaning against the armrest of the pilot’s chair, expression neutral. “Define stupid,” he said finally, and she growled in frustration.

“We’re partners,” she snapped. “We have to work together, we can’t be sitting here, all…” no adequate word would come to her, so she finished, a bit lamely, and with a shrug, “stupid. About this.”

Cassian blinked, opened his mouth to says something, then closed it again and ran a hand over his face. “That… did not answer my question,” he said, in a strained voice.

“You know good and damn well what I mean,” she snarled, the tension and rising embarrassment making her angry. He seemed to be biting his tongue, now looking away.

“This is about the last mission,” he said, with no question. “The dust storm.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the dust storm,” she replied, annoyed. “You know, when we had to get almost naked and sit with each other for hours. And everybody’s talking about it back on the flagship. I bet that’s why Mothma sent us on this mission,” she added, and although she hadn’t thought of it before the words had been coming out of her mouth, they suddenly made a disturbing amount of sense. It didn’t have to be them, and they didn’t have to do it alone. But, oh, for whatever reason, Command thought it was best to send Jyn and Cassian, and only Jyn and Cassian, and (like the eager idiot she was) she had not questioned it.

Finally, there was a crack in his armor — rising color in his face, eyes now directed upward.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted, after a long and uncomfortable moment.

If she was being honest, she wasn’t sure of that, herself. That she wasn’t the only one about to burn up from the inside-out with sexual frustration? That he’d been checking her out the same way she’d been checking him out? That she was being stupid and they were just platonic partners, obviously?

No — if that had been the case, if they were really both just platonic friends, he would have been genuinely confused by this conversation, not hedging his bets and holding back and refusing to show any emotion.

If he hadn’t been at least sort of thinking about it, he would have been a totally different kind of uncomfortable, squirming and trying to escape the situation, embarrassed and uneasy. It wouldn’t be the same kind of tension.

Maybe it was just her whimpering libido that was telling her that, but it made sense.

“I want the truth,” she said slowly, taking a step closer. He didn’t look at her.

“What do you want the truth to be?” he countered, still dangerously neutral, still watching the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Of course he still wouldn’t give any information.

Cassian had survived all his years in Intelligence by not giving. Jyn was gonna have to take this jump, and hope that he’d meet her halfway once he saw for sure where she was going.

It took a moment to steel up her resolve, which she spent by walking up to him with every ounce of purpose and anger she could muster. He still wouldn’t look at her, eyes fixed on the ceiling, jaw clenched, whole body vibrating with tension.

She took a deep breath, and the words she had rehearsed — something self-assured, like I want to at least give them something real to gossip about, I want to touch you, I want you to touch me — died on her lips.

Instead, what came out was a slightly-wavering, much-quieter-than-intended, “That you want me.”

Abruptly, his eyes were locked on hers, neutral expression becoming calculating, guarded. Searching for a lie, maybe, or any indication that she was joking.

He didn’t respond, or at least not in the amount of time that she was willing to wait (which was… not much).

Closing her eyes (so she didn’t have to see anything in his face she might not want to), she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

It was… not exactly the romantic moment she had hoped for. He was still frozen, all that tension stretched thin between them, rigid and unmoving, and -- shit. Shit.

Fuck.

She started to pull back, but then the tension snapped and he responded, moving in, hand catching the back of her neck and pulling her back to him; she was taken a little off-guard, and had to catch herself against his chest, whole body pressed against his as her arms snaked around his neck and his other arm wrapped around her waist.

Cassian stumbled against the pilot’s seat, but didn’t break the kiss until she pushed him down into it and, in the same motion, straddled his hips. He looked… a little dazed, pupils dilated, face flushed. She doubted she looked any better (or, since he actually looked pretty fucking good like this, from this angle, any worse).

“Like I said,” she breathed, with more composure than she felt, “we’re being stupid.”

His lips curved into a smile, and he murmured, “I guess so,” before pulling her back into another searing kiss.

.

.

(coda—

“So,” Han said, drawing out the syllable suggestively, “what I’m hearing is, the trick is to go to an awful moon with murderous dust-storms.”

