#and a heat boiling in his stomach. he scrubs the hand clean and puts his phone on silent.

[leoisstillalive]

i have this. horrid yet incredibly amusing vision. of marc and pecco next year on the podium.

pecco wins, marc comes second, and so valentino (having attended the race) thinks it reasonable to go and congratulate pecco for his win. give him a bit of a morale boost for the championship fight. nothing drawn out- he has a debrief to do with franky and diggia- just a quick hand shake.

so he goes to the barricade at parc fermé and pecco is there and he's grinning and he looks hungryyy because he's made ground on marc's title lead. vale pulls him into a hug, clasps a hand on the back of his neck, etc, and it's nice and easy.

so far so good.

then marc appears. seemingly from nowhere. vale hasn't been watching out for him- maybe he should've been. he definitely should've been.

marc shakes pecco's hand, claps him on the back. they're all giggles and heavy, panting breaths. and marc is sweating still and his hair is parted in damp, messy clumps, cheeks rosy and youthful and vale smacks his lips; tries to disappear back into the crowd but

it's packed tight. and nobody seems to be giving because they're all reaching over him to congratulate marc-- of course. they're on the same team. vale isn't a child, he doesn't let it anger him. he instead keeps his eyes fixed on his academy student as pecco smooths back his hair.

marc finishes with pecco and brings his obnoxious, bubbly laughter to the barrier and starts grabbing hands and letting people pat his head, moving down the row, and then.

vale jumps back when marc's sweaty palm locks against his own. marc's fingers curl tight around the ridge above vale's wrist and vale's mouth is agape and he can't tell if he's offended or shocked or- just a bit- pleased by the large, firm hand encasing him. and marc isn't looking at vale-- hasn't looked at him once, vale's not sure if he even knows he's there, caught up in the whirlwind adrenaline, almost post-coital ecstasy of getting a podium.

but vale knows. and the people around vale have noticed. and vale is frozen still like a tree- everything in him tense as hell except his heart, which is rattling like an alarm. he is afraid marc can feel it hammering through his skin.

marc's brows curl together and his smile turns confused as everybody quietens down, all eyes turned to the two men like some sort of baroque painting.

marc lets his gaze fall on valentino at last-- at long last, but vale would not, could never admit this. and his smile wobbles at the edges, goes sharp and thin. he releases vale's floppy hand and blinks a few times, pupils blown wide like he’s spotted a lion in the reeds. valentino is absolutely stunned. can't say a word. can barely breathe.

and pecco shares his surprise- only, a small, sly smirk has crooked at one side of his mouth and he looks nigh on laughter. valentino would be too if he wasn't so. astounded. his hand is tingling from the contact, heavy as if packed with mud.

marc bites and licks his lips. habit. vale does not track the movement-- he doesn't. but he spots it in his peripherals and is glad for the shield of his sunglasses.

marc lingers. for some reason. like he is waiting for something- for valentino to speak or retake his hand or dissolve into smoke like a super villain. nothing happens. they both just stare until it becomes. very awkward for their spectators.

finally, valentino clears his throat and turns back to pecco, gesturing him over for nothing in particular- simply trying to get marc out of the way, trying to pretend none of..... that just happened.

marc seems just as eager to move on, shuffling away to the corner of the barricade. but there is a crease of sadness or loss on his face for a moment- only long enough for valentino to spot it. and then he is smiling again, laughing and shaking hands, while everybody just watches. slightly confused, very amused.

vale hopes the cameras didn't catch that but. fucking. of course they did. now he's in for it

[strawberry-nugget]

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙄 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 | E. Kirishima/ Reader/ K. Bakugo

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: after weeks of Bakugo distancing himself from you and Kirishima you finally get the chance to talk out what happened the other day, one thing leads to another and...

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, thr*esome, oral (f! and m! receiving), double penetration, fingering, p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, all characters portrayed are over the age of 20

𝘼/𝙉: I'm so sorry this took me so long. I know this is 6.5k with little to no plot but I hope you enjoy this, hehe, thanks for all of the notes and amazing comments on the last one. I'll be reblogging in a few minutes with the tags in those who asked. Also. This is top Kirishima. Top top top top Kirishima.

It's been two weeks now that you and Bakugo exist in different timelines.

He's never home, lost in patrol after patrol, leaving a hot mess behind him in his room, belts, gear, his back up costume messily sprawled across his room -you guess he doesn't have enough time to clean everything up. Still, the rest of the apartment always looks inhabitable, save for the little mess you make in the kitchen when you cook; he never cleans what's supposed to be your task.

You feel yourself growing sadder every day. It's something Kirishima notices and informs you he feels as well, rooted deep in how Bakugo is treating the two of you ever since that night. And the worst part is you can't do anything about it. He doesn't return his phone calls nor does he ever pick up, and by now you've accepted that he purposely avoids being in the house with you. It hurts even more knowing that he and Kirishima see each other at work every day; at least he knows Katsuki is doing okay, though as he reports, he rarely ever talks more than patrol and business.

You only wonder why he acts the way he does, thinking you don't deserve to get ghosted over for what happened. He's your roommate and one of your best friends, whatever made him feel like he has the right to ghost you with such each is not going to go by so easily and you're not willing to wait it out anymore either.

Thus, this Thursday night you call in sick for work and emerge yourself in the bathtub after checking the clock. 7.25pm. It's still an hour until Katsuki is off his shift, which means you have plenty of time to do some self care. Shave your legs, scrub your whole body with your coconut scrub- anything to calm down that put of anxiety that's starting to boil in the pit of your stomach.

You fear for the worst. That Katsuki doesn't want to be your friend anymore, and losing him doesn't sit right with you. Not over just catching him masturbating once.

There's a ton of things you want to say, or ask him. The lingering thought of him liking Kirishima or you digs deep enough into your brain and plants itself there, getting comfortable right next to the thought of him being jealous of your relationship. Could this be it? Could he just be lonely? He never talks about meeting anyone or having sex -that must be it, he's lonely, that's all.

Your bath doesn't last for long because you're nervous and the water runs cold before you have the chance to enjoy yourself. Maybe it's time to start turning the heating on in the apartment and you curse yourself because you have to talk this out with Bakugo as well -fuck its hard to not live on your own when you have to make shared decisions with someone. To your stomach's turbulence dismay you can't get out of talking to Katsuki.

"No, I literally won't tell you where she is Bakugo"

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of the door unlocking and closing again, followed by your boyfriend's familiar voice. You don't make a single movement to exit the bathroom yet- you're frozen, opting to rest on top of the toilet cap until you hear Bakugo's reply, your gut falling into a muddy pit of panic.

"I swear to fucking god if you two are trapping me to talk about it"

Typically of him, he shouts, barking and chewing a few sounds of what he's saying. Kirishima knows he's all bark and no bite though, you're eager to figure out how he'll oppose him.

"She wants to talk to you, you can't just ghost her like that when you live with her" There's a long pause next "and you should have told me that you're in fucking love with her"

"What?" Katsuki exclaims

What?

"You think I'm an idiot? Or that I can't comprehend basic human behavior? I know how people who feel the way you do act"

"What are you even saying Kirishima? That I'm jealous?"

You blink feverously, trying to take in what you're listening to unfold in the other room. You know a part of you has been wishing that this scenario wasn't true.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. You should have told me you liked her in the beginning. I would have never made a move"

They bicker back and forth for a few minutes; Katsuki accusing and Eijiro defending, then switching back and forth before going silent. It's then that you think you should emerge from the bathroom. It feels wrong to not be part of this conversation when you're the reason for their bickering, but at this point the guilt in your stomach is rotting and polluting your insides.

With a sigh, you turn the doorknob and inhale deeply. You tell yourself you can do this. You have to do this, yet your eyes are filled with hot and salty tears as you approach the living room.

Both of them eye you simultaneously, pursed lips and hands crossed over their chests; the only relieving thing about this is that they're sitting next to each other on the couch, their calves slightly touching. You know they'll make up again, they always will, but you're scared you won't be able to be part of that make up. Not with the information that's been poured onto you.

"Hi" You whisper and despite being sure both of them heard you, they make no effort to open their mouths and talk back "I uhm" You clear your throat "I heard what you were ah saying"

"Course ya did" Katsuki growls "course ya fucking did"

"Baku- I-"

"Save it! I'm gonna-" He snaps and makes a move to get off the couch, though Eijiro has other plans; he slams him back down with just a push of his hand

The same hand that's extended to you, overlapping Katsuki's chest, wordlessly asking you to join them on the couch. Your heart warms up slightly. Kirishima always does his best to make you feel included, it's no surprise he's smiling at you when you take a seat next to the blond.

"You're not going anywhere Bakugo. And babe, you can speak now"

Though you smile nervously with your lips, your first word falls silent, in awe of a lung filling sigh. Then by the time you gather some thoughts together your chest is shivering and the tears that you managed to drown before are now threatening to spill from your eyes again.

Kirishima is watching you religiously, pouting as you throw your head to the opposite direction of his to let out a small sob. He tightens the grip of his hand around yours and barely notices Bakugo batting his eyes to that direction.

"Hey, no, don't cry"

"I just don't want to lose Bakugo because of this" you sob and Kirishima shoots a killer gaze at the blond, biting the inside of his lip.

"You're not losing anyone idiot" Bakugo says, clearing his throat, giving Kirishima a strained look as well

"Babe, don't worry, Bakugo and I will be fine, you and Bakugo will be fine"

You sob again, wiping a stream of tears that's falling from your eyes and Kirishima wastes no time on cupping your cheek after bullying Bakugo to do the same. A nice change, you think, two hands reaching out for your face, you could almost get used to this.

"Yeah, you're not losing me" Bakugo tries to soothe, though by Kirishima's demand he adds to his words "I- uhh, I might want you but this has nothing to do with us not being friends"

"Yeah?" You sniffle, looking up

"Yeah"

It's too soft how you're cuddled into their arms instantly, pulled on top of them to sit on both of their laps, held tightly in both of their embraces. You coo into their arms for a while, content when Kirishima kisses your cheek and sobbing faintly when Bakugo rubs your back in circles.

"Do you want a beer baby?" Kirishima asks, softly patting your back and kissing your nape as he leaves you clinging onto Bakugo. You nod into the crook of Bakugo's neck in reply and Kirishima smiles from the other side of the couch.

The sound of the fridge opening is timelines away from what's entering your mind. Is it wrong that you like that cuddle too much? And is it even more wrong that you want more? Bakugo feels nice when you're curling up onto his lap and Kirishima adds warmth and love into everything he's touching, you almost feel your thighs clench at the idea of where your mind's traveling to.

"What if we had a threesome?"

It's so faint when it comes out of your mouth that you're convinced there shouldn't be any loud reaction to it, though you hear the can of beer that's presumably in Kirishima's hand hit the floor, you feel Katsuki's hand freeze on your back. Both of them wonder if they've heard correctly, but never asking you to repeat it.

"A uhm.. Threesome?" Kirishima asks "you'd like that?"

"Yes"

You try to hide your face deeper into Bakugo's neck, but he doesn't seem to approve of it- he pushes you back softly, with a thick hand on your stomach and another still on your back. You feel your face burning as you're forced to face him

"You'd really want a threesome?" You nod and Bakugo gulps "Right now?"

"Mhm" You gulp too, your nose almost nuzzling against his "if- if you want to"

The way you're swamped with attention is overwhelming. From the way Kirishima jumps to the edge of the couch towards you, to the way Bakugo lifts you up and stands on his feet, urging you to do the same as your feet land one by one on the carpet underneath you.

"Fuck okay uh, are you fine with it Bakugo?" The redhead asks, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I am."

Kirishima gulps when he sees Bakugo latch onto you, placing his hand on your shoulder and coughing up slightly "Should we set some rules?"

"Yes" Bakugo coughs as well, though you can feel him getting hard to where your thoughts are meeting his "wanna suggest anything?"

"Great uh, maybe no kissing between the two of you, since she's my girlfriend? And Katsuki you're wearing a condom too. Are these fine?"

Both of you gulp and nod. It's natural for Kirishima to ask this. Sharing you out of the blue can't completely sit right with him; it almost flicks a switch on inside your gut, making you gulp again when you feel him hugging you from behind.

"Safeword?" Bakugo asks

"Red" You reply cooing when your back finally hits your boyfriend's chest.

You don't even have enough time to count down seconds before you're pounded and squished between the two of them. It's a miracle that you somehow manage to convince them to move it to the bedroom.

Even if making a small stop at the hall wasn't in your original plan

Kirishima's hands are everlastingly on your waist pulling your back into his chest. He's nibbling on the nape of your neck, his fingers light as feathers as they're peeling your T-shirt off of you. He almost grunts at your exposed back, leaning down just to place a kiss on each of your shoulders before latching onto your ear

"It's fine baby, it's fine if you're embarrassed okay?" He blows into you then takes a bite of your ear lobe to which you shiver as you snap your head to his face. “what? Are you that excited?"

You gulp, nodding with your eyes shutting, an expression on your face that looks almost painful -Bakugo can't help but palm himself, searching Kirishima's carmine eyes with his, waiting for a sign that he should make a move or retreat. Anything that doesn't involve him getting a front row seat to how your chest bounces as Kirishima runs his hands on your torso from behind.

"Fuck, I-" He says, swallowijg his tongue in the process, just when Kirishima's hands change paths, now wiggling underneath your sweatpants.

"Enjoying the show Bakugo?" Kirishima's smiles and fuck- when did he adopt such an attitude? "Come 'ere"

Bakugo does as he's commanded, guided by Kirishima, as he trails your torso with his hands intertwined with his, squeezing your upper hips, trailing your belly button, eyeing you with doe eyes before launching a kiss to your navel. You writhe and wiggle in Kirishima's embrace- the feeling of another man too new, too strange to take in in less than a few moments, but Eijiro's got you, kissing your nape, your cheek, softly playing with your breasts above your bralette. Whispering his praises with his hands across your body.

"Good girl" You're sure he whispers in your ear "I got you" But all you can feel is Katsuki's breath as he's placing open mouthed kisses across your tummy, over the valley of your chest, your cheek.

Kirishima is overly alert by this, jumping in between the little scene, capturing your lips with his, using a hand to push Bakugo into the kiss as well, pulling him in as lips as smeared against lips, your saliva trailing out of your mouth. You instinctively rub your thighs together to relieve some of the burning sensation between your legs

Soon enough, Bakugo is taking off your pants, rhen his shirt, Kirishima's taking his off too, managing not to let you go all while pushing the three of you into the bedroom. There's nothing but a trail of clothing in the hallway that could suggest what's happening inside the room once the door closes shut; three pairs of sweats, three different t-shirts and maybe the white ghost of hot and heavy breathing.

On the bed, it's way more comfortable. Your arching back is finally resting against the pillowy mattress, Kirishima's smile from upside down soothing and forgiving, you almost melt away while he cups your face and bumps his nose to yours, giggling slightly, before glaring at Bakugo. He guides your head into his lap, still holding your cheeks, still rubbing circles onto your soft face, pouting hard before facing your friend.

"You good babe?" He asks you and you nod again, humming a small reply to him "you too Katsuki?"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, I am" He gulps, pumping himself twice.

"You're not getting in without prep by the way"

You writhe in Kirishima's lap, gooey eyes and mouth open wide as he leans to pry your legs open, trailing his middle finger across your clothes slit. Your chest jumps when you hear him chuckle. You know he's struck the gold vein he's searching for, your panties swimming in a puddle, completely damp from getting your neck attacked only a few minutes ago.

Katsuki marvels a finger across your slit as well, avoiding your clit purposely or flicking it occasionally, moaning every time his finger touches the chilly dampness of your underwear.

Kirishima pries your legs open wider, hooking his middle finger under your panties and pulling them over and slightly to the side, flashing the blond with a glimpse of you -you swear you see him gulp. Hard.

"Want a taste?" Kirishima asks, chuckling, as if Bakugo isn't frothing at the mouth at the mention of the action, as if he isn't diving in between your thighs like a starved man.

He almost rips your panties by pulling them to the side. Your hands link through his platinum hair and you almost whine at how soft it feels, or, about the moaning sounds he makes as he's digging his fingers in the plush skin of your thigh, swinging your leg wider. You slide a little further along, laid completely flat on the bed -head still on Kirishima's lap.

Sweetly, Kirishima captures your inner lips with his fingers and circles them around before making you hump on him, his knuckles bumping with Bakugo's nose when he chuckles again. You almost tear up by the over stimulating pressure Kirishima's fingers provide for you, but you decide to hold it in; not sure hitched breath leaves your mouth until Bakugo takes an experimental lick across your slit.

With a thumb presses to your clit he retreats for a second, just to watch as he sinks his middle finger inside of you and -"oh my fucking god Katsuki"- he's back at it again, licking at you religiously. Softly, like Kirishima always does, patiently. Just like you love it.

It has your back arching, chest bouncing for Kirishima's eyes to enjoy. He decides he won't have you hanging, bouncing and thrashing. With two huge palms he cups your breasts, flicking your nipples, massaging you for just enough time to make your heart burn, then he wiggles a finger to the hood of your clit, applying throbbing pressure.

The knot in your stomach is tight, your vision blurry, you're sure what you think is silent moaning is probably full-on screaming, mewling or pleas of pleasure that you can't comprehend.

Kirishima is smiling at you from above, still wiggling his finger on you left and right in Bakugo's business and you can't help it- you yelp, pushing Bakugo's face deeper into you. It feels good- too good, like your legs are nothing but jello, your stomach and thighs feeling like they've transformed into liquid smooth. You mewl in Kirishima's arms, coiling, desperately eyeing him in hopes that he and Katsuki won't stop what they're doing.

"M so close" You slur when Kirishima takes a hand of yours away from Bakugo's hair, softly turning it upside down, until your palm is met with the wetness of his foreskin, the pulsing slit of his that leaks precum into your hand.

He whines -"ohh"- when you wrap your fingers around him, instantly pumping your hand up and down, your grip firm and steady as you twist your wrist with every bob of your hand.

"Suck me off baby" Kirishima softly commands, rubbing an experimental circle with his tip on your lips, smearing some of his precum around your mouth. You gulp at how carelessly he pumps his base, until he pries your lips open.

You take him eagerly into your mouth, feeling your stomach churn and your thighs freezing in place by Bakugos movements; so long as you're steadily sucking Kirishima's cock into your mouth, he scissors his fingers inside of you.

"You like that?" He moans into you, eyeing Kirishima "you twitched- fuck you're twitching"

"Show me how wet she is"

Kirishima commands and Bakugo complies by taking his fingers away from your heat and shining them into Kirishima's face. You whimper but how good it feels when he moans against you, blinking as you watch your boyfriend take your friend's fingers in his mouth, sucking in eagerly, before popping the digits out of his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva fall faintly onto the valley of your breasts

"Your pussy's s'wet baby, you're dripping all over over Katsuki's hands" Kirishima thrusts in your mouth "you taste so good" then turns his attention to Bakugo "tell 'er, how fucking good she tastes"

Bulky fingers rub on your clit once more and Bakugos hand secures your tummy in place while pinning you down; you feel it then, the inevitable end of what has been building up in your stomach for such a long while and you can't help but scream at the feeling of coming undone. Shaking, struggling to take a breath without popping Kirishima out of your mouth.

"Fucking perfect"

Your vision is white, your head is buzzing and your legs are frozen. You can feel Kirishima fucking into your mouth once, twice and ever so slightly, depending in how relaxed your jaw is as he's moaning. You don't choke when he hits your throat, you simply moan onto him, too blinded by the afterglow of your orgasm to even react to what's about to unfold.

"Fuck- take 'em off- Fuuck" Kirishima says, you notice. Bakugo probably does as he's told; you hear shuffling and grunting, the soft pop of his dick to his stomach. You want to see-

Bakugo, hazed and drenched in you, cups your womanhood with his hand, landing his thumb on your clit and you yelp again, thrassing onto the bed, finally popping Kirishima out of your mouth. He tugs and drags his fingers away- he's opening you up, of course, that's it- and you can't help but roam your eyes all over him. Searching for his cock, wanting to see it dive inevitably into you.

It's unfair that Kirishima has a better view than you do, but at least, you hope he enjoys the view. You buck your hips forward when you feel Katsukis thighs grace against your own. His skin is unbelievably cold, making the hair on your legs and tummy raise; a tear rolls down your cheek then the moment the tip of his cock touches your clit.

"We've got- ah- condoms in the first drawer. On your left" Kirishima says cheerfully, bucking his hips away from your face, kneeling just to place a kiss on your forehead- your nose- your lips, finally bumping the tip of his nose to yours when he sucks your inner lip into his mouth

"You liked that baby?" Kirishima breathes "You liked Bakugo eating you out?"

"Mhm" You nod, not wanting to break away from the kiss, unlike Kirishima

You can hear Katsuki cursing, slamming the drawer shut as he fidgets with the condom. Everything seems slow, from the way his thick fingers can't grasp the tiny edges of the wrapper, to him finding out what's the right side to put it on -he grunts, inevitably- stealing giggles from both you and Kirishima

"Ah man, you're struggling, come 'ere let me help"

Bakugo grunts once again, although this time it's not out of frustration. Kirishima playfully pulls him close, places a kiss on his navel and extends his hand underneath Bakugo's, politely asking for the condom -you know his lips are pressed into a goofy smiley line right now just by the way his body moves.

Kirishima lets your cheek rest on his thigh when he moves to grab Katsuki's cock, to roll the condom on him while twisting his fist on him no more than twice -unfair- before playfully slapping the blond's ass, urging him to climb onto the bed again.

It's then that your hips are jerked and raised towards the blond, huge palms on your hips, pulling you towards him. Nervous touches, unspoken apologies for potentially harsh movements, his eyes are flickering into yours and his lips are all pouty, scrunched, his cheeks plump with embarrassment. He doesn't know if you notice, nor does he think he ever will, but it's killing him -that he's only allowed to line himself up with you under this circumstance.

Whether you notice the hurt in his eyes or not, you don't comment on it, nor do you spare him any worried look. He doesn't even know if he wants you to take pity on this state of his.

No.

No, he doesn't.

He only hopes Kirishima won't get mad when he cups your face tenderly, nor when he traps your face with his other hand caging you away from the redhead thigh -it's for better leverage he'll say if he's asked to- but you melt into his touch.

And his chest burns.

It's worse when he finally pushes into you. His heart won't stop beating hard and fast and he's scared he's going to have a fall. No-no- he shouldn't think about it, if he does think about it, he'll definitely have a fall.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh," You murmur, feeling the voice come from the depths of your chest.

That's the only confirmation he needs to ignite his ego and light it on fire. You feel good, you're sucking him in deeper and your cheek is still melting into his palm. It's more than enough; he ignores Kirishima's gaze and whatever it may carry behind it. It's for his own sanity he reminds himself.

"You're doing so good babe,'' Kirishima asks you, cupping your other cheek. He's smiling- no need to worry about him not having a positive reaction to Bakugo caressing you

(The rules that had been presented to him were simple- wear a condom and no kissing)

"You're taking it so well, isn't she Katsuki?"

"Fuck yeah" He grunts, thrusting harder

"So, so well baby, we'll make sure you get to come first okay?" You ogle your eyes at Kirishima, teary and soft by his words, clapping your lips together and pouting, begging him silently for a kiss. Only to feel the void when his soft lips don't come in contact with yours

"Oh no, no kiss for baby. You're so naughty, wanting me to kiss you when you're getting fucked by our friend"

"What?" You whine, popping on to your left elbow "Eiji- i want my kiss"

"None can do" He smiles and Bakugo snaps his hips into you "unless you earn it"

Your stomach is tied in a knot again, gummy walls tightening around Bakugo, back arching. It's almost painful to watch you sprawled like this underneath him, reacting in peak with the rhythm of his hips, begging him to go faster, harder. At one point, he's losing himself in the speed he's fucking you with, feeling like he's about to combust from inside out is not helping either

-He thinks, he'll be spent for days after this-

It's guttural, the way you feel as Bakugo thrusts inside of you, the way you mewl and twitch and feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. You feel full, so much that you mutter it, slurred and incomprehensibly at Kirishima. It's more than enough for him to rub your chin with his thumb and buck his hips on your face again. You take him eagerly, smiling with your lips when he lands on your tongue. You swirl it around, pump him deeper into your mouth, suck on his tip until he moans in sync with you.

"Bakugoo" He hisses, biting his lip as he's eyeing you "don't chase your own satisfaction! Go slower and rub her clit too" He takes Bakugos hand away from your face, tracing it down your body before landing on your heat, pinching your clit softly making you moan "ah so responsive"

For a while he doesn't move his hand away, focused on guiding Bakugo's fingers on you, teaching him how to make you feel good while he's fucking and you're on fire, gut churning and chest tight, ovestimulated by how good it all feels. You can't even take a proper breath as Kirishima humps deeper into your mouth. He groans too loud when his tip hits your cheek.

You know this is too much for him, you know he can't hold back any longer, but you grab onto his shaft and twirl your grin on his base, bobbing it into your cheek and popping it out before swallowing it again.

And while Bakugo's thrusts are becoming desperate, Kirishima bursts into your mouth, holding your hair softly, pulling you closer to you- closer, closer, until your nose hits his navel, biting on his cheeks and squinting his eyes so he won't shut them, drunk on the view of you overflowing with his come. He only grubs your chin, swiping his thumb on the white trail that's spilling from the corner of your lips, trying his best to smirk at you without taking a breath.

"Swallow it sweetheart -ah- that's right, you're so -fuck- perfect for me"

Your lower stomach is protesting, bursting slowly as Bakugo is thrusting faster into you. His speed, him hitting that spot in your gut repeatedly, creating the perfect feeling of numbness, it's all too much and not enough all at once, you want to cry out- you gush and you writhe as your legs hook around Bakugo's waist.

Your boyfriend retreats from his previous position, smiling as ever, petting Bakugo's blonde hair, massaging your breast, kissing your nipple, then attacking your upper chest, trapping supple skin in between his tongue and teeth, dragging Bakugo along with him. It's what ultimately leads Bakugo over the edge, his tip feeling numb, blood rushing all over his body, he thrusts a few more times before he pulls out, spilling his own satisfaction into the condom, feeling his heart race faster than ever before.

"Your doing sooo good" Kirishima says once more, pecking your lips repeatedly. "Wanna ride me? Or are you tired? "

"Fuck no, lay down"

"That's my girl" He smiles "Katsuki, come here"

Kirishima rubs your wetness up and down, grunting when he finds your clit, grazing it with the back of his hand, whispering about how wet you are, to which you respond by hugging your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. You only pull back when he lets you coo into him by petting your hair softly.

You're instantly met with Bakugo's eyes blazing into yours from above- it's not intimidating, rather, it's lustful, but you still need some time to pull yourself back, despite the eagerness in his eyes. You must have missed the point where he discarded his condom, or just how thick he actually is, because he's standing hard and proud before you, nervously searching for Kirishima's approval.

Your boyfriend's approval comes with gripping on him and easing him close to you. You take him in both of your hands, relying on Kirishima to keep your torso lifted, focusing on twisting your hand around him in the same way you did for Eijiro. Too bad you almost lose grip when He snaps his hips into you.

You can feel Katsuki's dick twitch into your hands as you pull him down lower, getting your tongue out of your mouth to place kitten lips all over his length. Eijiro mimics you, licking the tip when you're not licking the base, letting you take control when he ceases his movements for a bit, to lift both of you a little higher, so you don't have to bend your neck as much. He strokes some sweaty strands of hair away from your face, he kisses your cheek and Bakugo is already thrusting into your mouth feverously.

"Fuck"

"You're so wet baby, you feel like you could take us both" You yelp, wide eyes as you freeze on the spot "want to take us both?"

"I do" You yelp with tears in your eyes "I do I do, I do I do"

"Oh, look at you being so desperate, want to get -ah- wrecked, don't you?"

"I do Eiji- you cry out

"Then ask Katsuki to take you too, ask him to shove his cock into you while I'm fucking you too, like the greedy little thing you are"

At this point, you think poor Bakugo isn't going to make it to the end of this.

"Katsu" You plead, watery eyes staring into desperate carmine ones "Katsu fuck me while Eiji fucking me too-"

"Say please" Kirishima interrupts, pinching your nipple "or I'm not going to let him"

"Please, pleaseplease, please"

"Fuck yeah" Katsuki replies "ill fucking wreck you" The sounds he's making are supposed to be words, though they're far from being clear and understandable, his veins are pulsing into your mouth. He's too excited for this, so excited that you know he'll never make it to the drawer to reach for a new condom. So Kirishima is doing it for him, hooking the little rubber between his fingers as he's opening the drawer.

"Come on baby, pull back" He taps on your shoulder and places a kiss on your collar bone, thrusting deeper into you this time. The reaction is immediate, you're throwing your head back in seconds and Bakugo whines at the sudden departure of your warm mouth.

Kirishima allows you to kiss his thighs, his tip, his navel, to squeeze the small of his back and his ass before letting you wear the condom onto him.

You lose track of Bakugo until you feel wet kisses being planted on your thighs and ass, the back of your knees. You feel his hand being placed on your thigh, the warmth of his palm as he's soothingly rubbing it up and down your skin, to prepare you, raising his thumb to graze at your crotch occasionally. You whine every time he thumbs your clit, or flicks it when it meets with Kirishima's navel.

"You good? I'll start with my fingers" You choke on the sound of his words and nod frantically. If only you could actually watch him when he delves his middle finger in you along with Eijiro's cock. Still you whine loudly, when another finger joins the first one, slowly scissoring inside of you "fuck you're gonna take it so well aren't you? Kirishima's right. You love this"

"Answer him," Kirishima whispers, teeth biting down in your lobe. He grabs your face, trapping your cheeks between his fingers, turning you in Katsuki's direction, pushing your cheeks together. You swallow when you see the blind focused on watching you stretch.

"I love it

But Eijiro isn't satisfied with how you're trying to make your words get past from your lips

"Say it like you mean it doll, or I won't let your friend put it in"

You eye him dangerously, putting your lips even further before muttering a soft 'fine' -your redhead doesn't make a comment on your little attitude, probably because he's gotten what he's wanted from you- and Katsuki hisses, fisting his cock faster.

"I love it so much Katsuh"

"And Eiji- you mean. It's not only him that's here" Kirishima smirks and this time he pulls out of you, flipping your body so that your back is facing him. One hand comes to your wetness, spreading your lips apart, stretching you wide open "Try again" He lets go just for a moment, to slap your clit loosely. Once. Twice. Never ceasing when you whine. Your hips buck up towards Katsuki.

"Look at how nice I am, I even gave you a full view. Am I not?"

"You are Eiji. You're the best, the best. And I love this so much, I'm going to combust"

"Oh you will?" Katsuki interrupts, grunting when Kirishima pulls his dick closer to you, rubbing the head on your clit until Katsuki gets the hint. You let out a guttural groan at the feeling, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes from being too overstimulated for so long

"Yes baby, I will, just please"

"M going in-" Katsuki announces, earning a nod from Kirishima "If he won't let you come, then we don't listen to him 'kay?"

Kirishima chuckles at the one and bites the top of your ears dragging his tongue to the base of it- a warning- to not try and agree with what Katsuki's offering. And being obedient definitely pays off when you feel your boyfriend's head poke against your entrance.

It feels splitting and painful all at once; the tears in your eyes are pouring, and none of the caresses you're receiving is helping. You need time to adjust and both men provide that for you. Minutes pass spent with soft kisses. Kirishima sucking your neck and Bakugo kissing your breasts, the three of you making out- anything until you feel like you can get used to them.

And when you do, they go slow, each at their own pace, simultaneously hitting spots that you don't know could or should ever be hit at the same time.

"You good?" Both men ask and you have to gulp that frog that sits at the top of your mouth if you want to talk, but you can't. Your throat is too tight, your eyes are too watery

"Babe"

"Better than I thought I'd be actually"

You get lost in the haze of their hips, their thrusts and you can already feel Katsuki collapsing onto you, chasing his own pit of pleasure when it hits you. Your gut coming undone for the last time has your heart leaping and skipping beats; you hook your arm around Katsuki's neck, jumping up and down from how fast both men are thrusting into you and you bring your face to his, cooling your mouths together.

When he feels you clamp down on him -and Kirishima- he pulls out, rolls the condom off and strokes himself slightly. You whine at the sudden departure of him inside of you but you quickly clamp down on just your boyfriend, before feeling him shifting from underneath you, finally pushing down the small of your back. You take Katsuki into your mouth while Kirishima slaps your ass, thrusting fast and hard into you.

There's no sweet talk right now, authority and intimidation hiding away as satisfaction is being chased. Sloppily and not carefully at all. It's evident in how you're sucking Katsuki off. There's no consistency in your rhythm, you're squirming as Kirishima is slowing down before picking up his pace again, running his hands through your hair affectionately. When he comes, he coats your insides in white ropes of pleasure, riding off his orgasm softly, until he feels himself stop twitching.

By the time he pulls out you've made Katsuki come as well, hearing his high pitched grunts as he lets it all out in your mouth. Although this time you're not overwhelmed with the amount; it's his second round nonetheless.

Katsuki's hands don't cease to take this chance, even if they're awkward and shaking he's grabbing your cheeks squishing them just like Kirishima did a while ago and kisses you, poking his tongue in your mouth, moaning at his own taste, pulling your lips under his teeth.

You know your lips will be bruised by this. And you don't care. Because when he pulls back, Kirishima is kissing you as well, pulling you into his arms, caging you into his chest.

You even smile as tiny, peppery kisses are pressed onto your skin.

"You did so well" Kirishima smiles "you too Katsu, you both were amazing"

Katsuki smiles, popping onto the bed as well, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling himself onto you and Kirishima. He nuzzles his nose at the crook of your neck and for the first time in a while he feels warm, content, calm and collected. Or so you think by the kiss that's planted onto your back by him.

It's tender and soft, mimicking Kirishima's but feeling nothing like your boyfriend's kisses at the same time. You collapse further into Kirishima's chest and he kisses the top of your hair and your cheek, mellowy.

"Wanna take a bath?" He suggests under his breath and both you and Katsuki nod, sinking further in the sheets with heavy eyes. Maybe when your feet won't feel like they'll betray you, you'll get up and have a warm bath, sandwiched between Katsuki and Eijiro, smothered in kisses, lathered in lavender soap, maybe you'll make a cup of chamomile for the three of of you and cuddle between them before you go to sleep.

Until then…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬5/end

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse, blood, violence/death, fucking.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: Another finale! Hahahhaa, hope you like it!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed with shame burning in your cheeks but the heat quickly travelled to your loins as you thought of the scene at the drive-in. When you closed your eyes, you felt Arvin’s weight on you and his hand between your legs. You rolled onto one side, then the other, tossing and turning as you couldn’t escape the memory or the lingering sensation of his touch.

He was already downstairs when you woke up, a lazy Saturday morning as the garage was closed for the weekends. He was at the counter, boiling water for the coffee as you came down in a plain peach dress and flats. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you, urging you to sit.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast, honey,” he announced as he filled the coffee press, “you know, my ma was a waitress. Worked down at this greasy diner when she met my dad. Before she died…” he stopped and his throat bobbed, “I dunno, I just remember the smell of her cookin’.”

“I’m sorry, Arvin,” you said as you took a seat at the table, “about your mother.”

“Why? It was so long ago, I hardly remember,” he shrugged as he searched the cupboards and pulled out the cast iron pan, “you know, I can barely even see my pa in my mind. Even when I really think. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes already.” He put the metal to the burner, “but I think I found the one I want.”

You ran your fingertips along your throat nervously as you leaned your elbows on the table. You felt the void left by your missing wedding ring. You clapped your hands together and lowered them to the wood.

You watched him work in the kitchen. When you tried once to get up and help, he bid you back down tersely and you obliged. You felt restless sitting there as someone else did everything. He put a cup of coffee before you and sipped from his own between flipping the eggs.

Finally, he presented you with a plate of hash, egg, toast, and bacon. You thanked him as he sat and you picked up your fork and knife. You weren’t very hungry, the anxiety squeezed your stomach as you watched his hand. He buttered a slice and you recalled the tingle as his fingers sank into you.

You dropped your fork and apologised for the loud clang. You picked it back up and pushed the potato around. You were trying to think of what to say. Of how to say it. Arvin wasn’t volatile like Roy but he showed glimmers of anger that troubled you nonetheless.

“Last night…” you began.

“You liked it?” he perked up and swallowed, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Arvin,” you uttered.

“I just… you’re so wonderful and warm, I never known a woman like you,” he ranted, “and I… I never been with a woman, you know? I hope I didn’t leave you wanting--”

“Arvin,” you said more firmly, “I’m married.”

His face fell and he leaned back in his chair. He looked down as he scooped up some egg and hash and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed tight-lipped. His steely silence was worse than any punch. You shoved some yolk in your mouth and chewed.

“I…” you began, “I’m not meaning to upset you but we can’t just pretend--”

A deafening bang sounded and shook the house. Your breath caught as you looked at Arvin with wide eyes and he cleared his throat as he stood.

“Where is ya, boy?” Roy hollered as another blast came and you heard the door jolt. You rose and looked down the hall as slivers decorated the floor below the holes peppered in the wood. “I heard about you and my wife…” footsteps clamoured up the steps of the porch, “you think you can pull a gun on me? Well, I got a bigger one, boy!”

“Shit,” Arvin pulled you back as another gunshot blew out the handle, “go, hide.”

He shoved you away and turned back to the table. He tossed the butter knife and hurried to the counter. He pulled out a drawer and took out a steak knife. He shook his head and glanced over at you again.

“Go on,” he snarled.

“No, you,” you ran to him and touched his arm, “go, I’ll talk to him--”

“He’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“No, he won’t,” you assured, “he woulda done it years ago, Arvin, go.”

You pointed him to the back door and he shook his head. You met his eyes as he glanced back at you and you nodded. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll get him gone and come find you when he goes,” you promised, “Arvin, I can’t see you die because of me.”

His eyes searched your face and he touched your cheek. “Alright, honey,” he breathed, “you know I’ll do anything for you, don’t you?”

“Go,” you insisted as the door flew inward with a heavy kick.

Arvin scrambled away and the back door creaked in his stead as you turned to near the doorway and peer past the staircase. Roy kept the double barrel level as he pointed it at you. You quivered but tried not to show your terror.

“Roy,” you greeted through your tight throat.

“You whore,” he cocked the gun and you flinched, “I oughta shoot your fuckin’ head off too, but I just want the boy. Where is he?”

“I… I dunno, he just went out front, I thought you woulda seen him,” you lied as you filled the doorframe with your body, realising the table set for two would give away your deception.

“Don’t you be hidin’ him from me, you’re still my wife,” Roy snarled as you came closer, trying to keep him from the kitchen, “and I’m gonna put down that punk and remind you who I am. Who you are.”

“I am your wife, Roy,” you said evenly, “I can never forget that, now please, lower the gun, I’ll help you find him.”

“I ain’t believe you, you let him beat me--”

“What was I supposed to do?” you touched the metal muzzle, “he been keepin’ me here. He has a gun too, you know that.” You slid past the barrel and hesitantly reached to touch his chest, “I been so scared without you here, you’re my husband, Roy, and I love--”

He sputtered and flinched suddenly. The gun sagged and fired into the floorboards beside your shoes. The metal slid from his grasp and fell down smoking as a red splotch stained the dingy fabric of his shirt. The cascade spread as he staggered and you saw the wooden handle of the steak knife stick out from his side.

Arvin pulled the blade out as you tripped over the gun and toppled to the floor. Roy slumped to his knees as the younger man brought the knife down over his shoulder and sank it into his heart. Your lungs puffed with panic at the sickly crunch as the blade twisted between his ribs.

Your eyes widened and blurred with tears as bitterness filled your stomach. You opened your mouth and screamed as Roy fell onto his stomach and gasped out his last breaths. You felt a slickness on your cheek as a hand touched you and an arm wrapped around you. You blinked and Arvin came clear as he held the knife against your face and pulled you into his lap to cradle you.

“Wh--wh--wh--” you babbled as your eyes found your husband, completely still across the floorboards.

“He can’t hurt you no more,” Arvin cooed as he rocked you, “I heard him, he said he was gon’ shoot you. I told you, honey, I’ll do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.”

🚬

The porcelain was cold against your body as you sat in the tub, the hot water slowly rose around you. Arvin shoved your bloody clothes in a bag and took off his own. He tied up the sack, his hands still tinged scarlet. He put the bundle in the sink and neared the wall of the footed tub.

You watched him step over the side, his stomach tightly muscles, his figure much more slender than Roy’s, though his arms were thick and his shoulders wide. He lowered himself across from you as he sat with his back to the flowing faucet. The water deepened and scalded your skin.

He took a cloth and scrubbed your face, your neck, your chest above the surface of the water. You were numb as you felt itchy, as if bugs crawled over every inch of flesh. He stood you up and finished washing you. He was gentle but firm, lingering around your curves as his brown eyes drank you in.

He took a new cloth for himself and after wiping off the droplets across his face and rinsing his body, he scratched the red from around his nails. You shivered as he helped you out of the tub and hugged you in a towel. He led you to the bed and laid you down under the quilt.

“Gonna drive out and find a ditch,” he said as he dressed. “Finish cleaning when I get back. Probably need another bath then.”

You said nothing as you stared at the ceiling, a searing white.

“Honey,” he neared and pressed his hand to your forehead, “I know you’re shook. He tried to kill ya. We both heard him say it.”

You looked at him and your eyes dampened. He bent and pecked your lips and retracted his hand reluctantly.

“I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised and pulled on his denim jacket.

He left you and you listened to his footsteps fade. You closed your eyes and saw Roy’s blood spilling forth like a tainted river. You could hear the scraping as he was dragged across the wood, Arvin’s grunts as you watched him struggle to roll your husband’s large body in a sheet.

Your lashes flicked open but the picture is painted vivid in your mind. You hear the car and the engine fades into the soft sway of trees and the noise of critters in the grass. You don’t have the strength to do more than lay there. Time passes by your stagnant eyes and the shadows set in from the corner of the room. The windows darkened and deepened your gloom.

Arvin startled you as he appeared at the door. You didn’t hear the approach of his car or his footsteps on the stairs. He neared and kissed you again. He pulled the chain on the lamp and it cast a yellow haze over you.

“You’re awake,” he said as he stood straight, “I needa wash up again.” You hummed and stayed as you were, “you want tea?”

You shook your head and he watched you. He clamped his thin lips together and backed away.

“Found his truck, just down the way,” he pulled his grey tee over his head, “looks like he drove out to the river, walked up here. Make sure it was seen so he can’t be traced up here. Smarter than he looked.” Arvin bent to untie his boots. “I left it in the water, put it into gear and let it drift off.”

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket to your ear. He quieted as you listened to the rustle of his clothing as he stripped it away.

“Anyhow, they won’t find him,” he said, “likely he told whoever, if anyone even cared, that he was goin’ fishin’.”

He waited for an answer but didn’t get it. He went into the bathroom and you heard the pipes rattle as he twisted on the faucet. You felt the dampness cross the hallway and seep into the room. When he returned, he gave a sigh and tossed his towel over the old chair sat by your vanity.

He folded the blanket back and you closed your eyes at his nudity. He slid in next to you and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. He circled his arm around you and brought your body against his. Suddenly, you felt everything as you were set alight by the heat of his flesh.

“Honey,” he said softly as he framed your face with his hand, “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

You quivered and pushed your hands to his chest. You’d never been naked with another man, never seen another man naked. In the tub, you hardly figured what was happening but then, it was all too real as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“Didn’t I save you? He would killed both of us,” he rasped, “honey, I know, I’ve met so many men like him…” he rubbed his nose against yours, “and killed every one of them.”

You winced and your fingers curled into his shoulders. He smothered you with a kiss as his hand trailed down and he cupped your chest. He groaned as he fondled you, tilting his hips to rub his dick against you. He rolled your nipple under his thumb as he dragged his lips down your cheek and chin.

His hand crept around your side as he slipped lower to nibble your breasts. Roy never touched you like that. Early on he was clumsy but impatient, and after a while, he was thankless and cruel. Arvin was gentle, doting and diligent. He suckled at your bud and the tugging plucked at your core.

“Mmm,” he left a path of spit down your stomach as he nudged you onto your back, “honey, you’re so beautiful,” he disappeared beneath the blanket and pushed your legs apart as he nuzzled your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your patch of hair.

He purred as nosed your cunt and his tongue dipped between your folds. You murmured and reached down to grasp his damp hair. You brought your thighs against his head and arched your back as he tended to you, slow and scintillating as he filled you with a yearning you’d never known before.

You didn’t think as you tangled your fingers in his locks and tilted your pelvis against his lapping. You shouldn’t feel this way, should feel so good. Your husband was dead and there was another man in your bed. You were a whore, just as he said. But it felt good and he wasn’t there to tell you again.

Arvin moaned as he devoured you, his hands hungrily groped your ass as he lifted you slightly from the bed. He pushed a finger against your entrance and eased into you. You gasped and he dipped another inside of you. He moved his hand in time with his mouth, his groans rumbling through you.

You hooked your legs under his arm and cried out as you came. Your body spasmed and jerked and you rode out the shattering ascent. You shook as you stilled and kissed your thighs with his wet lips, smearing your juices across your flesh. 

You panted as he pushed himself up and the blanket fell down his back, leaving both your bodies bare to the soft glow of the lamp. His hands roved over your body and he bent again, kissing every inch his fingertips danced over first. He brought his lips back to yours and you tasted the sweetness as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

He pushed his thighs to yours so your legs bent around them, wide and welcoming. He parted and stared down at you, his deep brown eyes swallowing you up.

“The moment I saw you, I knew,” he said as he caressed your cheek, “and I haven’t stopped thinking of this ever since that moment.”

“Arvin,” you sighed and touched his wrist.

“I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reached down between your bodies as he planted and elbow into the pillow. He ran his tip along your wet folds and his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you…” he pressed against you until his tip was inside you, “forever.”

“Arvin,” you gulped and gripped his muscled arms, “I…”

“He’s gone,” he sank further into you and kissed you again, “and you’re mine.”

You moaned and he bottomed out with a gasp. His body tensed and he shuddered as he wiggled his hips.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “so warm, so… sweet. Oh, honey.”

“Please…” you croaked as your eyes watered.

You didn’t know if it was the bloodiness of the day or that you’d never felt anything so pleasant, so gentle, so caring. You didn’t know why you were crying or why your body buzzed like cicadas under the moon. You pushed your head into the pillow as he pressed his fingers to your clit and rubbed in time with his steady thrusts.

“Honey,” he droned and kissed your wet cheek between each stroke, “oh, you’re so nice.”

He tilted into you over and over. You brought your legs around him and hooked your arms under his as you clawed at his back. Your body contorted with his as your eyes rolled back and you succumbed to the stolid heat coursing through your veins. You cried out and let your hands fall down as you groped his ass, begging for more.

The bed quaked as he grew more fervent in his appetite, the pain was dulled by the sheer bliss and you sang out your delight. There was nothing but his body and that radiating pulse in your core. You came again and again as you whined ravenously and dug your nails into his flesh.

He jerked into you with a fluttery breath. His hips stuttered and he fell limp over you. His head hung over your shoulder as he huffed. His cum coated your walls in a salacious heat and you ran your hands up his back. He turned his head to kiss your temples, tears still rolling down to your lobes.

As your nerves stilled and the afterglow dimmed, reality shrouded you once more. The body over yours felt heavier as you were paralysed against the bed. Arvin drew you with him as he rolled onto his side and held you. It was nice but tinged with the horror wrought by his hands.

You didn’t miss Roy but you didn’t feel free either.

🚬

Arvin rolled out the rug over the bloodstain in the hall, the whole covered over  with a thin board of scrap. You watched and clutched your purse then checked the clock. He stood and neared to fetch his jacket from the small square corner table. He pulled it over the button-up that once belonged to your dad and the tie that was Roy’s.

His hair was combed back tidily and he wore a carefree smile. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand and gestured to the door. The frame was curtained with a sheet as the shredded wood was removed and another would be ordered from Tim’s Hardware. He clung to your hand as he followed you out into the Sunday sunlight.

“We don’t have to go,” you said as he swung your hand and led you to the Chevrolet, “I know you don’t like it.”

“Nah, we should go to church,” he smiled and spun you to kiss you. He held your face between your hands as his lips lingered overly long. “Let the lord and all the other holy people see me and my girl.”

“Arvin,” you shied away.

He reached past you and opened the door. You sat and he gripped the metal as he looked down at you.

“I will keep my hands to myself before the lord,” he avowed, “I only ask his blessing for what I know to be his work.”

You considered him and wrung the short strap of your purse, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t, not before,” he said with a smile, “not ‘til I met you. His most precious angel.”

You chewed your lip and turned your face down. He chuckled and closed the door. He got in the driver’s side and the engine rolled over. His hand wandered over to your lap as he steered with one hand. You looked out the window and stared up at the pale blue sky.

You didn’t believe in God. You couldn’t. Just like your father said, a benevolent lord would not gift such suffering to his creation. There was no all-knowing being sitting in the clouds, no glorious purpose for you or any other. There were only devilish men and their dark deeds.

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

A Period Drama

Summary: When that time of the month hits, Y/n wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget about the world. Lucky for her, Dean has other plans. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2.1K+

Warnings: Language, discussion of menstrual cycle 

Author’s Note: I guess I'm emotional this cycle, who knew? Anyway, I wrote this because I wanted to die the other day, and imagining Dean's cuddles was the only way for me to get through it. This is a work of self-indulgence and therefore the Reader is a little less non-descript than I usually try to write, but that's what these things are for! Hope this helps my fellow menstruating people lie it did me xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

A nagging sensation tugged on her strings of consciousness, bringing the sleeping huntress back to the world of the living. Her mind fought against waking, knowing not nearly enough time had passed since she had retreated to her room the previous evening. As the ache deep in her abdomen became more obvious, she stopped fighting and opened her eyes to the darkness of her room. 

“Fuck,” she groaned as she tossed the covers from her body, instantly missing the heat they provided in the recess of the bunker. Y/n rolled from the bed and stood, the action occurring too quickly and the huntress felt the familiar rush between her legs. She cursed herself as she bounded off to the bathroom on the opposite end of the hallway. The socks on her feet muffled her hurried steps as she passed the boys’ rooms. 

Once inside, she went straight for the showers and turned the hot water all the way up. Steam enveloped the space as she stripped her soiled panties and old t-shirt from her body. She let the bathroom turn into a makeshift sauna as she rinsed the blood from her undergarments before finally stepping into the boiling shower. 

It was unclear how long she stood under the water, searing her flesh and scrubbing away the metaphorical grime, all she knew was the relentless heat was managing to ease the ache from her angry uterus. The tentative knock on the bathroom door snapped her back from the silent reverie she had been indulging in, and Y/n noted how the water had gone almost cold. It was likely she had been in there long enough for Sam to have taken his morning run and if her own body wasn’t attacking itself, she might have felt guilty about using up all the bunker’s hot water. 

When she walked out in just a towel, her dirty pajamas rolled into a ball in her arms, she was met with a confused younger Winchester. All she could mutter was a weak ‘sorry’ before she breezed past him and back to her room. The huntress wrapped herself into a pair of sweats and a clean tee, braided her hair out of her face, swallowed a few pain killers, and crawled back under her covers. She thanked whatever higher power had made sure they were hunt-free for the foreseeable future so she could spend the day curled up in a ball. The pills kicked in quick enough to allow her to easily slip back into a blissful sleep.

****

It was nearing one in the afternoon when Dean made his way back inside the bunker, his hands covered in grease and oil from his work tuning up the Impala. He was wiping his hands on an equally dirty towel as he walked into the kitchen to find his little brother making himself a lunch. 

“Please tell me that is not your veggie bacon?” Dean wrinkled his nose as he watched Sam putting together a BLT, the various ingredients strewn about the island. 

“Fine, then I won’t tell you,” Sam didn’t bother to look up from his task to answer his brother. The look of disgust only depended on Dean’s face as he moved around his sibling to wash his hands in the sink. 

The older hunter glanced over his shoulder as the sound of shuffling footsteps grew louder, his gaze landing on a disheveled Y/n. The sweats that hung from her body were wrinkled and she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There were lines across the left side of her face, indicating she had been sleeping recently. Worry instantly flooded his system as it was unlike their hunting partner to sleep this late unless she was ill. 

“Sam, what did you do with my heating pad?” her voice was coarse as she didn’t even bother with pleasantries. No ‘hello’, no ‘ how are you’, just straight to whatever business she had in with the younger Winchester. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in the linen closet in the bathroom?” Sam answered, completely unperturbed by her callousness.

“So you put my heating pad in the bathroom,” Y/n rolled her eyes and Sam could only offer her a bewildered nod. “What is with you guys and not being able to put shit back where you found it?” The huntress turned on her heel, not waiting for a response before heading to retrieve the item she was seeking. 

Sam looked over his shoulder at his older brother, his brows knit together in the middle of his forehead. “What the hell was that?” 

“What’s the one thing Y/n uses her heating pad for?” Dean’s lips cured up on one side as he watched the look of realization flash across his brother’s features. The oldest Winchester dried his hands before peeking in the fridge and a few cupboards. “Looks like she could use a supply run. You need anything?” 

“Nah, I’m just going to retreat to my room and pretend like I don’t exist for the rest of the day,” Sam picked up the plate that held his lunch and scurried off, leaving a chuckling Dean behind. 

****

The only light filling her room came from the laptop that was perched in her lap, playing some television show she had stopped paying attention to a while ago, and the filtered light from the hall through the slats in her door. The huntress was still curled into a ball under her covers, attempting to use what little bit of heat from her computer she could muster as she had been unsuccessful in located her heating pad. She felt bad for ripping into Sam about it, but the truth was he had misplaced her belongings, something that she found happened often around the Winchesters, and she was over it today. Pain tended to make her grumpy, as it did most people, and she wasn’t going to apologize for being pissed at their carelessness. 

A soft rapping against her door had her pausing the show as she shoved the device aside. The guest didn’t wait for a response before they pushed the door open, bringing with them a flood of light. Y/n cringed at the sudden change, hiding her face behind her hand. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean’s familiar chuckle sounded before the click of the latch indicated he had closed the door behind him. “I come bearing gifts.” 

“What?” she was confused by his words as she dropped her hand and allowed her eyes to adjust back to the relative darkness. 

“Your water bottle, half ice, half water,” he set the green canteen on her bedside table. “The heating pad Sammy somehow managed to lose behind the washing machine,” Dean handed her the light green pad folded neatly with the cord sitting on top. Y/n sighed a breath of relief as the eldest Winchester continued. “And a sharable size bag of dark chocolate peanut M&M’s.”

“Dean,” Y/n caught the purple bag as he tossed it her way, biting back a gleeful moan. “I fucking love you.” She unceremoniously tore into the bag and popped a couple of the chocolate candies into her mouth, missing the rush of blood on the Winchester’s cheeks. 

“And finally,” he mimicked a drum roll with his mouth and procured a box from his arms, placing it on her bedside table. The woman frowned, unable to make out the object at first in the darkness. 

“You bought me tampons? How,” she trailed off, not only awestruck by the hunter’s gesture but amazed at his attention to detail as she read the label. 

“There is only one thing you need your heating pad for,” he remarked as he took the referenced object back to plug it into an outlet for her. “Also, you never snap at Sammy.”

“But how did you know what kind to buy?” 

“Kind of hard not to when you have a box of them stashed away in Baby’s trunk,” Dean countered as he perched himself on the edge of her bed. 

“Hey, those are for emergencies. Besides, I’m sure Baby understands.”

“I’m sure she does.” 

Y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek as she fiddled with the bag of candy in her lap, the kindness shown by Dean throwing her off. She offered the open bag to her hunting partner, who snatched a handful for himself with a grin. 

“Thank you, Dean, seriously. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” her voice was low as the admittance slipped past her lips. “Want to watch some Scooby-Doo with me? You know, if you aren’t busy or anything?”

“I’d love to, sweetheart,” Dean winked at her, that shit-eating grin never leaving his face even as he stood and shucked off his jacket and boots so he could climb into the bed next to her. “Who could pass up Daphne?”

The huntress sat back against the headboard with a roll of her eyes and switched the streaming show on her laptop before unfolding her already warmed heating pad and laid it across her lower abdomen. She moved the laptop at the end of the bed so they could both see it and set the bag of M&M’s between her and Dean to share. 

The two settled into the cartoon, laughing in unison at the ridiculous parts and commenting on how the Scooby gang couldn’t have handled that monster had it been real. Three episodes passed by before a shredding cramp ripped through her stomach, the shock of it enough that she was unable to hide the groan as she had been so far. 

“You okay?” Dean shifted in his spot next to her, his head turning from the kids’ show to his friend beside him.

“No, I’m not okay. It feels like my internal organs are attempting to exit my body,” she snapped, instantly regretting it when Dean subtly recoiled. “Shit, I’m sorry. I--I didn’t mean…” Y/n was cut off as the pain returned just as intense as it had been moments ago, causing her to roll onto her side and into a ball, clutching the heat of the pad against her body like a lifeline. 

“Alright,” Dean huffed before moving the candy and laptop from the bed. Y/n could hear the hunter shift behind her, but her eyes were clamped shut as she tried to breathe through the pain like she was experiencing the contractions of labor of something. She felt the hard lines of his body lock around the curves of her own and his arm snake around her abdomen. His hand rested over hers as he pulled her tight against him, putting more pressure than she had been able to muster against her lower belly. “I’ve got you.”

The heat of his body on one side and the pad against her stomach, combined with the force he was exerting on her uterus, finally allowed her to relax fully for the first time since she had awoken that morning. She never wanted to leave this moment, utterly content in the peace that his presence in her bed brought her. The idea scared her a little, but she figured that was a problem for another day. Now she chose to just live in this moment for as long as he would let her. 

“Why?” she muttered into the dark space after she was sure he had fallen asleep as his grip had relented a touch and his breathing evened out, hoping he wouldn’t answer but knowing she had to ask. 

“Cause I wanted to,” his voice was gruff, indicating he had probably been on the cusp of falling asleep when she spoke up. “I hate seeing you like this. Figured it was the least I could do.”

“Dean Winchester, are you going soft on me?” she quirked up one corner of her lips, unable to fight the giddiness his words instilled in her chest. 

“Sweetheart, there is nothing soft about me when I’m around you,” he chuckled, earning himself an elbow to the gut. He grunted and the two of them fell into a fit of laughter. 

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” The hunter was ready for her arm this time, his hand moving to wrap around her forearm and pull it into him so as to trap her even tighter than before in his embrace. Y/n struggled against his hold, giggling like an idiot as the two wrestled in the bed a moment before she relented that he was much stronger than she. 

“Honestly,” Dean placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder once she had settled, only encouraging her to melt further into his arms. “I’d do anything to make you smile, Y/n.”

“Well, then mission accomplished, Winchester,” she turned her head to flash him a genuine smile to which he reciprocated before planting his pillow-soft lips against hers.

P.S. I didn't even try on this title because this is just a little therapy piece and therefore no one should judge me. 

Forevers: @22sarah08​ @440mxs-wife​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @asgoodasdancingqueen @atc74​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @briagallen​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deandreamernp​ @deangirl93​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jbsgirl4ever11​ @jensengirl83​ @lunarmoon8​ @lyarr24​ @mishacollins4evah @miss-nerd95​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @squirrelnotsam​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @suckmyapplejacks​ @supraveng​ @tatted-trina6​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @traceyaudette​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​ 

[strawberryyllemonade]

Untitled Fanfic - Chap. 1

Ongoing - Sasha x Niccolo

I’ll be publishing this on Ao3 once I get my invite code on the 28th, but I’ll also be publishing the chapters here. I’m needing a title, feel free to suggest! This takes place during the time skip in which Niccolo and Sasha’s relationship presumably took place. They’re aged up a bit just because I find it easier to write characters closer to me in age, and I personally think they look a lot older than they are canonically. That being said this will be rated M for potential mature themes, though this first chapter is fairly tame.

Chapter: 1 - Word count: 2,474

Damn Eldians.

Niccolo didn’t even try to hide the scowl on his face as he stirred the large pot in front of him. He still couldn’t believe that in the span of just a few weeks, he had gone from a member of the Marleyan Navy to a prisoner on the Island of Paradis. He had always been taught that the Island of Paradis was home to the worst of the worst. Eldians alone were bad, but on Paradis they were the devils themselves. The Eldians in Liberio at least aimed to repent for the crimes of their ancestors.

When he had been assigned to a scouting naval mission to Paradis, he hadn’t expected to return. It was common knowledge that every ship sent to Paradis in the past couple of years hadn’t returned. Of course, Niccolo expected they had met a fateful end at the hands of the Island devils - not taken alive as prisoners. In a way, dying would have been better. Going from a Marleyan who spat at Eldians to a Marleyan who was being spat at by Eldians was a difficult transition.

Niccolo grimaced as he stirred, the sound of some stupid Eldian soldiers behind him frustrating him even more. They were talking like they had never seen seafood before. Were they really so uncivil that they had never even seen a boiled clam or crab? He wasn’t shocked. Their kind literally ate people in their true form.

He could hear Yelena behind him, explaining what the spread before them was. He couldn’t believe his time and talent in cooking were being wasted on these unappreciative savages. He looked over his shoulder. The group behind him consisted of Yelena, two young male soldiers, and a female one. The guys looked around 19, maybe 20 in age. One of them had sleek, light hair and a thin chinstrap beard. The other had a round head with fluffy, short hair on top. They looked nervous, and both of their eyes were on the female soldier.

The female soldier was plain looking, with brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and eyes of a similar color. Was that… drool in the corners of her lips? Niccolo’s interest was piqued. Was she just such a savage that she was unable to control her drooling? One of the male soldiers put an arm on her shoulder, almost as if he knew what was about to happen next, and was making feeble effort at preventing it.

The female soldier attacked a fat lobster on the plate in front of her. Niccolo was surprised that she even managed to pick it up - it had to still be ridiculously hot…

That didn’t seem to bother the woman as she tore the crustacean in half and began absolutely devouring it. Her comrades called out to her, urging her to slow down and leave some for the rest of them.

“Sasha! No fair, leave some for the rest of us!” the shorter soldier with the round head urged.

Sasha. so that was one of the names. It seemed almost too normal of a name for an island devil. He recalled going to school with at least two people with the same name. Well, whatever her name was, Sasha was absolutely destroying the food in front of her. The drool was gone, but there were crumbs and bits of food all over her face. It was a bit gross, and Niccolo felt weird staring, but by now her friends were also enjoying the food and weren’t focused on him or Sasha.

“Mister Niccolo!” Sasha called out, tears in her eyes.

Niccolo let out a mixture between a grunt and a gasp. Was she really… crying? Was it not good? The amount she had consumed in mere seconds begged to differ, but maybe she was just hungry.

“You’re a genius!” She sobbed, before continuing to eat, tears flowing down her full cheeks in streaks now.

Niccolo quickly turned his head back to his pot. He could feel his face heating up. A genius? That was a weird way of putting it. He knew he was good at cooking, he had always been good at it. But… a genius?

Niccolo continued to cook in silence as the Eldians behind him devoured the food he had prepared. Soon, the sound of satisfied eating was replaced by groaning and complaining. The trio had clearly eaten too much, but none more than that Sasha girl. When Niccolo finally did look over his shoulder, she was doubled over in pain, groaning louder than any of them.

“There’s no reason to eat that quickly. There’s plenty of food.” Niccolo grunted at the three, his eyes lingering on the brunette. She threw her head back in protest. “But mister Niccolo… it’s so good - I was afraid it would jump back into the ocean!”

Jump back into- that was ridiculous. She was clearly kidding. The compliment made him blush a bit, but he was still annoyed. Even if they were a bit more appreciative than he would have expected of some island devils, it was still a waste of good seafood. A lobster that size would have fetched a nice price at a restaurant back in Marley, but now it was wasting away in the stomach of this… Sasha girl.

The trio soon left, and as Niccolo cleaned up the mess they had left behind, he couldn’t help but notice that the Eldians had neatly stacked their plates and made sure to help the cleaning process at least a bit before they left, even if they had been doubled over in pain from overeating.

Hmph. Maybe they did have some manners after all. Not a lot, but some.

-- --

Of course, cooking lunch for some of the devils hadn’t been the end of his day's work. Niccolo’s food skills had earned him a spot as a chef for the military and other high ranking bureaucrats. It wasn’t ideal cooking for these ungrateful Eldians, but it was better than doing manual labor or other dirt jobs like some of his comrades got stuck with.

Niccolo scrubbed at a dirty plate, standing over the sink. It was near sunset by now, and at this point the sky was a shade of orange, filtering in through the windows and creating a warm ambiance. It was nice. He would never admit it out loud, but the sunsets here on the island of devils were some of the most beautiful he had seen. Maybe it was due to the Island’s century-long lack of industrialization and pollution, but the sky was always crisp and clean.

He slowed down his washing - by now he was mindlessly scrubbing an already clean plate -and looked out the window wistfully. He wondered what his friends in Marley were doing - what his parents were doing. Did they think he was dead? Another casualty among the hundreds that occurred among Marleyan ranks every day? They probably considered him as good as dead the moment he told them he had been assigned to a Paradis naval mission.

Niccolo clenched his jaw, and grasped the sponge in his hand tighter, causing suds and water to cover his hand. His life had been completely taken away from him. Just because he wasn’t thrown in some prison cell somewhere didn’t mean he wasn’t a prisoner. He was in the clutches of these stupid Eldian devils, and no amount of letting him cook or giving him a decent place to sleep would change that.

As Niccolo continued musing over his situation, he heard the front door to the restaurant open. The sun was nearly completely set now and that meant that some of the officers would be coming in to drink. He sighed, wiping his large hands on his apron and setting down his sponge and dishrag. It happened almost every night - the officers would come in, have one too many, and say things that were out of line. Comments on his heritage, comments on him and his people being at fault for the deaths of their comrades, comments on the price of booze, and more. He much preferred the cooking aspect of his role to the bartending aspect, but again, he was a prisoner so he didn’t have much of a say in the matter.

“Evening.” Niccolo said without looking over his shoulder, moving over to the booze shelf and grabbing a few glasses to start. At least he didn’t have to be kind and chatty for tips. They didn’t tip him, and even if a kind officer did try to slip him some money he couldn’t spend it. At the very least he had to be civil. Most of the Eldians that came in didn’t make much of an effort at small talk anyway. Not that he cared, the last thing he wanted was to talk to an island devil about anything other than when he could go home.

Niccolo shone the inside of some of the glasses with a rag, waiting to hear the familiar stomp of boots and the pulling back of barstools. When he didn’t hear those things, he looked over his shoulder. Instead of the familiar sight of Eldian military members coming in for their nightly drinks, it was that female soldier from earlier. What was her name again? Sasha. That was it, Sasha.

Sasha didn’t say anything, but she looked around curiously. He supposed she hadn’t been in here before. It was a fairly fancy place, reserved for higher ranking and senior officials.

“Can I help you?” He asked, scanning her up and down. She wasn’t with her friends this time. She seemed quite out of her element in a fancy place like this. If she hadn’t been a devil, he would have thought it was intriguing, maybe even cute, but that wasn’t the case.

“I was- uh… that food you made earlier. It was so good…” She muttered, taking a step forward. “I was wondering if you had any more left?” She inquired, still nervously looking around.

Niccolo raised a brow curiously. More? She had just eaten herself sick less than three hours ago, and she was hungry again? He wasn’t surprised that Eldians were bottomless pits. They were constantly soaking up resources in Marley, feeding them and housing them. It was no shocker that the case here was similar.

“No. I don’t. Seafood goes bad quickly, and besides, you guys ate it all. I don’t keep leftovers anyway.” Niccolo said, turning around, glass still in hand as he polished the inside of it. The look of disappointment on Sasha’s face almost got to him. Man, she had really liked his food, huh?

“You liked it that much? You’ve really never had seafood before?” He couldn’t help but ask. Had they just never had a lobster that big?