“I think Leia would just let you die,” Jyn replied blandly, without looking up from the datapad where she was trying to write a coherent report that left out all the details nobody else actually needed to know, and Han appeared to think about it for a moment, then scowled.

“Who said anything about Leia?” he grumbled. “I could’ve been talking about… Amilyn. Or, hell, Luke. Or —”

Jyn sorted and walked away, leaving him still spluttering and coming up with increasingly-ridiculous names.)

[anonthenullifier]

An Auspice of Scarlet - Chapter 5 Preview

As an apology for how long it’s taking to finish this chapter, have a small preview. The rest will be up in 1-2 weeks. Hope you enjoy!

Wanda is four (mostly) gleaming candlesticks in when she hears a slamming door from upstairs followed by plodding, annoyed steps that eventually reveal an untidy Stark. The rate at which he descends the staircase, unhurried and calculated, certifies his displeasure, but what’s more telling is the coldness of his usually upbeat voice. “Wanda.”

The felt splashes into the mucky water, her other hand carefully placing the candlestick on the ground before she stands to face the man. “Tony,” she emphasizes both syllables, determined to challenge the power differential he’s trying to utilize against her, yet his face remains impassive, hands sliding into the safe haven of his front pockets.

“He’s awake.” The confirmation of the news awakens her heart, a rapid flutter ramming against her ribcage as she digests the realness of the words. “Just so we’re clear this is against my better judgment,” he frowns, eyes downturned to study the scuffed toes of his shoes, then releases an exasperated breath out and meets her eyes again, “but he wants to talk to you, alone.”

If the revelation this morning that Vision was awake and presumably okay was an elixir to her morbid thoughts, the realization of what this conversation will require of her draws her back into the squalor of remorse. But she cannot expect penance if she avoids admitting her wrongs.  “Okay.” Wanda wipes her damp hands on her skirt, fingers tingling with the nervous undulation of her powers as her emotions run rampant. “I’ll speak with him.”

She can feel Stark’s eyes follow her as she approaches the stairs, his thoughts swirling just out of reach of her powers, but she dares not connect with his mind when they are this close, all desire to enter the frenzied network of his past gone. “Wanda.” Her journey comes to a halt on the first stair, hand resting on the circular top of the rail. “I’m going to be in the hallway. If you do anything to him-”

The threat is unneeded, though she doesn’t fault him with distrusting her, she’d react exactly the same. “You will contact the sheriff.”

“No,” the single syllable is drawn out with a haughty chuckle, “No, you get the Black Widow if something happens.” Whatever this means is insignificant in the face of the seriousness of his voice, one heavy enough to nail a coffin shut. “Understand?”