“Liked it?” She asked, her eyes widening and shining. “I loved it!” She lunged towards the bar, her hands grasping the edge of it as she leaned over. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted, mister Niccolo!” she insisted, resting her head on the bar. “I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of my life…” she pouted, closing her eyes.

Niccolo jumped back a bit, red creeping onto his cheeks as she leaned over the bar, only inches away from his face. The best thing she had ever tasted? Surely not - she didn’t even use any sauce when she ate it…

“Best thing you’ve- what do you normally eat?” Niccolo asked, caught off guard, a confused look on his face.

“Bread, potatoes… sometimes if I’m lucky I get some meat.” she said, grinning goofily. Bread and potatoes and sometimes meat? What was she, a hobo? Even poor people in Marley didn’t eat that bad. Maybe she hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the lobster had been the best thing she had ever tasted. If he had only had bread and potatoes most of his life, a lobster would be a breath of fresh air to him too.

“Hmph.” Niccolo conceded, reminding himself who he was talking to. He was talking to an island devil, that’s all they deserved to eat. He was frustrated he had even wasted a good lobster on them anyhow.

“Mister Niccolo, will you be cooking for us more?” Sasha urged, lifting her head as she looked up at him, her eyes wide as saucers. She looked so… hopeful. He couldn’t help but feel intrigued. She seemed to be really looking forward to even the prospect of his future cooking.

“Don’t have much of a choice, now do I?” he shot back, not overly sassy, but making a point nonetheless. It wasn’t a lie. If they told him to do backflips all day he wouldn’t have much of a choice, either.

Sasha flinched a bit at that, and he immediately felt a bit guilty. A small frown traced her pink lips. “I guess not.” She muttered, standing up, and moving away from the bar. “I’m sorry Niccolo. I know that this isn’t your home. I know what you think about us.” She said gently. “If it was up to me this whole war would be over and everyone would be home. I’d be somewhere in the woods hunting all the meat I wanted and not worrying about Marleyans, Eldians, titans, or any of that.”

Sasha put a hand on her hip and stretched her back a bit. “If it were up to me.” she repeated, looking up at him for a moment. Her eyes were childish and fun, but there was something darker in there. Niccolo didn’t have to look twice to know that she had seen more than the average person. The emblem on her uniform told him she was a member of the scouts. Before the invasion, the scouts killed titans outside of the walls. She had probably seen countless of her friends and family killed. He wondered if she had known the Marleyan warriors who infiltrated the scout regiment.

Niccolo had to shake his head. She deserved all of what had happened. Her comrades deserved it too. It was part of being an Eldian - if they wouldn’t willingly repent, they had to be forced. It was just how it was. He couldn’t look at her like a silly brunette girl with big brown eyes who loved food. He needed to see her and her comrades as descendents of murderers.

“If only it were up to you then.” Niccolo responded simply, his eyes darkening.

Sasha stood closer to the door now, her hand around the doorknob. “Well, I want to thank you either way, mister Niccolo. I hope I get to eat more of your food soon. You’re very talented.” She said, looking over at him, opening the door. Just before she closed it, a playful glint danced in her eyes.

“For a Marleyan.”

[sevfanfic]

A Touch in the Dark: Chapter 18 - Instincts

Word count: 1,928

It’s so cold. Where am I?  

Darkness clouded your vision. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears boomed as you slowly regained consciousness.  

The solid ground beneath you was jagged with ice, it pocked at you through your layers of winter clothes and reminded you that you were outside. You groaned at the stabbing headache that throbbed behind your eyes. 

“Mmm.” You brought a hand to hold your forehead, your cool skin eased the pain. As you began to push yourself up your vision started coming back to you. The world around you was covered in white and snow was now falling more heavily. It was still daylight and the brightness of the sun glared in your face making it difficult to open your eyes completely. “Ow.” You rubbed at your head then realized warm blood was still dripping from your nose. 

You managed to stand and steady yourself before looking around. There were no signs of the dementor from earlier. The blood warmed the skin of your cheek and neck as it saturated your scarf. That’s a lot of blood, you thought to yourself and pinched your nose. The steps you took were slow as you attempted to maintain your balance. You made it to the castle vaguely aware of the few students that were gathered in the hall now staring at you. Severus was still sitting at his desk when you stumbled into his office. Your mind still spun with images of the horrifying creature. 

“What happened?” He stood and hurried to you placing his hands over your cheeks. When he noticed the blood he began grabbing at your clothes earnestly looking for any injuries. After looking you over he noticed that you stood still pinching your nose and your eyes were closed. “What. Happened?” he asked again with more of a stern tone. His brow furrowed as he held you by the shoulders and shook you slightly.  

“My head, ugh, hurts,” you moved your hand from your nose, the bleeding had stopped. You groaned when Severus pulled you closer and began using the corner of his robes to start whipping the blood off of your face. “There was a dementor.” You blurted out sounding more shocked as you began to process what had occurred.  

The rubbing at your cheek ceased. Your eyes fluttered open to a grave look on Severus’ face. The urge to comfort him overtook you but your muscles felt too weak to even hold yourself up. You peered into his eyes and watched as tried to hide the storm of anger that began to churn. The spell had drained you, made you feel so incredibly sleepy. You began to lean more into his touch, trying to support yourself in any way you could. His hands were warm and gentle, his calloused skin a contradiction to the softness he emitted for you. 

“Are you positive?” He spoke slowly and when you nodded he pursed his lips. The man before you took a deep breath, he looked you over once more with concerned eyes then guided you to sit on his couch. He lit a fire and you relaxed a bit in the heat. Hands began undoing your bloodied winter layers. Severus wondered for a moment about how you had been able to defend yourself. He thought about the healing spell you had performed and how much it took out of you. 

Then he spoke, “you conjured a Patronus.” It wasn’t a question, he knew you were clever. He knew you were too smart for your own good. You looked up at him bleary-eyed and nodded again. Severus huffed in response then rummaged through a closet to find a rag to clean the rest of the blood. He knelt before you taking your hands in his. His lips pecked at your wrist before cleaning them. He let them fall gently in your lap and then began scrubbing at your neck. Anger began building within him as he sifted through anyone who could be responsible. It wasn’t some random occurrence. This was no accident and he was going to impose his wrath on whoever was responsible. 

But right now all that mattered was you. He hid his anger as he soothed your tense muscles. The overwhelming feelings of vengefulness were nothing compared to the relief of knowing that you were safe.  

“Why was it here?” Your voice trembled as all the fear came rushing back to you from that moment. It wasn’t of the wretched creature itself but fear of all that you had to lose. With a hand clutching at your stomach you brought your other hand to grasp Severus’ wrist. You squeezed him hoping he’d comfort you more. 

“I will find out how this happened.” Severus gazed up at you, his dark eyes hiding the rage within him. His calm exterior attempting to quiet your fear but he felt his blood boiling as he seethed internally. After he finished cleaning your skin he sat next to you and pulled you into his lap. His strong arms encircled you in a protective embrace. You melted against him absorbing heat into your chilled bones and burying your face in his neck. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his deep voice vibrating against your skin.  

“I think so,” you whispered, “I passed out but I think we’re okay.” You felt him look down and his hand that had been clutching at your leg moved up your thigh and gently rested on your belly. He inhaled deeply, trying to breathe all of you in to keep you safe. You snuggled deeper into his tight embrace and sighed. 

“How long were you unconscious?” Severus didn’t really want to know the answer to the question. Whatever the answer was he knew it would only fuel his anger. He kept his eyes focused on the small space between you and waited. 

“I- I don’t know, not long.” The sleepiness you felt earlier was now taking over and you fought to keep your eyes open. It wasn’t long before the drowsiness forced you asleep and Severus stayed silent as he watched over you. 

-

The door to the Headmistress’s office was already open when Severus strode in closing it behind him. He approached the desk Minerva sat at with such high velocity that she believed for a moment he’d slam right into it. When his hands landed firmly in front of her she looked at him with wide baffled eyes.  

“Are you aware that Miss Y/L/N was attacked by a dementor today? On. School. Grounds.” He spoke through clenched teeth attempting to hold back his fury. A fire tore through him and he felt his blood boiling in the heat. 

“What?” The bewildered look on the headmistress's face was almost enough to make Severus implode. “Is she alright? Where is-” 

“She-” he pulled back with fists clenched at his sides, “She is fine, but-”  Severus paused. His mind flooded with everything he wanted to say. All of the pent-up emotion threatened to escape but he contained himself in his tightened hands. Minerva had been his most trusted friend for years, he wanted to tell her the truth. That he was deeply in love with the new professor, he had let her heal his wounds and made him feel whole again. We wanted to tell her how pissed he was you were put in that situation and he wanted to rage over the fact that his unborn child had been put in harm’s way. But he didn’t and his whole body felt stretched thin as he contained himself. The shallow rise and fall of his chest were the only movements he could manage because he felt like a teacup teetering on an edge like any movement could shatter him. He knew Minerva was not responsible but he had no one else to go to. 

“Severus,” Minerva spoke his name tenderly as if she could read his mind, “I will investigate this and find out how a dementor ended up on school grounds.” 

“Thank you,” Severus was curt with his response.  

“You love her.” It wasn't a question, Minerva knew he had been developing feelings for you. She saw how his eyes lit up when you were near and noticed the sharpness in his voice softened when he spoke to you. 

“I-” the air left Severus’ lungs as he looked at Minerva wide-eyed. He furrowed his brow and relaxed his tensed hand. “Yes, I love her,” words left his mouth before he could stop them, “and I love the child, my child, that she carries. I will find out how this happened, I will protect her.” 

-

After painfully sitting through Minerva’s ecstatic ramblings and congratulations, Severus found his way back to his office where you slept curled up on his couch. He felt his heartache for you as he watched you sleep for a moment. The desire to protect what was his came from somewhere deep inside him, some primal instinct to bare his teeth like a wild animal backed into a corner. This was unfamiliar to him, normally he’d steel himself from feeling like this but right now he was embracing it. Letting himself feel what it means to love deeply and it scared him. 

When you opened your eyes again your upper body shot up with a gasp, you expected to be outside again as if stumbling into Severus office bloodied and bleary was a dream. You took in your surroundings and realized it was real. A relieved sigh left you. You stood from the couch hoping to find Severus at his desk but he wasn’t there. Then you heard the clinking of glass from his classroom and you followed the noise.   

“I spoke with Minerva,” Severus stated when he saw you enter his classroom, “she will help me find out why that thing was on these grounds.” He kept working on the task in front of him as he spoke.

“Good,” you responded quietly and approached the table he was standing over. His normally precise hands moved roughly with a tension that he normally didn’t have. The center of his brow scrunched together as he worked. “Sev,” you whispered and watched him stop. He paused for a moment before shaking his head slowly. 

“She knows,” he spoke curtly without looking up from the table, “I told her about us.” 

“Oh, that’s fine.” You noticed the tension that remained in his eyes when he finally looked up. “I don’t mind if she knows,” you tried to reassure him as you walked around the table to stand closer to him, “are you -”

“I can’t lose you,” he uttered before you could finish. The word made your chest tighten as your heart fluttered within. He jutted a hand out to grasp at your wrist, he squeezed it gently as if that was all he could bear to say as if that was enough emotional spillage for him to stress over. 

“You won’t.” The space between you and the tall man shortened as you put yourself between him and the table. He let you pull him closer into an embrace, your arms circling his neck. When you drew away slightly he pressed his forehead against yours. His hands greedily sliding down your sides and under the seam of your shirt to feel the soft skin of your hips and lower back. You felt the tension melt away from his skin. When he pressed his lips against yours you felt his whole body loosen as if every muscle let out a sigh of relief.  

TAGS: @ayamenimthiriel @marvelschriss @debiraquel @mitsuhkai @the-not-so-iconic @darkthought15 @rubym13 @4everflowercore @otherxstories @thottywithoutthebody @setsuna-meiou31 @krazykatkay456

[hillnerd]

Waking Up - Chapter 4

Rating M      A03  ff.net   [ Previous Chapter]  [start at the beginning]  Giant thank you to @abradystrix​ and @divagonzo​ for betaing and being so supportive and wonderful.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: cursing, depresssed/anxious thinking, talk about eating & weight gain/loss, PTSD,  brief mentions of substance abuse

Previously, on 'Waking Up'

Hermione struggles on her own with plans to get her parents back, eating, and nightmares

She and Harry have a tiff over her putting silencing spells on herself (to keep anyone from hearing nightmares)

Harry Ron and Ginny play quidditch- and afterwards Ron and Hermione have a all out fight about her lack of self care and his doting

Harry has a panic attack from a loud noise Ron witnesses (Hermione sees from hiding)

Hermione and Ron make up with some grinding behind the shed

George comes back (had previously been drunk and arrested- but only Ron and Arthur know about this)

The trio get formal invitations to the Aurors and Order of Merlin

Ron and Hermione have a convo where she says how dumb she thinks it is for Harry to become an Auror

=======================================================

CHAPTER 4- THE VILLAGE

His stomach swooped like he’d missed a step. The blaring panic, the contraction of his muscles as he wildly tried to keep from falling, the disequilibrium... It was all there, only there was no missed step: just him following Hermione into the house for lunch. 

He slumped into a chair and stared around him. 

George mostly kept his head down, unable to look anyone in the eye and forcing his gaze up only when he had trouble focusing on a question. Harry was still pale and making little jerky movements when there was a noise. Ginny was putting on a smile and pretending everything was alright, but he saw her mouth twitching and faltering every time she thought no one was looking. Mum was trying to keep the conversation going with George and spectacularly failing. With every failed conversation she looked a touch more deflated, a touch more wane, a touch more close to saying ‘I need to take a nap.’ Hermione was barely eating her food again, staring at Harry with concern. And Ron couldn’t find it in himself to do anything to help anyone. 

He didn’t have words anymore. He’d used them all up over the last twelve hours. He’d gone to the Ministry to get George, he’d talked to the Minister about his future, he’d talked to his Dad about his past, he’d gone to the hotel to deal with George’s mess, he’d played Quidditch, he’d fought with Hermione, he’d tried to be there through Harry’s panic terror, then he and Hermione had gotten off behind the shed in the most spectacular way, but George was back, and now Hermione hated the idea of Aurors and would think he was an idiot for taking up with them and... And he couldn’t take any more. 

He knew it was ridiculous. It was nothing! He’d basically done nothing all day, but somehow Ron felt close to passing out. 

“Eat up,” Ginny prodded him, giving his plate a quizzical look. Oh right…

Ron took a bite of sandwich and muscled it down his throat. He mournfully gazed at the sandwich. It had looked so appetizing before his talk with Hermione. He was relieved she had no interest in being an Auror, but he hadn’t predicted everything else.

He’d thought she’d be proud of the idea. It wasn’t an accomplishment that Ron had been  asked to be an Auror, since everyone and their owl seemed to be getting asked, but wasn’t joining the right thing to do? Wasn’t it a career choice she should be proud of him for? 

Apparently not.

She’d snorted and rolled her eyes at Harry joining. Harry! The Boy-Who-Defeated Voldemort! If she thought Harry couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t imagine her thinking any better of him. In fact, he knew she wouldn’t like it. 

He started to see why Hermione couldn’t eat. Who could? Everything was so horrid it was through pure force of will that he was able to eat his sawdust sandwich and swallow each bite. His body felt jittery and weak, and every time he reached for his glass of water, he was less and less sure he’d be able to hold it without it slipping from his grasp.

“I’m going to go shower,” Ron mumbled to no one in particular, pushing himself away from the table, surprised at how together he was able to sound. 

“Don’t you want to stay and celebrate the sandwiches you made?” George asked. He had a panicked look in his eye that plainly said ‘don’t leave me here alone with them!’ Ron wavered in place. Maybe he could find it in himself if— 

“He’s ripe! Let him shower,” said Ginny. “Why don’t we put on the wireless and listen to the game? Kestrels and Harpies are the first pair doing a post war charity match. It’s set to start in a bit.”

Some of the tension in George ebbed, and Ron vowed to give his little sister a giant hug when he wasn’t feeling close to unconsciousness. He discreetly picked his letters up from the table and without another word he dragged himself up the stairs, one plodding foot at a time. He nearly caught his foot on the final stair, but finally made it safely to the bathroom. He placed his Ministry letters next to the sink and as the shower water heated he dared to look at himself in the mirror. He was pale with great purple bags under his eyes, but other than that looked better than he had when on the run with Horcruxes. Good. He might not be able to  feel  good, but he could look the part.

He turned the spigot to the shower and as hot water hit him in the chest he let out a sigh. The shower was the only place that really felt safe from everyone. Keeping watch late at night always had the chance of someone coming upon him, but in the shower with the too hot water pounding on him, he could rely on at least a moment of being completely alone. Safe and alone. Never clean though. No matter how the water scalded him, or how hard he scrubbed his skin raw, he never quite felt clean anymore. 

He bent at the knees and stooped, chin tucked to his chest, to properly wet his hair. Given how tall all the Weasleys were, he wondered at how they’d never gotten around to installing a higher shower head. After only a few minutes of scrubbing he was too exhausted to stand, much less stoop so low.

Not ready to leave his steamy sanctuary, he put in the plug, and sat in the tub as it filled with water. 

He hadn’t expected to see George there today. Maybe a few days out… The moment he’d seen him crossing the lawn he’d hoped George would lose his nerve and go away again. He knew it was awful to wish it. He couldn’t feel any relief at George’s return. His brother looked like a dead man walking, and still vaguely smelled of booze, whether it was sweated out from his binge the night before or from a fresh bout of drinking, Ron wasn’t sure, despite George’s reassurances.

He sat in the tub, letting the warmth lull him into a dozy calm state he hadn’t felt in ages. It didn’t matter that the water barely made it a few inches above his navel and his legs were bent at a funny angle to keep as much of him underwater as possible. He finally turned off the faucet and propped his head against the still cool tile, letting sleep cloud his mind.

“Got you to scream good and loud for me, didn’t I?” came a voice. He could feel the hot breath in his ear, the weight on top of him. 

“Ron?”

He kicked out but was paralyzed and unable to move. He shook, fear clenching at him, invading his pores.

“Ron, you drowning in there?” 

Ron startled and began to sit up, hand slipping as he tried to gain purchase against white  porcelain. His whole body shook. His arm was curled under him and throbbed. The comforting warmth of the tub water had turned cold, but he couldn’t help but feel that his shaking was due to the half-formed memories bubbling to the surface as he slept.

“Ron!” his sister called, more insistent than before.

“I’ll be a minute, Ginny!” he hoarsely called back, sitting up straighter and blinking his eyes, willing wakefulness back into them.

“You’ve been there well over an hour already.”

He dazedly looked about for his wand to reheat his water, not ready to face anyone. What was the spell for heating up water again? The only one that came to mind boiled water. 

He should know this! He had to use it in the shower when they were on the Horcrux Hunt every time. His mind remained blank.

With a resigned sigh he shakily removed the stopper. No more warm bath for him. Maybe he would go upstairs and nap. He hugged his long legs close to his chest and flexed his numb left hand. His fingers only partially complied. 

“Stupid bloody arm.”

He shook it and hit the side of his fist against the tiled wall a few times. The fingers stuttered and twitched but finally started to move. He let out a pained hiss. 

“Ron?” 

“What!” He bit out.

“It’s been over an hour!” Ginny insistently cried out.

“If you need the bathroom so bad, use it!” he yelled back, fumbling for his wand on the ground before opening the lock with a twist of his wand. “It’s unlocked. Have at it!”

He jerked the curtain more tightly closed and roughly scrubbed his face, shivering at the slight breeze the opening door caused. 

She shut the door and he heard the telltale sniffing of Ginny trying to keep herself from crying. 

“Alright?” he asked. 

“Oh yeah, really swell,” she shot back with a wavering voice. She wasn’t all out crying, but she was close enough.

The curtain almost imperceptibly swayed, and he could tell she’d sat herself on the floor next to the tub.

“It’s been really... really great down there,” she said, sniffing even harder. 

Ron leaned  his head back against the tile wall. So much for naps.

“Give me a few minutes and I can meet you in my room.”

“Yeah?” Her voice sounded small and young; that, along with the brittle hope he heard in her voice, made his resentment evaporate.

“‘Course.” 

“I’ll see you there,” she murmured, quickly leaving the bathroom. 

He wanted to sit in the uncomfortably cold cast iron tub well after the last of the water had circled the drain. No matter how jittery his guts were feeling or how his eyes were burning with fatigue, he knew he couldn’t. 

He hadn’t heard her sound that vulnerable in so long, it was almost a relief. After Riddle’s diary it took her years to find her footing, but when she finally did there were a whole lot of walls up. She’d always been chatty and excitable, but now there was a forced enthusiasm she’d wheel out that never felt fully authentic to Ron. She’d always had a wicked sense of humor, but now it was more barbed and defensive. She’d always been a tough little thing, but now she exaggerated it and laid on the sass and swagger thick 

He hoped there’d be a day he didn’t notice the toll Voldemort took on his family, but that was unimaginable at this point. 

He  Accio  ’  d  some clean clothes from his room and changed. He glanced at the mirror and saw an imprint of the tiles on his cheek. 

“Nothing for that…” he mumbled to himself, giving a yawn before going up the stairs to his room, Ministry letters clutched once again in his hand. He had never particularly minded how many flights it was up to his room —  it was one of the only reasons he was afforded any privacy in the overcrowded house— but lately he’d begun to hate how many flights of stairs he had to ascend. When he was bone weary, and not fully trusting himself to apparate safely, it was a real kick in the bollocks. He gave a knock on the door before going in. 

Ginny sat on his bed, her face blotchy and red. 

He sat beside her and waited for her to say something. When she stayed silent he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a one armed hug. 

“It’s just...” she said with a deep inhale, before a sound burst out of her, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She stifled it behind a hand. He gripped his shaking sister tighter.

“You saw George! And Mum is… I’ve never seen her so tired, so bloody  old .” Her voice shook and her eyes filled with tears. “And Hermione is still acting off and Harry… I don’t know what happened, but he’s been shaking ever since Quidditch and his hugs have been too tight, and I don’t… I don’t know!”

Ron quietly nodded, as his sister turned her head into his shoulder and hot tears soaked through his shirt. 

As children she used to cry all the time, half of the time just to get her way. After her horrifying first year there had been plenty of nights he’d found her crying. Those nights he’d stay with her until morning. Then the crying stopped. Her eyes might flood with angry or worried tears, but she didn’t cry all-out in front of him after that. Ron caught her sniffing and trying to stifle her tears after Harry dumped her late one night. She never asked him to help her or to stay, but he stayed with her until morning that time too.

Minutes passed and finally her silent crying slowed.

“Sorry,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“S’nothing,” he said, gently patting her back in small circles, the same way their Mum did.

“I’m just glad  you’re  doing alright. At least someone in the family hasn’t gone completely mental on me.”

Ron breath stilled a bit as he continued to consolingly pat her. He wouldn’t think of the dream he’d had in the bath.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he choked out. He swallowed and hoped his voice would come out steady. “Tonight we’ll go out and have some fun, yeah? I bet we can get some smiles on their faces, between the two of us.”

She gave a watery laugh, pulled away from him, and wiped at her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“Yeah, between the two of us,” she said with a smile. It faltered and she looked at her hands. “But we won’t be able to team up for much longer, will we?”

“Wha’dyou mean?” 

She bit her lip. “You’re going to join the Aurors with Harry, aren’t you?”

Ron let out his breath between his teeth. “Yeah. Yeah I am,” he said, bracing himself for a lecture. Instead he felt his breath squeezed out of him by a fierce hug. 

“I knew you would!”  She pulled back, smiling at him.

“Yeah, well, someone has to make sure Harry doesn’t get blown up or something.”

“Exactly! If anyone can keep him from that, it’s you.” She rubbed at her eyes again.

He didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended by her response. He wanted someone to be happy for him, of course, but the way she was looking at him she seemed more happy he’d be there to keep Harry safe.  

“Don’t tell Hermione I’m becoming one.” Ginny gave him a questioning look, prompting him to explain. “She’s not too keen on the idea and I want to figure out a way to tell her myself.”

“How do you know she’s against it?”

“I felt her thoughts out for it, didn’t I? She made a fuss over Harry becoming one, saying he was ‘throwing his life away,’ how it was a ‘ridiculous choice.’”

“Well,” she said rather slowly. “I can’t say I entirely blame her…”

“How’s that?” Offense rose inside him. Did  everyone  have a meeting to agree they thought he was weak?

“Oh come off it. Auror isn’t exactly the safest of jobs, is it? And with the war we just went through and Fr—” Her voice stopped short. “With everyone we lost, it won’t be easy for any of us knowing you’re out there fighting Death Eaters again. Only this time we can’t help you.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. Ginny gave him a sharp look. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your boyfriend safe.”

“I’d like  you  to stay safe too, you know,” she said, jabbing him in the side with one of her pointy little elbows.

“Aw, Gin. You do care!” he said with a forced laugh, hoping to prod her into better humor.

“Only for Harry’s sake. He’d never function with you,” she snorted and smiled fondly at him, before giving him a punch to the arm that would have hurt if her fists weren’t so tiny.

“You’d  miss  me if a Death Eater spelled my brains out.”

“You’d have to have brains in order for them to be spelled out!” she snickered.

“Well I’m sure the Ministry would be just as happy to have me be a human shield for Harry, so it doesn’t matter if I have much brains or not.”

She gave him a much less friendly strike to the arm before snapping, “Don’t talk like that!”

Tingles erupted down his left arm where she’d hit him. 

“Sorry,” Ron said sobberly. He needed to stop making comments like that around his family. Gallows humor wasn’t as easy to traverse as it had been before, or even during, the war. He massaged his arm where she’d struck it.

They looked at each other before she sighed. 

“Better toughen up a bit before you join,” said Ginny. She attempted to smile at him, but it was a miserable attempt. So much for cheering up his sister. She rose from the bed with a sigh. “I’ve been gone a bit long for a trip to the loo— not that they’d notice, they’re all so out of it— You coming?”

Ron shook his head.

“I want to fill out my Auror documents before someone tries to talk me out of it.”

Ginny gave an understanding smile. “Yeah, best to get it over with now. Gives Hermione less to hassle you about if there’s ‘Official Ministry Paperwork’ already submitted.”

“Cheers,” he replied as she left.  

He collapsed back on his bed and unfurled the Auror paperwork Kingsley had sent. Much of it was just forms he had to fill out, questionnaires, and towards the end was an outline of the program, pay, and signing bonus - information he hadn’t even considered. Refreshingly, he’d be making his own way right off the bat! 

He needed to get all sorts of documents sent in to them as well: permission for release of grades and medical records from Hogwarts, a written out CV of sorts, and he’d need to have medical and mental evaluations that would be arranged through the Auror office, as well as a final interview.

He dropped the papers on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. His chest tightened. 

Kingsley hadn’t said anything about evaluations or interviews… 

Looking at it laid out in black and white made his decision become more tangible than before, and the thought of failing made his gut clench. So far no one seemed to think him capable of being a competent Auror. Maybe he’d not even be able to qualify after all. If his doubters were right about him it’d just be another time he’d fucked up and disappointed everyone. 

Hermione might think becoming an Auror so soon after the war was stupid, but if he couldn’t even get past the evaluations he knew she’d respect him less. If Harry failed an evaluation or utterly bombed an interview Ron had no doubt they’d still let him through. He was The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, or whatever it was they were calling him now. But Ron? He was a complete nobody. The only reasons Kingsley talked to him were because of the family connection and their need for warm bodies in the department. The bar was as low as it could ever be, and Ron could still fuck it up. It was one thing when he’d privately agreed to be an Auror, but now everyone  knew  he’d been asked. They’d all know if he fucked up. 

He thought it was a guarantee, but now... Now it was this looming uncertain mass of chaos, where anything could happen. He could let everyone down, just like he always did. He could fail and not get in.

Or worse, what if they let him into the Aurors and he fucked up the same way he had in the war? He was so weak he’d just stood by while Fred died. He was so weak the Locket had almost made him kill his best friend. He was so weak he’d abandoned Harry and Hermione. He was so weak he’d been captured by Snatchers in minutes and they’d — 

He fled to his wastebasket and gagged over it before he splattered sick into the container. The foul taste made him vomit again, making tears sting his eyes. He couldn’t stop the retching and continued until it was nothing but dry-heaves. 

“F-fuck...” he panted, and wiped at his eyes. He pushed the small bin away from himself, face curled into distaste. He spelled the sick away and did a quick tooth cleaning spell as well, which only helped remove the acrid taste from his mouth so much. The smell didn’t entirely dissipate from the room either.

The Auror forms still sat on the bed. 

Ron grabbed them and nearly shut them in his bedside drawer when his hand stilled. He laid them on his pillow, gently un-creasing them. 

He’d told Kingsley he’d sign up. He’d told his dad. He’d told George. He’d told Ginny. His mother was expecting him to sign up. Harry couldn’t go it alone. 

He let out a trembling breath. He needed to get a quill and ink before he lost the will. 

Finding no writing implements in his bedside drawer he looked about in his old Hogwarts trunk. After diving through old robes, essays, books, chocolate frog cards, and other detritus, he’d not found one intact quill. The only ink bottle he’d found was completely dried out, a large black stain beside it marring the bottom of his trunk’s interior. He riffled through Harry’s belongings and was still empty handed, only finding a very dull quill on its last legs, but no bottles of ink that weren’t dried out with flakes of ink rattling in them. 

How did two of-age blokes not have one quill and ink set between them? Giving up, he made his way to Ginny’s room. He unsuccessfully poked about in her small roll top desk when he noticed Hermione’s book bag. 

Jackpot. 

She’d been writing just earlier. He could nick what he needed and return them before she knew they were gone. 

He gave a chuckle as he found numerous bottles of ink, and quills galore at the bottom of her stuffed bag. Only Hermione would have brought that many backups on her person to translate runes in a field. As he put everything back, her somewhat ratty copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard fell open, scattering parchments across the floor.

He gave a groan and stooped to the floor, trying to put the papers in some semblance of order. He’d read the book enough to know what order the stories went in at least. Her usual neat and ordered writing looked almost as loopy and sloppy as his, but after a tick he realized he wasn’t holding translations at all.

There were haphazard notes and semblances of ideas, none about fairy tales or runes. 

Portkey. (need to research obtaining one and cost) Taxi. (   £60?)   Hotel. (??) Food. (???) Yellow pages. Government records. Private investigator. (cost?) Go to library? Research prices and conversion rate. Check on house. How many days would I be gone? 

It took a few moments to decipher the cryptic list. Conversion rates? A portkey? Where was she planning on going? Then it hit him with all the subtlety of a bludger to the head. This was about her parents, and Australia. 

He’d been so taken up with his family he hadn’t really thought about Hermione’s. They were safely away, and though Hermione had talked about them in passing, she’d never mentioned going to get them. 

Normally he could imagine her dealing with this on her own. Her sharp mind always parsed problems with ease, and she was a bit of a genius to boot. Lately though… It wasn’t like she wasn’t still incredibly intelligent, but there was something off in just about everything she did. The way she ate, the way she talked, the way she slept… Her usual meticulous notes were haphazard and directionless, laid out in a mess like he’d never seen from her before. 

Funds-   £56 5 Galleons, 2 knuts. Sell jewelry from home? Get loan? Rent house? Ask Harry?    Get job- where? Muggle or wizard? 

He wasn’t exactly sure how much fifty-six pounds was in Wizard money, but he doubted it could be all that much, if the local Muggle market’s grocery prices were anything to go by. He couldn’t imagine her getting a job or sorting all the details out on her own in her current state.

Ron carefully tucked the pages back into  Beedle  and placed it in her bag.

Sure he’d put things back in their place, he bounded up the stairs and began filling out forms at a haphazard pace. Giving the forms a final once over, he called Pig over to deliver them. Before he’d even had a chance to attach them, his little owl excitedly chirped and flew straight into the window.

“Shit! Pig, you ok?” Ron asked, picking up the little owl. Pig shook his head and cheeped at Ron, eagerly cuddling up under his chin. “Alright alright! Calm down! Keep it together. I need you to deliver these for me. This goes to the Auror Admissions Office at the Ministry. Think you can find that and not fly into any more windows?”

Pig preened and twittered in confirmation as Ron tied the forms to his leg. 

“You’ve got this, little guy,” he said, before opening the window and watching his owl fly into the distance.

Hopefully the department would get him assessed quickly. Even with his starting money from the Auror program he wasn’t sure it would be enough to cover a trip around the world to recover her parents. Maybe he could work somewhere to make some more money for her? If he started by the end of the week, perhaps he could save enough to get Hermione to her parents before Hogwarts commenced. 

She didn’t know where to find her parents, but he knew exactly who to seek help with for this. Percy had been put in charge of family reunification. Sure, Hermione had split her family up, not the war or imprisonment, but surely she’d still qualify for help. It was the least the Ministry could do for her after everything she’d gone through. When he went to the Ministry for his assessments he’d nip on down to Percy’s office. 

Semblance of a plan in place, he loped down the stairs. In the living room the match between the Kestrels and Harpies was still playing over the radio. 

George had nodded off in a corner of the sofa, while their mum sleepily knitted in her usual chair, looking a bit more herself. Ginny was seated on the other end of the sofa with Harry leaning against her legs. His friend looked thoroughly blissed as one of her hands went through his hair. She caught Ron’s eye and gave him a small smile that he returned. Part of him wanted to roll his eyes seeing his best friend look like that with his baby sister, but he didn’t have the heart when they looked so very calm and happy. 

As pleasing as it was to see things had calmed down, none of them were the person he was looking for. Ginny caught his consternation and indicated her head towards the kitchen. 

He spun and found Hermione putting some mugs on a tray. She turned to him and smiled. In a few strides he was behind her, putting his arms around her and kissing her temple. He reveled in the feeling of her relaxing into his chest and held her even tighter.

“Mmm I missed you,” she said in a languid voice. Visions of her damned lists for Australia flooded his mind. 

“M’sorry I haven’t been here for you,” he mumbled into her hair. 

“I must admit, listening to a Quidditch game on the wireless is not exactly my idea of fun,” she said with a small laugh. 

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?” she asked, turning around to look at him, her full lips just barely turning up in a mischievous smile. Her hair was mussed with the ends of her waves fraying in several errant directions, just like they had earlier behind the shed. Her questioning gaze pierced right through him, making him feel ten feet tall and as small as a gnome all at once. Merlin, she was the prettiest thing he’d ever beheld.

He leaned in to catch her lips, hand grazing her soft cheek, before leaning his forehead against hers.

“You’re being awfully sweet,” she whispered. 

“You need some sweetness,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll get the tea, you go sit.”

“I was thinking of taking a nap, actually.”

“Yeah?” he asked, putting the kettle on the stove. “Would you mind some company?”

“I actually  do  want to nap, and not… Not the  activities  we did earlier.” 

“Activities?” he slowly repeated.

“Er… Behind the shed.” A wonderful blush tinged her cheeks, making his own neck start to heat up. 

“Oh right!” His voice embarrassingly cracked a bit. He grabbed a tin of tea from the shelf, before looking across to Hermione. “Well— well, as much as I enjoyed those activities , I really could use a kip.”

“Wouldn’t your Mum mind?” She bit her lip, looking far too worried about something as silly as a nap next to her boyfriend. 

“Honestly, given her reaction to catching us snogging the other day, I don’t think she’d much care, seeing as we’re only napping…” He squinted and scrutinised her, before giving a cheesy grin. “Unless you  were  planning something else?”

“No, we are definitely only napping!” she primly replied, her little nose scrunching up to glare at him. 

He loved it when she scrunched her face like that. He’d keep poking her until she’d be warring between laughter and throwing up her hands in disgust. She could scowl and pout and even stomp her feet saying he’d crossed some indecorous line— but after years of teasing her, he had a good sense for where the actual lines were drawn for her. Honestly, it was a bit thrilling to walk those lines, waiting to see how she’d react.

“What was that line from that Shaker guy… The lady doth protest too much?” Ron asked.

“Don’t think  Shakespeare  will make me think you’re less disgusting!”

“Hey, I just want to nap. You’re the one who’s inferring all sorts of filthy things.”

“I’m not!” 

“Who brought up our time behind the shed, and who brought up actually sleeping?” She rolled her eyes, but her flush deepened. His grin grew broader. “That’s what I get for dating an older woman.”

“Older woman?” she snorted.

“Older and wiser in the ways of the world. Trying to corrupt this poor youth,” he said, giving her a pat on the head. She gave what was supposed to be an intimidating glare, then landed a playful swat at his arm, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

“We’re only napping! Stop being such a troglodyte.”  

“I dunno… Are you certain you can keep your hands off me?”

“Quite,”  she muttered, though her mouth was twitching. “You’ll be lucky if I ever want to  look  at you again, you prat,”

“Good thing, that, cause I am absolutely knackered,” he said with a yawn that started feigned, but ended up rumbling through his ears and becoming quite genuine. “Couldn’t keep up with you and your endless seductions if I wanted.”

Her face was so flushed, he was surprised she hadn’t broken into a sweat. Instead she hid her face in her hands and let out something between a groan and a giggle. “Sto-oop!”

“Fine, I’ll stop.” He leaned down and kissed her hair. “But only because you’re cute when you blush.” 

She smiled in earnest at his compliment. He liked how bashful she got whenever he did it. He needed to do it more.

“I guess we’ll meet in your room then?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you upstairs once I’m done serving this lot tea.” 

He watched her go with a look that had to be besotted beyond anything, but he didn’t care. He was still shocked he got to kiss her every day. Not wanting Hermione to change her mind, he quickly got tea to the living room, finding Ginny was the only one left awake.

“Can you put a heat-preserving charm on the teas for when they wake up?” she whispered. 

He silently fulfilled her request and headed up the stairs, muffling a laugh behind his hand. He’d remembered the heating charm for water! He didn’t mind the stairs knowing he had Hermione waiting in his bed, and took them two at a time.

He gave a knock and opened his door to find his orange room didn’t look the same as it had earlier. 

“Looks nice in here,” he said, looking around the room. 

There had been bits of mess in all the corners when he left, but she’d tidied them all and spelled some curtains over the windows, making the room feel a whole lot less like a rank teenage boy’s room and much more a cozy den for dozing. His bed had also been expanded by a few feet.

The best sight was her, though. 

She was curled up in the corner of his bed, sleepily blinking at him, a little smile on her lips. He considered changing out of his jeans to be more comfortable, but maybe she’d been right about warning him from any  activities.  With her head on his pillow, hair enticingly falling around her shoulders, and her wrapped in  his  sheets… Yeah, it’d be best to keep the jeans  on.  

He slipped in beside her and felt a charge run through him as she snuggled up to his chest, her arm ribboning around his middle. The contented keenness he’d felt quickly faded as her breathing evened out and she quickly fell asleep.

Alone, and with nothing to distract him, his mind teemed with Australia, the Aurors, and about a million other things. He tried concentrating on the feel of Hermione in his arms, the whiff of vanilla lipgloss she always used, the cadence pattern of her breath. He closed his eyes. 

Sleep gave him a giant middle finger as a feeling of dread settled in. Shit. He’d become such a fucking sad sack!

At one point in his life he had been able to silently sit with himself. He used to be able to lounge and happily daydream. He could allow his mind to blankly relax, and the only chatter would be that of Hermione’s, spilling over him like a warm bath. 

Now his mind was overly full, and Hermione silently held him. She hadn’t excitedly gabbed about things in ages. She had dark bags under her eyes and looked so thin and fragile it made something deep in his chest ache. 

If she could hear his thoughts she’d be berating him, claiming how very un-fragile she was. Until the past few weeks, he never would have dared to dispute it. She was tenacious and determined, using her brains and stubbornness to push herself beyond her comfort and limits all the time. Perhaps she’d pushed herself too many times. Maybe her body and mind had finally given out, like a Patronus when a herd of Dementors bore down on them. 

His breath hitched as memories began to dredge up.

“You awake?” he whispered.

He felt her, rather than heard her, give a small irritated grunt that vibrated against his ribs. 

“Right, sorry. You said you needed a nap…”

She nodded and squeezed him before going lax against him again. Minutes passed and he could tell she was asleep from her deep even breaths. 

She was asleep. And everyone else too. No one was keeping watch. 

If someone came to the house there would be no one there to stop them. They could push right in and blow the living room up without a second thought. Or a few well placed demolishing charm explosions could bring the whole place down if they wanted. 

Mind rattling like a broom pushed too far and fast, a restlessness stole even the whispers of sleep from him. He tried to peer out the window without moving, but Hermione had done too thorough a job blocking out the windows. 

He was being ridiculous. No one would wage an attack in the middle of the afternoon. Or would they try because it was less expected and there would be less people defending the house? Everyone knew his dad worked at the Ministry and could trail him easy enough, and there was still a long list of Death Eaters, political criminals, and even Snatchers on the run who all might want a piece of them. If he bailed now, then it only left Ginny awake. Did she even have a wand on her? 

So many thoughts pressed against his skull that they barely felt his own. He knew what it was to share his mind with outside forces; to have thoughts not his own intruding, slithering between the cracks and widening them into chasms. He didn’t need a locket to do it now, though. Worry after worry rattled at him until he couldn’t lay still another moment. He had to check outside!

He did his best to gently extricate Hermione’s thin arm, despite his anxiousness, and opened the window covering enough to have a proper look out. Nothing. There was nothing.

Everyone was napping and able to find some semblance of peace, but there he was with a rattling brain. No one was awake, and there was no way to force himself to sleep at this point.

He felt ridiculously alone, despite having Hermione just feet away in his bed. He hadn’t felt nearly this alone in the tub, which made zero sense. 

He went to the bed and gently pushed some of the curls away from Hermione’s face. Her brows creased with worry even in her sleep. He knew what he could do to ease her worries. He brushed a kiss against her forehead headed for the garden. Eventually either people would awaken or someone would arrive— either way he could leave after and solve one of Hermione problems. After only a few minutes there was a ‘pop!’ of apparition. 

“Dad!” he called out. They exchanged security questions before Ron said, “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Well, even with things at the Ministry in such a mess, we need a  bit of time off,” he replied, looking every bit as tired as Ron felt. “It helps that Kingsley knew I could use some sleep after last night. Were you able to get a kip in?”

“A bit.”

His father looked at him with concern, but said no more on it. “I didn’t expect George to come home so soon. How’s he been?”

“When he arrived I stopped him out here to make sure he was able to handle all of— of this...” he said gesturing to the house. “He thought I was saying he couldn’t ‘be happy enough’ or something… Got a bit shirty, so there’s  that. ” 

Ron went on to explain the outing George and everyone were planning for the evening.

“Do you think that’s wise, given what happened last night?”

“No, it’s daft, but everyone could use it. Even bIoody Harry looked pleased about it. Don’t worry, though. I can watch after George.”

“You don’t have to watch after your brother.”

“Well if I don’t then—”

“If he breaks his parole by apparating drunk again, that’s on him. Not you,” his father said with finality. “He’s a grown man and he shouldn’t have a child tending to him.”

“I’m not a child. I’m eighteen,” said Ron, drawing himself up, making sure his father could see how he had a fair few inches on him. “I need to go to the village.”

“Oh?” He waited for an explanation but Ron didn’t give one. “Get some bread and rashers while you’re there?”

Ron gave a grunt, but grabbed some muggle money from a tin on the shelf.

It was a familiar walk he had taken many a time before. He could remember running alongside his much older brothers as they went on errands for their mum, and other times sprinting on his own to find the secret little spot he’d found hidden in the village. 

In a house so crowded it was rare to find a moment to oneself. He’d been elated to find his own place to hide that no one knew about. A little spot all his own! How clever he’d felt to have a hideout no one knew of. There was a giant stump that must have been one of those old world trees, it looked so massive. Sunbeams would freckle the bit of earth and willows with sunlight, and the nearby bakery made it smell like Mum’s kitchen. 

The spot was abandoned and close to an apparition point. He could apparate there quite safely and save himself and his tired body the walk. It wouldn’t be like last time. It would surely be safe to apparate there now. He would not be surrounded. He would not taste blood in his mouth. He would… much rather walk. 

As he walked he felt the warmth of the sun penetrating his skin, most likely bound to give him a sunburn. Stupid bloody ginger complexion. Despite his ambling pace he reached the village in a short time and saw a familiar pub. He’d called Hermione from it enough times to know the help there by face, but never by name.

Stepping in he saw the most familiar face glowering at him from behind the bar. Ron ducked his head a bit, seeing the annoyance and recognition on the man’s face. 

“You come to yell into one of me phones again?” the broad man asked him.

Ron’s ears burned. That wasn’t very fair. He’d only screamed into the phone a few times. He’d learned since then and had done a pretty good job of volume control since. He was surprised he was recognized. He was over half a foot taller than he had been, and definitely wasn’t as scrawny.

“I came to see if you have any work I can help with, or know of one hearabouts,” he said rather stoutly.

“Just so happens we could use someone on the late shifts for a few pickup hours here or there. Bussing and washing dishes,” the barman said, crossing his arms as he looked Ron up and down. “You have any experience?”

“I can clean and know how to drive,” Ron ticked off.  Ron had never driven a bus, but had enough experience washing dishes. Maybe not the Muggle way, or in a restaurant, but he could manage. “I live a ten minute walk away and I’ll work real hard.”

“What motivates yer then?”

“My girl,” he answered simply, though it made his neck burn. 

The man rolled his eyes. “Jaysus— I meant what can I say to make you move your arse.”

“Oh! Well… Just tell me to and... and I will.”

The barman kept looking him up and down with a surly expression on his face. 

“Well, I’ll think about it. I can call you later to give an answer.”

“But I don’t have a phone.”

“Not at all?” the barman asked, his heavy brows scrunching even further together. “Just buy one at the shop around the corner.”

“Well, we don’t have el- electricity at our place,” Ron tripped over his words. Electricity was one of those words so often said wrong in his house it was hard to remember the right term. “It’s just an old farm.” 

Ron hoped it didn’t sound too off to the Muggle man. He was looking oddly at Ron, as if trying to work out a puzzle about him, but was no longer scowling. 

“If you’re worried about giving me schedules or whatever, maybe you can put a note in the window with my hours?” Ron offered, filling up the silence, not comfortable under such direct scrutiny. “I can check it every morning and night to see if you need me.”

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” the barman sighed.

“I’d work hard, I promise!”

The man barked for someone to come out from the kitchen to cover the rather barren bar, and walked through a swinging door to the back, leaving Ron to awkwardly stand about, not knowing what to do with his hands.

“Well? You coming?” the barkeep growled.

“Oh! Yeah!” Ron said, following him. He wasn’t that familiar with Muggle customs, so perhaps it was a thing to just walk off like that? He followed him past some metal tables and a giant metal door to a small humid room.

“This is the dishwasher,” he said, pulling a lever to reveal scalding dishes and tons of steam. “Dishes and such get scraped and rinsed with the hose, put through this, then once dry you put 'em out for us to use. Easy enough?”

It was simple enough. His dad would be over the moon to inspect the shiny metal box and gadgetry. He was not looking forward to scraping plates if he were to be hired, but the Muggle didn’t have to know that he’d just be scourgifying stuff in the back half the time. It was private enough back there that he could do it without being seen.

“You got any rubber shoes?”

“Rubber?” asked Ron, perplexed.

“So you don’t scald your feet with hot water.” he said, pointing at Ron’s scuffed trainers that had definitely seen better days. They were a bit too tight and his toe almost popped out of one of them. His newer pair was buried on Dobby’s tiny body. “Well?”

“Oh! Er… I have some leather boots or wellies I could borrow.”

The man gave him the same studying look at Ron.

“That’ll do. You come in tomorrow at two tomorrow afternoon.”

Ron stopped short. “So… Does that mean—?”

“I’m not asking you to come use our phone, am I? This is a trial period only, but if you move your arse you get to stay and make decent wages.”

“Right!” he said nodding before smiling. He hadn’t realized the barkeep was the manager or whatever of the pub, and he most definitely hadn’t realized he’d just been hired. “Thank you so much!”

“We still need to fill out your paperwork. How old’re you?”

“Eighteen.”

“This your first job?”

“Does that matter?”

“Cagey, you are…” the barkeep said with a scrutinizing look. “But long as you’re on time I don’t much care.”

He was handed a form, which made it the seventeenth form of the day he had to fill out, but he couldn’t mind. He now had a way to make Hermione money for her trip! This plus the signing bonus from the Aurors should cover the costs. He started to fill it out with a pen, but quickly found they wanted all sorts of numbers and information he couldn’t give without thinking up a lie, or enchanting the paper to fool the Muggle manager. Making up his mind to finish it later, and find out what a National Insurance Number was, he took his form and left. 

He found some of the restless tension he’d wrestled with since the wee hours of the morning had dissipated. He’d finally been able to do something right and took steps towards making a difference. 

He turned the corner to grab some the groceries his father had requested when all the elation fled his body.

A fence had been torn down, because it normally wouldn’t be visible from the small lane. He could clearly see the stump he’d apparated to all those months ago. His childhood safe spot that had been desecrated. Part of him wanted to go explore it, but the other wanted to burn the little area to the ground. Instead he stood and stared at it, completely frozen.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there staring, but by the time he came to himself the form he’d been given by the pub manager was wrinkled to shit, his nails had driven themselves deep into his fisted hands enough to bleed a tiny bit, and a clock was chiming the the hour, when he’d sworn it was a good thirty minute til.

He turned around and returned home, wiping the blood on his jeans.

As he arrived home, he saw Bill and Charlie setting up tables and chairs outside.

“Ron!” cried Charlie, a rumble of chairs and benches walking into place across the lawn. “Order of Merlin? And the Aurors! Brilliant!”

“Yes, well done,” added Bill, giving Ron a nod and look of approval. At one point Ron would have preened at such attention from his eldest brothers, but he just felt raw and strange under their gazes.

“Not much of a surprise, though,” said Charlie, giving Ron a thump on the back that nearly sent him sprawling. “After all you did the last year or so, they were bound to want you.”

Ron tried to smile at them, though he knew it was more of a grimace.

“I’d better help Mum, if she’s cooking for everyone.”

“Don’t worry, Fleur’s got it,” said Charlie, heading inside to get more chairs. 

“How’re you doing?” asked Bill. He had a discerning look on his face that Ron wanted nothing to do with.

“‘M fine,” he said with a shrug. 

“It’s an ok day, though. You got awards and job offers.  And George is back, of course.”

Ron gave a snort. “I guess.”

“Well you’ve been doing a lot around the house. Glad you’re going out tonight.”

Ron gave huff. “I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t feel like it.” He couldn’t say how George would need babysitting, how Harry was one loud crash away from killing someone with a spell, how Hermione looked ready to keel over, how Ginny was almost crying all the time, or how he was so  fucking  tired. Bill was waiting for an explanation. “There’s just… There’s a lot going on.”

Bill gave a nod. “If you want to get away from things for a bit, maybe you could come to Shell Cottage for a visit.”

“I’m not running away to your place to escape my responsibilities anymore.”

“Ron, that’s not what happened.”

“Don’t tell me what happened!” Ron snapped. His fists clenched and he felt the raw crescent cuts in his palms sting. 

“Fine then... Dad told me what all you’ve been up to, including George last night. It’s great you’re helping out everyone, but you can’t keep running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m not,” he replied with a forced calm, “I’m fine.” 

Bill looked unconvinced.

“You look like shit. Maybe you should take a nap before going out.”

“Cheers,” Ron said with a roll of his eyes, pushing past Bill into the house.

As usual it was a crush of people inside. In the corner he saw Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson had joined their party as well, giving him even more cover.

No-one noticed another redhead amongst the lot and he was able to escape to the stairs without anyone the wiser. When he got to his room he found Harry, Ginny and Hermione convening, so he quickly stashed the form for the pub in his back pocket.

“Look who’s back,” said Ginny with a smile. Harry and Hermione both turned, Harry looking immensely relieved and Hermione looking worried. 

“You alright?” Harry asked, as Hermione simultaneously asked, “Where  were  you?”

He stutteringly explained he’d gone to the village for some supplies, and though Harry and Ginny seemed to take this at face value, Hermione didn’t look convinced. She didn’t have time to question him, though, as they were all called to dinner. 

“You don’t normally go to the village alone for supplies,” Hermione noted, as Harry and Ginny walked well ahead of them. 

“Yeah, well, usually Mum's the one to get stuff, isn’t she?” 

She looked inclined to push him on it, so as they took their seats Ron wedged himself between Ginny and his Mum, knowing both would be too distracted by others to bother with him. 

He was happy to not speak to anyone and just listen to conversations.

“Well, Percy couldn’t come because of his work with family reunification at the DMT. His desk is just swamped with people looking for their families,” Mum was explaining to Fleur.

“Weren’t you playing Quidditch for the Bats?” Charlie asked Angelina.

“The Tornadoes, but you need peripheral vision and mine’s a bit shit on the right side since the war.”

Down the table Lee sat with George, whose smile  almost  looked genuine. Lee’s hair was a bit lopsided where he’d had to shave it off. Part of it had burnt off, and he had a wicked burn scar down the back of his neck. 

Ron couldn’t help thinking how there were so many ways a person can lose things in a war: careers, body parts, dignity, friends, a brother.

“Hey, everyone, a toast!” George suddenly burst out. Ron winced, but everyone else seemed happy to raise their glasses. “To The Tallest of Little Brothers and his fine sandwich making skills, the Brain who set out the flatware so nicely for this meal, and The Boy-Who-Kicked-Arse at playing chess against Charlie, who sucks balls.”

Everyone laughed and said cheers, with two exceptions. The first was Mum, who was chastising George for his language and ‘not saying a word about what they’d  actually accomplished,’ though she had a bit of a smile on her face she was trying to hide.

The second was Ron, who wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel like celebrating anything again. 

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks so much for reading and all the support, lovlies! :D If you like this, please leave a comment! :D They mean so much to me and motivate me so much as well.

Sorry it's been a while between updates. In a very intense grad school program :P

KEEP SAFE! KEEP IT MAGICAL! :) -Hill

[jjaybank]

The ‘No Macking’ Challenge. (jj maybank)

Or  

The 3 times you almost got caught + the 1 time you were.

Summary: Pope and Kie feel like the PDA on The Cut is getting a bit out of hand, so for their own sanity they put stakes on keeping your hands to yourself. Pairings: JJ x Y/N, Sarah x John B,  Kie and Pope x 100% done with ur shit. Warnings: swearing, light smut, mentions of alcohol and drugs, not proof read. A/N: I can’t stand PDA, Kie and Pope I’m with u huns x I got this idea last night and I had to write it before I forgot x

Tagging some babes: @teamnick @spilledtee @downbytheouterbanks @https-luna @jellyfishbeansontoast @danicarosaline @kookkyra @bricksatanakinswindow 

You’re not quite sure who it was that first started getting on Kie and Pope’s nerves.  It could have been either you and JJ, or John B and Sarah, you were about as bad as each other.   But there is absolutely no doubt on earth that JJ was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  

_____________________

The heat of the day was almost unbearable.  The sun beat mercilessly down on the six of you, unforgiving and blistering.  You were sprawled out on the deck of the Pogue, drying off from your latest dip in the marsh.  The evidence of your swim evaporated almost as soon as you pulled yourself from the cool sanctuary of the dark water.  You lay on your back beside JJ, your boyfriend of almost a year.  There was something so completely sublime about being able to spend all day in the sun like this with your closest friends.  There was a comfortable silence on board the little boat, and the combination of beer and the heat of the day was causing you to drift off.  You could hear Sarah and John B muttering to each other, probably something impossibly sweet that would make you fake hurl.  You shut your eyes against the bright blue sky and settled in for a midday nap. When JJ suddenly poked you in the side you sprung to life, gasping and catching the attention of everyone else on the boat. He laughed animatedly and you squinted up at him, raising a hand to shield your eyes.   ‘What do you want?’ you mumbled, drowsy from your cat nap and the sun.  JJ smirked at you, his eyes trailing down your bikini-clad body and you slapped him lightly on the arm to regain his attention.  His eyes found yours again and his smile became softer- less lewd.  He handed you a bottle of water that had been stowed away in the shade.  You perked up a little, taking the bottle from him gladly. ‘Thank you, babe’ you said between sips.   ‘Gotta keep my girl hydrated!’ he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.   You handed the water back to him and turned over onto your front to even out your tan.   Beside you, JJ practically moaned and it’s like his brain switched off for a second, which wasn’t unheard of.  His hand found the flesh of your now exposed bum and you instinctively pushed up against his touch.  His fingers squeezed slightly, and that’s where you can pinpoint was the exact moment that Kiara and Pope had had enough.   ‘Fucking hell guys, get a room!’ Kiara sighed, throwing up her arms and rolling her eyes.  You pushed JJ’s hand off you quickly and rolled back over to face your friends.  Your face was flushed in embarrassment with everyone’s eyes on the pair of you. ‘Sorry’ you winced, suddenly incredibly conscious of how close you and JJ were sitting.   ‘No, actually, sorry doesn’t cut it anymore Y/N,’ Pope chimed in, ‘this happens literally all the time at the moment, and don’t go thinking you two are any less guilty!’’ he pointed an accusing finger at John B and Sarah who looked away bashfully.   ‘We really are sorry, Pope.’ you reiterated, sitting up properly and leaning against the side of the Pogue. ‘Nah, I’m not,’ JJ laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders, ‘you’re just jealous you’ve got no butt to grab!’ ‘Right, that’s it,’ Kie burst out, ‘next couple to show even an ounce of PDA in the next two weeks has to clean the Pogue.’  

You all looked around the deck of the boat, suddenly acutely aware of how absolutely filthy the vessel was. And so began the ‘No Macking’ challenge.   ______________________________________ the times you were almost caught

1. You were all taking Kiara and Pope’s rules seriously. Even JJ didn’t want to risk taking on the monumental task of scrubbing the HMS Pogue clean.  You had noticed him mentally checking himself when he was around you, and it made you smile to see how much he was battling with himself to keep to Kie’s rules. The rules were that there was to be no PDA in front of anyone at all, including the other couple, which you had to say made the game much more interesting.  Hand holding was okay, in moderation of course.  And you were allowed one innocent hug once a day.  That was it, no other public affection allowed, and Kiara had shut down every objection with ease.  It was interesting, you thought, that it was John B and JJ who protested the most.   You had stayed the night at The Chateau and were currently making two mugs of coffee in the little kitchen.  The beach shack was eerily quiet, and you looked out onto the marshland which was already saturated in sunlight as you waited for the water to boil.  There was a gentle creak on the floorboards behind you and strong arms suddenly penned you in against the kitchen counter.  You beamed as JJ placed soft kisses against the base of your neck.   ‘Morning, baby.’ he murmured against your skin.  You melted into him, pressing yourself flush against his body.  He took your wrist in his hand and turned you gently to face him.   His lips were on yours in an instant, and you were getting vivid deja vu from the previous night.   His hands began to wander, tracing lazy patterns on the skin beneath the shirt you were wearing (which coincidentally belonged to him).  His hands were warm but he left a trail of chill on your ribs and stomach.  The sound of John B’s bedroom door swinging shut was lost on you as you ran your tongue over JJ’s lower lip.  JJ, however, was on high alert.  His eyes flew open and he pulled away from you almost as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss in the first place. He spun you around on the spot just as John B entered the kitchen.   You looked over your shoulder to see John B leaning against the doorframe, eyeing your close proximity suspiciously.  JJ reached over you and grabbed three mugs from the cupboard above your head.  He shook them in John B’s direction with his eyebrows raised, silently explaining why he had been standing directly behind you.   ‘Morning!’ you sang, adjusting your shirt discreetly.  John B narrowed his eyes at you, but there had been nothing to see on his end. You thanked your lucky stars that JJ was so against cleaning that boat.  Losing the game on day one would’ve been embarrassing. ________________________________ 2. It was three days since Kiara and Pope had declared their terms and so far so good.  You were down on the beach with Pope and JJ, setting up a barbeque and waiting for the rest of your friends to arrive.  Pope had rolled his eyes at the two of you holding hands on the walk to the bay, wishing he hadn’t convinced Kie to let you guys have that.   The sun was beginning to set, casting tones of amber and vermilion cascading over the calm waves.  You decided to head out for a swim while you waited for the others to arrive, the water looked too inviting to refuse it.  You stripped off your shirt and shorts all the while painfully aware of JJ’s gaze on your body.  You shot him a look that said, ‘don’t even think about it.’  He grinned toothily at you and took off in a sprint towards the sea.  You rolled your eyes and bit back a smile before following him in his tracks.   The three of you splashed around for a while, your whoops of laughter echoing up and down the beach.   The water was cool against your skin. A blue breath of fresh air after a hot and muggy day.  You lay back, floating on the waves as the sea washed over you and lapped against your skin.  You heard JJ swimming towards you and looked over to him with a wide smile.  His hair was dripping in gold and the sunset reflected off his body which glimmered in seawater.   ‘Stunning.’ you mused. ‘What is?’ He asked curiously, floating on his back in the water beside you. ‘This, yknow? The sun, the sea.  Everything.’ ‘Oh, how annoying, I thought you were talking about me.’ You laughed, knowing you’d been caught admiring him. ‘Yeah, you too.’ There was sudden movement beside you and JJ was pulling you towards him with his hands under your knees.  You glanced around to check for onlookers but Pope was swimming towards the other end of the bay, seemingly taking laps very seriously.  You wrapped your legs around JJ’s waist and rested your hands on his broad shoulders.   ‘How’re you doing, babe?’ you asked softly, resting your forehead on his.   He groaned, his fingers spreading wide under your thighs.   ‘This is the most torture I think I’ve been through’ he sulked, jutting out his bottom lip.  ‘I didn’t realise how much I touched you all the time!’ You nodded, tracing a finger along his jaw.  You were leaning in to press your lips against his when he moved quicker than you’d ever seen him move before, and you found yourself dunked completely underwater.  You came up gasping for breath and staring wildly at him. ‘What. The. Fuck?’  You wheezed, pushing your dripping hair out of your eyes and spitting seawater out of your mouth. ‘Guys!’ JJ shouted, waving at the beach excitedly and widening his eyes at you apologetically.  You whipped around to see Kie, John B, and Sarah walking along the sand and waving back out to you.  Pope met you at the shore line and looked concerned as you choked up more saltwater.   ‘You okay, Y/N?’ Pope asked, rubbing a hand over your back. ‘Fucker tried to drown me.’ You rolled your eyes and jabbed a thumb in JJ’s direction.  The blond smiled down at you and raised his arms in defense. ‘Hey, it was funny!’ He laughed, ‘I’m sorry I got you so good.’ Pope shook his head in disbelief and started towards your friends. The two of you dropped back as you approached the others.   ‘So, was that completely necessary?’ you asked, poking at JJ’s ribs. ‘Babe, I’m literally so sorry, I panicked!’ He stressed, grabbing your hand and running his thumb over in circles over your palm.   You laughed brightly, and of course you forgave him in a heartbeat.  You would get him to make up for it that evening when you had a moment alone.

_________________________ 3. On the fifth day you had a kegger and you had been absolutely dreading it.  You, JJ, Sarah, and John B had tried to convince Kie and Pope to let you have the night off from the challenge but they were having none of it. ‘Nope’, huffed Kiara, ‘it would be nice for you guys to spend some time with us tonight instead of sucking each other's faces all night long.’ It was going to be difficult.  Drunk you was magnetically drawn to JJ and you struggled to keep your hands off each other at the best of times, let alone when alcohol was involved. 

JJ watched you get ready for the night and sighed dramatically when you picked out your outfit.   ‘Babe, if we’re going to win this thing I don’t know if I can be around you in that skirt.’ You held it up on the hanger, playing with the pleats and throwing it back onto the bed. ‘Fine, I’ll wear that another time.’  You threw him a wink in the mirror and bit your lip against a smile as he adjusted his shorts.  You settled for jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, the least tempting thing you could come up with.   The kegger was heaving with tourons, kooks, and pogues.  The bass thrummed across the beach and you could feel the music through your feet.  JJ left your side to grab you a drink from a couple of his friends and you teamed up with Kie in a beer pong tournament.  You were cheered on by John B, and JJ when he returned.  It kind of felt like the old times, before you and JJ had finally made it official.  Just hanging out with friends, nothing deep. In your drunken haze you made a mental note to do things like this more often.  To make more time for your other friends and to make sure Kie and Pope never felt excluded. You spent most of the night as wingwoman for Kie, helping set her up with a particularly gorgeous touron.  When she left you in favour of the company of her new conquest you smiled encouragingly as she walked away.  You sighed to yourself, looking into the party from the outskirts. You stood there under the palm trees and just enjoyed the rhythm of the alcohol coursing through your body for a moment.  A body broke apart from the throng of people on the beach and you beamed as JJ ambled towards you.  He looked so otherworldly, illuminated by the moonlight and the bonfire. ‘Hey, stranger.  You come here often?’ He hummed as he came to a halt in front of you.   You nudged him softly and took a sip of the drink in his hand.   ‘Mm, I might make a habit of it if you’re going to be around.’ you smiled up at him and caught the dark twinkle in his eye. ‘J-’ you started, tilting your head to one side. ‘Baby, no one can see us here.’ ‘You saw me!’ you exclaimed. ‘Only cos I was looking.’ His eyes were wide and innocent but you knew him too well to believe that facade. You looked past him and towards the kegger.  A new game had started up which seemed to involve running across hot coals from the bonfire, and everyone did look beautifully distracted. Weighing up your options took about 0.2 seconds.  Especially when one of your options was the extremely tempting specimen stood before you. You didn’t remember either of you making the first move. His lips were warm against yours and he tasted like the bitter beer he’d been drinking all night.  His hands ran down your sides, digging into your hips ever so slightly.  You sighed against his mouth as he took your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently.  Your hands bunched into the fabric of the back of his t-shirt as you leaned ever more into him.  His hand travelled up your back and settled on the back of your neck.  He ran his tongue over your lip while his hand twisted into the hair at the nap of your neck.  Your eyes flew open at the pleasure of the sensation, and just as well, because you could make out none other than Sarah Cameron walking across the sand towards you.   You pushed JJ away awkwardly and when he went to question you, you pulled him into a clumsy hug.   ‘Hi, guys - what are you doing?’ Sarah asked innocently as she approached you.   ‘Oh, hey there!’ you said, perhaps too brightly, holding JJ tightly against you as he fidgeted like a badly behaved child. ‘JJ had a bad hit of weed, just making sure he’s okay.’ You felt JJ stop struggling and you could almost hear his eyes roll against your lie. ‘Oh, okay...I could have sworn I saw - Never mind, hope you’re okay J!’  He groaned dramatically keeping up the act.  She looked at you suspiciously but turned on her heel and made her way back towards a couple of her kook friends. JJ pulled himself free of your embrace.   ‘Bad hit of weed?!’ he hissed, ‘how did she even buy that?’ You shrugged and wrapped your arm around his waist as you made your way back towards the party. ‘I’ll get you back for that, baby’ he whispered into your hair, before you parted ways and wished the rest of the night away. ________________________ + the one time you got caught. It was the seventh day of the no macking challenge.  You had woken up alone at your parents house to a promising sounding text from your boyfriend.   ‘Get here now.  Free house x’ You’d practically skipped to The Chateau, breathing in the heady scent of freshly cut grass and summer.  When you got there the yard was empty save for JJ’s dirt bike which was abandoned on the grass. The door hung open lazily and when you pushed it closed behind you JJ appeared in the hallway, letting out a low whistle.  You were in his arms in a moment, pushed against the door you’d just come through. ‘Morning, baby.’ he breathed pushing your hair back behind your ear and capturing your lips in his.  Your hands found his face and you traced your thumbs along his cheekbones.  He broke away and stepped back to look you up and down. ‘Hey, you wore the skirt!’ he grinned, flipping the pleats of your skirt gently and resting a hand on your hip.   ‘I did say I would.’ you smirked, watching his excited eyes take you in.  ‘Where is everyone this morning?’ you asked, walking further into the room and flopping onto the couch. ‘John B forced Pope and Sarah to go fishing,’ JJ slumped down beside you, ‘And Kie is at hers - think she has work this morning.’ He rested a hand on your thigh, spreading his hand out wide on the sensitive skin between your legs.  Your body quivered in response, lust flowing through your veins and settling at your core. You hummed, ‘that sounds like the perfect scenario then.’   You pushed JJ back against the couch and straddled him.  His hands found their home on the tanned skin of your ass, pushing your skirt up over your hips.   ‘I like this one.’ he remarked, admiring the way it looked bunched up around your waist.   ‘Really? Can’t tell at all.’ you deadpanned, moving suggestively against his shorts. ‘What else can that smart mouth do?’ You shook your head at him, smiling down at the sight before you.  The high points of JJ’s cheeks were tinted with pink and his hair stuck up awkwardly from sleep. He moved his hands over your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. You shifted against him and he let out an involuntary moan.   JJ pulled you down over him, catching you up in a kiss again.  His hands continued to roam your skin before they finally landed on the soft fabric of your underwear.  His fingers were deft and light, they grazed lightly over you and coaxed quiet moans to spill from your mouth into his.  You were deep in the moment when JJ froze all of a sudden beneath you.  You pulled away and tried to catch his attention but he looked past you slightly. ‘You better get that red bikini of yours on, baby, we’ve got a boat to clean.’ Your head spun towards the door so fast you could’ve sworn you've got whiplash.  Standing in the open doorway was Kie, her hands tight over her eyes. ‘Fuck. Kie,-’ ‘Nah, I’m out! Guys, seriously? I’ve not even had breakfast yet!’ Kiara grumbled, her hands still firmly covering her face. ‘This can’t count surely?’ You protested, ‘we were home alone!’ ‘I don’t care, Y/N, I saw your whole ass.’ You blushed violently, resigning to the fact that you’d definitely lost the bet.   You moved off of JJ and readjusted your skirt.  Kiara peeked through her fingers and sighed in relief to see you were decent.   ‘I can’t believe you barely lasted a week, so gross guys.’  She rolled her eyes at you but she couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.   ‘I can’t wait to tell John B and Sarah, they’re gunna be so over the moon.’ Kie laughed, rummaging in her bag for her phone. ‘Hang on,’ you said, ‘ why don’t you just not tell them for a bit? Be funny to watch them work it out?’ ‘I like your thinking, Y/N! Knew there was a reason we were friends.’ She grinned. ‘Kie, I’d love to stay and cook up trouble, I really would’ JJ announced unexpectedly, ‘but Y/N and I have a situation that I think you’d prefer we handled in the bedroom.’ You didn’t stay around long enough to see Kie gag.