“Perfectly.” The annoyance exuding from Stark falls away with each halting step in her ascent, but as his diminishes it is replaced by her own annoyance once she turns down the hallway, her heart pounding in an attempt to convince her to run, but she tightens her fists and continues to the room. The door is open, which means she doesn’t get a last chance to settle her nerves or force her expression into a carefully crafted mask of concern and confidence before their eyes meet. He is sitting up, not straight, a support system of a pillow leaning against a stack of books almost gives him a casual appearance, but the dark circles under his eyes, the uncharacteristically disheveled hair, and the loose, unironed nightgown betray his continued ailing. “You,” his polite voice startles her, her eyes dropping in embarrassment at staring at him for some, likely quite unsociable, amount of time, “may come in and have a seat.” “I-,” whatever she planned to say flees, leaving her to mutely nod, feet carrying her the same ten steps as the night before, though this time she moves the chair, places it several inches farther from the bed, fairly sure he would appreciate some physical distance between them. Wanda had assumed he would lead the conversation, foolishly believed his butler ways of waiting for her to speak would be discarded in circumstances when status and position no longer matter. Truthfully a butler should die from the sheer impropriety of being in bed, in a nightgown, in front of a young, unattached woman. Yet he simply stares at her, face impassive beyond a small, pained bunching just above his nose. Wanda attempts a smile, but knows it fails, instead studying her fingers as they lace together in uncertainty, and when he still does not speak, she glances to her left to study the room in daylight. “You know,” her voice begins its journey long before her mind catches up, left hand rising to point at a small cup and a quaint, wooden toothbrush*, “I have not seen one of those since moving here. I,” the strength of her vocal chords wanes as she continues, “spent three months trying to find one before giving up.” Vision’s eyes narrow as his head develops a small, curious tilt. “They do have truly barbaric views of dental hygiene**.” The dryness of the comment is comforting in its similarity to how he spoke with her prior to the séance, yet the absence of joviality is keenly felt. “I have a crate shipped in from London once a year. You are welcome to take some, if you like.” “Thank you.” The vast amount of things she’d like to say to him is immense, explanations and justifications, long histories of why she used his kindness in such a heinous way, careen through her mind, yet she can’t determine where to start. A simple apology seems far too empty, devoid of complexity and onus, and the last thing she wishes to do is harm him further with trivialities. Yet the idea of being truthful is petrifying, her heart caving in at the likelihood of his disbelief. “Miss Maximoff?” Her head snaps up, eyes meeting the eddy of disquiet in his gaze, and she can feel the air around them shift as he takes in a deep, steadying breath. “How-,” the word rushes out with his exhale and Vision breaks his stare, concentrating instead on the intertwining of his fingers atop the cream-colored blanket draped over his lap. The fact he is as unsettled as she is should lessen the fidgeting of her fingers or the shuffling of her boots along the wooden beams, but instead, it serves to increase her desire to leave, his presence, since she first met him at the river, has always been a source of comforting consistency devoid of anxiety, until now. “How did you know?” Wanda dips her head at the question, her rumination over the past three days often came back to this, accepted he was going to ask it, because so would she, if their positions were reversed. The response has been practiced, refined, demolished, re-created, practiced some more, and cemented. Yet in the moment, the brilliant blue of his irises boring into her soul, she finds her mind shifting back into old habits of sidestepping uncomfortable truths in order to escape unscathed. Her heart disagrees with her mouth, but she cannot stop the faux playfulness imbuing her voice as she responds, “I commune with spirits.” The droop of his eyes matches the downturn of his lips, accentuated by a soft, almost pained sigh prying itself free from his lungs, is a new expression for him, one, if she had to describe it, might be disappointment. His response confirms her supposition, an invisible, albeit monstrous, boulder of guilt settling on her chest. “Please,” it is the same please he used when they were standing in the rain: confused, imploring, and achingly desperate, “I need to know.” A sentiment she fully agrees with, but that does not make revealing the truth any easier nor does it alleviate the frustrating, and arguably startling, realization of how much she does not want him to think less of her, to doubt her. “You will not believe me.” “Why not?” Very few people, Wanda imagines, would readily accept the ability to read minds and move objects with a wave of a hand, but someone such as the butler - built of well-thought out, irrevocable logic - is most definitely in the section of the population that would never prescribe to such things. “You were not willing to believe in spirits.” His hands calm long enough to lift into confused gesticulation, a tiny undercurrent of annoyance developing in his intonations, “To be fair you were not convening with spirits. Please, tell me.” Despite his statement being true, the irritating reasoning only underlies her hesitation, “If you can’t even pretend to consider the existence of spirits then there is no way you will accept the truth.” “Wanda,” her resolve eradicates on the second syllable of her name, his conscious, deliberate breaking of her request a clear sign of the depth of his desperation. He could easily stop simply with her name and she would finally admit the truth, but he does not, instead continuing in an almost whisper, all irritation gone, replaced by a heavy, palpable sense of surrender. “Since you came to this manor, you have urged me, provoked me even, to cogitate on my own wants and independence, so I do not understand how you now suggest I am incapable of determining what I believe.” Wanda remains mute as his words wash over her, eyes locked with his own, and she knows she cannot run anymore, but more importantly, she doesn’t want to. Her chin dips as she collects her thoughts, spying the glint of metal in the opening at the top of his shirt, and her decision is finalized. Calmly she lifts her chin, once more meeting his eyes, channels all of her energy into maintaining a calm visage despite the scarlet prickling in her closed fists. “I,” her voice stumbles, seizes up at the confession. Vision doesn’t push her though, face softening into encouragement which only creates confusion in her mind as to why he is comforting her. “I can read minds.”