[vangoghmusings]

genre: smutty smut, 18+ only; minors dni 

pairing: bokuto kōtarō x gn!reader* 

word count: 2.2k 

warnings: shower sex, kinda size kink, reader is akaashi’s sibling 

a/n: hello! i know i haven’t written in a while so here is some sorta fluffy soft smut with bokuto :)) hopefully this content will suffice until i get my shit together and continue with sunny side up

*reader has breasts and a vagina

Cranking your music all the way up, you beamed at yourself in the mirror. It had been a while since you had your apartment to yourself, your brother Akaashi away at practice. This led to the opportunity of dancing around in just your underwear, blasting your favorite 80’s synth hits with no chance of being caught and ridiculed. You gazed at yourself in the bathroom mirror, gave yourself a set of finger guns and began dancing around to the keyboard synth of “Don’t You Want Me” by The Human League blaring out of your phone. You shimmied out of your clothes and stripped to your underwear, kicking your pant legs off as the beat picked up. Snatching your hairbrush, you sang happily, your eyes shut in bliss.  

“Don’t you want me baby? Don’t you want me, oh!”  

You continued your little performance, belting to the never-ending chorus of “don’t you want me?’s”.  

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”  

Your eyes shot open and you screamed, seeing Bokuto Kõtarõ leaning against the bathroom door frame with a playful smirk on his face. “Nice moves by the way, Y/N.”  

You huffed, your face practically boiling from the heat it was radiating and you quickly wrapped yourself in your towel.  

“What are you doing here Bo? Akaashi isn’t here.”  

“I know, he had a meeting with a group for some project, so he sent me here to keep watch over you since he’ll be gone pretty late.”  

“I don’t need to be babysat,” You grumbled at the thought of your over-protective brother. Gripping your towel, you looked down at the floor, unsure whether to be angry Akaashi had asked him to come or embarrassed that your lifelong crush had seen you dancing in your underwear.  

“Aw don’t pout, you put on a good show,” He snickered stepping into the bathroom. You blinked and looked up at his figure towering over you. He was still a bit sweaty from practice, his gray locks slightly damp against his forehead. The sight made butterflies rush through you, squeezing your thighs tightly at the new pooling wet that began to form between your legs.  

This was wrong.  

You had known Bokuto for as long as Akaashi had, the three of you being an inseparable trio. However, as you got older, those feelings of friendship shifted from platonic to yearning. The desire to spend time with him as more than a friend driving you mad. But you’d rather go insane than lose Bokuto as a friend because of your stupid feelings. The sensation of your stomach churning in anxiety at the thought brought you back, Bokuto still looming over you. He smiled softly and stepped towards you, slipping his shirt off, his sweat slickened abs exposing themselves to you.  

“Uh, Bo-”  

“C’mon, let's not waste water, I wanna shower too.”  

Your eyes widened as he continued to strip his muscular features looking taut and tired from practice in the dim yellow light of your bathroom. You wanted to touch him, run your fingers along every curve, bask on the feeling of his skin against yours. You looked away immediately when he began to take off his shorts and compression leggings, knowing he would soon be naked. It was wrong, so wrong but you wanted nothing more than to stand in the shower with him. This may be your one and only chance. Hearing the rustle of the curtain open as he stepped inside the shower, you took off your towel and rid yourself of your underwear. If fate had put you in this position, who were you to fight it? You gave yourself a final look of affirmation before stepping into the shower. The image before you was purely erotic, Bokuto’s back to you, wet with the steaming water that hit it, soap bubbles sliding down his skin. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from letting out a whimper of utter desire. Bokuto looked over his shoulder to face you, greeting you with a wide toothy grin, his wet hair hovering over his eyelids.  

“Glad you could make it,” he beamed turning to you, laughing softly when you looked away bashfully. “Here,” he said, sliding behind you so you could stand directly under the shower head. “Now, which shampoo is yours?”  

“Uh, the tee tree one,” you said pointing to the bottle. He nodded and grabbed it, squeezing it into his palms before applying it to your hair. You jumped slightly at the unexpected touch as he began to massage your head.  

“Relax,” he laughed softly, “it's just me Y/N.”  

Yeah, that’s exactly why you couldn’t relax though.  

“Sorry,” you sighed, letting yourself lean into his touch. HIs hands were incredibly large, lathering your hair with ease.  

“Okay, rinse!”  

You dipped your head under the showerhead and washed the shampoo out as Bokuto put some into his own hair and began scrubbing. Once he was done, he placed his large palm against the shower wall, over your shoulder, and pressing his chest against your back. You gaped up at him as he used his free hand to help rinse out the shampoo. He pushed his clean hair from his face looked down at you, giving you another large smile. You were going to go weak at the knees, no you already were.  

“Conditioner?”  

You shyly pointed to the bottle before putting your hands to your cheeks, trying to figure out if the heat on your cheeks was from Bokuto or the hot water. You felt Bokuto begin to lather your hair up with the conditioner and it was easy to tell the heat was from his contact. At least the heat that was forming below was easier to hide. He leaned back, letting the conditioner sit in your hair as he applied some to his own.  

“This smells really good by the way, but that’s expected since you’ve always smelled good.”  

You looked up at him, “Hm, really? Thanks.”  

His casual talking distracted you from the sensation of your heart beating out of your chest. You could pretend this was how you and Bokuto normally were, goofy and playful, with your feelings well below the surface. Before you could give yourself away with an obvious frown, you put your head back under the showerhead and washed off the conditioner, Bokuto leaning against you and following suit. You shut your eyes tightly, soaking in his presence as long as you could- only to be disrupted by the feeling of two large hands on your shoulders.  

“Is this okay?” He asked lowly in your ear, gesturing to his hands massaging soap against your skin. There it was, the meaningful contact you had been dying for.  

“Yes,” You whispered melting into his touch. You could feel him smile, his chin resting on your shoulder as his hands moved down, covering you in the soft soapy bubbles. He hummed gently, running his hands towards the front of your body and to your chest. Your breath hitched as he cupped his large hands over your breasts, beginning to massage them gingerly.  

“B-Bo-”  

“Do you want me to stop?”  

“N-no,” You let out a soft sigh before he continued to touch you. He gave them an experimental squeeze, a small moan escaping you. Your eyes shot up and you turned to him in embarrassment.  

“Bokuto I-”  

Before you could offer an apology, his hands flew to your face, cupping your cheeks and began to kiss you deeply. You melded your lips against his soft ones, which contrasted how hungrily he was kissing you. It was needy and messy, your hands in his hair as he held you close. He pulled away and looked at you with wide eyes full of uncertainty.  

“Y/N, I have loved you for as long as I can remember.”  

The sentence was spewed out so quickly it took you a while realize what he had said.  

“Really?”  

“Yes really!” He said, slightly frustrated. “Ever since we were kids and now- I do, I love you.”  

“I love you too,” You replied, the both of you with matching grins plastered on your faces. Before you knew it, his mouth was back on yours, the both of you kissing each other with the passion of countless years of repressed feelings. As the kiss grew in neediness, so did the both of you. You pulled away breathless, a gleam in Bokuto’s eyes that you hadn’t seen from him before.  

“Please, Y/N, let me make love to you.”  

You didn’t know how to respond, so instead you leaned up and placed hot kisses on his neck, happy puppy-like sighs leaving him.  

“Show me how much you love me Kōtarõ,” You purred in his ear. It was like something within him had snapped, because the moment you had whispered those words, he lifted you up and pressed you against the wall of the shower. You whimpered at the cold contact, but you were quickly soothed by the loving kisses Bokuto was placing all over you. With ease, he lifted one of your legs, gently rubbing the insides of your thighs before pressing to fingers against your pussy. You bit your lip, your hips bucking forward, begging to be touched. Bokuto chuckled lowly.  

“Patience baby,” He said before dipping one of his thick fingers inside of you. You gasped, already clenching around him. Bokuto licked his lips and focused on your needy pussy, pulsing in need around a singular finger of his. “You’re so wet and tight,” He mumbled dreamily. Before you knew it, he was slipping in a second finger and gave tentative curl. You moaned at the pressure and bucked your hips once more.  

“Bo, please, fuck me already!”  

He gave you a worried glance.  

“I-I, Y/N I’m big, I don’t want to hurt you.”  

You huffed and looked down at his cock. It was incredibly hard, aching to be touched, but even more so, he was right, he was indeed very big. You shook your head and looked back up at him, his face pouting.  

“Its okay Bo, I love you, all of you.”  

He blinked, blushing at the sense of pride you had given him. He nodded and began to make scissoring motions inside of you, hoping to stretch you more before you attempted to take his length. The more moans and whimpers that fell from you, the more arousal rushed through Bokuto’s already painfully hard cock. Until he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to be inside you.  

He gripped your thigh tightly, your arms sitting atop his shoulders as he lined himself up with you. He gave you an anxious look, which quickly melted as you pressed a kiss on his cheek. That was all he needed. Slowly, he pushed his cock inside, instantly feeling gratified as you moaned at the stretch. The both of you had wanted this for so long, and it was apparent in every thrust and kiss.  

“You’re doing so well, I love you so much,” He groaned as he thrusted into you while all you could manage to respond with was pleasured cries. In the closeness of the shower, every feeling felt amplified. Both your adoration for Bokuto and impending orgasm from his size hitting your cervix repeatedly.  

“Kō,” You cooed, practically numb from the pleasure of him hitting your g-spot over and over again. “I’m close.”  

Bokuto managed to grunt in response, dying to see what you would look like gushing on his cock. He quickened his pace before completely bottoming out, fucking you relentlessly with every pent-up emotion and love confession he had withheld inside of him.  

Your body shook harshly as your orgasm crashed onto you, cumming hard onto Bokuto’s cock. He groaned at the sight and pulled out, rubbing himself against your clit, allowing you to ride out your high as he came on your tummy. Panting, he rested his forehead on yours. You smiled and kissed him softly. Bokuto smiled back against your lips before pulling away to help wash the cum off yourself.  

“Sorry I got you all, uh, dirty again.”  

“It’s okay,” You giggled as he cleaned you up.  

“I love you.”  

“I love you too Bo.”  

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that,” he said, grinning widely.  

You laughed at his cuteness as he helped you step out of the shower, legs still shaking from your ridiculously strong orgasm. He wrapped you up in your towel and cupped your cheeks, placing a million little pecks all over your face. You both broke into laughter and Bokuto grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. You laced your fingers together as you walked out of the bathroom, only to be met with a very irritated Akaashi.  

You and Bokuto froze.  

“Akaashi I can explain-”  

“’Kaashi I swear-”  

“Thank god you guys finally confessed, I swear if I had to go through another year of watching you two cluelessly pine for each other I was going to lose it. But, I’m pretty sure you used up all the hot water.”  

You blinked.  

“O-oh, sorry ‘Kaashi.”  

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, “Whatever love birds, just know if the water bill is through the roof it’s on you.”  

[hazbincalifornia]

Prey

Chapter 26: Hunting is fun, right?

Warnings: Mpreg, canon-typical violence.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Why are you wearing a coat?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow as he lowered his binoculars, and Blitzo growled from low in his throat, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Because I’m cold? Seems pretty obvious to me, Moxx.” His teeth chattering together like wind-up monkeys agreed.

“It’s seventy-five degrees out. I checked the weather here before we left to be sure it wasn’t raining, and I can feel it. It’s warm out here.”

“I said that I’m cold. Can’t a man know his own body?” Blitzo tugged the coat tighter around his middle- or at least, as much as he could. The bump had, infuriatingly, nearly outgrown the coat, but that was fine, because it was the one spot on him that wasn’t frozen like a tongue on a metal pole. It was practically boiling, actually, suctioning all the heat out of Blitzo’s body like a leech in a black hole and leaving all extremities shivering in a way reminiscent of poor street orphans. Millie reached over to snap off a square of the chocolate bar that Blitzo was holding, and her eyes widened as she brushed his fingers in the process.

“Aw, Moxxie, he’s right, he is cold! He’s-” She paused, concern gathering like storm clouds. “Really cold, actually. Are you sure you should-”

His fingers tightened around the gun in his free hand. “I’m not going home. I’m not letting this shit bench me, nothing has to change until I can shove the little cretin out and figure out what to do with them, got it?” Blitzo swatted at her hand, and she pulled back with her mouth screwed to the side and lips pursed.

“Hmmph. I’m just saying, I don’t really remember Mama or Daddy going through anything like this. I don’t think it’s a normal imp thing, is all, so you don’t know-”

“I know that if I sit at home with nothing to do, I am going to fucking lose it, so chill, alright?”

“Chill is the last thing you need, apparently,” Moxxie grumbled, and Blitzo smacked him with his tail, getting a little yelp out of the smaller imp before Millie stuck a hand over both of their mouths.

“C’mon,” she muttered, “We need to focus, they’re looking our way.”

Blitzo licked her palm, but she just raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve got four siblings, Blitz, that stopped working on me when I was eight.” Her fingers dug into his cheeks before letting go and he huffed, shuffling on his haunches and stuffing the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth. Already, his stomach was growling again- stupid kid was being even more high-maintenance than usual. For that matter, more everything.

That morning, he’d woken up half-frozen to the bed with blood practically freezing under his skin, his stomach nearly a full inch bigger than it had been the night before with his skin itching like fuck because of it and stretchmarks creeping around the edges to boot. The binge last night must have all gone to plumping the little bastard up or something, because of course it had. (He could still feel where the kid had torn up, but it was manageable now with a handful of painkillers, at least.)

Fortunately, he had a coat in the back of his closet at work from when they’d gone to the arctic to knock off a scientist who’d stolen their target’s research, and he’d gotten it a size too big just in case he’d needed to hide one of the bulky weapons inside.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized that until after the client meeting.

____

“So he just left me there after I checked his gun and it went off.” The client, a deer-form sinner, had raised an eyebrow, camo jacket rustling as he folded his arms with a twitch of his ear. “Hey, how come your little lackey’s in a suit but you aren’t? It’s all unprofessional and shit. You look like a marshmallow.”

Blitzo growled, tugging his (not stretchy enough) shirt down. The light pink fabric bounced back up anyway. Traitor.

“And you ended up in Hell. We all make bad choices sometimes. Just tell me where the fucking gig is, alright?”

____

Blitzo shook his head as the leaves rustled- he needed to focus. He could not become a liability, even though leaving the warmth of Hell for the more temperate heat of Earth chilled his bones better than any iced coffee ever could.

“Gimme the rundown, Moxx. How’s it looking?”

“There’s four of them around the fire. One woman, three men, all in camouflage clothing. All wearing hunting caps for some reason too, even though this weather’s far too warm for it for most humans, I would think. Perhaps it’s some kind of pack-bonding thing.” Moxxie adjusted the binoculars a bit. “The target is the short one with the red hair.”

“G-got it,” Blitzo said, rubbing his arms. If he any hair on them, it'd be standing up. Fire sounded good. Fire sounded really good. “When reddie breaks off from the bunch, we nab them. The client said he doesn’t care if the others get hurt in the process as long as we weren't charging extra for it, he wanted the party all back together anyway.”

“Right,” Millie said with a nod. “As soon as-”

“They’re all moving out at once,” Moxxie hissed, cutting her off. “They were talking but I couldn’t hear what, the target’s being left to guard the fire.”

“It’s almost too easy,” Blitzo said, twirling the gun in his hand and before splitting off and creeping through the underbrush, each footstep sinking slightly into the damp, muddy ground with a squelch as Moxxie hissed something after him that he couldn’t quite hear. The foliage was thick enough here that he lost sight of the fire for a moment, but the cozy, flickering warmth drew him like a snake to a flute, yellow sparks creating dancing shadows off the trees- but with no long shadows to reflect except for his own. “Wait, the hell did he go?” The firepit was still crackling merrily away, but the target had vanished. He raised an eyebrow, turning back to their hiding spot. “C’mon, where is he? You go blind in the last two minutes, Moxxie?”

“He was just here- he must have stepped out to go to the bathroom,” Moxxie whisper-hissed. “Be careful, they’re-”

“C’mon, Moxxie, I’m not an invalid.” Blitzo stuck his hand in the already-opened bag of marshmallows and stuffed one in his mouth. The pops and snarls of the fire were filling the aches of his bones with soothing jelly, and his legs wobbled a little as he swallowed down the gooey snack. “I’ll go find ‘em, just… just a second…”

“Sir…”

“Relax, it takes more than ten seconds to piss.” Blitzo reached for the marshmallows again, fingers already in the bag when-

“Blitz!” Millie called out just as pain exploded through the back of his hand, and a screech bubbled up from deep in his chest as he automatically smacked his other hand at his wrist, brain taking precious milliseconds to process whatever the fuck had just happened.

There was a knife. Impaled. On his hand. Black blood spurted out in waves over his skin and sleeve, and he yanked the fingers close to his body as shrieking erupted from the bushes.

“Ha! Thought I heard somethin’! Those horns are gonna look real pretty mounted on my wall!” Red hair fell over a tanned and freckled face, and Blitzo’s fingers twitched, nerves going haywire as his other hand fumbled for something, anything, he’d dropped the fucking gun when he’d grabbed at his wrist, fuck, shit- there! His fingers clasped a small bottle and he chucked it full force at the human. It shattered, foul-smelling yellow liquid splattering his face as he sputtered and spat. “What the fuck?” The human fumbled for his weapon to retaliate, but-

BLAM!

-That was going to be rather difficult, considering his head was now in about twenty pieces, several of which splattered Blitzo's face and slid down before he brushed them off, licking at his cheeks.

“Blitz!” Millie called, hurrying down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-”

“Put your h-hands up!”

Blitzo whirled around, automatically dropping into a hunched crouch with his non-injured arm wrapped around his stomach. He hissed as the other humans from the hunting party of doom scrambled back to the firepit. God, his hand hurt.

“Get the fuck out,” he growled in a lower timbre than he’d ever heard himself drop to, and the one in the front froze, leading the woman to shove her way upwards.

“You killed Todd!”

A bang and she collapsed to her knees, clutching at her chest before another shot went straight through her skull. A cawing crow took off from a nearby tree, rustling the leaves.

Fingers clasped his elbow, and he could smell mint- Moxxie’s mouthwash. “The target’s down, we need to-”

“I wanna rip them to pieces, they got me,” Blitzo growled.

“Millie and I can take care of- eep!” Another shot cracked off above their heads, and Moxxie dragged Blitzo to the side as a huge branch slammed down where they’d been. “You’re in no shape-“

“I’m fine!” Sweat poured down over Blitzo’s eyes, and- were there two of Moxxie all of a sudden? When did he get a twin? He didn't have a twin. Blitzo would have found that out by now.

“No, you aren’t! You’re risking all of us, call Loona so we can clean- gah!” Moxxie kicked at the air furiously as one of the remaining hunters lifted him up like a ragdoll and dragged him away, screaming all the while as he twisted and writhed in their grip. Blitzo saw red. His tail snapped like a whip as he leaped forward and bit furiously at the mound of protesting, shaking meat, and a sharp shock grazed the side of his chest before blood gushed from the human's throat as he tore the jugular out with his teeth. Inside, the kid kicked out, doing their best to distract him, but nothing was going to keep him from-

“Moxx! Blitzo!” The head cracked mere inches from his face as Millie slammed a knife into the neck and snapped the spinal cord, and a gurgling scream cut off before two pairs of hands hauled him back from the fresh corpse. He snapped his teeth, heels digging into the damp ground as he strained forward. He needed to dismember it, he needed to tear it to pieces, he needed to fucking destroy it-

“And stay down, you fucking bastards, don’t fucking touch them-“

“It’s- it’s fine, he didn’t hurt me,” Moxxie said, dragging Blitzo back by the arm. “He maybe bruised my arms at best.”

“They’re dead, Blitzo, we can go home.” Millie agreed, and their combined strength forced Blitzo to take a breath, falling limp.

“…So sloppy, the ones with guns didn’t even get a shot in.”

Moxxie sucked in a breath. “About that…” He pressed his fingers to the side of Blitzo’s pecs, and Blitzo groaned out a ‘fuck’.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it should be fine with some painkillers and a tourniquet,” Millie commented. “The hand is much worse.”

Being reminded of that sent a white-hot flare of pain scurrying up his nerves, and Blitzo hissed. “Riiiiight.”

Millie fired off a text, and by the time Blitzo turned around, the portal had opened in front of them. He took one step before nearly eating dirt, and Millie and Moxxie grasped him under the armpits and hauled him through, the office the most welcome sight he’d ever seen.

“What happened?” Loona asked, fingers tightening around the Grimoire.

“It went badly,” Moxxie grunted. “Get the first aid kit.”

Loona didn’t argue.

________________

Well, he was definitely on too many painkillers to be fully healthy for the kid at this point considering how much it took to be anywhere near effective on him, but he wasn’t bleeding out, his hand wasn’t screaming at him anymore, and his shirt had probably gotten ruined by all the stretching out even before his side started bleeding all over it, so…

Okay, yeah, fuck trying to spin it, this just plain sucked shit-flavored asshole. Millie finished tying off the bandage around his hand as he sat in his chair and Moxxie paced around his office.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Come-” Blitzo coughed. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the chills were creeping back up everywhere the blood wasn’t still rushing to, and he couldn’t help but lean closer to Millie and her precious body heat. “-Come on, getting hurt in the field is just part of the job.”

“Yes, but you’re not thinking clearly anymore, and you’re risking-”

“I am so thinking clearly!” Setting aside the fact that if he blinked too much Moxxie duplicated himself again, but he wasn’t about to tell him that.

Moxxie continued as if he hadn’t spoken, rude little shit. “You’re risking yourself, both of us, and, yes, the baby!”

“Oh, and they’re the one that matters here.” Blitzo rolled his eyes, but Moxxie folded his arms, tail swaying like a pendulum and nails drumming on his bicep.

“I know that your feelings about this are mixed, but I would never forgive myself if you went out there and got both of you killed because you’re a stubborn jackass.”

“He’s right,” Millie added.

“Don’t you dare team up on me,” Blitzo snarled, lead settling in the pit of his stomach as Millie stood up, drying her hands off with the towel borrowed from the bathroom- they were going to have to replace that. It had been white with little galloping horses around the bottom, and they were all so covered in black now that you couldn’t even see them anymore. He knew from experience that imp blood never came out of white fabric no matter how hard you scrubbed.

“We will if we have to- I’d do the same for anybody,” Millie said, balling the towel up and dropping it on the desk. “You lasted a lot longer than most people would, but there’s no shame in taking some time off so you don’t end up killin’ the little one before they even get a chance to see the world.”

“What about me, huh? Don’t I get a say in this? This is my company!” He shoved himself off the chair, but Millie pushed him back down. Her hand burnt where it touched his chest.

“C’mon, Blitzo, you need to be resting- I care about you, alright? Both’a us do.”

“Oh, sure, that's why you're not letting me make my own decisions as a grown-ass man." He narrowed his eyes.

“If we didn’t, we’d just let you go out and get yourself killed by the next target who has a gun,” Moxxie retorted. “I’m not going to let you drag all of us down with you, and I’m not going to keep working out in the field with you if you’re going to be a liability!”

“Are you threatening to quit?” Blitzo tried to get up again, and again Millie pushed him back down- far easier than she should have been able to, but if it was the blood loss or the baby weight was anybody’s guess.

“Of course not- maybe? I don’t know!” Moxxie rubbed his forehead. “I just-”

Millie shifted over to him, squeezing his shoulders. “We get what you mean, honey.” She turned back to Blitzo. “I know you wanna always do your best and work hard for IMP, and I’ve got nothing but praise for that, but-”

“But nothing! I can do this, end of story!”

Millie raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps back towards him and poking Blitzo right where she’d just wrapped the gunshot wound, and he couldn’t hold back a pained whine. “Suuuuure you can.”

“If you insist on still coming to work, just-” Moxxie sucked in a breath. “Just take over Loona’s job. Maybe she can help us, but Millie and I handled things fine when you were gone, we can keep things running.”

“Like hell you can!” Icy hands squeezed at his chest as Millie patted his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Blitzo.”

He smacked her hand away. “Don’t tell me I’m useless, I don’t need your fucking pity-”

“But you do need us,” Millie replied. “We want to help, isn’t that enough? There’s only another month and a half or so until they’ll be here, after all. You've got a lot to get sorted, and it's the least we can do.”

Blitzo just stared with wide eyes as his knifed hand screamed with every minute twitch of the nerves and tendons within. Moxxie raised an eyebrow with his arms crossed, and Millie considered the towel on the desk before dropping it in the trash. It left behind little splatters of his blood on the polished oak as he gritted his teeth.

“Fuck both of you.”

(Which meant, unfortunately, ‘you win for now’, and it was only because he was about to pass out in his chair.)

[serararku]

Dancing in the Sand Finale

The top of Valhaas Barrow boasted one of the best views in all of Thanalan. The clouds had followed the sun to the west, leaving naught but a gorgeous desert sky. The wind was soft and chilly, but steady, flowing across the territory to scrub this place clean of heat. Even though the sun was long gone, the moon and its countless twinkling servants showered Thanalan with a soothing grey light. It was the perfect place and time to reflect on what was, and what will never be. But Era wasn’t up here to think about the what-ifs and have-nots, no -- she was up here to lay a man to rest; everything else could wait.

She cradled Tage’s urn in her hands. He was cremated last year when her heart was still heavy for him before she was close with Zevi, when all she wanted was revenge against the strangers who took him from her. Her numbing confusion had boiled into blistering hatred, but now it had come full circle again; she still wanted revenge, true, but what she wanted most was answers. Killing him just a few days before his rescue meant someone knew she was -- no. She wouldn't go back down that road again.

Era’s gaze fell to his grey ashes when she lifted off the lid. There were no words to be said that weren’t said a hundred times before. She raised the urn out in front of her and waited for the whistling wind to change direction, and then she tipped the ceramic jar over. Tage slipped free from his mortal remains and drifted through the night sky -- ushered to eternity by the wind. She felt nothing for this stranger now, as uncomfortable as that realization came; he was the catalyst for everything that had happened to her in the last half-decade, all starting with that fateful encounter when he defeated her father, and all ending right here. A part of her wished she hadn’t seen Denoh tainting his supper the day before his challenge… but then she would likely be raising his child, confined to a life of breeding; she wouldn’t have left the tribe in search for a defeated Nunh, which means she wouldn’t have rescued Thalen from the brink of death, learned how to use the katana, and meet Zevi. There was a ping of regret for all the suffering she’s both endured and caused… but in the end it was all worth it for nothing else but the Tia in her dreams. Once the urn was empty, Era swung her arm with it for three full rotations before launching it into the air. She was so far up high she didn’t hear it shatter in the desert below, but she didn’t care; Tage was gone for good, and she had shed her final tears for him moons ago.

It was a mess in Valhaas Barrow. Bottles were emptied out and strewn all over the place, with the strong aroma of soap and mint filling every chamber and tunnel. Era descended the great labyrinth to find Mizuna asleep in the corner, her horns adorned in bone jewelry, her face covered in drawings, and halfway buried in a pile of purring kittens. Even in a deep slumber the woman was all smiles -- her fingers occasionally stroking the soft ears of children nuzzling against her palms. Era wanted to wake her up so they could get out of here, eager to reunite with Zevi to hear how his conversation with her mother went, but she couldn’t bring herself to stir Mizuna from her blissful sleep; she would simply have to wait until she woke up on her own.

Then it slowly dawned on her. "Where is Thalen…?" He was supposed to keep watch and help translate for her while she cured the kittens, but he wasn't here. Era briskly walked through the quiet barrow in search of him, but all she found were drowsy tribewives and empty chambers; a twinge of panic bit the back of her neck when her mind raced with the possibilities. "Oh no… did Vahli-?!"

She stumbled into his chambers to find him and her sister Umi entangled beneath their blankets, with a handful of candles clinging to life as they were reduced to puddles along the window. Given the scene and scents in this chamber, it was obvious they enjoyed their fateful evening; but Thalen wasn't here, so away she went.

"Wait." Vahli whispered, moving to pull himself away from his exhausted tribewife. Era froze mid-step and watched him approach, but she kept her eyes above his waist. “I wanted to thank you for doing so much for our tribe. I’ve talked with a few of my wives, and… they seem content with the scaleborn woman's medicines. Without your help… saving our children would be up to Azeyma -- and Azeyma alone. Thank you.”

Era gave him a gentle smile. “I told you I won’t abandon my family. Our tribe is suffering. I know how much you don’t trust outsiders… but if we don’t start trading with foreigners, we’re going to starve to death. You shouldn’t thank me for saving our kittens… and the scaleborn woman has a name. Mizuna Kusakari.”

He thought about trying to pronounce that mouthful of a name, but decided against it. “You’re right. I think with some time I can warm up to the idea of strangers on our lands. Maybe.” He took in a deep breath before glancing back at Umi, who was still sound asleep. “You have been teaching her how to be a better mate. Why?”

“Why?” Era repeated without thinking. “She wants to be the Favored Wife.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he reached up to caress her chin. “You are my favorite.” Era flattened her ears out of reflex and stiffened from his touch, provoking a frown to flash across his lips as he regarded her. “You disapprove?”

“I’ve grown a taste for violence.” She whispered, briefly looking away from him. “I don’t have the temperament to sit around and raise a child all day. The thrill of combat… that rush when I carve my enemies into pieces… it’s the warrior’s way. My place is in battle, not in bed.”

Vahli pursed his lips as he let his hand drop from her. “That’s why you’re so alluring. A wife who can slaughter my enemies by day and pleasure me by night sounds too good to be true.” Slowly he pushed her against the wall, as his hands began to wander. “To fight side by side with a woman like you would be… amazing.”

Era clenched her jaw as she stared at his chest. “We had a deal…” Slapping his hands away from her body would be a terrible idea, but she had nowhere to go; he had her trapped in the corner of his chamber. “You agreed not to touch me…”

A hunger flashed in his gaze when he lifted her chin with one hand. “I agreed not to get you pregnant…” Era closed her eyes when their lips met, her tail twitching rapidly behind her back when he pressed himself against her figure; despite his escapades with Umi he was hardening at an alarming rate -- she had to think of a good enough excuse to leave, but her mind was addled and she ran out of time a while ago. “Come on…” He whispered after breaking their kiss, gently placing his hands on her shoulders to ease her to her knees. “Do that thing I like with your mouth…”

“Stop it…!” Era held her breath and vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Vahli coughing and confused.

He took a step back and blinked at the evanescent cloud. "Era…? What trickery is this…?" He reached out to touch her again, but all he felt was warm air and the stone wall. "An illusion…? Or a dream?" Defeatedly he turned to stir Umi awake to take care of him, but she was already sitting up, with a grim scowl plastered across her face. As soon as they made eye contact she shot up to her feet and stormed toward the exit without a single word.

"Wait! It's not like that-!" He called out, reaching for her arm; with a low hiss she ripped away from his grasp, and through her tears she briefly turned to glare hurtfully at Vahli before disappearing around the corner. He was alone now, with only his thoughts and ruminations keeping him company.

Era was panting by the time she ran to the mouth of the barrow. The last thing she wanted to do was use anything that could be labeled 'magick' to her people, but what choice did she have? She hurt Zevi once by laying with her Nunh, she wasn't about to hurt him again. Not if she could help it. Now all she wanted to do was grab Thalen and Mizuna and put some distance between her and Vahli. "He's still in heat, which means Thalen isn't laying face up in the sand somewhere…" Era thought to herself, looking around for any trace of him. "He's not in the barrow… so he's not risking his life with a tribewife, and he's not dead. That means he has to be with…?"

Phalo narrowed his eyes when he saw a stranger limping up the path. The boys were fast asleep and sore from today's drills, so he was free to leave them here in his domain if he chose to. He was in no condition to defend the Tia, but he grasped his spear anyway, and descended down the rope ladder to stop this outsider from getting any closer. "What do you want?!" He shouted, hobbling over to stand between the stranger and his clowder of boys.

Thalen noticed a flat boulder nearby and promptly approached it. "To talk. Sit with me, will you? And go easy with the yelling… my head feels ready to burst."

"I have no business with you, outsider!" Phalo snarled, bristling to make himself appear as big as he could; but the aging Miqo'te was a shell of his former self, which wasn't that impressive to begin with.

"Outsider?" Thalen repeated, wincing when he slowly descended onto the rock. "All Tia are outsiders in their tribe's eyes. I'll make you a deal, old man." He lifted his hand to reveal that Black Galleon whiskey -- or what was left of it. "Humor me for a few minutes of your time, and I'll let you finish this off. I promise this stuff is leagues better than the rotting milk you normally drink."

His eyes fixated on that bottle, and he licked his dry lips; he couldn't handle fermented milk like he used to. Every time he wanted to get drunk to take the edge off, it meant his stomach would punish him for days by turning his feces into liquid. It had been ages since he was able to get his hands on alcohol from beyond the borders without the warriors, huntresses, or Nunh taking it all for themselves. Unable to resist the allure of a foreigner's poison, Phalo cautiously sat down beside the stranger. "What do you want…?"

Thalen passed the bottle to him and gazed up at the stars above. "Answers. I've never seen a fellow Miqo'te as old as you. Well, not a male, I mean. How have you lived so long without your Nunh killing you over the years?"

Phalo popped off the weathered cork and took the first swig of many; the potion burned like fire down his throat, and filled him with that old familiar warmth. Yet it was almost as smooth as spring water, and easily the best drink he's ever had -- it certainly loosened him up and put him in the mood for conversation. "I was born with a twisted leg. My mother begged my father to spare my life… told him I could serve the tribe well. I could never become a Nunh myself… everyone knew that." His ears pinned to his head and his gaze fell to the sand. "There are ways to rid oneself of… temptation. Between that and a low death in the wilderness, it was an easy choice."

"Fuck…" Thalen took the bottle from him and took a small swig of his own. This man was dealt a terrible hand right out of the gate, but he played with the cards all the same. It was admirable, of course, to devote a lifetime doing his best to make sure all the Tia that came after him had the best chance they could get at survival, but if Thalen was given the same choice -- he wouldn't even hesitate; without his vices he wouldn't make it.

"The Tia deserve better than short lives filled with fear and misery. I can’t give them much… but a little is still better than nothing." Phalo winced when he took another gulp, the black liquor running down his silver beard. "Is that all you wanted?"

Thalen shifted uncomfortably on the rock, wishing he had a soft warm bed to help cope with this tingling ache. "I'm from the Hipparion Tribe. We uh… don't have someone like you looking out for the boys. No Tia Keeper at all, actually. When we get a new Nunh, all the Tia from the previous one are kicked out into the wilderness. Some are still infants… left to die alone and afraid." Slowly he turned to meet the old man's gaze. "I was in my sixth summer when my father was slain. If it weren't for my older brother taking me under his wing, I wouldn't have lasted till morning."

"Tia are forbidden from working together…" Phalo noted, hardening his gaze.

"All these years sending kids out into the desert wastes and you still don't know much about us, huh?" Thalen couldn't hide his smile; this old man didn't know a damn thing about the world beyond his tribe's territory. "There's strength in numbers. Tia know it's wrong but they don’t care -- they just want to live. Like you. Like us." He didn't know what to say. He simply twisted in his seat to glance up at the makeshift hut that housed seven sleeping Tia. "My brother's name was Nolas. Bravest bastard I've ever known, with a heart as grand as the sun. He… Rarku butchered him right in front of me, in the sands not too far from here. Twenty summers past."

"I'm sorry." Phalo flattened his ragged ears as he stared at him, the bottle now with only a few more gulps left. "He was… cruel.”

“I came here with Era to retrieve his bones and weapons.” The younger man admitted. “I’m told you would have them.”

"Your brother’s bones are gone. I’ve been cremating the remains of fallen Tia for sixty summers so their souls can return to Azeyma. He is with the Warden if he challenged Rarku.” explained Phalo. Thalen wasn't exactly on speaking terms with the Goddess, and hadn't been for many summers; he survived this long without her guidance and favor, what's a few more decades? “But I may have his weapons. What did he carry in his final moments?"

"He used a simple iron sword he found when we were still in the Shroud. It had a red bandana wrapped around the hilt. And a wooden shield, split down the center from that glaive." Just talking about it made Thalen feel nauseous -- one of his only regrets was not returning to this terrible place to kill Rarku himself.

The old Miqo'te rose from the boulder and turned toward his hut. "Wait here." He commanded, hobbling back to his domain to leave Thalen alone with his thoughts.

Only anger and regret swam in circles in his head. Yet the man who took the only family he had left from him was long dead. His only reprieve was knowing that sadistic monster was powerless to stop him when he bent his beloved daughter over every piece of furniture in his apartment, and now he had a taste of his Favored Wife too. "Hope you enjoyed the show, asshole." If only Tage was still alive -- he would buy that man a drink any day of the week for putting the Black Butcher into the ground. Even still, Thalen wished he was the one to finish him for good; he must have spent a few hundred bells replaying that scenario in his head to practice what he would tell Rarku. Before he filled him with holes, of course.

Thalen perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps from behind. His heart skipped a beat when his gaze fell upon his brother's old weapons. The blade was so worn down it would be a wonder if it could even cut butter, and the once crimson bandana had faded to pink from too much exposure to the sun. The shield was smaller than he remembered, but then again, it was a practice shield designed for Hyuran squires; the cleave halfway down the middle had been patched together with some spare lumber and nails, but the integrity of the shield remained compromised. "I used these to train Tia over the years… I hope you don't mind."

"Wasn't planning on using them to fight." He tried to hide it, but his flat ears and trembling voice gave it away; he missed his brother more than anything else in this world.

"You can cry here." Phalo assured him as he offered the shield and sword. "I won’t judge you."

Through sheer willpower alone Thalen managed to swallow back down his sorrow. "I'll cry when I'm dead." He slowly draped the shield over his back and tucked the sword into the leather sheath he brought along with him. "Thank you for keeping his things. I'm K’thalen, by the way."

"S'phalo." The old man bowed as gracefully as he could. "Find peace and happiness. Any Tia that survives as long as you have deserves nothing less."

"I know you're not supposed to do this, but…" Thalen paused before turning his back to the Tia Keeper. "If you want any of the boys to survive long enough to experience true happiness, send them my way. It goes against Her laws, and yaddah yaddah, but you know what awaits them once they're sent out into the wilderness." He didn't bother waiting for a retort -- he already knew what the old man would say. "Keep the bottle. I need to get rid of the evidence anyway." With a slight wave the Tia descended down the path, half-expecting Vahli to be waiting there to cleave him in half for touching one of his wives. Yet when he reached the barrow, neither the brute nor the harlot was around. "Seems a tribewife really can keep her word."

"There you are!" A familiar voice from a familiar woman barked at him. "Where have you… wha-? What happened to you?!"

"Damn you're loud, darlin'." Thalen retorted in Eorzean, and just like that, his thick drawl and accent returned. "Can a feller drink in peace without all this shoutin'?"

Era ushered a half-awake Mizuna onto the wagon and handed her the reins, but she turned back around to judge him. Loudly. "You look like you were attacked. Did you wander too close to the zu nests?"

Thalen ignored her at first to climb up alongside Mizuna. "Decided to spar with a few Tia." He lied as easily as he breathed. "Last time I go easy on some kids… knocked me on my ass, they did."

Satisfied with that answer, she climbed up to sit down beside him. "Did… did you talk to my brothers? How are they doing…?"

"Better than I was at their age." He rubbed the back of his neck before stretching out to drape his arms around their shoulders. Once everyone was settled in, Mizuna flicked the reins and the wagon began its slow return to Ul'dah -- but for the two Miqo'te, 'as soon as possible' would still not be soon enough. "How're your nights goin'? Good I hope?"

"I released S'tage's ashes, argued with Vahli for a few bells because you stepped up to him…" Era looked up at him with a disapproving side glance. "You could have been killed. You know that, right?"

"What was I supposed to do? Tuck my tail between my legs and grovel?" He scoffed, shrugging. "If that big bastard wants to dance, I say we play some music and get this party started."

"Ugh… if I bring you back, that just might happen…"

"Imagine it… S'thalen Nunh." He chortled. "Then you'd be answerin' to me, lass." The thought of sitting around in that sandbox all day was shockingly amusing, or maybe it was from the Black Galleon Whiskey in his system; when he glanced over to see her roll her eyes at him, she was instead staring at him intensely.

"That… would solve a lot of my problems…" Era hummed, drumming her fingers on the guard railing. "With you as my Nunh, I'd be able to come and go as I please…"

Thalen loudly cleared his throat before turning to glance down at Mizuna. "Anyroad… how were the kittens, Doc? Cute?"

"Cute?" She repeated, blinking slowly. "They were so soft, and warm, and cuddly." The brightest smile she's worn in over twenty six summers lit up her face, almost as if she was as tipsy as the Tia. "We sang songs for bells. I got them to dance with me. Then I told them some stories once everyone was tired… they didn't understand a word I said, but I think they just liked watching me talk. Cute? Yes, K'thalen… yes they were very cute."

"Well… glad two of us had a good time." He smiled, kicking his feet up. "Just a few more bells and we can rent some rooms in Lil'Ala Mhigo before we get ba-"

"When are you and R'zevi going to have a child of your own?" Mizuna asked, leaning forward so she could look at her. "You're both young and in love. What is taking so long?"

"D-doctor Kusakari! Nooo…!" Era began turning strawberry red while Thalen threw his head back and belly laughed.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[shadow--writer]

How the Heartaches Come and They go and the Scars They're Leaving, You'll be Dancing Once Again and the Pain will end

this chapter made me hurt my own goddamn feelings and ABBA did NOT MAKE IT ANY BETTER. Here’s the title. The song slaps so hard

Maeve x Lucas. What do you do when the doctor is sick? 6.4k

TW: grief, terrible coping, mentions of death. Apologizes to folks who feel pain they read about, I wrote Maeve’s headache with a headache. SICK FIC

@dela-png

It was cold. Odd considering the unrelenting heat of the past few weeks. 

Letting out a soft whine, a headache slowly built up behind her eyes. 

She couldn’t think right, it was all tinged with an edge of black as she opened her eyes. Her legs were tucked between Lucas’, his lips in her hair. Judging by how softly he was breathing, he was still asleep.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself back to sleep to keep the headache at bay. 

No luck, she was up. 

She groaned, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. The headache started behind her eyes and spread along her face, it hurt to even think. She sniffed the breath sending sparks of pain through her skull. 

Sinus infection? Gods she hoped it was only a sinus infection. Stars above it hurt. 

Trembling, she extracted herself from Lucas’ arms. Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could start on the mess she made in the kitchen before he woke up. The small bundle of fur at the edge of the bed mewed when she moved.

And maybe she could figure out a way to feed Jolie as well. 

She pressed a soft kiss against his forehead. He didn’t have a fever anymore, just a small sunburn along his nose. She shifted away from him and softly called to Jolie. 

The room spun as soon as she got to her feet, her breaths coming out in soft gasps. Her dress was heavily wrinkled, dust clinging to the back of it, making her cough. Her throat hurt. Well, everything hurt. 

Sighing, she pressed a hand to her forehead, hoping to cool herself off and ease the headache. Jolie followed at her heels, the house was a bit warmer when she wasn’t alone. Jolie meowed, loudly, hopping up on the counter as they entered the kitchen. 

She scratched behind Jolie’s ears, chuckling a little to herself. “Yes yes I know. The lady hungers.” Her voice was rough and nasally, even to herself. She winced, the movement a stabbing pain. She hissed through her teeth, biting her cheek. Jolie rubbed her head against her hand, purring a little. 

“I’m…” she swayed a little. Ugh the infection was hitting her pretty hard. It was hard to focus. “...sure Lucas has something for you somewhere,” she said, opening the cabinets up to look. Jolie meowed, moving along the counter and under a closed cabinet door. 

She giggled a little, petting the cat. “Smart kitty,” she whispered, shutting the doors she opened previously and opening this one. There was a bowl with Jolie’s name painted on it, loopy and messy. 

Standing on her tiptoes, she teetered backwards as she tugged the bowl down off the shelf. She caught her balance, her headache twisting like a knife as she set the dish in front of Jolie. She meowed once, before leaving Maeve be. 

The kitchen was...a bit of a mess, to say the least. There was blood on the counter and on the knife. 

She sighed, rolling up her sleeves that had come undone during the night. 

Digging around another cabinet, she grabbed the jar of coffee grounds and put a pot of water over the stove. She waited for the water to boil, scrubbing the knife and cutting board in the sink. 

When the water on the stove started to boil, she turned it off and eye balled the amount of coffee grounds she was pouring in.

She gritted her teeth together as the headache made her stomach roll. 

Once she was sure the coffee was ready to boil, she went back to cleaning the counter. Ignoring her headache and how badly she shivered. 

Jolie meowed, the pain sharpening as her head whipped up at the sound. 

Lucas rubbed the back of his head, leaning against the doorframe.

“Morning Firefly,” he murmured.

Her legs wobbled as she smiled at him. “Coffee’s on the stove,” she said, her voice coming out a bit slurred.

His brows creased at her voice, moving closer to her. She stumbled into him and he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

“Thumbelina, you’re burning up.” 

“Mm fine.” She pushed away from him, her head splitting open with the movement. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the wave of pain pass. She cracked an eye open, holding her thumb and index finger apart. “Just a tiny fever.”

He pressed his thumbs on the corners of her eyes, she leaned into the touch. 

“Burning up is burning up,” he said softly.

“I’m fine! I promised I’d help you clean today!” She puffed her cheeks out in a pout. “And I’m not letting some dumb fever stop me!”

He kissed her forehead, scooping her up off the floor. She yelped, arms going around his neck.

“Lucas,” she whined.

He ignored her, nudging the door open. She let out another whine, burying her face in his neck. Her head ached at the movement. “I wanna help!”

“You can’t do much when you’re burning up,” he replied. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

He set her down on the bed, the jostling made her let out a whimper of pain, the room spinning and the edges of her vision going dark. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her forehead, inspecting her face. His brows were all creased with worry. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

She chewed on her lower lip as she watched him for a moment, her headache making it hard to do anything but space out. He was cute when he was worried, face all scrunched up as he patted her down for injuries. He paused on her hands, her attention being brought to how much they hurt, fresh blood spotted on the already bloody bandages. 

Guilt ate her up inside as he lifted her hands up from her sides. She trembled in his hold, feeling a bit sick as she looked at what she did to herself. She was useless. She wondered why anyone liked her enough to stay with her when she could barely even take care of herself. 

He kissed her palms, whispering softly to the marred skin. The web of scars on her palms, rough under his soft touch. “I’ll help you patch up, and then we’ll get you into something clean.”

“Then I can help!”

He sighed, holding her hands to his face. “You’re sick.” 

She squished his face, puckering her lips back with a giggle. “And you’re handsome, what’s your point? I’m gonna help you clean. Even if I gotta do it in secret so you won’t know!” she said with a lopsided smile. She was so woozy her filter was coming off. 

He kissed her hands again, getting to his feet. She kicked her legs, watching him go. He came back after a moment with gauze and disinfectants. 

And bandages. 

He knelt down by her legs, slowly peeling off the blooded adhesives off her fingers. She hissed through her teeth, staring at the bloody mess. 

He only hummed, cleaning them off gently with a damp cloth. The wounds were still raw, she couldn’t really do much when she had him to worry about. He rubbed disinfectant into her skin before wrapping a bandage over the cuts. 

He kissed her fingertips, looking up at her through his lashes. Her gaze darted away as heat flooded her cheeks.

She chewed on her lower lip as he tilted her head back to look at him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered as she cupped his cheek. He leaned into the touch as he looked at her. “For helping me.”

She ran the pad of her thumb over his lower lip. “Says the person helping me.”

He chuckled, turning her hand over and kissing the inside of her wrist. “Only because I got you into this mess.”

She giggled, kissing the tip of his nose lightly. “Well that’s true.” She smoothed his hair back, the curls soft beneath her fingers. Her headache was a dull pound behind her eyes. “I’m...sorry if I was a little mean yesterday. I was...scared.” 

He sighed, nudging her legs apart to sit between them and rest his arms on her thighs as he looked up at her. “Well, you were a bit mean.”

She flicked the tip of his nose with a soft smile. “Your dusty ass house will be the death of me.”

“Hmm if you’re too sick to help me clean.” He smiled a little. “Might have to put it off a while until you get better.”

She glowered at him. “Nuh ah. We’re cleaning today. We’re cleaning.”

He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Fine. But you’re doing something easy.”

She kissed his forehead. “I’ll do laundry to keep you company. Wash the sheets and fold.”

His laugh made her smile. “Okay. That...sounds good.”

“I already cleaned the counter. But um...dishes are still not done.”

He got to his feet, helping her up. The headache made itself known, making her stumble. 

He let her gather herself before looking at the dust caked to the hem of her dress. “First let's get you into something clean so you don’t get sick again.”

She smoothed her hands down the fabric, leaning against him as she looked down at herself. “Mm. I’ll...wash this too.” 

He helped her out of his chest, checking her temperature and making a face. She knew he didn’t like her being up and about with a headache and a fever, but he was going to have to deal with it. “You can borrow one of my shirts.”

“Mmm borrow is a funny word,” she murmured. 

He helped her unlace her dress, letting her pull it off while he dug around the drawers of his dresser trying to find something clean for her. 

“Come on Firefly, arms up.” He tapped her arms, helping her raise them. 

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” she said with a little hum as he pulled the shirt over her arms and head. It fell down her shoulder, he pulled it back up and tightened the drawstrings. 

“This is a dress on you,” he muttered, tying the drawstrings into a bow. It would still fall down her shoulder but it was better now. 

She reached up to smooth out the creases between his brows, giggling at the shock in his eyes when he met hers. 

“Very cute.”

He stared at her for a moment, his shirt falling just above her knees. She felt like a kid playing dress up, but his smile came fast and soft. 

He kissed her cheek, then the other. She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “We have to start,” she whispered as he kissed the tip of her nose. 

“Oh dusting can wait one minute,” he replied with a cheeky grin. 

She covered her mouth with a hand, wrinkling her nose at him as he moved to kiss her, kissing the back of her hand. 

He moved away. “No kisses,” she said, wiggling out of his grasp. “Don’t wanna get you sick. Again. That would be bad.”

He kissed her cheek, only holding her closer. She squeaked. “I’ll risk it,” he murmured. 

She pushed his face away, giggling. “No! I don’t wanna get you sick again! I’m contagious!” 

She ignored her headache as they toppled onto the bed in a pile of limbs. She scooted to sit up away from him, sticking her tongue out as he rested his chin in his hand. He stuck his tongue out at her as well, wiggling closer to her. 

The shirt fell off her shoulder as she looked at him. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!” 

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her closer, making her squeal. She pursed her lips and looked away from him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing her softly there. 

She let out a tiny squeak, her skin buzzing as he smiled. His touch was gentle as he kissed up her neck and the underside of her jaw. 

“You’re minute’s up Giant,” she breathed as he kissed her jaw and cheek. “C’mon! We have to go! I left the stove on! There’s coffee!” 

He only laughed, kissing the corner of her mouth. She sulked, trying to wiggle out of his arms. “Lucas,” she whined, tugging on his arms. “Stop trying to seduce me and let go!”

He stopped, arms going slack. She tumbled forward with a yelp, falling face first into blankets. “Seduce you?” he asked as she turned over. He moved her legs into his lap. 

She glowered at him. “Don’t think a few well placed kisses will distract me. Your minute is up buster. My headache isn’t gonna go away by itself. And you have things to clean!” 

He rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile. She could see something start to brew in his eyes. Today wasn’t going to be easy. 

She knew that. 

She looked at her freshly bandaged hands, at her scars.

She peered at him through her lashes, he was tapping out a beat to a tune only he knew against her calf.

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she pecked his lips quickly before scurrying off the bed. 

He paused, touching his lower lip and looking at her. She smiled, ignoring her headache as she placed her hands on her hips. “There. You got a kiss. Now c’mon slowpoke. I gotta strip the bed.”

His smile was infectious and mischievous as he followed her off the bed. She laughed, dancing away from him as he chased her out of the room. 

He scooped her off the floor, hugging her close as he laughed in her ear. She snorted, and Jolie meowed at them. 

He set her down on the counter, curling her hair around one of his fingers.

She tilted her head, kissing the tip of his nose. “I cleaned the counter, but I still have dishes to clean.” She looked at the spoon on the floor and winced. “Also the floor and wall.”

He brushed her hair back, playing with it a little. “You just stay right here, I can handle it.”

“But it’s my mess!”

“A mess you made because of me.”

She sighed, leaning back against the upper cabinets. “I’m fine, Lucas. It’s a tiny sinus infection. I can clean up my own mess.”

He kissed her forehead, her skin was a little sticky with sweat. “Your fever got worse,” he murmured. “You should rest.”

She glared at him. “I’m not resting. I promised you I would help. This isn’t something you want to do alone.”

He patted her leg, but she saw the affirmation in his eyes. He dug around the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a clean washcloth. He was silent as he ran the cloth under cold water and wrung it out. The smell of coffee made her relax.

He placed the damp cloth over her clammy skin, her eyes snapping open to meet his. Worry creased his brows again. 

“You can stay,” he offered, voice a bit gruff. “But if your fever gets worse…”

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. “I haven’t passed out, thank you very much.”

He winced, pulling two mugs down and using a ladle to pour coffee into them. He didn’t respond as he moved to get cream and sugar, holding them up in a silent question. She nodded, watching him finish up her mug and pass it over to her.

“Wait, you can have coffee right?” he asked as she held it below her nose. 

“Caffeine helps with headaches,” she said with a hum, enjoying the warmth of the drink. “Herbal teas help with fever. Along with water, of course.” 

“Do you want me to make you tea?” he asked softly, drying his hands on a nearby towel. 

“I’ll be okay for now,” she said with a smile. He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, that worried (cute) look never leaving his face. “Lucas! I’m fine!” 

He brushed the skin of her cheeks with both thumbs, his face darting closer to hers. Her breathing hitched, heart skipping a beat. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to him being this close to her. She liked it, but was unused to the reaction he stirred in her. 

He smoothed her hair back, moving away when he saw what he wanted to. She almost whined at the loss. His expression shifted from worried to something more...vulnerable. “What do you do when the doctor is sick?” he murmured, hand trailing down her shoulder and arm, gently cradling her hand as he moved away. 

She laced their fingers together, tugging him back to her. “Well,” she started as he looked at her. She dragged him back to her, him shuffling nervously. She beamed up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. 

“Hugs are good.”

He chuckled, wrapping her up in his arms and tugging her close.

He kissed the top of her head, smoothing her hair down. She let out a happy hum, feeling much warmer now. 

He pulled away too soon, much to her disappointment. 

She pouted, making him laugh. “Oh don’t give me that look. Like you said, we have things to do today. You were going to do…” he tapped his chin, pretending to think. Her pout melted into a smile. Fuck she loved him. “Laundry was it?” He smiled, flicking the tip of her nose. “I simply must do something!” he said, making his voice reedier in an imitation of her, holding a hand to his forehead. 

She gasped. “I do not sound like that!”

He only laughed, moving away from her. 

“I don’t!”

“Sometimes you do.”

She made a face at him. “Yeah like you sound any better.”

Offense flooded his features and she smiled smugly. “Oh yeah look at me-” she lowered her voice, her throat making everything sound more gravely, but it worked. She sounded ridiculous. “-I’m Lucas and I get people bit by eels on the daily!”

“Hey!”

She giggled, breaking the facade. 

He made a face at her, but it was cracking under his laughter. 

“I don’t sound like that,” he said, petting Jolie. 

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

She giggled, putting her now empty mug down. Her headache was starting to fade which was nice.

He moved closer, ignoring their argument. “Did it help?”

Her gaze darted to the sink. No more dishes! “M-Mmmhmm!” she hummed, her heart skipping beats all over the place. He made a face when he checked her temperature again, she made one back.

“Fever is still there.”

“...maybe a little tea would be good.”

He laughed, moving in to kiss her. She made a show of shaking her head and pursing her lips, making him pout. 

She kissed his cheek. “Contagious? Remember?”

“It takes more than that to get me sick.”

She quirked an eyebrow with a wry look. He wilted a little under her gaze. 

“Hmph. Fine. But I will get a kiss eventually.”

She laughed. “C’mon now, super strong immune system. Let’s get to work.”

~~

The problem she found with laundry was the fact she had to do it outside. Washing was messy and not to mention hanging things up on clotheslines. She couldn’t go far in her condition, and Lucas was…

Against it. 

What if something happened to her and he wasn’t there to help? Kind of deal. 

It was not easy to convince him to let her be outside. His worry was sweet, but the dizziness that came with her headache was starting to fade. Coffee truly was a gift from the gods.

She knew he was checking up on her, looking out the window and coming down the stairs to say hello. Each time he walked down to talk to her, and give her something to eat, his hair got wilder and wilder. 

She stretched up onto her tiptoes, clipping the damp sheets onto the clothes line she had set up. The day was cooler, still hot, but cooler. The cloud cover was also nice. And the tiny breeze. Thank gods for the tiny breeze. The heat was almost sticky, making her want to lay on the floor and do nothing. 

But she made a promise. 

“You’ve been busy.”

Speak of the devil. 

Against her will, she felt herself brighten. She wondered how atrocious his hair would be this time. 

“I have,” she replied, not looking at him as she finished clipping the sheet to the line. The breeze knocked it back into her face, making him laugh. She made a face to no one in particular. “Granted it’s been fighting me the whole time!” She glared up at the sky, smiling at his laughter. He sounded a bit tense, she knew cleaning alone was taking a toll. 

“Aren’t you gonna look at me?” he joked. 

“Mmm I’m scared to see the rat’s nest.”

“Rat’s...nest?”

“Your hair, silly goose.”

“Ah, so I’m a goose now?”

“Hmm, a gander.” She finally turned around, smiling brightly. “I am the goose.”

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe. She was right about his hair, there was so much dust clinging to it she feared he’d turn the bathwater black. 

He saw the look on her face, his smile turning smug and amused. She wrinkled her nose at him, crossing her arms. 

She finally spotted the plate in his hands. 

“Oh! Is that a lemon?” she asked, curiosity outweighing her annoyance. She moved closer, almost singing out of happiness. Lemons helped with all sorts of things. Fever, sore throat, the like. 

And they were delicious. 

“You mentioned spice and lemons. So I brought the best thing I could.” He swatted her hand away, making her yelp. “Eat it like a hooligan in front of me again and you’re grounded,” he said, bending down slightly to be at eye level with her. She fought the urge to knock the dust out of his hair. “Got it?”

She pouted. “But-”

He tapped the tip of her nose, making her wrinkle it at the contact. “Absolutely not. I have seen a lot of weird food things in my time. That is the worst.” 

“You can’t ground me!”

His grumpy facade was cracking. She placed her hands on her hips, rising up onto her tiptoes to match him. Their noses pressed together, and this was a terrible awful no good very bad idea. 

“I can,” he said, a hint of laughter sneaking through. “And I will.”

Her eyes darted down to the lemon slices, calculating the risk. She had no doubt he would manhandle her back into the house if she did this.

But he would have to catch her to manhandle her. 

He realized what she was doing too late, the evil grin had crept onto her face and she snatched a lemon slice, dancing away from him. Her fever had gone down a tad, and with no dizziness? 

No problem. 

She stuffed the lemon into her mouth. He let out a curse, making her grin around the sour fruit. He set the plate down, she swallowed the lemon and ran into the thick of the hanging clothes. 

He chased after her, muttering about how vile that display was. 

She giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. She could see his shadow moving through the sheets and his clothes. She danced away from him, letting out little musical notes to taunt him. 

He moved a sheet aside for her shadow, making her laugh. 

“Don’t tear all my hard work down looking for me, Giant,” she teased. “And I thought with your height you would’ve found me already!”

“Well it appears hunting for trickster fairies is a bit harder than one might think,” he called back as she moved farther into the back, trying to keep her footsteps quiet. He wasn’t hard to avoid, the height and how loud he was.

She giggled. 

“First you made off with my shirt, and now you smuggled a lemon away.”

“Well you are very easy to trick,” she said. “Think about me at my full power! You’d never be rid of me!”

He laughed, she could see him move closer to the front door. Her face broke into a smile as she leaned against a blanket in the back. 

He went silent. Chewing on her lower lip, she moved to the clothes in front of her, looking past them. He wasn’t where he was before. 

Releasing her lip, she stood on her tiptoes to look again. 

Then she was picked up, his breath warm against her ear. Her breathing hitched, heart like a rabbit running amok in her chest. “Found you,” he whispered. “Little goose.”

“Honk honk.”

He snorted, her legs dangling as he carried her awkwardly to the door. “You finished here, right?”

“Yep!”

“Then you’re grounded.”

“Wha- HEY!” She kicked her legs, trying to wiggle out of his grip. “You can’t ground me! I’ve done nothing wrong! I’m being framed!”

He was laughing. She liked to make him laugh, she decided. She wanted to make him laugh all the time just to see him light up in the way he did. Besides, she liked being silly with him. It wasn’t prim and proper all the time with him. 

“Framed? I watched you commit the crime!”

“You have no evidence!”

“I watched you!”

“But you’d miss me too much,” she said, pouting as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

His look was wry. “I won’t miss the crime of eating lemons raw.” 

She gasped. “It’s no crime!”

His look turned teasing as he kissed her forehead. “Says the person who doesn’t cook.”

Her gasp turned more offended as she swooned. “Oh you wound me. Using my own weakness against me! The audacity, the horror. How will I ever recover from this blow to my pride!”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

“Get over it?! Get over it?! Nay sir! I shall never! I will be enacting my revenge plot with friends on you soon enough!”

He was laughing too hard to reply. The fact he was carrying her all dangly like a cat was another “blow” but she didn’t seem to mind.  

He kissed behind her ear as he set her down on his bed. She tugged her boots off, placing them by her side before laying back. 

She saw the pile of clothes on the chair and sat up, her hair falling around her shoulders. “Are those clean?”

He looked over and nodded. 

She brightened. “Well since I washed and hung everything up to dry, mind me folding?”

He blinked in surprise. “I um, no?”

She giggled, getting to her feet. “Mind extending my grounding to the couch?”

He tapped his chin in thought. “Well…after that display of terribleness I’d like to say no.”

She jutted her lower lip out a little, clasping her hands and pleading with him. “Please?”

He cracked so fast under her gaze. “…fine. It…it’ll be nice to have you to talk to.”

She cheered, jumping up and down. He flushed at her reaction as she gathered the clothes on the chair. Some shirts had holes in them and they were wrinkled beyond belief.

He chuckled, helping her out. “You really don’t have to do this,” he said as they walked to the couch. She could see the progress he made with cleaning. There were still things in little piles, stuff she knew he couldn’t find a place for but didn’t want to part with.

She dropped the clothes in her arms on the couch, looking up at him. He wasn’t meeting her eyes, a flush climbing up his neck and face.

“Oh please,” she said. “I want to help you. That's why I offered.”

He looked back at her. She helped him set the clothes down, holding his hands and running her thumbs along his knuckles. His shirt slipped down her shoulder, his eyes flicking over to the movement.

She smiled, letting go of one of his hands and tilting his chin. “Eyes are up here, gander.”

His cheeks reddened. “W-Who’s trying to seduce who now,” he murmured.

She giggled, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh leannán, you’d know if I was trying to seduce you,” she whispered, softly kissing his jaw.

He grunted, and she smiled. “You play dirty, little goose,” he said, eyes meeting hers. That delicious blue. She wondered what paints she’d have to mix to find the shade. She reached out, brushing his brows. He grabbed her hand, kissing her palm. “I don’t even get a real kiss and you start talking like that.”

“I am proud of you,” she said softly, he jolted, dropping her hand. She only smiled, sitting on the couch. 

“W-Why?”

She hummed, starting to sort the clothes before her. Shirts. Pants. So on. 

“I don’t need a reason to be proud of you, I just am. But…I know it’s hard. Letting go, I mean.”

“Letting go?”

She peered at him through her lashes. “You’ve only touched your bed, that chair, parts of the bathroom and the kitchen. One room is closed. Your house feels like a ghost. You haven’t really touched anything since they died.”

He flinched. 

She kept her tone soft. “Grá rúnda, I’m not dumb. I can see these things.”

“That’s a new nickname,” he muttered.

“It is, but don’t change the subject. I was trained to be observant.” 

He sighed, fidgeting with the bandages around his arm. She wondered about the scars below the cloth. 

Remembering the old plague cross and the fires…she didn’t have to wonder long. 

“I know I was…blunt.” He snorted, she flushed red. “But I am right.”

His head snapped up. “But-”

Her look was soft but stern. “Giant, living in a house pleading the ghosts of the past is no way to move forward and change. You think I don’t know this? I watched my father almost be broken because of the death of my mother.” She held her hands up, barring her heart for him. Willingly this time. “I watched it almost destroy me and my family. Mamaí was the light in my daidí’s life. But it’s…not the same.”

She set a folded shirt by her side, staring at the holes in the next one. She wondered if he had embroidery hoops. 

“I know it’s not,” she whispered, her voice deathly quiet. “But moving on, happens. Want it or not, it will happen eventually.” She chuckled without humour. “You just had it yelled into you by me.”

She watched him stare at his feet. 

“I loved my mamí. Hell, I look just like her. I...know she isn’t coming back. But I can hold onto fond memories, can’t I? She wouldn’t want me…living my life the way I did. Goddess, she’d be furious with how we took her death. She once threatened to murder my father with a tree branch don’t you know.”

He chuckled and she smiled. There he was.

“You get your spitfire from her,” he murmured.

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. He wasn’t wrong. 

“She wouldn’t want me to live that way. She wouldn’t want my dadí to live that way. So would your family want you to live like that?”

He flinched, going quiet. His face slowly drained of colour. She bit her lip, hoping she didn’t cross a line.

His voice was barely audible. “No.”

“It’s your life to live,” she said, conviction strong in her voice. “So start living.”

He wouldn’t look at her, but his shoulders were shaking. He wasn’t crying, not yet. She moved off the couch and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his back. 

He held her hands tightly, his shaking in hers. She kissed his back through his shirt as he traced her scars, sending tingles down her spine. 

“What are these from?” he asked softly, voice thick with emotion. 

“Mirrors,” she replied, her voice sounding breathy even to her own ears. She could feel his confused look at her hands and she let out a small giggle, stretching up onto her tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck. His skin grew hot under her lips. “Story for another time.”

He kissed her fingers again, then her palms and wrists. Her heart was so loud, an ‘I love you’ at the tip of her tongue. 

She paused, kissing one of the visible scars on his shoulder. Now wasn’t the time for that. 

He didn’t need those words just yet. 

She laced their fingers together, squeezing his hands once before pulling away. While she knew she wasn’t ready to say it; she was ready to show it. 

“Oh! Do you have embroidery hoops?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. When he met her eyes she could see how grateful he was about the subject change. She knew this was hard, and as much as they acted like an...old married couple (her cheeks flushing red at the thought) he was still hurting. 

“If you don't, that's okay!” she finished with a smile. “I was just-”

“I do.”

“H-Huh?”

He smiled, it wasn’t forced, just a bit more emotional than usual. She hoped she didn’t cross a line. “I have a basket of...that stuff. My grandma used to embroider.”

“Oh. Oh! You...you’d let me use that?”

He nodded, moving inside the room she knew nothing about. A second bedroom? 

She wasn’t going to push it. 

He left the room with a basket, she could see hoops and embroidery floss. Her expression brightened.

“So, what are you gonna do with this?” he asked as she took the basket from his hands. 

Humming, she set a shirt on her lap, making a face at the amount of tiny tears in the hem of the fabric. She pulled out a larger hoop, doing her best to get all the tears in the hoop.

“What colour do you like best?” she asked, holding the floss up. 

He blinked at her ignoring his question. Then he looked down at the thread in her hands.

“Um…the dark blue? And the silver?”

She grinned, putting the rest of the colours back. “Why dark blue?” She looked back up at him. “Not the light blue?”

“I like the dark blue better,” he said with a little smile. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, before moving away.

They worked together, with only her voice filling the quiet.

She talked about anything and everything. Her family, her adventures away from home. All of it. Stories from the clinic made him laugh the most.

Finally, he had plopped down on the couch next to her, watching her work.

She leaned into his side, his arm going around her shoulders as he kissed the top of her head.

She held up the shirt she was working on. She was almost done, with silver and dark blue dog paws climbing up the hem. 

“It’s lovely- wait, is that my shirt?”

“It is! I um…hope you don’t mind.”

His face was almost glowing when he looked at her. “Thank you, it’s cute.”

Her smile made her cheeks hurt. “I can show you the basics, if you’d like.”

“Basics? Of embroidery?”

She nodded, digging through the basket to pull out scrap fabric.

Moving slowly she slowed him how to put the cloth into the hoop, tightening and then handing it over to him.

“You thread the floss like this…then you knot it. Keep some space so it doesn’t fall apart.”

He nodded, nervously taking the needle. She dug around for a fabric pen and sketched out a simple design. A heart was how she started. It was fairly simple and you could do all sorts of stitches inside.

She kissed his cheek. “Try sewing along the lines I drew here. It’s like you’re actually sewing.” She showed him, poke the needle up, bring it down and so forth. “Be careful about pricking yourself.”

He nodded, tongue sticking out a little as he focused on the stitches. She snuggled into his side, finishing up the paws on his shirt.

“Like this?” he asked after a moment. She looked over at his work and smiled.

“Exactly! You’re doing great.”

His face flushed at the praise, staring at his hands. “Am I? I feel like my hands are a little…too big for this.”

She smiled, covering his hands with hers as she leaned against him. Her fever had gone down but she was still cold. 

She yawned a little. Of course now she was sleepy. And the headache was coming back.

“You’re…doing great,” she murmured with a sleepy smile. “Practice makes perfect! And your hands are fine. My dad knits don’t ya know. And he’s maybe a little shorter than you! He does just fine.”

He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “You sound tired.”

“Mm not tired.” She yawned. “At all.”

He set his practice hoop down. She looked up at him, a question on her lips.

His smile was a little wolfish and a lot smug. 

Quickly, he kissed her. 

“Told you I’d get a kiss,” he murmured, kissing her cheek.

She blushed. “Idiot, you could get sick.”

He moved the folded clothes off the couch into a nice stack on the floor, the halfway done embroidery work she was doing on top. 

Yawning himself, he scooted down the couch (legs hanging off the end).

She was perched on his legs, grumbling to herself as he smiled.

“How about a power nap?” he asked, teasing in his voice. She made a face at him but shifted down and tucked her head under his chin. 

“Hmph,” she huffed, snuggling into his chest. 

She yawned again, closing her eyes. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“What? What for?”

She let out a happy hum. “For cleaning. I know…it’s hard.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble.”

“Mmm I’m trouble too.”

He snorted softly, rubbing the back of her head and holding her close. “Well at least you’re cute, Trouble.”

She giggled softly, yawning again. 

“Sleep now, Thumbelina.”

“We have many nicknames.”

“Little goose?”

She giggled again. “Gander.”

He chuckled, letting out a soft sigh. “Get some sleep, Firefly.”

“O…‘kay.”

She knew she was falling. Falling down a deep pit with nothing to see or hear. She didn’t know how long she would fall, how far. How much it would hurt when she landed.

She just knew he’d be there to catch her when she finally found the bottom.

He murmured something to her hair as she fell asleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Horrors, Waking and Otherwise

A short drabble based on an anon request for obsessive Peter Parker and this comic. Just a random little thing I did as a break from everything else. Possible continuations in future but no promises. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: abduction, imprisonment, possessiveness.

Summary: You are a kept woman, but not a happy one.

Your boots splashed through puddles as rain spat down from the dark sky. You clung to your purse as it bounced on your hip. The street lights reflected off the wet road as the shadows of the building swallowed you up. You glanced back. He was gone.

The man appeared several streets back. At first, you thought you were paranoid but you couldn’t lose him. You’d even tried taking a shortcut through a Korean grocer. He followed, his pace steady and only six feet back. Then you broke into a run and he did too. He tailed you easily as you gasped for air. But he just disappeared. 

You slowed and turned around to make sure he was gone. You didn’t know who he was or where he’d come from but you were almost home. You just needed to get home. You spun back and kept a brisk pace as you took the last corner to your building.

You climbed the stairs in two steps and barreled inside. You fumbled for your keys as your heart continued to race. Before you could stick the right one in the slot, the door opened again. It was the man, it had to be. Same build, same hoodie pulled low over his face, the same stance. He was on you in a moment and that’s when it went black.

You awoke with a start. The nightmare came often but was nothing compared to your living one. The purgatory you’d lived in since that day. And it played over in your head. Again and again. As if your mind was telling you all that you had done wrong. You let out a long breath and touched your forehead.

The light flicked on. It was motion-activated. You’d figured that out your first day there. The room was small and windowless. More aptly described as a closet. A bed, a toilet much like those found in a prison cell, a sink, a single night table with three books beneath it, a small portable DVD player atop it with as many movies. They changed every now and then.

You were halfway through Beowulf. You’d read it in high school and just like then, you depended heavily on the translations. Your old English had never been great. You would likely finish it within a day or two. You might take a break and watch something. The movies were outdated; some from as far back as the 30s. You would sit against the wall and watched the small screen as the room dissolved around you. The only escape you had.

Except for him. The knock filled the room and you sat up. You pushed the blanket away and slid to the edge of the bed. You wore a plain, shapeless grey dress. The door opened and you stood. He held a folded towel as he held the door open.

“Time to get washed up.” He said evenly, his voice distorted by the mask. Black and featureless, his eyes covered by a dark mesh which both concealed and allowed him to see. “Come on.’

You knew the routine. Once you bathed, he’d feed you and try to talk. When that didn’t work, he’d take you back to the room and lock you in. Two more meals a day, two more silent meetings, and two more turns of the lock. You stood and he handed you the towel.

He stood beside the door and waited for you to exit ahead of him. The place was small, barren, sterile in a way. You walked past the table of two to the narrow door just before the counter that divided kitchen and dining area. You stepped inside and he was close behind. The door shut with a click.

All modesty was lost. The camera wasn’t hard to notice in the corner of your cage. He’d seen everything already. You undressed in the small bathroom as he bent over the tub and cranked the faucet. He tested the water with his hand and put the plug in place. He pushed himself away and stood against the wall. You didn’t look at him as you stepped into the basin.

You lowered yourself into the warm water and a sigh slipped from your lips. There was little that soothed you these days. The heat embraced you as the water rose around you. As the tub filled up, the man neared again and turned it off. 

He pulled up the short stool from beneath the sink and sat on it. He took the loufa from the ledge and wetted it before he added soap. You lowered your head and stretched out your arm for him to scrub. You hated this part. He was gentle but firm; the soap was vanilla scented. You hated that too.

When he finished your arms, you stood and he did too. You bent your leg and placed your foot on the edge of the tub. He scrubbed both legs, his hands lingering around you thighs. You tried not to shiver as he tickled you unintentionally. 

Then he washed your neck, chest, and stomach. He got lower and his hand paused just along your vee. He sharply pulled his hand away and motioned for you to turn. You did and he scrubbed your back. When he was finished, you lowered yourself back into the water. You splashed the water up your shoulders and rinsed away the suds.

He took the plastic cup that sat on the lip of the tub and dipped it under the surface. He poured it over your head as you leaned back. It was hair day. He soaked your locks entirely and added the herbal shampoo. He rinsed it and brushed his nails along your scalp. When he was done you wiped your face clean with your hands.

He retreated and you stayed as you were. He’d let you relax until the water was lukewarm. Then you’d eat. He held up the towel when you unplugged the tub and you let him wrap it around you. You stood on the mat and dried you until you were no longer sopping. He handed you the robe hung on the back of the door.

He opened the door and let you lead again. You sat at the table as he went to the kitchenette. He returned with a bowl of Cheerios. He sat close and turned your chair to face him. He took the spoon and scooped up a mouthful. You gritted your teeth before you forced your mouth open. He fed you a bite at a time, careful to wipe away any dribble with his thumb.

When you finished, he got up and took your bowl to the sink and rinsed it. You waited for him to return. He sat and you shook your head as you glared at the wall behind him. He shifted in his chair and clutched his knees.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

You shrugged and pushed yourself to your feet. “Should go back, shouldn’t I?”

“No,” He touched your wrist. “Sit. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sighed and sat heavily. The chair scraped on the floor. You blinked at him, unsure what to say. The words to express all the resent and anger that boiled inside of you wouldn’t come.

“Tell me.” He repeated.

You chewed your lip as your thought and then your cheeks burned, and the back of your neck. The bile seared the back of your throat.

“Why--” You paused and cleared your throat. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I never wanted to be here.”

It was his turn to shake his head. He sat back. “No, no, no,” He raised his hands defensively. “No. I brought you here because it’s what’s best for you. For us. You… have to want this, you understand? Because it’s what you need.”

“I don’t,” You insisted and crossed your arms.

“You… need more time,” He argued as he leaned forward. “You don’t belong out there alone. You belong in here, with me. I’m the only one who can--”

He stopped suddenly and stood. He held a finger up and inhaled deeply, as if restraining himself.

“Come on,” He grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. “You should get dressed. Catch up on your reading.”

“I don’t want to read!” You tried to tear your arm away from him. He was strong despite his lithe stature. “I’ve been reading for-for-for-- God knows how long! You can’t keep me here.”

“I have to,” He snarled as he opened the door. “I have to.” He shoved you inside. “And one day,” He said as he gripped the door. “You’ll thank me.”

He closed the door and you watched the handle jiggle as he locked it. You dropped your arms and hung your head. You felt the tears and sniffed them back. You hadn’t cried since the first night. You slowly crossed to the bed and sat. You bent and reached for your copy of Beowulf. 

The cover fell open and revealed the title page. Scribbled in the corner were two initials; P.P. You stared at them for a time. The book was worn and on its back cover, it still bore the library slip which marked it as stolen property from Midtown High School. You found your spot and laid back on the thin mattress.

‘like ice when the world's/ Eternal Lord loosens invisible/ Fetters and unwinds icicles and frost/ As only He can, He who rules/ Time and seasons, He who is truly/ God.’

Your eyes swept over the prose without understanding. Your mind was in the dining room, across the table from him. Morning after morning staring at a featureless face. Molested by this monster. Trapped in this dungeon he called home. But it was not yours. And you were not his.

You closed the book and rolled over. You’d rather the nightmare.

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 13

For years, her house has been empty, a void for just her and Jack. Harry had done as she asked, and disappeared. Gemma went off to school, and then work, only showing up every few days to make sure Anne was still alive. It wasn't the same, nothing was the same without Harry there. He held them together. And now he's gone, living God knows where with God knows who, hurting people for a living. If boxing is what he's still doing.

The faucet is running, steam rising up from the sink and towards the water stained ceiling. It's been leaking for some time, but Anne's done nothing to stop the water. It the house collapses, maybe she'll be lucky enough for it to happen while Jack's home.

She can hear him chuckling along to the tv in the living room, and her bum throbs remembering the way he'd smacked it when she stepped in front of the TV earlier to collect his dinner plate. She starts to scrub at the dirty dishes, not minding the way the water burns her skin. Behind her, the skillet boils with water to get rid of the buildup of grease in it, and the sound of it pulls her into a sort of daydream. She can't help but think of Harry, her baby boy. She wonders if he's okay, if he's made something of himself. She'd like to think he has, but she just doesn't see how boxing could've gotten him anything. He's probably on the streets or living out of friends home, scraping by. He's probably lonely and afraid. Her eyes sting with tears and she doesn't realize she's dropped a wine glass until it's shattering by her feet.

She gasps, jumping back and wincing when a sharp sting cuts through the heel of her foot. She's stepped on a piece of the glass. Her foot is not her main concern though, because she can hear the recliner spring into place and Jack's heavy steps.

"For fucks sake!" Jack bellows, and he's grabbing Anne's shoulder and shoving get back. She feels paralyzed as the base of her spine rattles against the countertop, and her elbow bumps over the cookbooks and cutting board and paper towel rack on the counter. They clatter loudly, and Jack swears again as he focuses on Anne's trembling figure.

"I-it was an accident-"

"You were thinking of that stupid boy again!" Jack accuses, and he's not wrong, but Anne doesn't admit it. Because Harry's not stupid, not like she once thought he was.

"N-No! I'm just tired!" He grabs her elbow again, throwing her into the wall by the entrance way. Her side smacks into the wall, bones rattling painfully and she sobs.

"Stop lying to me!" Jack screams, face turning purple under his grey beard. He kicks the glass on the floor, the fragile material crunching under his boot. It slides against the floor unit it's about to hit her feet, and she screeches. Jack is glaring at her like she's the actual devil, and she knows it's only a matter of seconds before he storms at her. Without thinking she takes off out of the kitchen and down the hall, running into the bathroom and locking the door.

"ANNE!" Jack roars, boots beating against the creaky floor. He pounds his fist into the door, the plane of wood trembling under his anger. Anne does the same, stumbling backwards and falling into the tub. The curtain comes down with her weight, falling underneath her as she sobs and shakes. She wishes she had her phone, wishes Jack hadn't taken it and stomped on it with his heel for texting Gemma about Harry.

Her vision blurs around her, blocking out everything but the quaking door, and Anne can't help but think of Harry. It's been so many years, so many long years, but she knows if he were here he'd be standing in front of that door to protect her.

"Harry, Harry, Harry..." She mutters like a prayer, squeezing her eyes shut as the smoke alarm starts to blare throughout the house. Anne flinches, whimpering and holding her hands over her ears. This isn't real, this is Jack. He set them off to try and get her to come out. She squeezes her eyes shut, mumbling her son's name until she feels like she's in a dream. Eventually the smell of smoke fills the bathroom, burning her lungs, but she's too stuck in her brain too move. She doesn't know how long she's sat there, coughing and choking out his name as she realizes she's going to die. She's going to die and it's all because she let Jack tear her family apart, hurt her babies. She's a terrible mother, she deserves to die.

Anne's head pounds, and bile rises in her throat. The banging on the door gets stronger, and Anne screams when it busts open. Someone speaks over the alarm and what sounds like sirens, but she can't hear them. Arms wrap around her, and she trembles and scratches, desperate to be let free, to be released.

Eventually she's drug out of the house, realizing that the house is in fact burning in orange flames. Firefighters are working to put it out, and she finally sees that one of them is who's holding her. "Ma'am, I need you to take a deep breath, you're okay!" The firefighter shouts in her ear, setting her on some vehicle and lifting an oxygen mask over her face.

"Who's Harry? Is he inside?" The man asks, and Anne realizes she's still crying for her son.

"My son, he's gone, I made him leave!" She cries, "I need my son, my baby-my son-"

Arms wrap around her again, and she sobs in the strangers hold. She doesn't know where Jack is, but she doesn't care. She needs to find Harry.

She thinks she hears Jack in the background, but again she doesn't know. And she doesn't know that after tonight, Jack will be arrested for domestic violence, a restraining order placed against him, Gemma will move Anne into her home, and together, they'll find Harry.

~

His stomach bubbles and twists, churning as Anne falls silent. The only sound in the room are soft snores coming out of Arlo's sleeping figure. Y/n is rubbing a smoothing circle into his shoulder blade with the hand that's not holding their son against her chest, and while it does help, it doesn't help enough. Because he's still mad. He's really fucking mad and he's not entirely sure why. He doesn't really have any reason to be other than the fact that Anne and Gemma never told him anything. They had so many chances to say something to him, literally anything along the lines of "our childhood home was lit on fire" would've worked. But they never did. Even when they knew he was coming back here, they expected him to just not find out? To not want to go back there?

Harry nibbles on the rough patch of skin on his thumb, nostrils flaring as he tries to calm his thundering veins. He doesn't want to yell at them or fight. He's tired of fighting. He wants everything to be okay now, wants to have a normal family now.

Like the beam of a lighthouse through fog, y/n and Arlo flood through his mind. Her hand feels heavier on his back, seeping into the tense muscles with warmth, and Arlo's snores vibrate in his chest and head. Finally, he removes his thumb from his mouth, running his hand through his hair.

"M'going to bed," he mumbles, purposely not looking at Anne or Gemma as he climbs up from the kitchen floor. Careful not to step on the leftover pizza box that liters the floor, he reaches down to help y/n up, pushing her hair out of Arlo's face so he continues to sleep peacefully.

"Harry-"

"G'night." He interrupts Gemma, stepping away from them and into the living room that now only contains their air mattress and bags. He hears y/n bidding good nights and sharing hushed words with them as he roughly tugs off his shoes and jeans, throwing them in the direction of his bag. Y/n walks in, Arlo still resting limply against her, and carefully lays him in the middle of the bed.

Harry slides onto the bed, turning his back to the kitchen where Anne and Gemma are quietly cleaning up the pizza they'd brought for dinner and then heading to their rooms. He lays his palm over Arlo's tummy, eyes lazily falling over his baby as his little lips part with heavy breathes and how his eyelashes touch his cheeks. Y/n disappears into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in her pajamas. She's quiet as she climbs into the bed, turning on her side to face Harry.

"Don't be too mad at them bubba," she says quietly, reaching over to rub her fingers up and down his arm. He meets her eyes, heat pooling in his chest at her heavy eyelids and frowning lips. And while she'll always be an angelic sight, especially when she's falling asleep next to him, he can't help but be annoyed with her words. She's knows him better than anyone, but she doesn't know how this feels, doesn't know what it's like to not be a part of a family, because she's always had a perfect one.

He just huffs, nuzzling his head further into his pillow and letting his eyes fall shut. He doesn't want to pick a fight with her, and he knows if he responds honestly at all they'll end up somewhere he doesn't want to be now. Y/n doesn't respond, but he hears her sigh and then leave over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Her hand continues to stroke his arm, soothing him into the same snores coming from Arlo.

~

He doesn't button the top three buttons of his shirt, not wanting to feel suffocated more than he already is. Arlo, who's sat in the bathroom sink with Bunny, coos at Harry, little hand reaching out to touch his silk shirt. He's always loved to touch Harry's silk clothes.

"We look nice, huh?" Harry mururms, looking down at Arlo's big eyes. He's in a plain white shirt that buttons between his legs with dark brown pants over his legs and little white vans that are so small they don't even tie. Arlo smiles, a gummy little grin that sinks dimples into his face, and smacks his hand against Harry's tummy.

"Not very talkative tonight bug," Harry says, running his hand through his hair before lifting Arlo out of the sink. Arlo lays his head on his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric. "ya babbled and babbled yesterday."

Arlo just sighs as Harry exits the bathroom, and he thinks that's an accurate response to the mess that was yesterday. First Zayn, and then the house, and then Anne and Gemma and even y/n treating Harry like he had no reason to be upset. Yesterday was a bad day, Harry thinks dejectedly.

Y/n is setting folded clothes into her bag, straightening out the summer dress she's changed into. It's billowy and white, just boarding on see through, and Harry's heart pounds in his ears. She looks angelic.

"You ready to go?" Y/n asks, having turned to face them. She's got a sad little smile on her lips, obviously upset that Harry's been short with her all day. Harry nods, grabbing his keys off the empty fireplace mantle. He doesn't know where Gemma and Anne are but he doesn't care. They know that the dinner reservations are at 7 and they'll either be there or they won't.

Y/n exits the house, swinging the door back even though she knows Harry's coming out behind her, and he catches it last minute, the wood smacking against his palm so loudly Arlo jumps. Harry huffs, nose flaring but he shushes Arlo into snuggling back up against his shoulder.

Anne and Gemma, who were sitting on the porch steps, follow y/n to the car, an uncomfortable bubble of silence surrounding them as y/n closes her door and the other two women climb in. Harry grunts, frustrated because he really doesn't want to fight with y/n, she knows he hates fighting with her, and yet she's still pushing his buttons.

"Buying dinner for three intolerable women," Harry mutters to Arlo, who bumps his little nose into Harry's chin as he moves to look at him. "and one honey bug." He quickly adds, pleased to have his boy with him. He pulls open the door, ignoring Anne and Gemma's gaze as he buckles Arlo into his carseat. He whines when he's out of touching range of Harry, cheeks going red and tears welling in his eyes.

"Don't give me any back talk mister," Harry mutters, tightening his shoulder straps. "s'only a ten minute drive."

Arlo continues to cry, the sound being heard outside the vehicle Harry quickly gets in, buckling his seatbelt and starting the car. Harry backs out of the driveway, waiting for them to get on the main road before reaching over the center console for y/n's hand. He hers her sigh, but she doesn't hesitate to lace her fingers through his.

~

The words of his textbook stare back at him, going on and on about anti-federalists but Harry can't really get any of it to stick in his brain. He's reread this chapter twice tonight and it still hasn't registered in his brain how exactly the federalists and anti-federalists compromised because Jack's slurring loudly from the kitchen.

Harry sighs, tossing his book onto his mattress and climbing up. He pulls open the door open his bedroom, leaning against the frame when he finds his mom mopping in the hallway.

"Mum," he murmurs quietly, catching her attention. She looks up at him, haltering her movements. "I can't study with him bloody screaming."

Anne blinks at him, tired face falling and she nods. Harry gives her a sympathetic smile, and Anne calls out over her shoulder, "Jack, could you lower it a bit? Harry's got a test to study for!"

The shouting stops, and both Harry and Anne smile in relief. He's about to turn back into his room when Jack enters the hallway.

"What did you say?" Jack asks, and Harry knows by the way he's looking at Anne that he'd threatening her to repeat herself.

"I'm trying to study and you're being too loud." Harry says bitterly, glaring at the man down the hall. Jack's eyes flash up to Harry, head cocking.

"Life's unfair kid, get used to it."

"Jack-"

"Shut up Anne!"

Harry's pushing himself off the doorway before he can properly think, pushing Anne to stand him behind him. "Don't talk to her like that." Harry warns, teeth clenching.

"Don't tell me how to talk to my wife-"

"Don't talk to my mother that way!"

Anne grabs Harry's shoulder, trying to pull him back before the rising tension gets too high. Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

"Tell your mother to stop being a bitch-"

Jack's sentence is cut off by the loud crunch of Harry's fist colliding with his nose. The man stumbles back, shocked, but Harry doesn't give him a chance to recoup before he's swinging again. Anne let's a shrill scream of Harry's name, but it falls on deaf ears as he clambers on top of the crumpled man. Harry's stuck in a haze of pent up anger and hurt and hatred, and he's taking it all out on Jack.

Harry can't feel his hands as they continuously fall down onto Jack's face, his brain going through the simple boxing technique he's been perfecting for weeks. Right, left, right, right, left...

Jack's hands press at Harry's torso and claw at his forearms, but he's gone weak. Too much blood is staining his shirt and smearing against his face. Too much blood is splattering off of Harry's bare knuckles. He's not sure how long he continues to rain hell on Jack until two hands are ripping him off by the waist, and the shouts of Anne and Gemma are filling his head.

Gemma throws him back with a strength he didn't know she had, cursing under her breath as she rushes forward to kneel by Jack. Harry's chest heaves, and his knuckles throb painfully but he feels good. He feels really fucking good. A smirk is tugging up the corner of his lips as he turns to his mother.

"Mum-"

"No Harry!" She spits, eyes blazing with rage. The pride, the accomplished feeling that was puffing in his chest fades, and he deflates.

"Wha'?" He mumbles, feeling dizzy as Anne grips his bicep harshly and shoves him in the direction of his room.

"Look at what you've done!" She screams, throwing her arms out wildly. Behind her, Gemma's carrying a groaning and almost unconscious Jack towards the bathroom. "Look at what you've done to my family!"

Harry's head swirls, stumbling into the doorway. His hands pound and ache, so bad he thinks cutting them off wouldn't hurt as much. "F-family?" Harry stutters, confused as to how she can call this a family. He's not even sure why she's mad. What did he do wrong? He stood up for her? He's getting rid of the man that's tormented them for so long.

"Mum, what-"

"Stop Harry! You're not-you're not my Harry!" Anne snarls, looking Harry up and down as if he were loam. "My Harry would never do that! He doesn't even know how to fight like that!"

Harry's heart pounds, pressing into his ribs so hard it hurts. "I-I am your Harry, I just-I just can protect us now. I box mum, I got strong for us." He desperately explains, tears building in his eyes at the way Anne continues to glare at him.

"You box?" She gasps, shaking her head in disgust. "No! No child of mine would be like you!"

"Mum, why-"

"Stop calling me that!" Anne shouts, so loud the floor seems to shake under Harry's feet. The tears spill over, tumbling down his cheeks and he goes to wipe them until he sees the excessive amount of blood on his hands.

"Please-"

"You need to leave!" Anne tells him cruelly, shoving him into his room. Sobbing and weak he stumbles to the floor, looking up at Anne in fear.

"What? Where?"

"I don't care. Anywhere but here!" She slams his door shut, ignoring the way he wails and furiously rips off his blood stained shirt to try and clean his hands. He rubs his knuckles furiously, tearing at the already cut skin until it's his own blood that's covering them, but he doesn't care because it still doesn't hurt the way his heart does.

~

Dishes clatter as the waitress stacks their plates up. Arlo squirms in Harry's hold as he wipes his face with a napkin, only for Arlo to blop a spit bubble out onto his chin. Harry huffs, sliding his plate towards the waitress and his chest sinks when he sees the pile of green beans on it. Usually y/n takes them, but tonight she'd just left them on his plate, not that he can blame her. One) they're disgusting, and two) there's still an uncomfortable tension between them. One that's been present all night, limiting conversation to just y/n, Anne, and Gemma, or Harry, Arlo, and y/n. And even y/n was quiet when talking to him.

Harry starts to settle Arlo into his carseat, pausing when the waitress comes back to give the check. Harry doesn't hesitate to send her with his card, grumbling an "mhm" when Anne and Gemma quietly thank him. He buckles Arlo in, tucking his blanket around him because it's cold out, and then grabbing the diaper bag from under the table.

"I've got it love." Y/n murmurs, taking the bag from him and pulling it over her shoulder. He thanks her, lifting Arlo's carseat in his hand and leading the girls out of the restaurant. He holds the door for them, looking down at Arlo so he doesn't have to look at them. The door has barely shut when he hears a startled gasp, his head snapping up to look over the line of girls. He immediately hands the carseat to who's closest, Gemma being the one to grab Arlo and Harry pushes to stand in front of his family. His fingers clench into fists, shoulders tensing up as he glares at the man in front of him.

"You're still around then?" Jack chuckles, looking Harry up and down with a smirk.

"Yeah. M'glad can't I say the same about you." Harry easily replies. He doesn't know how Jack's here, after what happened he should be in jail still. "Suppose it's hard to stay around with a restraining order against ya."

Jack clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. "Suppose you won't be around for long considering that temper of yours. How long before you hurt another family member, huh? Maybe that baby of yours?"

He takes a step forward, fury flooding through him and he feels proud when Jack takes a step back. "Don't fucking talk about my family. You were never family, you were a drunk prick that used and hurt my family!"

Jack scoffs, eyes blazing in the same way that haunted his dreams for so long. "I fixed your family after that father of yours left a fucking mess behind! Imagine the life you'd have if you hadn't almost killed me!"

"I wish I had fucking killed you!" Harry spits, "You abused her for years, you sent Gemma away after you fucking lied to her, you stole the fucking money from me, you kept them from my wedding and from my child! You deserve to die!"

Jack stalks forward, standing so close to Harry there's toes touch, and he glares into Harry's eyes. Harry's so mad he thinks he could beat him to a pulp again, until he's gasping for breath and begging Harry to stop.

"Then do it Styles." Jack spits, and Harry knows what he's doing. He's trying to break him. Either Harry beats him like he wants to, and he more than likely ends up in prison, or he loses his family. The last time he hit him he lost everything.

Jack shoves him back, spurring him on and Harry hates that he's got no choice here. Before anyone can move a muscle or Harry can even think of what to say someone is pulling him back, and stepping in front of him.

"Don't fucking touch my husband!" Y/n snarls, so menacing that even Harry falters. And that little falter is enough time for her to cock her fist back and throw it into Jack's jaw. Harry's eyes widen, and Gemma and Anne gasp as Jack's head snaps to the right. Y/n immediately curses, bringing her hand to her chest and wiggling in that way she does when she's hurt.

"Fuck," Harry mutters, grabbing her by the waist and tugging her back. Jack gathers his bearings, glaring at y/n with a busted lip and storming towards her.

"You little bit-" he's cut off by Harry's fist, this time the hit so hard he crumples to the sidewalk with a thud.

"Oh my God," y/n mumbles, and Harry knows Jack's out cold so he turns to y/n. She's silently crying and looking down at her left hand in shock. Harry reaches for it, apologizing when she winces. Her knuckle is cut, and her hands already swelling.

"Gotta take this off baby." Harry says, carefully prying her wedding ring off. He carefully drops it into his pocket, bringing her hand up to press a kiss to it. Gemma is on the phone behind him, obviously calling the police but he keeps his attention on his wife. She sniffles, looking up at him through her wet eyelashes and her bottom lip trembles.

"I can't believe you did that." Harry whispers, reaching up to wipe her cold tears. Y/n falls into his chest, and Harry wraps an arm around her, cupping the back of her head.

"Couldn't let you risk losing them again." She mumbles into his clothes, sniffling again. His heart jumps, and he chuckles in disbelief. She's always been good at understanding him, at navigating his silence. She knew he wouldn't be the first to hit Jack because of what happened last time.

"S'a good thing I taught ya to hit then." He laughs. "and it was a bloody good hit baby." She pulls back from him, mascara smeared under her eyes and trying to flex her fingers.

"It fucking hurts," she says bitterly, "I can't believe you do this all the time."

"Usually got gloves on." Harry snickers, rubbing his thumb over the uninjured part of her hand. "I'll put some ice on it for ya, fix you right up baby."

She smiles, grateful and sniffles again. "What happened to darling?"

"You're my baby tonight, baby." He kisses the top of her head, bringing her back to his chest for a moment. "Let's get you and Arlo in the car, s'too cold out here."

She obeys, and Harry leaves Gemma and Anne with Jack, who's been detained by restaurant security. Harry loads Arlo into the car, helping y/n into the front seat. He even squishes in the seat with her, closing the door and squeezing her close to him. They stay cuddled together, neither of them speaking as Arlo starts to snore from the backseat. Harry doesn't move until the police arrive, pressing a kiss to her head. Before he leaves to go speak with the officers, he leaves her the car keys and of course, mumbles an "I love you baby."

~

His laptop sits at the edge of the bed, Lady and the Tramp playing from Disney+ as Harry ices y/n's hand. Arlo is still snoring behind them, and y/n is getting droopy on his shoulder, his own eyes feeling heavy.

"Thank you for tonight y/n." Harry mumbles, kissing the top of her head. She doesn't move, but he can feel her smile.

"Of course," she whispers, "I'd do anything for you Harry."

Her fingers gently pat his thigh, the ice rattling from the movement and Harry shushes her before she can irritate her hand more. "M'so fucking glad I never have to come back to this town again."

"Never?"

"Never," Harry confirms, "because everything I need is in our city, in our home, and in our family."

"What about your dad?"

"I think he'd be happy knowing we've all left this behind us. I've said my goodbye."

She finally lifts her head, blinking sluggishly as she kisses his cheek. "M'ready for us to go home."

"Me too baby." Harry mumbles, knowing he's already got his home with him when Arlo snorts quite loudly and y/n giggles.

[mommymooze]

Hey Dorte, Why the Long Face?

There is a mysterious illness affecting the animals in the stables. Marianne is beside herself with worry.

No real animals were harmed in the writing of this story. 

 Marianne always has dark circles under her eyes, however when Claude notices that the circles are much darker than usual and she is missing class, there must be something seriously wrong. The house leader searches all over the monastery and finally finds her in the stables. The weather is cold and she is bundled up in Dorte’s stall.

“What’s wrong? Why is Dorte lying on the ground?” Claude immediately notices that her very best horse friend is not looking too well.

“I don’t know Claude. He has been like this for days. I’m so worried for him!” She bursts into tears giving the large animal a hug around its neck.

The brunette checks around the stables, a few of the other horses aren’t looking too much better. He knows a lot about wyverns, but horses are pretty foreign to him. He heads directly to Byleth’s room.

“Knock knock. You in there teach? We have a problem!” Claude announces as he hears the Professor give permission to enter.

Profesors Byleth and Manuela are in the stables, checking on all horses and Pegasus.

“We have used healing spells before on horses, especially when they are injured in battles, but this is something I am not comfortable with.” Manuela ponders, tapping a finger on her lips.

“I wonder if my dad can shed some light.” Byleth offers.

Marianne whimpers every time Dorte twitches uncomfortably. She refuses to leave his side, so her fellow deer help build a nest for her and bring her something to eat and drink.

Lorenz is attending Gallicas, named after his mother’s favorite roses. His steed is also showing signs of illness and stress, however has not been lying down, Gallicas is breathing heavily, pacing in his stall and touching his midsection with his head.

“I have sent word to my father, he is going to send a horse cleric to help us. I do hope they make it in time.” The noble laments.

“Agreed.” Is heard from the next stall over as Ferdinand is brushing Cinnamon reassuringly. “These are not creatures nor beasts. They are our best friends and have been at our side through thick and thin. Extremely intelligent animals. Nobody listens better than your horse.”

“The Pegasus don’t seem to be nearly as affected as the horses.” Ingrid chimes in as she checks on Astra.

  A few hours pass before Jeralt and Leonie arrive at the stables. He looks over the horses as Leonie watches intently.

“I got nothing.” The Bladebreaker admits. “They look like they have stomachaches but being this listless and such is something I haven’t seen before.” Jeralt scratches his beard looking puzzled.

No amount of sweet treats such as apples or sugarcubes interest the huge equines. More and more of them begin to lay down and breathe heavily.

 The next morning a hail from the gatekeeper alerts everyone’s attention to the front gate. A huge Pegasus with iridescent pearl hair and feathers lands just outside the stables. A tall redheaded woman with a large black satchel dismounts the beautiful winged creature as she goes and scratches her flying mount under it’s almost glowing chin.

“Fantastic work Sparkles. Perfect flying!” She says encouragingly as she pats the gorgeous animal on its long neck. “Stay here. There are some sick friends inside, k?”

The Pegasus nods, tapping the ground with it’s sparkling silver hoof, pulling its wings close to its body.

 “What have we here?” Ruby announces her presence to the group of humans, horses and Pegasus.

“Thank the goddess!” Lorenz runs up to bow before her. “You are a vision in these dark times! Please help us. Our best friends are taken with a mysterious illness. We would be heartbroken should anything worse befall them.” Tears are falling from the man’s cheeks, just thinking of what could happen to his beloved Gallicas should this illness go on much longer.

Beautiful, empathetic Marianne bursts into tears, patting Dorte’s neck and clutching on to his mane as if she would fight off death trying to take her beloved best friend.

Ruby begins barking orders to anyone that is around. She requires four large buckets of water, two of them hot, but not boiling, every piece of hay and fodder removed from the stables and dumped into the courtyards.

The horse cleric kneels next to Dorte first, opening his mouth, feeling his teeth and gums, checking his tongue. Dorte quietly obeys. She quietly whispers to him the entire time. She checks his eyes, his ears, feeling his neck as she reaches down towards his belly. She places her ear on his chest, his stomach and his gut. Palpating his abdomen, pushing rather hard in some places, Dorte gives off a groan of sorts and she apologizes. Dorte patiently cooperates with her.

“I need a chart with the names of each patient, when did they eat last, urinate, defecate, how long they have been laying or showing any kinds of symptoms.” Ruby orders and the academy’s horsegirls scatter to get the information down.

Ruby exits the stables and literally bumps into Byleth. “You need to get me bottles of oil. Vegetable oil, any oils not made from meat that are liquid. I need a couple bowls and two large cookpots.”  Byleth makes an about face and runs to the kitchens.

The redhead goes straight for the fodder. At first she kicks the pile left and right, spreading the feed thin on the ground. She gets on her hands and knees and picks at a few of the dried grasses and weeds, gathering some into a pocket. She returns to her satchel, taking out multiple bamboo pieces, a funnel, several potions, rectangular pieces wrapped in wax covered cloth, multiple cloth bags full of something and a long handled wooden spoon. Taking each item one at a time she opens her long coat and places them in a specific pocket until her hands are free again.

Stepping into the stables just inside the door is a table with the four buckets of water. “Worktable, great! Going to need towels eventually.” She takes the cloth from the rectangular pieces, placing the soap next to the two warm buckets of water.

“First of all, no cross contamination. The person with the animal stays with that animal. If I say move, get away from the animal. Do as I say. No hesitation.” Ruby orders.  “Wash up when you come in, wash up when you leave. Don’t touch anyone else’s animals>”

Byleth returns with several students following with several different large containers full of oil and other requested items.

Ruby pours some leaves from each of three different bags into the cook pots. She instructs Byleth to fill them to a specific height with water, then heat them to as hot as her hand can stand in the water, not the cook’s hands. Bring them back with something clean to scoop out the liquid with, like a large bowl.

 The horse cleric heads over to Dorte who is obviously the sickest patient. Pouring oil into a bowl she takes out two pieces of bamboo, twisting them together to make a large tube. She first casts a relaxing and numbing spell on the huge beast. Dorte’s movements slow down as he rests his head on the ground closing his eyes. She oils the tube from the outside, then with Marianne’s help, gets the tube through the nostril into the horse’s throat. Ruby’s hand is on his throat, moving slowly and carefully until she can feel the horse swallow as the tube is at the proper position and it is into the stomach. She pulls the funnel from her pocket, putting it into the tube and Marianne pours the oil into the tube as Ruby listens to the animal’s gut. Finally she removes the tube and they lay Dorte’s head down. She casts another spell in the area of his stomach, then brings Marianne over to massage his gut. The healer then goes to the other end of the animal, not to give an enema, but to have some oil at the exit to assist Dorte in passing what is in his stomach and intestines.  

Ruby pours the bucket of cold water to rinse her arms, then washes her hands with the soap and warm water from the first bucket, rinsing them then washing again with the second bucket, rinsing them off again. She dries her arms and heads to the next animal. The standing animals are easier as they are not nearly as overcome with the sickness. Once the second animal is treated, she tells the owner to take them outside the gates for a long walk. Hopefully before they return the horse will hopefully have shaken things loose and let go of some manure and to inform her once they have returned.

Ruby turns back to Dorte. He has not passed anything. She needs to roll him over on his other side. She carefully guides Dimitri and Raphael to assist her with gently moving the huge horse. Marianne immediately starts her massaging on the other side of Dorte’s gut as Ruby listens to his internal organs. She reassuringly pats Marianne on the shoulder and smiles at the bluenette.

The horses having been treated, it is time to check on the Pegasus.  The winged beasts are extremely calm around Ruby as she looks after them one by one. She constantly whispers to the animals as she works with each of them. Scrubbing herself clean between each beast.

Preparing the water troughs for all of the creatures in the stables, she adds the special tea cooked in the kitchens pots to each of the animals drinking water The leaves are left in the water, digesting them will help calm the stomachs of the huge beasts. All of the horses except Dorte have been walked and have done well moving things through their systems. They are in their stalls and have been taking drinks of the tea water.  

Ruby lifts Marianne from the ground where she asleep, laying upon her best friend. She places the cleric on a soft bed of straw in an empty stall and covers her with one of several blankets brought for her.  

The horse cleric then returns her concentration on Dorte. She listens to his heart, then his gut. Speaking softly and reassuringly to the handsome horse, she casts a spell on his stomach area. She puts his bridle on him and encourages him to stand. He appears to have weakened his legs lying on them for so long, still he struggles and with much effort and encouragement he stands. The effort itself has broken a dam within him and manure is pouring out his backside. She washes him off and places him in an empty stall. Grabbing a wheel barrow she mucks out the stall, taking the mess outside. She listens again to Dorte’s gut and things sound like they are moving well through the animal now. His heart rate has slowed and his breathing is not as distressed.

Professor Byleth wakes with the sunrise and is surprised to see Sparkles is standing outside her door. She reaches out to the pearl white animal, it allows her to stroke its long neck and mane as it leads her to the stables. There she finds Ruby and Marianne sleeping and all of the horses alive and doing much better. She clears the muck in the wheelbarrow and all of the empty buckets and pots. Finally Ruby awakens after enough noise and immediately goes to check on all of the animals.

“Dorte is looking much better today. The other horses and Pegasus can go out and should be taken for exercise for at least an hour each. Dorte is still too weak for that much, but should be walked and given lots of water. I don’t want him eating much today and I have to educate everyone regarding some disturbing items in the food. I would like to gather anyone that cares for the animals here after breakfast.”

“Absolutely. Thank you so much for all of your help. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” Byleth says thankfully.

Marianne suddenly awakens, realizing she is not with Dorte. She runs over to him and hugs him around his neck, crying happy tears. “Dorte! You made it. You are so strong, so beautiful!”

Ruby pulls aside each animal caregiver, providing instructions for care and feeding until the animal is back at 100%.

 Every person in the monastery that has anything to do with the horses are called before Ruby. She shows them and passes around the items that were mixed in with the horses food.

She holds up a dried stem that looks like clover. “This is Alsike clover. The leaves and size of plant look very much like what we call red clover, which is sort of a reddish purple flower. White clover has white flowers and is much shorter growing. Red and White clover is fine for horses to eat with other food. The clover have a V like mark in their leaves of a lighter color. The Alsike clover has a pointed leaf like the red clover, the flower is more pink. But there is no lighter V on the leaf. Even when dry you can see the V on the leaf of the other two clover. There is enough of the Alsike clover in your feed to kill all of your animals. The Pegasus were affected to a lesser extent because they eat more grains.This feed is fine for cows, and sheep but horse feed cannot have this kind of clover. Whoever procures your animal feed must be aware of this. If you allow your horses to graze nearby, watch what they are eating. Horses don’t exactly know much difference about what is growing around them and will chomp on anything. Do not let them graze in buttercups, oleander and hemlock. The flowers should start blooming in the next month or so.

Clover is not the best feed for horses. Red clover tends to mold, it is the mold that will kill your friend. They can eat it as long as a lot of other grasses are in their food. My favorite grass is Timothy Hay.

Check your food storage frequently, turning over the looser fodder. Purification spells can be run by the clerics here to assist with keeping some molds in check.

Keep the stalls very clean. A concentration of most manure and it sitting for quite a while means maggots, flies and other nasty creatures to torment the horses, it also attracts mold.”

The students, knights, caretakers and Professors are all paying 100% attention to this lecture.

 “I must be getting back to my practice. Send a messenger should you need anything or have questions.” Ruby instructs Byleth.

The Professor nods. “Thank you so much. We sincerely appreciate your fast arrival. We could have lost so many animals to our mistakes.”

Ruby agrees. “Please make sure this is taken seriously, reinspect what the students have done. I hate to see animals come to harm.”

Byleth hands the horse cleric payment for the services. She takes the money and puts it in another one of her pockets.

“Follow me.” The redhead instructs. She leads Byleth to a barrel that is off to the side. In the bottom of the barrel is a pile of her Pegasus droppings. “Pegasus blessings your gardener would call them. Fill the barrel full of water when you have it by your greenhouse. Then let it sit for at least 2 hours. Stir it for a minute, then water your plants. Wait 5 days, fill the barrel 2/3 full. Water plants then 1/3 full. Sprinkle what remains in the barrel on the plants after 5 more days.”

Byleth smiles at this and thanks the redhead profusely.

Ruby calls Sparkles to her side. She checks her bags and makes everything secure. Suddenly Marianne bursts from the door of the stables and grabs the cleric into a huge hug.

“Dorte and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.” Marianne gasps as she squeezes the redhead.

“Dorte is a beautiful friend. Feed them good hay, carrots and pumpkins. For treats apples, pears, grapes and the occasional oatmeal raisin cookie. With you taking care of them, I am sure they will enjoy a long beautiful life.” The cleric gives the blunette a hearty squeeze back.

With that the horsecleric mounts her sparkling steed and heads off into the sky, the wings seem to shimmer with all of the colors of the rainbow as Byleth watches her fly off into the distance.

 Bonus??? Bad horse jokes:

Why can’t horses dance? They have two left feet.

What’s the hardest thing about learning to ride a horse? The ground!

What did the horse say when it fell? I’ve fallen and I can’t giddyup!

What does it mean if you find a horseshoe? Some poor horse is walking around in his socks.

[hookedonapirate]

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cottage on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.  

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1

Chapter 2

Five days later...

  Her eyes sting painfully as she stares at the folded scrub cap printed with green shamrocks one last time before she places it on the metal casket that holds her colleague. She sets a red rose on top of the cap and steps back, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her hand before someone hands her a tissue.

  She turns to her head and smiles at an elderly lady who had earlier told her she’d been one of his patients. “Thank you.”

  Emma had retrieved the scrub cap when she’d gathered the strength to clean out his locker yesterday. She got it for him a few years ago as a gag gift at the hospital’s annual Christmas party. Knowing Graham's sense of humor fairly well, she had strategically chosen the one with green shamrocks because she knew he would get a kick out of it, rather than take offense. She was right, and not only did he get a good laugh, but he also claimed it as his lucky scrub cap. 

  Cleaning out his locker was one of the most difficult things she’s ever had to do, and that’s saying something since she'd performed many surgeries and occasionally has to deliver grievous news to the family of her patients. 

  Wiping her tears with the tissue, she catches a glimpse of the bootlace she’d unlaced from one of his boots and tied around her wrist. While most of the surgeons at the hospital wore clogs, he preferred boots because he said the operating room was a battlefield so he wanted to be prepared for the guts and gore that sometimes escaped during surgery. 

  Emma still can’t believe he’s gone. No more friendly sparring, no more friendly bickering about who’s the better surgeon, no more trying to mock his accent, but miserably failing. No more Graham Humbert. 

  His death was not only shocking but came way too soon. He was too young. Way too young. He was only thirty-eight. And on top of that, he was murdered in cold blood. Someone showed up to Storybrooke General, snuck past the security and drove a blade into Graham’s heart.

  The last time she saw him was the night he was murdered, when they were standing outside the bar, when he kissed her cheek. She had no idea when she said goodbye to him that night, she was saying goodbye to him for the last time.

  She returns to the hospital for her post-op patients after the funeral, relieved to replace her high heels for crocs, but unfortunately doesn’t have time to change out of her dress. She hates dressing up, and even though she wore a skirt every day in the courtroom, she couldn’t justify throwing on something casual, and instead wanted to put some effort into her attire for her friend, so she wore a dress to the funeral. 

  Emma is still reeling from his death, as is everyone who knew him. There was a large turnout at his funeral. He was well-liked and highly respected. And he was good at what he did. He wouldn't have been appointed Chief of Surgery if he weren't. After checking on her post-op patients, she briefs three others for their surgeries tomorrow morning. 

  The sky is pitch black when she finally leaves the hospital and strides across the parking lot to her car. She continuously peeks over her shoulder with an eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glances over at the guard on duty, but it doesn't make her feel any more at ease considering a murder took place five days ago even though a different guard had been keeping a vigilant eye out. She’d heard he took some time off after he found Graham dead in the parking lot. The reminder of that horrible tragedy fills Emma with dread.

  After safely making it inside her car, she releases a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.  She has crossed this parking lot hundreds, probably thousands of times and never once has she ever looked over her shoulder… until she found out Graham was murdered in this same parking lot. 

By the time she pulls into her garage that night, she’s bone-tired after a long, emotionally draining day. She’d performed her morning rounds and two surgeries before the funeral that thankfully went smoothly. She’s so glad she didn’t have to break any bad news to anyone today because that would’ve made the funeral much more difficult to handle. In hindsight, she probably should’ve moved each surgery to a future date, but she’d already rescheduled them once before because of the ten days she served as a juror and didn’t want to further inconvenience her patients. She knew Graham would have understood.

  Emma trudges through the kitchen door from the garage, scanning the mail she’d retrieved from her mailbox before she’d pulled into her driveway. She’s ready to crawl into bed after a long, dreary day—no, after the long, dreary few weeks she’s had—but first, she needs to wind down. She could definitely use a hot cup of cocoa. So as soon as she deposits her bag and mail on the table, she makes a cup of hot cocoa, but not from the powdered stuff. 

  She boils fresh ingredients on the stove and adds some milk to the pot before removing it from the heat and adding vanilla extract. She whisks the mixture until it’s frothy and pours the beverage into a mug, but she purposely doesn’t choose her World’s Best Surgeon mug she received from Graham on her thirty-eighth birthday. It’s her favorite mug, but it’s too soon. Maybe after the shock of his death wanes, she’ll be able to use it again without breaking down into tears, but right now she just can’t. She turns the mug around so the words are facing the back of the cabinet, and she grabs a mug with kittens printed on it instead. 

  After adding cinnamon and whipped cream, she grabs her phone from her purse, sipping her delicious beverage as she checks her notifications, one being a reminder for Anna and Kristoff’s wedding. It’s next Saturday evening, which is doable, but having to dress up is just one of the many reasons why she doesn’t enjoy going to weddings. 

  Everyone’s always ragging on her about never accepting invitations to social gatherings though, especially her cousins, Anna and Elsa. Despite living with the sisters for five years, she became estranged from them after she went off to college. Now she barely sees them at all because she’s always working. She’s missed so many Thanksgivings and Christmases, it would be odd to show up to one of their family gatherings now. But they’re right. She should get out more. 

  Hard work and no play, topped with the trial and her colleague’s death has pretty much drained all the life out of her, and she could use an escape. Actually, what she could use is some time on her ranch with her horses. Her home away from home is an hour outside of Storybrooke where Kristoff owns a neighboring ranch, and he and his fiance take care of Emma's horses when she’s in Storybrooke. That’s about the only interaction she has with Anna these days—when she calls to ask about her horses and the ranch. She hasn’t even told her cousins about the trial she was a juror on.

  Emma grumbles under her breath when she listens to a voice message from Detective Nolan who’d questioned her and everyone Graham worked with attending the celebration at the bar the night he was murdered. The detective got her number from the hospital, which she is not happy about. Now he wants to meet with her to discuss Graham’s murder, even after she told him everything she knows, so it’s a complete waste of his time. And hers.

  After finding no urgent messages or calls, she goes to her living room and looks up from her phone screen. Her heart leaps out of her chest and the air leaves her lungs so quickly, the mug falls from her hands, and the ceramic breaks into pieces when it crashes to the hardwood floor. She clutches the phone to her chest after almost dropping it as well. Normally she'd be quick to clean up the mess; she’d hate the idea of leaving her floor sticky for the housekeeper to clean up and have her shoes stained from hot chocolate as the dark brown liquid pools around her feet, but she’s too focused on what's on her coffee table to peel her eyes away.

  An enormous bouquet of long-stemmed red roses in a crystal glass vase.

  “What the fuck?”

  She’s frozen in place, her face draining of color. Not only is it a very rare occurrence for her to receive roses or romantic gifts of any kind, but someone has broken into her home to give them to her. Her heart is pounding as she scans the room. Nothing else in the living room is amiss, but the thought of someone breaking into her home makes her skin crawl. 

  She stares at the fifty roses for a long time, her mind reeling with how or why someone broke into her home to deliver the flowers. It’s not her birthday, and even if it were, no one else has a key to her home, except for her housekeeper. Perhaps Johanna was here when the roses were delivered and brought them in. Yes, that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation of how the roses ended up on her coffee table. 

  Except her housekeeper would have mentioned it to her or sent a text or something so Emma would not be freaked out like she is right now. And it still doesn’t explain the reason for the roses in the first place. The roses look expensive; the vase looks expensive. Someone went all out just to gain her attention, but who? And why? She’s currently single, very single , and hasn’t had so much as a one-night stand or a dalliance in a very long time. 

  Perhaps the roses are from a grateful patient? But no one except family and a few friends know her home address. If this were five days prior, she would've suspected Graham after he'd kissed her cheek. He's one of the few people who knew her address. But he never would've broken into her home to give them to her.

  After recovering from the initial shock, she’s able to move again, willing her feet to step forward and warily make the trek around her couch to the coffee table. There’s a silk red ribbon wrapped around the top of the vase, tied into a large, perfect bow. The sight of a blank, white envelope tucked into the foliage behind the bow catches her eye. 

  Hoping there’s a reasonable explanation for the roses and possible break-in, she reaches for the envelope, and with trembling hands—hands that have worked miracles and saved lives, hands that are normally steady under intense pressure—she removes a card from the envelope and reads the fancy calligraphy used on six typed words.

  I’ve got a crush on you.

  Goosebumps cover her skin and she shivers, almost dropping the card. 

  Who the hell would be sending her flowers and an anonymous note, declaring their affection for her? 

  She calls Johanna, desperately hoping the roses were delivered and that her housekeeper is the one who brought them into her home and not some psycho who broke in.

  “Hi, Johanna, sorry to call so late,” Emma mumbles through the phone, her voice shaking slightly. She’s normally cool under pressure, but the roses and card have certainly gotten under her skin, which she’s guessing was the intention behind the gifts.

  “It’s no problem. I haven’t made it to bed yet. What can I do for you?”

  “Did I receive a delivery while you were here today?”

  “No, ma’am. Were you expecting something?”

  Fuck.

  Then who the hell broke into her house? 

  “Um… yes,” she lies, not wanting to concern her housekeeper. “I was on the lookout for a small package I ordered a couple weeks ago.”

  “Did you track the package?”

  “Yes, it's due to arrive soon.”

  “Well, if it arrives while I’m here, I’ll be sure to bring it in and leave it on the kitchen table so you’ll see it when you come home.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  “No problem. How are you doing? The funeral was today, wasn’t it?”

  Emma closes her eyes, breathing slowly, her heart cracking at the mention of Graham’s funeral. “Yes, it was. I’m doing okay, I suppose. It was all just very shocking.”

  “I can imagine. You shouldn’t stay at home alone after losing a friend, you know? You should stay with someone, at least for a few days.”

  Emma smiles faintly at her housekeeper’s concern. “I’ll be okay. Just need some sleep is all.”

  “Make sure you eat something first. You shouldn’t go to bed on an empty stomach. But I don’t have to tell you that, you’re the doctor,” she teases.

  “You know me too well, Johanna,” Emma remarks with a small laugh.

  “I’ve known you to miss a meal or two,” Johanna points out in a motherly tone. She’s not wrong. Working as much as she does, Emma tends to forget to eat.

  “I’m actually about to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich,” she lies again. Though toasted bread and gooey cheese in the middle does sound appealing, her stomach’s all twisted in knots. She’s too freaked out to even shove anything into her mouth right now.

  “Good, I’ll let you get to it then. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Emma.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  Emma ends the call and stares at the note again for a good five minutes. Then she searches her house for any more unwanted gifts but finds nothing. She examines her front and back door and all the windows for any signs of forcible entry, but there are none. She even checks the closets, under her bed and in her bathtub to see if whoever broke in is still there; but even after she finds no one, she still has an uneasy feeling in her gut. Whoever broke in could very well do it again. 

  She briefly wonders if she should call the police, but what would she even tell them—someone broke into my house just to give me flowers and leave a note to tell me they have a crush on me? It sounds too ridiculous, they’d probably laugh in her face. Though the gifts and the fact that this person found out where she lives are probably grounds for having a stalker, it could also be a practical joke. But the only person she can think of who would pull such an awful prank on her is… well, he’s dead. 

  She disposes of the roses in the trash, but stores the vase in the cupboard and places the card in her nightstand drawer in case she needs to present the items as evidence for having a stalker on her hands. But she's not sure how helpful the items would be considering the words were typed and the card was unsigned with no name or any other indication of whom the flowers or card came from.

  Still on edge, Emma cleans the mess she'd made. Then she takes a shower, changes into her nightgown and slips into bed. But she highly doubts she’s getting any sleep tonight.

  ~*~

  “On the night Dr. Humbert was murdered, you were at the Rabbit Hole with him, correct?” 

  “Along with several other people there that night, yes,” Emma replies in a narked tone. She came here to the police station after her morning surgeries because Detective Nolan insisted on interviewing her even though he'd already questioned her after Graham's death.

  “Have you questioned them to this extent?” her lawyer, Mr. Hopper chimes in.

  “I’ve questioned them, yes,” Detective Nolan answers without confirming exactly who he questioned and to what extent. “Did you go to the Rabbit Hole alone?” 

  Emma nods. “That’s right.” 

  “I understand there was a celebration at the bar that night. What was the reason for the celebration?” 

  “We were celebrating Graham’s promotion to chief of surgery.” 

  “And how did you feel about his promotion?” 

  “I was happy for him,” Emma replies sincerely, though it's delivered in a flat, emotionless tone due to her lack of patience and because she's not happy about the insinuations of the question. 

  “Mhmm,” Detective Nolan hums before taking a sip of his coffee. “You were also under consideration for that position, weren’t you, Dr. Swan?” 

  “I was. And I deserved to get it.” 

  Mr. Nolan's brows climb his forehead, his eyes flashing with intrigue. “More than Dr. Humbert did?” 

  “In my opinion, yes,” she replies calmly. “He deserved the position as well, but I deserved it more.”

  Mr. Hopper raises a cautionary hand to stop her from continuing. “Dr. Swan, I highly—” 

  “I’m only telling the truth,” she states, cutting him off as she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the detective. “But I’m sure you regard being denied a job promotion as a motive for murder, don’t you Detective Nolan?” 

  He looks her dead in the eye. “I don’t believe you killed anyone, Dr. Swan.” 

  “Then why did you request this interview?” 

  “Because you failed to mention the promotion when I first questioned you.”

  “It was irrelevant.”

  “Maybe so, but it doesn't hurt to go over anything I might have missed the first time around. You also failed to tell me you left with Dr. Humbert that night. Is that true?”

  “I didn’t leave with him,” she states defensively. “He walked me to my car and then went back inside.”

  “And that was it? He only walked you to your car? Were there any words exchanged?”

  “I congratulated him and we hugged,” Emma tells him. She doesn’t deem it necessary to mention the kiss on the cheek, but in case someone had witnessed the kiss, she doesn’t want the detective to think she’s withholding any other information. “He also kissed me on the cheek and we said goodnight. Then I got in my car, watched him walk into the bar and drove away.”

  “Was there anything romantic going on between you and Dr. Humbert, casual or otherwise?”

  She shakes her head. “No, there was not. We were friends who’ve known each other since we were residents, that was it.”

  He nods, seeming to accept her answer and moves on to the next question. “Did you go home immediately after you left?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anyone to corroborate that?”

  “No.”

  “Did you go anywhere else that evening?”

  “No, I had to work the next morning, so I went straight to bed. And no, no one can corroborate that either.”

  The detective throws her a few more questions before bringing up the trial she served as a juror on, which infuriates her because the trial had nothing to do with Graham’s murder. 

  “Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”

  “And were you or were you not the forewoman?”

  “I was,” she replies with a tight smile. “But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

  He nods. “That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”

  His remark rattles her, not only because the detective is accusing her of being Graham’s adversary or because of the implications his statement carries, but because he believes someone was hired to murder Graham. 

  She explains she made a decision after exploring every facet of the case. The evidence was entirely circumstantial, the defendant could not be placed at the scene of the crime and he had an alibi. She also has to elucidate to Detective Nolan she doesn’t believe the defendant was innocent, only that she was not convinced he was guilty. And yes, she had persuaded the other eleven jurors to vote for the acquittal, but after two days of deliberation, each juror voted according to his or her own conscience.

  After everyone in the interrogation room agrees there is nothing further to ask, Emma heads back to the hospital, still reeling from what David had said about Graham’s murder being a contract kill.

  Her mind drifts to the roses and the card she’d received the night prior. She thinks about how the defendant—an accused contract killer—kept staring at her in the courtroom. It was creepy, disturbing, just as breaking into her home to leave roses and a note that says, I’ve got a crush on you was creepy and disturbing.

  Could Neal Gold be the one who broke in and left the roses and card? 

  The thought makes Emma physically ill. 

  Once Emma returns to the hospital, she trades in her red blazer for a white lab coat and checks on her post-op patients. Tired of wearing skirts and dresses, she put on her red, two-piece suit of amour for her interview that morning.

  She's called on to perform three emergency procedures, which include treating an intestinal obstruction, a strangulated hernia and a perforated ulcer. Immediately following each procedure, she speaks with the patient’s loved ones to report on the condition of the patient and to explain the procedure she’d done. She makes notations in the charts of her post-op patients.

  When she’s done, she returns the charts to Tamara, the nurse on duty. “Please page me if any of these patients take a downward turn.”

  “Certainly, Dr. Swan,” she says with a smile. “So, has the board made you Chief yet?”

  The question takes Emma off guard. The last thing on her mind is a promotion. “Um… no, but even if they offered me the position, I couldn’t possibly take it. It would just feel wrong to benefit from Dr. Humbert’s death.”

  Tamara nods. “That’s very noble of you. But even so, I hope you get it, Dr. Swan. You deserve it.”

  Emma is stunned by Tamara’s words. She had no idea the nurse had thought so highly of her. “Thank you,” she says with a tired smile. “Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  Emma turns around and heads for the elevator. As she leaves the building, the buzz from her phone breaks through the ominous silence of the night. She grabs the device from her purse, seeing it’s from a restricted number. Reluctantly she answers the phone, bringing it to her ear with furrowed brows. “Hello?”

  There’s silence on the other end as Emma makes her way across the parking lot, but then she can hear someone breathing heavily into the phone.

  “Hi, Emma.”

  She halts in her tracks, wild-eyed at the whispered voice on the other line. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, come now, Ems, don't you recognize my voice?” he says, as though they’re best friends. “We spent almost two weeks in the same room together.”

  Emma sucks in a sharp breath and frantically searches the parking lot for any signs of him, heart pounding in her ear. Spotting her car several feet ahead, she bolts for it while trying not to draw too much attention from the guard. When she gets in her car and locks the doors, she manages a faint whisper. “Gold?” 

  He chuckles. “So, you do remember me? I knew you would.”

  Of course she does. She’d recognized his voice immediately but was desperately hoping it wasn’t true. The way his dark eyes connected with hers in court made her skin crawl. How could anyone forget him? 

  “And baby doll, please, call me Neal.” 

  Emma cringes and her stomach turns. “How did you get my number?”

  “Let’s just say I have connections. Did you like the roses?”

  Her heart skips several beats, then restarts, pounding double-time. Now that she knows the roses were from him, she wants to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about, but since he had placed them inside her house, there’s no way she hadn’t seen them. “How the hell did you get into my house?”

  Gold laughs, this time more loudly, more sinister-like. “Please, Ems, getting into your house was child’s play to me.”

  “And why’s that?” she challenges, even knowing he won’t take the bait. He’s incredibly clever and resourceful, otherwise he couldn’t have escaped prosecution for all his misdeeds, including the most recent murder he’d been tried for. 

  “I thought you’d like red roses, baby doll, since you wore red lipstick every day of the trial,” he comments, completely evading her question. “I like your red suit by the way, the color compliments your complexion.”

  Emma clenches her jaw, and her fingers grip around the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles turn white. She scans the parking lot from her car. Not only did he break into her house but he's following her too? What the actual fuck. “Stop calling me baby doll. Or Ems. In fact, stop calling me at all. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Gold.”

  “Wait, please don’t. I only wanted to thank you,” he says in a gentle voice, bordering on sweet, but she won’t go so far to admit that.

  “Thank me? For what?” she demands, growing agitated. No, she’s beyond agitated. Ever since this fucker showed up in her life, her world has been in complete disarray, from the trial to Graham's murder to the unwanted gifts to the scrutiny from the police department and now this.

  “I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

  “I didn’t save your life,” Emma snaps.

  “Oh, you did, baby doll. If it weren’t for you, I’d be on death row.”

  “I did nothing. A jury of twelve made the verdict,” she clarifies. It feels like she’s had to clarify that a lot lately.

  “Maybe so, but one of your fellow jurors said you led the campaign for my acquittal. She said you argued for my side and that your arguments were inspired and… passionate,” he says as though he’s speaking to a lover. “You have no idea how badly I want to touch you… thank you properly.”

  Emma’s pretty sure she’s going to vomit all over her front seats. “In your dreams, you creep. Now fuck off.” She ends the call and throws her phone into the passenger seat like it had burned her. 

  She squirms and flails her arms as though large, disgusting rats are crawling all over her, and she gags. She wants to go home as quickly as possible so she can strip off her clothes and burn them. She feels sick, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, heart pounding erratically as she starts her car and takes a deep breath like she’s preparing for an intricate, life-threatening surgery. 

  Now she’s glad she didn’t report the break-in to the police because if they find out Neal is her secret admirer, it might raise red flags; it might be just another reason for the detectives to point a finger at her for the involvement of Graham’s murder. 

  Oh god.

  Something occurs to her, hitting her like a brick. Gold said one of the jurors told him how passionately Emma argued his side. Which means she probably told Nolan the same thing when he interviewed her.

  Even though Archie had tried to assure her the detective’s insinuations and persistence were standard police tactics, there are two questions that have been gnawing at her since the interview, other than whether or not it was Gold who broke into her house. Questions that make her skin crawl.

  Does Detective Nolan actually consider her a suspect? And does he think she hired Gold to murder Graham Humbert?

A/N: For those of you who are wondering when Killian will appear, he's introduced in the next chapter, so sit tight. I will be posting chapter 3 next week. Thanks for reading!

Take a peek at the next chapter: Chapter 3 Sneak Peek

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

@itsfabianadocarmo​ @snowbellewells​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke @iam2307 @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera