#and the last people left a magnetic dart board

[ragnars-tooth]

Moved! But we are all #sillay and didn't sort internet sooo whoops. I Am beaming dragon thoughts directly into your brain though

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 9 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. 

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

As I delicately dab the gauze against Nick's left eyebrow, I can feel it nearly slipping from my trembling hands. The tension is palpable as I firmly grasp his stubbled chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine for just a moment before his eyes dart back to the action unfolding across the ice. 

It all went down so fast.

In a flash, Sanchez slung the puck past the goalie and into the net, eliciting a roar from the crowd. But the celebration was short-lived, as the clash of bodies around the goal quickly turned chaotic. The Bruns defense swarmed Sanchez, shoving him roughly, while another player trips up Ruffilo in a blatant display of aggression. And then, as Nick is getting to his feet, one of the opposing players "accidentally" strikes him across the face with the sharp end of his stick, drawing blood and a collective gasp from the onlookers. It takes the quick action of Dominick leaping over the boards, and the restraint of Sebastian, to keep Karlsson from pummeling the offending player then and there. 

With a few deft motions, I managed to clear away the blood, Ruffilo's injury was not as severe as it had initially appeared. Relieved to see that no stitches would be necessary, I turned my attention to Jack, giving him a reassuring thumbs up. Jack responds with a curt nod, his gaze shifting towards the ice as he silently communicated his readiness to get the game back underway. Taking the cue, I reached out and gave Nick a firm pat on the shoulder, prompting him to swiftly leap back over the boards and rejoin his teammates on the rink. Turning back to my makeshift medical station, I set about the methodical task of cleaning up the scattered gauze pads and securely closing the saline solution. 

Noah has been skating past my post repeatedly today, each time i've tried to ignore his presence, it's been a mere two weeks since our fateful universal date. Since that night, we've been utterly unable to keep our hands off one another, our bodies drawn together by an irresistible magnetic force that threatens to consume us both. 

Although we've managed to keep our situationship secret for now the ever-present anxiety of being discovered hangs over me like a dark cloud. The thrill is intoxicating, yet the guilt gnaws at my conscience. I know deep down that what we share is wrong, taboo, a flagrant flouting of the rules - and yet, in his presence, all rational thought seems to evaporate. 

The way he moves, the way he looks at me, ignites a fire within that I find impossible to extinguish. 

 The words breach of contract. Misconduct. All flash in my brain when I think about it, but they vanish shortly after his hands touch my skin. One misstep, one slip-up, could shatter the fragile web we've woven - and the consequences of that are almost too terrifying to contemplate.

I’m no longer the only nurse on the team. McGuirre joined us last week, he is smart and funny. Recently divorced from his husband he took the job for a fresher start. Since then, each time Noah has needed a look over or some small injury, I have him handle it instead. The exchange of care helps quell the anxiety in my chest.

But it doesn't stop my heart from racing every time he looks my way.

  This game is falling apart and it's putting both the fans and the players on edge. The players have already engaged in a staggering five fights. We are down by three points, and the frustration is etched on each of their faces. Lawrence, has already broken two hockey sticks, cracking them across his knee with roaring yell. Karlsson, has found himself in the penalty box twice, forced to sit out crucial moments due to his overzealous play. In contrast, Noah, though not directly involved in any altercations, has been an aggressive presence, getting in the faces of multiple opposing players, unwilling to back down from the challenge. 

Even my father is visibly on edge, his cheeks flushed not from the chill of the rink but from the sheer tension of the moment. Up in the visitors' box, a group of recruiters from the Olympics, accompanied by the team's public relations manager, have their eyes trained intently on the game, focusing particularly on the standout players, Ruffilo and Sanchez. With each impressive play made, the recruiters can be seen pointing and discussing animatedly. 

As the final buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game, the dejected players trudge off the ice, their shoulders hunched and their faces etched with frustration. The heavy footfalls echo through the empty halls, punctuated by the occasional angry muttering or the slamming of a door. Once inside the cramped, dimly lit locker room, the pent-up emotions finally erupt, with players hurling their sweat-soaked jerseys and slamming their fists against the metal lockers. The cacophony of crashing gear and furious shouts creates a chaotic symphony. It doesn’t take me long to put away the supplies and gather my keys and phone from my locker. Heading out quick.

As I aimlessly scrolled through my phone, the bright glow from the screen casting an eerie blue light across my face, I was completely oblivious to the looming presence approaching from the side. I’m tired and just want some late night dinner and trashy TV. Utterly absorbed in the mindless distraction of social media, I failed to notice the large, imposing figure drawing nearer until a sudden, vice-like grip seized my arm, yanking me forward with surprising force. Startled, I glanced up to find myself staring at a towering, sulking, Noah. His fingers, still damp and wrinkled from what was presumably a recent shower, dug painfully into the soft flesh of my bicep as he roughly dragged me along, his broad shoulders and thick neck tight with frustration. The pungent, earthy scent of his body wash, a musky, woodsy fragrance, assaulted my nostrils, his shoulders red frome the heart of his shower. 

We approach the storage closet, my head instinctively swivels around, scanning the empty hallway for any prying eyes that might catch. The coast is clear, and with a gentle nudge, he guides me through the doorway, clicking the door shut behind us. The small, enclosed space is dimly lit, barely holding all the storage let alone two human bodies.

“You’ve been ignoring me, little fox.” The dark, brooding intensity in his eyes is intense as he stalks towards me, his lithe, predatory movements leaving no doubt about his purpose. Droplets cling to the silky strands of his bangs, which sweep alluringly across his sharp cheekbones. I feel my back press against the sturdy wooden shelves behind me, the practice cones and sports gear rattling slightly from the contact.

Trapped, I try to stammer out a weak explanation, insisting that this is "nothing personal, just professional." But the tremor in my voice betrays the growing arousal I feel pooling between my thighs. As his hungry gaze rakes over my body.

 As he inhales sharply, a low, rumbling growl escapes his lips, further stoking the fire within me. “Turn around.”

My heart is hammering in my ears and I can barely register to move. “Wh-what?”

"Turn. Around." he commanded, his voice low and gruff. Slowly, I pushed off from the shelf, my eyes fixed on him as my body turned. He was impatient, taking my hips in his strong, calloused hands and spinning me the rest of the way around, pulling my backside firmly against his hips. I could feel his throbbing cock pressing against my ass, and a needy whine escaped my lips at the thought of him filling me up once more.

With one swift, powerful thrust, he pushed me into the shelf, I braced, pushing some of the gear aside as my body jolted forward. It still wasn't enough - I wanted more, craving the delicious, almost painful sensation of being stretched and dominated by this man. 

His breath hits the shell of my ear as his long fingers grasp my hair and pull my head back to meet his lips. “Say it,” he growls, “Say you want me to fuck you.” I whimper, it's all my brain can do, my ability to form words is short circuiting. “Speak words, little fox.” He says tugging my hair, causing just a quick nip of pain at my scalp.

“Please, Noah,” I beg, it's enough. Noah's free hand swiftly tugs down my pants and underwear, exposing me. Kicking my legs apart, he decisively slides his hand up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, zeroing in on the throbbing center of my arousal. Without hesitation, he presses a long, skilled finger directly onto my sensitive clit, gently massaging the slick, swollen nub in firm, circular motions. The sensation is electric, and I can't help but gasp as he suddenly plunges that same finger deep inside me, filling me to the knuckle. I can feel the cool metal of his ring as it grazes my most sensitive walls, and he pulls back only to push forward again with more force. My body responds eagerly, clenching and fluttering around his intrusion as white-hot pleasure radiates through me. The combination of his confident touch, the fullness within me, and the intense stimulation on my most sensitive spots has me teetering on the edge of ecstasy, my breath coming in short, needy pants.

As his hand slowly withdraws, he carefully cups a portion of my glistening wetness between his fingertips, savoring the delicate texture and warmth. Releasing his grip on my hair, I turn my head just in time to witness him hastily shoving down his sweats, his throbbing cock springing back to meet the taut skin of his abdomen. With a deliberate motion, he coats the swollen tip and rigid shaft with my own arousal. My eyes roll back and I bite down hard on my lower lip, enthralled by the erotically charged sight. Bracing myself against his hip, I can feel him guiding his pulsing length to my entrance, sinking in the moment he finds the perfect spot. There is no hesitation, no gentle buildup - he simply begins driving his hips forward, the slapping of skin against skin echoing through the charged atmosphere as he grips me tightly by the hips.

Rising up on the balls of my feet in a desperate bid to feel him buried within me to the absolute hilt. The overwhelming, all-encompassing need to be ripped apart, to be used and claimed with utter abandon, pulses through my veins like molten desire. He answers my frantic, wanton movements with grunts and pants, his grip tightening around my waist until I can feel the sharp crests of my hips pinching under the sheer force of his grasp. 

I arch my back, grinding myself against him with wanton abandon, lost in the ecstasy of being utterly possessed. 

The intense sensations are almost overwhelming, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me as he continues his relentless pounding. I can barely catch my breath, whimpering and gasping in a desperate attempt to hold back the screams that threaten to escape. My fingers claw at nothing, grasping for something, anything, to anchor myself as my body is wracked with one earth-shattering orgasm after another. The backs of my thighs burn from holding myself up on my toes, but I refuse to give in, needing to feel every inch of him filling me, stretching me to my limits. 

His large hands grip my backside, kneading the flesh as he pulls me forward to meet each of his powerful thrusts. I can imagine the lewd sight of his glistening cock disappearing inside me, leaving me raw and thoroughly claimed. The only sounds that fill the air are his grunts, growls, and heavy panting as he takes what he needs, completely consumed. 

Deep within, I feel a stirring of something more profound - a dawning realization that he is claiming me, body and soul, in a way no other man ever could. With each punishing stroke, he is staking his indelible mark, making me his and his alone.

In what feels like an eternity but is mere moments, he lets out one last guttural groan, his hips surging forward in a final, forceful thrust. I can feel the tension in his body as it quivers and strains, every muscle going taut before finally releasing in a shuddering wave of relief. Collapsing over me, he pants heavily, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. We stay locked together, suspended, my legs trembling as I slowly lower them to the floor. The warmth of his release coats my insides, the sensation both foreign and familiar as it seeps into every sensitive crevice. Time seems to stand still in that hazy, blissful moment, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. Finally, reluctantly, we begin to part.

He helps bring my pants back up as I fix the hem of my shirt. His arms wrapping around my waist as he pulls me in head tucking over my shoulder. He doesn't say anything. Just lets out a shaky breath before kissing the side of my neck and turning around to leave.

As I reluctantly bid farewell to Noah, a profound sense of melancholy washes over me, shaking my entire being more intensely than the passionate encounter we had just shared. The tender goodbye lingers, its emotional weight far exceeding the physical intimacy we had experienced. Glancing down, I notice my phone and keys strewn haphazardly on the floor. I can't even recall the moment I dropped them. 

Steeling myself, I step out of the closet, turning to my left only to witness Noah vanish back towards the locker rooms. In that instant, I'm painfully aware that I'm not alone - Ruffilo and Karlsson stand in the hallway, their eyebrows raised in a silent expression of surprise and judgment as our eyes meet. My cheeks flush with a deep, burning crimson as I spin on my heel, heart pounding, and quickly make my way down the hall towards the parking lot, desperate to escape the prying eyes and the weight of the moment.

[kanisema-blog]

To Whom It No Longer Concerns

Chapter 4: To the yacht party

The night was crisp, the air filled with the soft hum of chatter and laughter as Eunice and I boarded the yacht. The shimmering lights along the dock danced over the water, casting a dreamy glow over the party, and Eunice’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Oh my God, Anicka,” she whispered, clutching my arm with excitement. “This is insane. I mean, look at this place! Can you believe we’re here?”

I chuckled softly. “It is a bit unreal, isn’t it?”

Eunice didn’t waste any time, darting off to talk with various people as she did best, blending in like she’d always belonged. Watching her, I felt myself relax, the surroundings fading a little as her laugh filled the air. She was in her element, and I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter seeing her so happy.

“Let’s get something to eat,” I said once she circled back to me, her eyes glinting with energy.

“Oh yes, please,” she said, linking her arm with mine as we made our way to the buffet. The table was overflowing with everything imaginable—delicate canapés, fresh seafood, colorful salads, and desserts that looked almost too perfect to eat.

Just as I picked up a plate, Mae approached us, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Anicka, Eunice! I didn’t think I’d find you two in the middle of all these elites.”

Eunice grinned, her mouth half-full. “You underestimate us, Mae. How was your adventure last week? You said something about a mountain range?”

Mae’s eyes sparkled as she launched into her story. “It was breathtaking. We hiked up before dawn and saw the sun rise over the peaks. The whole valley was bathed in this incredible light—I can’t even describe it. It was just… unreal.”

Eunice nodded, taking a sip of her drink, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Sounds magical. But speaking of magic…” She leaned in close, lowering her voice dramatically, and cast a quick glance around the room. “Have you guys met Jholy yet? She’s kind of a legend at these parties.”

Mae’s eyebrows shot up. “Jholy? I’ve heard about her. Isn’t she… well, I mean, she’s supposed to be unforgettable, right?”

Eunice’s grin widened. “Unforgettable is an understatement. They say she has a way of… enchanting people. I heard she showed up at a gala last month and ended up giving some speech that had everyone hanging on her every word. Apparently, the hosts didn’t even plan for her to talk—she just took over. And then—get this—she vanished halfway through the night, just left everyone wanting more.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “She sounds like some kind of modern-day mystery woman.”

“Oh, totally,” Eunice replied, her eyes scanning the crowd as if Jholy might appear out of thin air. “I heard from Sara—who knows everyone, by the way—that Jholy’s family is old money. Like, mansion-on-a-private-island old money. And yet, she’s out here, at these parties, mingling with all kinds of people.”

Mae nodded, leaning in closer. “I heard she’s got this whole vintage style, like she stepped out of a 1940s movie, red lips and pin curls. You can spot her from a mile away.”

Eunice took another sip of her drink, her voice dipping even lower. “Apparently, she’s single-handedly responsible for landing two major investors for her cousin’s business last year. Just talked to them for an hour, and boom—they were in. The woman’s like a magnet.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, fascinated by the hype. “So she’s like a socialite-slash-business prodigy?”

Eunice nodded fervently. “And everyone says she has the most unbelievable stories. Like, I heard one where she convinced a prince—an actual prince from somewhere—to be her date for a night just because she wanted to show him how normal people live. She got him to go eat at a diner with her, and they apparently ended up at some underground jazz bar. She sounds almost… too good to be true, right?”

Mae sighed dreamily. “I’d love to hear one of her stories. I mean, what does someone like Jholy even talk about?”

Eunice laughed. “Rumor has it, she mostly talks about the people she meets. She makes you feel like you’re the most interesting person in the room. It’s her gift. She just knows how to get people to spill their secrets.”

I couldn’t help but feel a spark of intrigue. “So, has anyone actually seen her here tonight?”

Eunice’s gaze drifted around the party, scanning every cluster of guests. “No sightings yet. But if she’s here, trust me, we’ll know. Apparently, she just has this… presence. Like, when she enters a room, it’s like everything just stops for a second.”

I drifted away from their conversation, a pang tugging at my chest. I slipped toward the railing, letting the cool night breeze wash over me as I stared out at the water, watching the lights of the city ripple over the surface. It was peaceful, in a way, as though the gentle sway of the waves was trying to soothe something deep inside me.

But then, footsteps approached from behind. I knew even before he spoke who it was.

“Anicka,” Gerald said, his voice familiar yet distant. “We need to talk. I… I want to talk to you.”

I kept my gaze fixed on the water, letting the gentle waves soothe me, hoping they’d drown out the sound of his voice. “Talk? About what, Gerald?” My voice was steady, but I could feel old anger stirring, sharp and relentless. “What is there left to say? I don’t want to talk to you.”

He shifted beside me, rubbing the back of his neck, as though trying to find the right words. “I know it was my fault, Anicka. I know it’s because of me that we broke up.”

A bitter laugh escaped me, and I finally turned to face him. “Finally, you admit it. Yes, Gerald, it was all your fault. It’s because of you that we broke up.” I paused, feeling the familiar wave of hurt rising, one I thought I’d buried. “You can never hold onto a stable relationship, can you? I was just… another one of your girls, wasn’t I?”

His expression faltered, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I didn’t know how to be serious back then. I… I didn’t take things seriously,” he murmured, almost to himself.

I shook my head, a mix of anger and sorrow tightening my chest. “And that’s supposed to excuse it?” I asked, my voice a bit louder now, the bitterness spilling over. “Do you even realize what you put me through? You promised me everything—‘forever,’ you used to say. You promised me forever and then… then you just left, like none of it mattered.”

He flinched, and for a moment, it looked like he’d reached for my hand but thought better of it. “Anicka, it’s… it’s complicated. I didn’t know how to be the person you needed back then.”

“Complicated?” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “What exactly was complicated about staying faithful? About keeping your word? Or was that just too much to ask?”

He looked up, his gaze pleading. “I was young… and stupid. Shira was just—”

“Shira?” I cut him off, the mention of her name sparking a fresh wave of hurt. “You think I want to hear about her? You think saying her name will make any of this better?”

“No, no… I just… I just want you to understand that it wasn’t about you, Anicka. It was me. I was careless, and I took you for granted. I didn’t see what I had until it was gone.”

I shook my head slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle in. “Gerald, you don’t get it, do you? It’s not just about you making a mistake. It’s about the way you shattered everything I believed in. You took something good, something I gave you, and you ruined it. You ruined me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it, his gaze searching my face. “You were always too good for me,” he whispered. “I realize that now.”

I looked away, back to the water, feeling my heart ache with a mixture of anger and sadness. “That’s a convenient realization now, isn’t it? After all this time?”

Gerald sighed, his voice thick with regret. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, Anicka. I don’t deserve it. I just… I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. That I… I’ll always regret what I did to you.”

I laughed softly, a hollow sound even to my own ears. “You’re right, Gerald. You don’t deserve forgiveness. Not after what you put me through. But maybe… maybe this apology will bring you some peace.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and for a moment, silence stretched between us, filled with words neither of us could say.

“There you are!” Mae’s voice sliced through the tension, and we both turned to see her and Eunice walking toward us, faces bright with relief. “We’ve been looking everywhere!” Mae exclaimed, clearly oblivious to the tension in the air.

I took a step back, creating distance between Gerald and me, and forced a small smile. Whatever he’d hoped for, whatever he’d wanted to say, it didn’t matter. We were done. The hurt lingered, but as Mae and Eunice approached, I felt a tiny bit of relief. The night, with its bittersweet memories and sharp-edged regrets, would fade. But for now, I had the comfort of friends to anchor me.

[emerald-chaos]

What A Lie

Oh besties. I am sorry for the pain that this may inflict upon you. This was the first time that I actually hurt my own feelings while writing a fic. This bad boy was written for the wonderful and talented @sweeterthanthis for her 6k follower writing challenge! I had a lot of fun writing this (even though I hurt my feelings) and my best friend cursed me endlessly after I had her look it over for me. I hope you guys enjoy (especially you, Lau!) and don't hate me too much!!

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst (oh god is there so much angst), infidelity, cursing, mentions of alcohol, and brief illusions to sex.

You told yourself that the previous encounter would be the last. That you were finished. That you were going to wash your hands of him and be done with it.

But here you are again, standing before the home you knew all too well.

Fists balled up at your sides, feet firmly planted to the ground, you couldn’t help but curse your body for bringing you here. It wasn’t your intent to end up in front of these gates, but for some reason you always did - as though there was some magnetic force that pulled you in every time.

The rational portion of your brain was screaming at you to turn and walk away, to keep the promise you made to yourself. However, there was some part of you, probably the sick and twisted part, that willed you to keep standing there.

It was never supposed to play out the way that it did. It was supposed to be innocent, with no strings attached - just two lonely people helping each other feel a little less so.

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.” Stella, your manager and dear friend, sighed as she leaned against the bar, “they always choose the wife.”

You always knew she was right. You knew in your heart that the two of you were passengers on a runaway train, destined for disaster, but you just couldn’t stop. There was something about the relationship, no matter how toxic and fucked up, that your body craved.

You craved the way his lips felt like fire against your skin, igniting every nerve ending in your body. You craved the marks he left behind, a subtle reminder to you that you were his. You yearned for the soft whispers of promises as you laid holding one another, promises that you knew were too good to be true.

“After this whole thing is over we should go somewhere. Get away for a little while.” Andy whispered as he trailed his fingers up and down your spine.

“I think that sounds amazing. Somewhere all inclusive. Just me, you, and a big soft bed that we never leave.” You grinned at the image as you squeezed his waist.

“I could get on board with that.” Andy chuckled as he leaned down to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

Your lips moved softly against his as you propped yourself up to move closer to him. One hand laid flat on his chest as the other came up to cup his face. Andy’s hand met your wrist as he held it, tilting his face slightly to deepen the kiss.

Just as his tongue darted out to caress your bottom lip, you both were interrupted by the sound of a phone chiming.

A sigh escaped your chest as you dropped back down on your back, missing the warmth that Andy provided immediately.

Andy rubbed his face and remained laying down for a moment before he sat up and twisted to grab his phone from the nightstand. You kept your eyes attached to the ceiling fan, watching it go round and round, unwilling to look over at his face as he read the words on his screen.

Moments later you felt the mattress move and warmth slip away as Andy slid to sit on the edge of the bed. The familiar sound of his zipper and clink of his belt gave you a clue as to what the message had been about and who it had been from.

“I gotta go, baby. I’m sorry.” He said quietly, standing in front of the mirror in the corner of your room as he straightened his tie.

“S’okay. I figured.” You sat up, pulling the sheet up so it covered your chest. You gripped the material a little tighter as you let your gaze finally meet his. This part always hurts like a bitch.

You watched Andy as he crossed the room to your side of the bed. His large hand cupped your cheek and tilted your face up toward his. Silent, he stroked your cheek for a moment before he leaned down and placed a kiss to your lips. You sighed into the kiss, continuing to clutch the sheets to your chest - wishing it were him instead. When Andy pulled away you opened your eyes slowly.

“This’ll be over before you know it. I hate putting you through this, you know.”

Words failed you in that moment, so you responded with a silent nod.

There was a moment of quietness between the two of you as he stood and held your cheek in his hand. A small smile graced his lips as he muttered his goodbye and walked out of your room.

That should’ve been the moment that you let him walk out of your life.

Much to your chagrin, you didn’t know about Laurie in the beginning. That night at the bar he hadn’t been wearing his wedding ring and of course she didn’t come up during your tryst.

It wasn’t until your 3rd or 4th meeting that he deemed the news of him being married was important enough to share with you.

“It’s not going well. We’re on the brink of a divorce.” He confessed, attempting to calm your nerves as you hurriedly put on your clothes.

“That somehow makes this okay?!” You yelled, feeling completely blindsided.

“I wouldn’t have gotten into anything if I had any hope for us working it out. That’s not the type of man I am. She’s seeing other people too. The whole situation is just…it’s fucked up, okay?” He looked so broken, so pathetic in that moment that you actually felt the walls of your heart clench.

You knew this was a bad idea. You knew that there was no way this was going to work out well for either of you. This was the first time you should’ve deleted his number and walked away.

Instead of doing the right thing and calling off the…whatever it was that the two of you had going on, you left him on read for a few days and ultimately ended up in the same exact spot you were standing now.

The devil on your shoulder told you that he would leave her and that he was serious about everything he told you while the two of you were wrapped in bed together. Andy Barber was a good man with a good reputation, there was no way he would sacrifice that.

Right?

The last time you saw him, however, he stopped by your house late one night. The encounter went much like every other one before it had and ended with the two of you skin to skin beneath your sheets. The sex felt different - that should’ve been your first clue. Instead of the typical needy, rough, fast fuck that you were used to, it was slow and intimate. You realize now that it was a goodbye.

“Laurie and I have decided to resolve things after all...” Andy broke the news to you as he held you in his arms, his words so nonchalant as though he hadn’t just shot you right through the heart.

He continued to speak after that but you don’t remember a word he said. Neither do you remember the fight that followed. Hell, you barely remember shoving him out of your apartment and slamming the door in his face. All you remember is collapsing into your bed and the gut wrenching pain that made home in your chest.

That had been a few months ago and you haven’t seen him since. Not in your bed, smiling at you as you saunter over to him wearing nothing but a grin. Not at work, occupying the second to last stool at the bar. Andy Barber was suddenly nowhere to be found. Almost as though he fell off the face of the earth completely, taking your heart and your dignity with him.

It took some time, but you had finally convinced yourself to move on. No longer was every thought occupied by Andy, no longer did you dream about his fingers on your skin or the way he felt when he filled you completely. You had made peace with your demons and it was finally time to put the past behind you.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Now, here you are. A little drunk, standing in front of his door. You left the bar a while ago with the intent of going home, crawling into bed, and watching TV until you drifted to sleep. Apparently your feet had other plans.

You’re not exactly sure what you came here to accomplish, but that didn’t stop you from raising your fist to knock on his front door. You took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest. As you waited, your gaze drifted from the door to the driveway, the BMW parked there triggering a memory from the last time you were here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You moaned as you tightened your fingers around the locks of his hair.

“I know.” Andy responded simply as he sucked a bruise onto your collarbone.

The steering wheel dug into your back painfully as you sat in his lap and allowed him to mark up your neck. The whole thing was cramped, hot, and wildly inappropriate.

However, as you felt his fingers make contact with your aching core, all thoughts of reason went out the window.

A shiver ran down your spine as you tried to shake the memory from your brain. The sound of the deadbolt unlocking brought your attention back to the present.

When Andy’s eyes met yours, it felt as though time stood still. The bags that decorated his beautiful blue eyes looked more defined than what you remembered. He always looked tired, but now it was more so. Not necessarily exhausted from lack of sleep, but from something else. It appeared as though the last few months hadn’t been kind to him either.

“What are you doing here?” Andy finally whispered as he stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

Honestly? You didn’t know, but you weren’t about to let him know that.

“I deserved better y’know.” You slurred at him.

It didn’t feel like you had control whatsoever over your words. The accumulation of the last few months emotions began to pour out of your mouth involuntarily. Andy started to say your name but you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“I gave you everything. Every little piece of me belonged to you and what did I get in return? A broken heart and a scarlet letter on my chest.” You could feel your volume rising but you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

Andy closed the space between the two of you and grabbed onto your shoulders.

“I’m not playing games here. You need to lower your voice.” He growled.

“Is that what I was to you?” You tilted your head to the side, “A game? A conquest? A pretty little younger model of the busted up thing you had back at home? Fuck you, Andy.”

You pushed him away and turned to stomp down the steps. Before you reached the sidewalk, you felt a strong hand wrap around your wrist and yank you back into a solid figure.

“You don’t get to come here and do this. You were a willing participant in everything we did. You knew what was going on with me and you chose to get involved anyway. I didn’t force you to do anything.”

The urge to connect your palm with his face was rising as you listened to his words. Mostly because you knew he was right. You knew how this romance would end and yet you indulged in it regardless.

“You strung me along. You made me feel important, made me feel loved and wanted. All I was to you was a quick fuck. A bandaid on your shitty fucking marriage. All I ever wanted was you, all of you. Instead you left my house to come back to her every time. You never chose me. Not once.” You shouted.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you emptied the vault of feelings you kept built up over the last few months.

“You never loved me. Sometimes I don’t think you ever even cared about me. You used me, Andy Barber. You used me to feel better about yourself and you know what the worst part of that all is? That I fucking let you.”

Andy’s hand fell from your wrist to his side. The look on his face was stoic, but you had peered into those eyes enough times to know he was hurting. You had seen that look before - when he showed up at your place in the middle of the night or when he nursed 6 whiskeys at the bar. It was a look you knew all too well, except you were used to being the solution for that look - not the cause.

“I knew how this would end. All my friends tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. I waved them off and I convinced myself that this would be different. That what we had was different. How pathetic is that?” A laugh escaped your lips, but it held no humor.

Andy continued to hold your gaze. Unmoving. Chest rising and falling rapidly as he stood there and listened to your words. Not once did he mutter a word during your monologue.

“I don’t even know why I came here. I don’t even know why I come back to you every. single. time.” Your voice cracked on the last syllable. “I want to hate you so fucking bad. But I can’t.”

Just as Andy opened his mouth, you assume to speak, the lights on the porch flickered on. Your gaze locked on to the front door and your heart felt as though it stopped beating. Andy turned around as his wife opened the door and pulled her robe tighter around her figure.

“Andy? Is everything okay?” She looked between the two of you as she stepped out onto the porch.

“Everything’s fine, honey,” Your stomach lurched at the pet name, “go back inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Laurie stood there for a moment. As her gaze began to meet yours, you glued your eyes to the sidewalk. A few minutes later you heard the front door close again but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Andy.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the ending you wanted. If I could go back and stop myself from walking into that bar, I would.” He spoke softly but his words cut through you like a knife.

“But I can’t. So I guess all I can do is say that I’m sorry. To say I never cared about you would be a lie. But it’s so much more complicated than that. I hope one day you can understand.” He sighed, you could hear the defeat in his voice.

“Yeah,” you finally lifted your head to meet his gaze, “I hope so too.”

The two of you stood before one another for what felt like eternity. This was the end. The real end. You both knew that. What surprised you was how okay you felt with that realization. How for the first time in months you felt peace.

Your body brought you here, not for his touch, but for closure - to make good on your promise of washing your hands of him.

It was you who made the first move as you turned and started down the sidewalk. After a few feet, you heard his front door close. For a brief moment you wanted to turn around - to look at the lights as they turned off and hear the sound of the lock sliding back into place. But you didn’t need to. You knew that as soon as Andy walked back into his house and closed his door, that it was over for the two of you. Actually over. No more drunken phone calls, no more secret hook ups, and no more standing in front of his house, begging him to love you.

No.

Tonight was the night that you started to love yourself.

[slightlymore]

red

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

(slytherin) doyoung x (ravenclaw) fem reader

others: (gryffindor) haechan | renjun mentioned like once 

genre: one-shot | smut | angst | fluff | romance | enemies to lovers | slight dark academia vibes | fantasy au | inspired by hogwarts but only for the names and separation in houses. this is a university setting with different magic (different spells, no wands etc., slytherins have some cool ass rooms and very questionable powers) 

warnings: oral f and m, penetration, unprotected, marking m receiving, body possessiveness in a magical way (? i made this up lol I hope its not that weird. like the plot point is a little cringy but I found it hilarious as I wrote it so I hope you don’t get mad at me when you discover what’s it about lol); a lot of bickering and insults; swearing

words: 9.5k (lol) 

requested by anon that wanted academic fights turn into mad sex aha I got inspired by that to make a longer fic with more depth to it (if it's alright) hope you like it! this is one of my favourite pieces I’ve written so far!!!! 👀👅👀

_____

As the rays of the sun hit the announcement board, your eyes darted on the pages filled with small characters. 

A little crowd of people started to chatter behind you, trying to see the ranking sheet as well, but no one dared to come close enough to push into you - the Ravenclaw Prefect. 

“Renjun? Whose dick did you suck to get 6th?” a voice giggled before a loud smack transformed the airy laugh in a dramatic “ouch”. “Lee Haechan, I swear I’ll-” but you didn’t get to hear the rest as your vision got suddenly blurry with rage and your ears started to whistle when your shoulder got bumped forcing you to make a few ungraceful steps to the side. 

“What’s that face for, YLN?” 

You tightened your fists. 

You could have recognized that annoying voice in a thousand others: Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin Prefect and the person you hated most in the whole universe. 

“Ah, right,” he hit his fist on one palm turning his head with fakely widened eyes. “You’re second place. Again.” 

You hated Kim Doyoung and everything that had to do with him. 

His voice? Hideous. 

The fragrance of the fabric softener on his clothes? Repugnant. 

His favourite dishes at the cafeteria? Revolting. 

His favourite authors? Idiots. 

Everything reminded you of him and one time you had a literal meltdown in a supplies shop as every notebook and pen has been seen in his backpack at a certain point. 

“I see that manners are still very difficult for you to master, Kim,” you spit out his last name. 

Doyoung laughed. “I apologize profusely for not following useless societal rules such as manners the way your finite mind intends.” 

An echo of little “ohh” surrounded you but abruptly stopped as you threw a venomous glance at the little crowd behind you. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing to get in the first place? Not following the rules?” you cocked an eyebrow at Doyoung. 

The tongue inside his cheek moved around for a few seconds before he crossed his arms on his chest and got closer until his feet clashed with yours. 

You didn’t step back. 

“Is this an accusation?” 

You pursed your lips as if thinking and Doyoung let you put on the little theatre act before he could hear your “Maybe?” 

A single dry and unamused scoff came out of his lips as his eyes stared you down from head to toes. 

“So you’re resorting to - this?” he gestured vaguely. “You’re that bitter that you couldn’t keep your first place for two whole semesters now?” 

“Oh? It hurt so badly the first time that you kept track of it, baby boy?” you cooed. 

The new nickname threw him off for a split second and although he was quick to come back to his usual expression you noticed it and you smiled triumphantly. 

The crowd was collectively holding its breath. 

He opened his mouth to say probably something stupid as usual when the voice of the professor interrupted you and the spell got shattered. 

“Come inside little roosters. Preserve that energy for the class debate.” 

Previously silent to not miss a single exchange you had with Doyoung. everyone suddenly started to chat while making their way inside the classroom. 

You both still didn’t move a single muscle, your eyes still trained on each other like predators. “I said-,” the professor clicked his fingers between your faces, “-come inside.”

_____

“I can’t fucking believe this.” 

Your university was overall a good place with good and proficient rules. You followed them all and you enjoyed it. But there were also a few rules you suddenly realized you hated. Like the “your seat in the study room will be your seat for the rest of the semester and whoever seats in somebody else's seat during the year, said somebody can slash their shins”. 

You would have loved to see Doyoung sitting at your place. His long legs could use some kicking. But unfortunately, something even worse happened. 

He was sitting right in front of you. 

“Why are you here?” you added, throwing your bag on the desk in front of him and making a few of his papers fly on the floor. 

Doyoung sighed seeing his stuff gently falling around and raised his eyes with the most venomous smile he could pull off. 

“The Gryffindor gentleman over there-” he indicated towards his previous’ semester desk, “took my seat so I had to find another one.” 

You followed his pointed finger and spotted Lee Haechan in the midst of popping a chewing gum bubble. 

He winked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

He made an obscene gesture revolving a tongue in the cheek and hand motions. 

You returned the favour with your middle finger. 

“And you had to sit here of all places. You let a Gryffindor snatch your place.”

Doyoung licked his lower lip before taking it inside his mouth for a moment. 

“Miss ‘manners’ and miss ‘following the rules’ is mad that I, mister ‘fuck useless rules’ and fuck ‘useless manners’ didn’t smack a boy in the head to get a desk?” 

You breathed in slowly and exhaled before you could scream at him. 

“I don’t want to see you every day in front of me.” 

Doyoung pinched the base of his nose before speaking. 

“Listen, I also don’t want to see your face this close every day for a whole semester but it is what it is. All the other seats are taken. Stop whining or go and suck Lee’s dick to get his desk instead.” 

You scoffed incredulously and plopped down with force, ignoring the boy’s sighs as the movement made some other papers fall. 

"You're insufferable,” he whispered. 

"I am insufferable?" you stopped taking the books from your bag then suddenly dropped the heaviest one, making the whole desk tremble. 

Doyoung looked at you then smirked. "You're in a worse mood than usual. Is it because you couldn't reach the top?" 

He leaned in as if about to share a secret. "Are you frustrated that I'm always in your mind 24/7?"

His dark eyes looked like two abysses and suddenly you felt like falling into them. Then he blinked once, slowly, and you blinked too, the sudden silence chatter of the study room bringing you to the surface. 

Fuck Slytherins and their weird-ass magnetic eyes. You wanted to smack him in the fucking face. 

"So I see you keep wanting to be ridiculous as always," you replied but you both realized how soft your tone got. 

You cleared your throat - don’t talk to me anymore! it said - and you opened your books, eyes unable to look at Doyoung's face. 

He got the hint and leaned back into his seat amused, playing with his pencil. It rolled on his fingers, then on his knuckles and when he placed it on the desk with sudden force you jolted. 

"If you want to surpass me, stop staring at my hands and get on studying."

Doyoung had to slide away with his chair for you to not reach his throat and choke him.

_____

"So do you want to choke him with his tie or do you want him to choke you with his tie?" "I want to choke you." Haechan smirked. "I'm not sure I'm into that stuff but we can try it out." "I can't believe you did this to me." "Ah come on. Everyone is having fun. He's having fun. You're the only one taking it too seriously." "I am not taking it seriously. I'm just annoyed every time I see his face. 'The best option is to reinvent yourself'" you mocked Doyoung's voice during philosophy class. "You can reinvent the world first. What kind of selfish nonsense is that?" "Slytherin nonsense. But still, he had good points to his discourse- ahi." "Go and be his friend then." "I would, but I'm stuck here with you because--ahi." 

"You're always getting hit, Lee," that voice interrupted your discourse. 

You rolled your eyes and breathed out so heavily that for a split moment you thought someone transformed you into a horse. 

"Hit on, by girls." "I will hit you too if you don't leave my desk," Doyoung smiled peacefully.  "Well," Haechan got up slowly, "I wouldn't mind that either."

Doyoung bit his lower lip amused and to your absolute shock he winked at your friend. Haechan laughed and left you two alone. 

"What was that?" 

Doyoung sat down ready to get to work. "Huh?" 

"Were you friendly just now?" 

Doyoung blinked at you as if processing the question. "Yeah? I am friendly usually."

"Why are you not friendly with me?" 

Doyoung's expression suddenly trembled on his face like a mask. He looked up surprised and for a split moment, he appeared weirdly younger, with his open lips and wide eyes. You stared at each other for a few seconds and it was the first time you didn't feel like opening up his guts.

But then he smiled and it all got back to you. "Because I hate you,” he explained.

_____  

The ball was okay. A normal ball just like all of the other boring balls you were forced to attend each start of the semester. No alcohol, at least not offered from the university but definitely offered by the older students. All said students dressed well, but following the decency rules which led to boring outfits. 

Your red dress was the boldest thing around and Ravenclaw cheered upon your entry in the Grand Hall. 

A cool Prefect? Yeah, you had to be one if you wanted to beat Kim Doyoung. 

At the moment everyone liked him more since he let his people smuggle liquor into the university but you weren’t about to fall to such low standards to win. 

But food? Hell yeah. 

It was not illegal and everyone wanted to have pizza instead of finger food made of hell knows what. 

“Y/N, if you continue like this, I’ll probably fall in love with you,” a random dude smiled, helping himself. You smiled back at him, glad that cute guys wanted to talk to you. 

“Well-,” you started, ready to bat your eyelashes, but the guy suddenly jolted, the piece of pizza he was holding literally flying from his hands and landing on his face instead. 

You yelped, bringing your hands to your mouth in shock, staring at the way it slowly slid from his nose down on his impeccable white shirt. 

“Shit,” he threw the pizza away on the bin at his right and made his way through the crowd with spicy tomato sauce in his eyes. 

“You got all kinds of pizzas and not my favourite topping,” Doyoung suddenly materialized near you with a dramatic sigh, scaring the shit out of you.  “You!” you turned your head to him and pointed your finger at his face. Doyoung stared at your fingertip then at your eyes. “You did that to the guy just now!” 

The boy blinked at you as if you were crazy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shook his head but when he took a piece of pizza and started to munch on it, one hand waving at you and walking towards his friends, you noticed the way he smiled.

_____

A few hours later, people were scattered around the campus, most of them in bed “sleeping”, some of them actually already sleeping since it was almost morning. 

The prefects were still in the hall, wrists twisting and eyes annoyed at the chore of having to clean up after the ball. 

“It’s going to take you only half an hour, my children,” the headmistress chuckled brightly. “You’re prefects for a reason. Other children don’t have your advanced magical power and would end up cleaning for a whole day. Responsibilities. Am I right?” 

“She could clean in 5 minutes yet here we are,” the Gryffindor prefect mumbled after she left, leaving behind an obnoxious perfume cloud. 

If the ball would have at least been fun, it would be different now, cleaning while at least being a little euphoric. 

But not only was it the most boring and uneventful party ever, you also had to do Kim Doyoung’s part since he was as slow as a snail. 

“Get your shit together. We can clean much faster if you get your ass up,” you stared him down with hands on your hips.

Doyoung looked up at you from the chair he was sprawled on, one hand to sustain his head, the other twisting while his finger lazily transported a flying bottle of beer across the room. 

“I am working.” 

You scoffed. “You’re the best at object moving. If you wanted, you could also finish everything in 5 minutes.” 

The boy tilted his head to the side, suddenly focused and amused. “Are my ears failing me, or did you just compliment me?” 

“If you need my praise to do your job, then yes, Kim, you’re very good at this type of magic.” 

Doyoung chuckled happily and got up. With a smack of his lips, he rolled his wrists and all the trash disappeared from the floors and tables appearing into the trash cans instead. The Hufflepuff prefect whistled, impressed, and the Gryffindor sighed upon realizing he had worked his ass off for nothing. 

You put your tongue in your cheek annoyed but also secretly happy he actually did it. “Floors.” 

Doyoung took out his tongue in the most annoying habit he had. Your eyes involuntarily darted towards it and he smiled. 

“You’re such a snake when you do that.” “Okay, crow. Deal with your floors yourself then,” he passed you and walked towards the exit. 

The other prefects already left, too tired to deal with your bickering and probably relieved that someone else could clean up much faster. 

You stared at his back, annoyed, then twisted your wrist to pull his body back towards you. His black jacket moved as if a gentle breeze blew across him and Doyoung stopped. 

“Wait, sorry-” he laughed and turned around, his voice echoing in the gigantic empty room ringing inside your skull. “-were you perhaps trying to do-” he twisted his wrist and you yelped, feet dragging across the pavement as if your body was being pulled by an invisible force until you clashed on his chest, “-this?” he finished. 

Your hands were up on his shirt and for a few moments your brain couldn’t think anything besides, first, how good he smelled, and second, it was the first time for you to actually touch each other. 

“If you’re so good at this, then clean the floors as well, so we can finally go.” 

He stared you down.

“Ask nicely.” 

You scoffed incredulously. “I’d rather clean it with my own hands than do that.” 

He smiled. "You want to kiss me so badly, Y/N." 

“I-- what? Are you drunk?” 

“Why are you so flustered?” 

“I am--not-” you grabbed the hand he raised to cup your face, “flustered! I am appalled.” 

“I want to kiss you.” 

Breathing has never been a difficulty for you and you’ve always laughed at main characters in books talking so extensively about air, but at that moment, your hand still holding Doyoung’s one, your chests pressing against each other and his eyes, fuck, you actually started to slightly pant. What was wrong with him? 

“If you stopped using your snake powers-” “This is no power. It’s just you being attracted to me,” he finally cupped your face and this time you didn’t move away. “Check on it. You can pull away.”

He was right. But if that wasn’t some slytherin doing then you were probably going crazy because you saw your hands move almost on their own on Doyoung’s shoulders. 

Then you actually leaned in and he met you halfway. 

Your limbs were trembling when he brushed his lips on yours and to your surprise, they were warm and soft. 

Then he pulled you even closer and you whined for no reason besides your brain yelling ‘this is so nice!!!! we love dopamine!!!’ at you. 

And you sought for some more. 

When you licked his lower lips, Doyoung’s hands had a tremor on your waist but he was quick to adjust to your sudden burst of passion with the same energy. 

Of all the things that you anticipated that night, making out with Kim Doyoung was definitely not one of them. Then why you felt relieved as if finally doing somethig you’ve ached to do for so long?

Did he want to kiss you? 

He was currently kissing you at that moment? 

Absurd. 

Yet there you were, panting and desperate for each other, unable to stop drinking each other’s breaths. 

“I’m taking you to my room,” he whispered and the look in his eyes was something you’ve never seen before.

____

Suffocating.

You were suffocating as your breath was taken away from your lungs at Doyoung's every touch on your back. 

First your neck with his cold knuckles, then your spine to reach the zip of your red dress. He opened it slowly imitating the pace of his soft lips on your jaw. And when the fabric fell to your feet you turned around, your arms quick to pull him into a messy kiss, while his hands fell on your hips, pushing you towards the silky bed. 

You sat down and got quickly on your knees to be able to reach his face again. 

Doyoung, standing near the edge of the bed, closed his eyes when you drifted your attention from his lips to his neck then chest, placing a kiss on the newly exposed skin every time you made a button pop open. His abdomen twitched every time and when you reached his navel you palmed his torso up, enjoying his shaky breath when the shirt fell off his shoulders.

A little chuckle coming from you made him look down at your sultry face, the hue of the red lights and lit candles dancing on your skin. Then he stared at his own body. Dozens of kisses adorned it in the colour of your lipstick.

"If I can't mark you, I can at least do this," you raised one eyebrow at him, hands gently dealing with his belt. "Who said you can't mark me?" "Hm?" you opened his pants zip and you could have sworn that Doyoung's eyes flickered. "You really want to go around all covered in hickeys?"

The boy smiled and cupped your face, his thumb slowly caressing your lower lip. "Do it where it can't be seen then."

So you let your tongue out on your amused lips and leaned down to reach the skin above the waistband of his underwear. Your tip wetted his skin making his take in a deep breath. "Is here alright?" you whispered against his warm body.

Doyoung's hand found his place on your nape and you took it as consensus, gingerly taking his skin inside your mouth and sucking on it. A red spot already started to form and you sucked again near it, and again, before suddenly placing a kiss on his clothed bulge instead. 

Doyoung drank air through his teeth at the unexpected touch and his fingers got to your shoulders, pushing you into the bed before your legs could wrap around his waist. 

His tongue inside your mouth was as delicious as the silk your body was rubbing against. It made its way down your neck then chest and when it reached your perked nipples your knees buckled and you grabbed that red silk with your fists. Little soft whimpers escaped your lips and they became louder as Doyoung's fingers got between your legs. They scratched the lace of your panties and you lifted your hips as he dragged them down. The boy, then, palmed your skin and placed open kisses on it from the ankle down and every touch closer made you lose a bit of your self-control. 

You really were about to fuck Kim Doyoung. 

What kind of sick and twisted situation was that? 

Were you bewitched? 

Did he do something to you?

But when his lips reached your dripping core, tongue quick to collect your juice, it didn't matter. 

If this was the consequence of you getting bewitched, you wanted it to happen every day. And you told him. You hand gripped his hair and your back arched, profanities quickly spilling out of your chest. Doyoung cupped your ass, pressing his thumbs into your flesh and you let your thighs drape over his shoulders. 

Why was he that good? It honestly offended you to find out that Kim Doyoung aced pussy eating too besides everything else. 

And when he stopped to breathe, you saw his eyes and his juicy lips. 

It was the sexiest view you’ve ever seen in your life so you yanked his head toward your face and he obliged with a panting smile. 

Making out while his long fingers pumped inside of you was the highlight of your university career, and you cared about the curriculum a lot. 

And when he curled them upwards, touching spots inside of you that made you lose vision, you were ready to beg him to do it to you as often as possible. 

"Cumming- I'm--ah-" 

Doyoung got back between your legs and added his tongue to the action again. 

It was too much. 

His books flew from his shelves as you reached the highest climax of your life. 

He chuckled, peppering your shaking body in soft kisses. “I thought you weren’t good at object moving.” You breathed heavily a few more moments before finally finding your voice again. Doyoung reached your lips and you shivered upon feeling his hard cock resting between your legs. He stared at your expression as he lightly hit your oversensitive clit with its tip then rubbed himself between your folds with a sigh. “You’re the one good at moving, so please, move.” The boy bit your lower lip, stretching it out a little before sucking on it, one hand to cup your hip and the other grabbing the silk near your head. He got you so wet that he didn’t need much to easily slip inside of you. He cursed with heavy breath and you wondered if your nails were leaving marks on his back skin as he moved his hips. 

You didn't have Doyoung only in your brain like usual, thinking about him day and night. You finally had him physically so deep inside that you thought you were about to lose your mind. 

So this was it, the sweet overwhelming sensation of being in the present instead of chasing something in the future. 

It was just like everyone described it to be, everything. 

But it wasn't a moment in time or space as you’ve anticipated. It was a person and that person, you realized, was Doyoung. 

If your mouth wasn’t busy spilling his name out of it inside his soft lips and if his hums didn’t make your whole being vibrate, you would have probably laughed at the destiny. 

"You are, so fucking, hot-," you whispered breathlessly, eyes barely able to stay open to drink in his image. "So you admit it. You think I'm sexy," you could see his smirk even in the red darkness of his room. "I wouldn't let you ram into me like this if I thought otherwise." "Oh really? And yet I was here thinking you were doing charity since 'no girl would want to make my dick wet'." You chuckled before the sounds could get interrupted by your high moans instead, the frustration that phrase gave to Doyoung translating into his hips thrusting even harder. "I take that back." "Are you trying to say that you want me to slow down? You can’t take this?" "Oh, no, I love how you're fucking me as if you hate me." "But I don’t actually hate you”, you wished to hear at least for a split second but no word came out of the boy's lips, his hips slowing down instead as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

It was as good as his fast thrusts, his strokes so fluid and deep it made you grunt every time he pressed into you. He was so good that it irritated you. 

"You really like to do the opposite of what I want, huh?" "Yeah," his voice inside your ear made your skin get goosebumps. “I love your frustrated expression and mannerism.” "Ah, shit-" you dug your nails into his back as the bed started to creak. "A good girl like you swearing like this? Who taught you?" "It's your influence." "Am I turning you bad?" "Yeah. Every time you're around I want to do bad things and I have no idea what's going on." You didn't expect to be that honest but Doyoung's intimate presence was like a drug, making you feel so high that you were ready to get twisted by him in every way he wanted. 

No. You desired it. You wanted Doyoung to play with you and for once you would not resist it at all. You would beg for more.

And when he actually took you there, in a place where your thoughts did not exist anymore, where only his touch grounded you, the hand that pushed you over the edge and the one bringing you back up, you did just that. You asked for more, shaking uncontrollably on his luscious bed and he did what you wanted. For once he granted every wish you had and even beyond that.

_____

Your desire to leave his room that night was not as strong as you anticipated. 

Doyoung arms didn't want to let go and you didn't fight him at all. 

Sighing, you got back to his chest and didn't comment on the way he tightened his hold on you. If this wasn’t the way people-that-hate-each-other-but-like-to-weirdly-fuck-for-some-reason behaved, it would be a concern for your conscious mind and not for your fucked up one. 

His scent was inebriating and if you didn't know the way he could make you feel, you would have thought that it was the highest form of aphrodisiac. 

And maybe it was actually making you feel high because under your lids you could have sworn that the room slowly changed colour. 

You opened your sleepy eyes and stared at the wall behind Doyoung’s shoulder, blinking hard. 

It was dark blue, almost black, with a myriad of little bright lights. 

The candles went out and the room did get dark after Doyoung rolled over breathless, his cum dripping slowly on your thigh, but you were pretty sure there were no stars before. 

And when you shifted to rest on your back you almost choked on your own spit. 

You weren’t looking at the night sky. 

No. You were inside the sky. 

Purple, whites, yellows and pinks all melted together to form galaxies and cosmic dust. 

No roof, no walls, no pavements, just the bed, Doyoung and you in the middle of everything. 

Your fingers dug into the arm Doyoung had thrown across your chest and perhaps you made some type of sound because the boy opened his eyes to stare at your profile. “Do you like it?” he murmured. Your head snapped towards his face and his eyes reflected the infinite little lights as if he held two other universes inside of them. “How is this possible?” He smiled sheepishly. “Slytherin rooms. They change based on the owner’s mood.” You felt your mouth open on its own. “This is your doing?” Doyoung hummed and closed his eyes again, pulling you towards him to hold you like before. You let him place his chin on top of your head and breathed in his scent yet again. 

“So the red room?” “I was horny.” You smiled. “And how do you feel now?” “A little less horny. If I’m not careful you’ll see a whole star engulf us soon.” “This is so unfair. We don’t have such cool rooms.” “Or maybe you do but being Ravenclaws you’re all thinking of boring, brown looking rooms.” 

You rolled your eyes even if he couldn’t see you and gently, you placed a hand on his chest, close to your face and above his heart. You could feel the calm and peaceful beats in syntony with the night sky. To know that inside that boy’s mind could be such beauty made your heart not beat as calmly as his heart did. 

You had no idea what you were doing, hugging so intimately with your sworn enemy, and maybe it was the romantic vibe that made you do it since there was no rational explanation to any of it, but you raised your face to meet his lips. 

And you just kissed him. Slowly and softly, barely brushing them with yours. 

Doyoung opened his eyes for a moment, as if surprised, but upon feeling you pressing yourself on his body he closed them again and pulled you on top of him. 

The universe didn’t change, although, when you let your tongue inside his mouth, slowly, as if having all the time in the world at your feet, the stars flickered and got brighter. 

“Are you trying to see a star up close? I can make it happen without you rubbing yourself on me,” he smiled on your lips. “What happens when you suddenly lose control?” Doyoung’s pupils trembled and the room started to shake. You knew it wasn’t real but you still jolted and looked around terrified. “Let’s find out.”  

_____

"I, saw, you, leave, with, Kim, Doyoung, last night," Haechan chanted teasingly as he sat down with his breakfast tray. 

You wanted to keep a poker face but your facial muscles weren't under your control so you smiled. 

"Oh!! Look at her! Oh my God. So- wow. Okay. Okay," Haechan tried to compose himself. "Is he any good?" he leaned in lowering his voice. 

You sighed and nodded. "So fucking good."

Haechan squealed and hit your shoulder before wrapping it with one arm and wobbling you around. 

"Stop it!" you hissed amused. "Everything hurts." "EVERYTHING HURTS! So he's got a monster cock."

"Shut up!" you pressed your hand on his mouth scandalized as Doyoung made his way inside the cafeteria with his friends. 

You breathed in slowly and just as slowly you exhaled, trying to relax. Haechan made an effort to appear calm as well. "Sup, Kim." You smiled. 

The other boy looked your way as he walked behind your table. "Hey, Lee," then he turned to you. "Y/L/N." 

And left. 

Just like that. 

He looked at you for one second and continued on his way to the Slytherin tables. 

No smile. 

No acknowledgement. 

Cold just like before. 

As if nothing had happened. 

You stared at his back, feeling your limbs heavy like stone. Turning around slowly, you grabbed your fork and started to eat in silence. "Hey." Haechan lightly bumped your arm with his shoulder. "He's probably just feeling awkward." You munched slowly and took it as an excuse to keep quiet. "Hey, come on." "What?" Haechan sighed. "You can say that you're disappointed that he-" "I don't know what you're talking about."

_____

For the first time, instead of feeling rage inside your gut, you felt anxious. 

Doyoung was in front of you, face almost hidden under his hair as he typed into his computer. He greeted you as he usually did before the, well, before you let him see the deepest parts of you, figuratively and physically. But after that single “hey” no other words came from his part. 

It wouldn't have been that weird if only a few hours ago he didn't kiss your lips in heaven. 

When you woke up that morning, the night sky wasn’t there anymore. At his place were clouds. White fluffy clouds in the middle of a pink sky. 

It was breathtaking and you felt like flying. 

And he did kiss you softly. 

And now he acted as if you weren't even there. 

Maybe Haechan was right. Maybe he was feeling awkward. It's not like he could suddenly act lovingly in front of the whole campus. You were still enemies after all. And maybe you were also right. 

You've just fucked. It's not like you started to date. He had no obligations towards you. 

Yet, when his fingers drew your spine and his sigh caressed your lips, it didn't seem just fucking to you. 

Was Doyoung like that? Was that his personality? Was he doing that to all the girls he brought into his room? Making them cum multiple times and showing them his soft side? Was that a well-plotted plan? Was he trying to hurt you? 

You were ready to let him do whatever he wanted to you the previous night, yet at that moment, under the bright sunlight of the study room, you felt sick. It was a weird feeling. It grabbed at your throat and travelled down to your heart making it difficult for you to breathe. 

You trusted him with your feelings and you let him see your vulnerable side. 

Did he laugh? Was he feeling triumphant now? Did he win a battle against you? He had you on his palm? Because, God, he did have you on his palm now and with only a twist of his wrist he could get you into his arms again. 

And you would have let him.

You hated it. You fell so hard it hurt everywhere. You were dizzy and confused and you couldn't look at him anymore.

_____

It was easy to avoid Doyoung for the following days. It was almost too easy as if he was trying to avoid you too. So walking towards the library you jolted hearing his low voice inside one of the classrooms. You stopped in place and after a few seconds of thinking you peeped inside. Then you gulped and hid under the door window. 

He was resting his hips on the professor's desk, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed on his chest. In front of him was standing one of the most beautiful girls you've ever seen. 

She was talking with a peaceful tone and Doyoung suddenly laughed. You got up and quickly walked away.

_____

"How the fuck would I know?" the girl asked. 

Doyoung rolled his eyes. "Your dad designed them. You must know more than me."

"Listen. We're the only house with mood rooms because we're the only people who can control their emotions. It's not my fault you're a terrible Slytherin and your room has been pitch black for the past days." 

Doyoung sighed in irritation. "What the fuck does that even mean though?" 

"Usually mourning."

The boy shook his head. "No one died."

"Then it can be a general pain. Or confusion," the girl explained. 

Doyoung raised his gaze on her. "What would I be so confused about?" 

She shrugged. "You're the only one that can know. Chill out maybe and stop thinking when you're inside of it. I'll ask my dad how to turn it off and I'll let you know. Now leave me alone, I'm busy," she said and left the classroom.

_____

"Hey," Doyoung said. "That's my pencil."

You looked down at your fingers and furrowed your eyebrows. 

"No. This is mine."

The boy sighed. "I can sense it's mine."

"I legit bought it yesterday. And what are you? A psychic? 'I can sense it's mine'." 

"I'm a Slytherin. We're snakes. Everything I lick is mine. And I can sense that's mine." 

Your mouth opened slightly and you waited for him to laugh but Doyoung remained serious. 

"That has to be a joke."

"Okay, keep it. It just makes me feel giddy when things I own are used by other people." "Because you're selfish." "It's a real sensation. I know when something I licked is being used by somebody else," and he raised his eyes on you. You stared back and the weight of his words made your throat close. 

I hope it doesn't work with people too, you wanted to ask, but the noise on your left interrupted you. 

"Can I talk to you?" the same girl from a few days ago suddenly made her appearance near your desk. Doyoung looked at her surprised. "Yeah." "Bring me to your room," she ordered.

_____

You shouldn't have been there. 

It was useless and it would only make you further lose your mind. 

But your feet descended the Slytherin corridor, nose following the trail of the girl's perfume until arriving at Doyoung’s door. 

You remained still for a moment and after a few seconds of indecisiveness you suddenly turned around going back. 

That was too creepy. You had absolutely no reason to be there. If Doyoung wanted to fuck that girl, so be it. 

But then you stopped again. 

Fuck. 

Just, just a little glance. Just a tiny little glance. Just the colour. Just to be sure. 

You didn't turn around to actually see anything. With your back towards the door, you twisted your wrist, doing the most illegal thing one can do inside the campus - transparency spell. A tiny portion of the wall disappeared at your silent command and you could see the red hue spilling outside of it on the dark pavement at your feet. 

It was enough and you barely saw the stairs when you got out of the basement.

_____

"You weren't lying when you said it's pitch black. It even absorbs magic light."

Doyoung sighed. 

The girl presumably turned around because Doyoung heard her voice more clearly when she spoke again.

"Okay, so this is what we're gonna do. Sit down somewhere and relax." 

The boy let himself fall on the carpet with a grunt. 

"Close your eyes."

He obliged even if he could have let them open too for all it mattered. 

"Now, think of someone of your choice." 

Doyoung's mind automatically drifted towards you and the room besides being dark, felt suddenly very cold as well. 

"No, okay, Doyoung, change the person." "She's the only one I can think about." The girl sighed. "Well, at least we know the reason for all of this. God, it's so fucking cold, try to not think about anything for a second!" 

"It's hard, okay?" 

"Okay, fuck. Think about her but imagine something else. Think of a good memory you have with her."

Doyoung sighed irritated and furrowed his eyebrows even more. "I don't think this is going to work."

But when he let his mind imagine your panting expression underneath him, a slight red hue started to create from the floor going up to the walls. 

The girl exulted. "Yes! Don't stop. Continue thinking about that!" 

Doyoung opened up one eye as the girl exulted again and he could finally see the furniture in his room. 

It was a dark red, not the bright red he actually had his room painted in when he held you into his arms, but enough for him to not get a headache 24/7.

"Well it's not like I can think about--that, every time I need to be in my room, can I?" he got up. 

The girl knew what red meant and she chuckled. 

"Don't you have any other good memory with her besides fucking?" 

The room got bright red. 

The girl laughed even harder. 

"Ah, shut up." "Hey, I helped you out." "Barely," he plopped on the bed and put his face into his palms. 

It could have been considered a gesture coming from embarrassment if the lights didn't start to get dim again. 

"God, you're really all over the place, huh?" she sat near him. "What happened? Is she your ex?”  

Doyoung sighed and directed his gaze upon an indistinct point in front of him. Maybe he was tired, or maybe it was the dark room and the fact that Doyoung didn’t even remember the girl’s name, making her a safe stranger, but he whispered. 

"I made a mistake. I thought she was into me so-- fuck, I went down on her."

The girl made a surprised sound but waited for the most important part. 

“Well, she’s not into me, but I am.”

"You're so stupid!" 

"Yeah okay, thanks."

"We're Slytherins! It's not like we don't give head because we're prude, it's to prevent this! You horny dumbass." "I thought she liked me! I had no idea she'd- fuck someone else right after!" Doyoung grunted frustrated and fell back on the bed, the room getting to the pitch-black from before. 

The girl let the silence calm him down a bit before talking. 

"I am sorry. I had things used by others but I don't know what it feels like with people."

"It's not necessarily painful but- knowing the reason, it's just-" 

"Yeah. You just have to let her go so the bond is receded. Like with things, you know?"

"It's easy to let go of a thing that's yours. How can I manage to let go of her?" 

The girl sighed and remained in silence.

_____

You had no idea how you managed to remain seated in front of Doyoung that morning. 

His complexion was paler than usual and his eyes were very tired. As if he didn't sleep enough last night. Or at all. 

You had to breathe in and out slowly to ease the pain inside your stomach. 

"You look terrible."

Doyoung's dark irises under his low lids made your skin crawl when he looked up at you. 

"Is someone keeping you too active to get enough sleep?" you asked again, trying hard to get back to the tone you both were used to before. 

The boy tightened his lips in a mockery smile. "Yeah. As discussed, I have no problem keeping my dick wet."

"Well-," you frowned with a raised chin, your lips forming a pout for a moment before you forced them to keep the poker face, "-I started to see someone lately too."

He looked unbothered. "As in dating or hallucinations?" 

You ignored his comment. 

“We’ve already been on three dates,” you lied. 

“And you’re telling me this because-?” 

You shrugged. “Conversation.” 

“I hate small talk.” 

“Is there something you don’t hate?” 

“Silence. And smart people, which given your latest test results, you’re not.” 

You had no idea what it was. 

You and Doyoung had always called each other names, insulted each other’s intelligence and the sorts, yet at that moment, maybe because of your failing tests, the alignment of stars or the fact that you were actually in love with him, you burst into tears. 

It took Doyoung a few good seconds to realize that you were wailing in front of him.

“Hey?” 

He crouched on the desk to be able to see your face from underneath your arms. You hid it even more. 

“Y/N,” he lowered his voice. It was as soft and delicate as when he whispered your name under the sky. 

You suddenly took your stuff and ran away from the study room.

_____

Doyoung was slowly but surely losing his mind. 

One day, two days, three days and you were still nowhere to be seen. 

His room has been different shades of grey, which was better than black but now the walls had water running on them and the floor was constantly wet. 

Altogether, not a good time. 

“Holy shit, are you that depressed?” 

Doyoung raised his eyes from the book he was reading before rolling them so far up that Haechan thought they wouldn’t come back anymore.

“What do you want?” 

The Gryffindor took a step inside the room with hands behind his back and took a lazy stroll to where Doyoung’s dresser was crying. “Your flowers are all dead. Throw them away.” “They keep appearing every time,” Doyoung started to read again, the little line between his eyebrows showing how hard he tried to understand whatever the pages were trying to say but failing. 

“I’m here because it’s boring to not have you yell at Y/N in the study room as always,” Haechan spoke again nonchalantly, fingers rubbing against each other, as to get rid of the imaginary dust they collected from Doyoung’s furniture. Given the situation, the room probably made up piles of mud as well. 

"Who's the guy?" Doyoung suddenly asked. 

Haechan furrowed his eyebrows. "What guy?" 

"The one she's fucking."

The other blinked at him surprised. 

"You mean, Kim Doyoung?" 

The Slytherin's eyes widened and Haechan saw how he looked with flushed cheeks for the first time in his life. 

"Aw, come on. Of course, I know everything."

"If you know everything, then tell me who the fuck this guy she's been fucking beside me is!" Doyoung got up from the bed. 

"There's no other guy. What are you talking about?" 

"Fuck, I felt it how he touched her and it drives me crazy!" Haechan opened his mouth to talk but jolted, eyes staring at Doyoung’s arm extended to hit the wall behind his head expecting to see a dent in the hard brick from how much force he put into that.  

"Is it you?" “Uhm? What the fuck?” "Answer me." "Okay, first of all, take a step back."

Doyoung leaned in even more and Haechan gulped. 

"Okay! Okay, gosh. No. There's no guy fucking her as far as I know."

"Where is she?" "I don't know." "What kind of friend are you if you don't know it?" 

Haechan crossed his arms on his chest. "Am I seriously getting scolded on friendship values by Kim Doyoung right now? You that made her cry in the common room? You that made her rest her weapons in front of you just to see you treat her like scum? After using her? We don’t have mood rooms but we have things like hearts and mouths which we use to, you know, ask other people how they feel-" "I don't have enough patience and you know that."

Haechan breathed in and out before finally opening his lips again. "She's in the dorms. Obviously. Where the fuck would she be-"

Doyoung turned around on his heels like a tornado and walked towards the towers. 

"She doesn't want to talk to you!" Haechan told the other boy's back but he wasn't sure he heard him.

_____

She doesn't want to talk to you. 

Fuck it. 

Doyoung knew he was self-centred and he knew that your absence had something to with him but for once he really wanted to be wrong. 

Used you? You really thought Doyoung used you? When you used him and then got somebody else to touch you like that? 

Fuck, if Doyoung were in his room at that moment it would probably resemble a killing storm. 

"Hey, you can't be here," some random guy stopped him as Doyoung stepped into the Gryffindor common room. "How did you even enter-" 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Doyoung looked around, eyeing all of the different doors and chose left, venturing down the corridor, for once - and cringingly so - listening to his heart. 

Haechan was right. You didn’t have real mood rooms but he could physically feel the energy of each and one of them with his heart. 

He knew it was your door before even getting close to it, the feeling coming from it making his blood boil in his veins just like he would feel when you were around. 

With a twist of his wrist, he tried to open it but it didn't work. 

"Are you seriously trying to barge into a girl's room like that, Kim?" a scandalous voice said behind the door. 

"How did you know it was me?" Doyoung placed one palm on the wood. 

"Only you could force open a door without even knocking," you replied. "And the spell is made for you specifically, so I know."

The boy rested his forehead on the door and closed his eyes. "You were waiting for me." 

The silence on the other side made him sigh. "Open up. Let me talk to you." 

It got even quieter than before. "I wasn't waiting for you. You had no reasons to come," you finally whispered. 

Doyoung twisted his wrist and the door in front of himself vanished from his eyes. Apparently, you didn't anticipate he'd be able to use the transparency spell since you didn't even preoccupy yourself to block it and he could tell you didn't even sense it, so concentrated on your thoughts. From your perspective the door was still there and, previously leaning against it with your back, you rolled on it now and unknowingly imitated Doyoung's position, foreheads almost touching if not for the layer of old wood. 

"What do I have to say?" he asked, looking at your face. He saw how you bit your lower lip at the sound of his voice and the genuine sadness in your face made him even angrier at the whole situation. "You don't have to say anything," you finally replied. 

Doyoung's jaw muscles tensed. 

"Please, please, open this goddamn door." 

The intensity of his voice made you raise your head and your senses got sharp again, feeling the energy he put into using his spell. 

With the twist of your wrist, the door flew open and you finally saw Doyoung's face. 

"You used transparency," you suddenly looked furious. “You know you can’t do that inside the university.” "Fuck, I was," he stepped in. "What if I was naked?" "Nothing I haven't seen before." 

You rolled your eyes. "You make me so frustrated."

"I am making you frustrated? Then what about me, huh?" 

"What would you even be frustrated about if you don't even care about me? You tease me and you insult me and then you make love to me like a desperate man and then you go back to being your selfish, deprecable self. What is this? Why do you keep playing with me? Is it fun? You find it amusing to see me like this?" 

Your words completely floored him. 

"I can ask you the same thing. I can feel it inside my chest when someone else touches you and it drives me fucking insane. I made a mistake and I gave in thinking you had some feelings for me and that I wasn't just a fuck toy you could use one night and throw away." 

Your mouth fell open. 

He could feel it? He could feel you? So you did belong to him?

"This is crazy. You hid something like this from me! Now you have access to what's going on with my body without my consent!" 

"I had no idea I was in love with you, okay? It has never happened to me before. I don't want to know either when someone else eats you out! I just- you’re here hiding in your room and crying as if you have feelings for me or something when you let someone else-" he stopped. 

You looked at his reddening neck and closed eyes. 

His breath was shaky and you realized how you've never actually seen him angry or upset before. 

"No one has done anything to me, Doyoung. Unlike you, who fucked that Slytherin girl after showing me the fucking heaven. Did you do that to her as well? Sweet talk? For what? Is this your hobby? Making girls fall in love with you?" 

The boy shook his head in confusion."What are you talking about? There's no Slytherin girl."

"The one that had the urgency to see your room?" 

He pinched the base of his nose with a grunt of realization. "She helped me to figure out why my room was pitch-black and why it's currently grey with wet fucking walls."

"Oh yeah? Because to me, it looked very much red."

"You've been spying on me?"

You huffed and sat down on the bed like a child when they're found guilty but they're too proud to admit it. "You used transparency just 5 minutes ago too,” you justified yourself as if you were equal now. 

"And did you see me fuck that girl?" 

"I didn't want to actually look inside like a creep! But you were pretty much horny. The corridor got all red."

"I was thinking about you! And now I’m also thinking about you and I’ve been thinking about you all of these days and months and probably all of these fucking years since I first met you.” 

Your brain felt like mush. 

"Then you knew? You treated me like that because you liked me? Only children tease the person they like."

"I didn’t know. I had no fucking idea before. And apparently, I am a fool for not having realized before and fuck, perhaps I’m a child as well then. I’m insecure. Because I wanted you to think about me too. And perhaps you don’t even remember but I’ve tried to be nice to you before and it didn’t work. But you started to give me attention when I made you mad. It was easy and playful and I saw how you often smiled when I turned my back to you and- fuck, I got hopeful. That you’d start to feel the same.” 

“I do feel the same, for fuck’s sake! I am in love with you.”

Doyoung swallowed dryly. “Then why-” 

“It was me.” 

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. 

“That morning after I left your room I took a shower, and-,” you looked around as if trying to find the courage to say what you had to say, “- I was thinking about you, so-”

Doyoung understood before you could finish the phrase and you saw his face fall. 

“Wait, is it possible? Even if you do it?” 

You scoffed incredulously. “You’re the Slytherin here. Until a few days ago I didn’t even know you had magical spit making you feel whatever I did to my own pussy!” 

Doyoung closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as if he needed a moment.

“But I researched it when you told me about the pencil. It has to do with some weird-ass Slytherin shit where couples own each other’s bodies. Most people find it hot to know when the partner is-” you cleared your voice as it got suddenly tiny from talking about that shameful topic. 

“So no, I did not let anyone touch me. If you were smart enough you would have noticed that it didn’t happen anymore after you treated me like shit.” 

The boy looked as if his soul left his body.

The silence engulfed the whole room and you avoided each other’s eyes. 

But then it got disrupted by his movements. With slow steps, he walked the space from the middle of the room to the feet of the bed where you were sat down. 

With weak limbs, he let himself down on his knees in front of you and slowly he let his face fall into your lap. 

Your breath fell short. With trembling hands, you caressed his nape, lightly as if afraid to touch him, then his hair, patting it gently. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool this whole time. Like, I am so stupid.” His voice was muffled by your clothes and his arms wrapped your waist even more while saying it. 

“You’re the smartest person I know. But you could’ve just asked instead of assuming.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. Hey Y/N, so I can feel inside my gut that you orgasmed hard just now. Who did it? I thought you liked me.” 

He raised his head again, his hair messy on the forehead, eyes lit up by the sun coming from your big windows and violent red cheeks. He looked young and vulnerable and suddenly the whole situation seemed so ridiculous that you laughed. 

“I am sorry,” you chuckled and cupped his face. “You’re right. It was a weird situation. We should work on communication. And you should work on not being so insecure.” “You also assumed I fucked a girl just because I was talking to her.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We both have to work on that, alright?” 

He sighed relieved seeing you smile. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about that whole thing before. But I swear, I had no idea my feelings for you were that deep.” “Does it not work with mere crushes?” He shook his head. 

"Well, do you know what I want now? For you to obtain my forgiveness?" you asked. "Me to kiss you." You flicked his head. "You will never drop that attitude of yours, will you?" He smiled even more. "I love to see you like this."

“I want something else,” you explained. Doyoung turned his head to the side. “Me eating you out?” 

“Oh my God! No!” you tried to get away from his hold but he pushed you back on the bed and crawled beside you. “But that pussy is mine-” “Shut up!! Don’t say that ever again! You still need to apologize some more for that. Now I can’t even masturbate.” “You don’t need to masturbate if you have me.” “I fucking hate you so much.” “I love you too. So what was the thing that you wanted?” 

“It’s just-- it’s unfair. So I-- also want to know.” “You want to own my cock?” he chuckled in the crook of your neck. “Why do you really have to use such words?!”

“You can do it. You just need to go down on me too.” “Even if I’m not a slytherin?” “If you’re in love with your slytherin partner, you don’t need to be one to be tied to them like that.” “Pants off then. Now.” _____

Haechan walked through Doyoung’s room with a chuckle, trying hard to avoid all the flowers that suddenly started to grow tall until reaching the ceiling. 

With the corner of his eyes he also noticed the way all of them started to turn red and with a disgusted face, he moved faster, exiting it and closing the door behind him.

[prince-septimus]

These 3+1 prompts sound fun! How about 3 times Dex & reader almost kissed & 1 time they did

kiss me.

pairing : benjamin poindexter x officer!reader

summary : 3 times you and dex almost kiss, and the one time you do.

word countt : 1.5k

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. The cute agent from the FBI who you have now had the honor of dealing with on four separate occasions, along with this week-long venture. You remember the first time you had seen him, and you were sure he had smiled at the sight of you.

It isn’t a crush, or at least that’s what you kept telling your fellow officers at the end of each of those shifts. The fact that they questioned it excited you, though. Maybe they had seen what you had – the spark.

That’s why you think he’s going to kiss you. It’s the end of a long case worked on by both your unit of officers and the local FBI. You had delivered the good news about finding the suspect and apprehending him, ending the week-long search, and the smile that Dex gives you makes your stomach tie in knots.

You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. He moves so quick and for that split second, you’re hoping he does, but then his lips are on your cheek and you’re trying to hold back your sigh when he pulls back.

“You’re a lifesaver, Officer.”

You smile, trying to hide your disappointment. “It wasn’t just me, Agent.”

“Yeah, but I like you the most, so I’m giving you all the credit.”

You try not to let the wink he offers you make you feel some type of way.

-

“I feel like this is a little unfair.”

“Oh, is the big bad officer upset that they’re losing a game of darts?”

“I just don’t understand how you’ve gotten a bullseye every single time! I came here with you to have fun.”

“I think you’re just a sore loser.” Dex aims again, letting the dart fly, and there it is again.

Yet another bullseye.

“You’re cheating.”

Dex laughs. “I am not.”

“You’ve got to be!” You walk towards the dartboard, lifting it up and looking behind it. “What did you do? Rig it with a magnet?”

“Come on, Officer. Have a little faith in my skills.”

“I’ll have a little faith when you let me win.”

Dex grabs the darts before moving behind you. “Not a chance, but I can fix your aim.”

“There is nothing wrong with my aim!”

“Those empty drink glasses say otherwise.”

You smile as Dex puts a dart in your hand, keeping your hand in his as he pulls your arm backwards.

“It’s all about the aim,” he whispers against your ear. You bite your lip when he uses your hand to throw the dart at the board and…

Bullseye.

You turn slowly, staying close to Dex. “Does that mean I win?”

Dex laughs and you can feel the warmth of his breath. “Only if you can do it a couple more times.”

You don’t pull away, though something in the back of your mind is telling you to do so. Dex is your friend, and occasional coworker. This could be seen as inappropriate in your line of work.

But if he were to kiss you right now, like it seemed he was about to do, you knew you wouldn’t pull away or say no.

He leans towards you. You watch his eyes flicker down to your lips for half a second. You’re so sure he is going to lean down and press his lips against yours.

“Last call!”

You jump away as the bartender shouts for last-minute orders, feeling like you’ve been caught in the act of doing something you shouldn’t be doing.

Dex looks disappointed.

You offer a small smile. “One last drink?”

-

“About last night…”

“We were drunk.”

“Extremely.”

“I don’t even remember half of what we did.”

“Neither do I.”

“The last thing I remember is playing darts.”

“Right.”

Dex sighs, wiping at his face. “And we almost kissed.”

You fidgeted with the spoon from your coffee. “Would that have been so bad?”

You and Dex had decided to get breakfast together before your shifts. The two of you sat in a quiet booth in a little café, already dressed in your uniforms and sipping on what coffee you had left in your mugs before it was time to go.

You hadn’t expected the conversation to turn in this direction.

“I didn’t know if you would’ve really wanted to.”

You raise a brow. “Why’s that?”

“You were drunk.”

“We both were.”

Dex pauses before nodding. “You’re right, but I still should’ve asked.”

Ever the gentleman.

You smile. “Do you remember that one case we worked on? The one where we spent a week dealing with each other? And you kissed me on the cheek after it was over?” You chew on your bottom lip. “I thought you were going to actually kiss me, then.”

“I wanted to.”

“Are you asking now?”

You can see the little glimmer in Dex’s eye, the one he gets whenever he is about to do something mischievous. “I think I am.”

You stand, happy to have already paid for the check. “Come on, then, Agent. One goodbye kiss.”

Dex stands, taking one of your hands in his own. “One goodbye kiss,” he repeats.

You feel the excitement rush up in you suddenly. You realize how long you’ve been waiting to do this as Dex leans down.

A phone rings.

Dex’s phone is ringing. That look of disappointment returns again and you’re beginning to grow tired of it too.

“Next time, Agent.” You reach up a hand and smooth out his shirt.

Dex nods. “Next time, Officer.”

-

“So, it is you.”

Dex smiles from under the mask, but you don’t lower your aim. “Was there ever a doubt?”

“Doubt? No. Hope?” You straighten your stance and try to hide what you’re really feeling in that moment. “Maybe.”

“You didn’t want it to be me?” Dex pouts. “I thought I looked good in the suit.”

“You’ve killed people, Dex. People who deserved to live.”

“Are we sure that anyone deserves to live?”

You huff out a breath, trying to give your brain a chance to wrap itself around the situation and make it truly understand what is happening. “I don’t know what Fisk has done to you, but what you’re saying – those aren’t your words.”

“You trying to talk me down, Officer?” The smile is back, and it makes your stomach turn. It’s not the smile you’re used to. “It’s a little too late for that.”

You know he’s right. You know you’re not going to be able to walk out of here a hero for taking down the Dardevil, but you’re not sure if that’s even what you came here for.

For another half a second, you think about letting your finger pull the trigger right then and there. You were so sure that you could go through with this when you followed him into the church – the one he had wreaked havoc in just a few days ago and decided to return to on a whim – but now you weren’t so sure.

This was still Dex, after all. This was the man you had spent so many late nights with, the man who knew all your secrets whether you liked it or not. And you knew his. At least, now you knew them all.

You let the gun drop to your side, sliding it into your holster and locking it to your hip. When you look up, you see how close Dex has moved to you, almost as silent as his counterpart in the suit can be. You try not to let it overwhelm you.

“Did you always think it was me?” His voice is lower now, as if he’s making up for the closeness between the two of you now.

You shake your head.

“When did you figure it out?”

“When they said the Daredevil had used office supplies to kill people.”

He laughs. It echoes through the empty church. “Am I that obvious?”

“To me, yes.”

Dex closes the rest of the gap between you, his covered chest pressing against yours. You take a deep breath, trying to keep it steady. “I like that you’re not scared of me.”

“Who said I’m not scared?”

“I don’t think you’re scared of me, though.” Dex reaches a gloved hand out, fingers gripping your chin and tilting your head up towards him. His lips ghost over yours. “I think you’re scared of what I can do right now.”

You don’t look away. “Kiss me.”

He’s there, all over you. So quick that you’re unsure of what is happening until his arms are around you and your hands are trying to find purchase on the suit. When you can’t find anywhere to grab, Dex snatches your hands away, pulling them up to sit around his neck.

You feel overwhelmed – like you didn’t want to be, but it all feels so wonderful, and after wanting it for so long, you’re ready to fall head first with his lips pressed against yours.

You don’t care about what he’s done, except for what he’s doing right now.

[iridescent-petrichor]

we’ll meet again, chapter eight

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: none just the plot of Apocalypse !

Words: 3K (jesus)

Previous Chapter

A/N: final chapter!! hope u guys liked this, i do already have another peter series idea but i might do some oneshots for a bit before i start that :-)

“Were you scared?” Jean was the first one to break the silence, everyone in the plane following her gaze to land on Raven. “That day in DC, were you scared?”

“No,” Raven replied, looking away from her. She paused for a long time, the awkwardness in the room growing. “But I was scared on my first mission. I was on a plane like this with my friends, about your age. We called ourselves the X-men. Your brother was there,” she leaned forward, looking to Scott. “We used to call him Havoc. He was a real handful, but when it came down to it he was very brave.”

“What happened to the rest of the kids who went with you? The X-men?” Kurt piped up.

Raven stopped for a moment, avoiding eye contact with the boy. “Hank and I are the only ones left. I couldn’t save the rest of them. I told you, I’m not a hero.”

“Well, you’re a hero to us,” Jean said, turning to her. “Seeing you that day on TV changed my life.”

“Mine too,” Kurt added.

“Mine too.” You jumped in.

“Mine too.” Peter was the last to speak, and of course, he wasn’t done there. “I mean I still live in my mom’s basement but, you know… everything else is uh, well it’s pretty much the same.” He joked, turning to you with a smile that you returned. “I’m a total loser.” He finished, making the plane of people laugh. He was always good at making people laugh.

The tension was only lifted for a few moments, however, because soon turbulence began to shake the plane lightly. You leaned forward, glancing out the window to see pyramids with debris floating around them in half circles.

“Seventh wonder, twelve o'clock,” Hank muttered dryly.

Raven jumped up, standing between Moira and Hank. You glanced from her to Jean, who was staring intently at nothing.

“He has the professor in the center of the pyramid. He’s going to transfer his consciousness into the professor. If he does that, he’ll have the power to control every mind in the world.”

“Shit.” You whispered, anxiety building in your chest. Peter looked at you before turning back to the chaos outside, his hand finding yours as if it was second nature to him. To both of you.

“What the hell is that?” Moira asked, making you stand up to get a better view.

It was like a ball of debris, more concentrated than the ones around the pyramids. It looked like…

A magnetic field.

“It’s Erik,” Raven confirmed your suspicion.

In an instant, Peter was on his feet, leaning against you and staring down where Erik was.

“You guys help Nightcrawler get into the pyramid. Get Charles, I’ll take care of Erik.” Raven ordered, barely looking to the rest of you before focusing back on Erik.

“How are you gonna get through that?” Hank asked.

“I can get you in there.” Peter stood straighter, looking to Raven. “I came here for him, let me help you.”

She nodded before turning to the rest of you once more. “The rest of you, get Charles on this plane and get him out of here.”

“We’re not leaving without you!” Kurt protested.

“Don’t worry,” Peter looks to Kurt in reassurance. “We’ll catch up.”

“Hold on,” Hank warned, making you grab onto the back of Hank’s chair with Peter grabbing onto you.

Hank landed the plane, dropping you just off to the side of all the chaos happening. You all filed out one by one, Raven and Peter walking ahead of the group.

“Hank, Y/N, you go with the kids. Moira will be waiting on the plane.” It was interesting watching Raven easily falling into a leadership role, especially without Charles around. She always seemed to know what she was doing.

“Wait.” Scott stopped, making the rest of the group turn to him.

“What?”

“Not all of us can control our powers.” Suddenly, you remembered your gloves. You had left them at the mansion when it got destroyed, and you didn’t even realize how well you’d been managing without them.

“Then don’t.” Raven’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “You need to embrace them. We all do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Raven showing off her true form, giving a small wave to Peter before he sped off with her.

Hank gave you a look in regards to your affection towards Peter, before motioning for the group to follow him. You did as such, keeping low just in case someone might see the five of you sneaking around. You ran through the rubble, dust clouding around you.

“There’s an entrance, it’s clear,” Hank said, stopping behind a section of a fallen building.

You glanced up just in time to notice the winged mutant that was with Erik when he took Charles soaring down upon the group. Everyone else looked up too, making you all back up to some extent.

“Kurt! Get in there!” Hank ordered, nodding when Kurt disappeared.

The winged mutant shot metal feathers towards you, only stopped when Jean used her powers to create a makeshift shield out of the rubble. He didn’t stay long, choosing instead to follow Kurt into the pyramid.

“In the pyramid. Move!” You ran in front, eyes darting all around you in case of traps or other mutants protecting the pyramid. Hank stayed in the back, making sure everyone got in safely. “Go!”

Lightning sparked violently to the ground, making you jump back. Within seconds, another mutant from earlier today landed in front of you. Her eyes were white, the same color as her hair, and blue electricity crawled up her arms and around her suit.

Fuck.

She walked towards you, the wind picking up until a car was raised into the air. You barely got to the ground in time, seeing it whir over your head.

You heard Hank roar behind you, attempting to use his strength to stop the car. Scott ripped his glasses off, beams of energy shooting towards the girl. When you glanced back, you saw Hank launch the car towards her.

You shot a wave of fire above you, enveloping the car as it launched towards the girl.

Before you could admire your teamwork, a purple laser sliced through the middle of the car, separating it and the flames as a third mutant jumped through the gap.

“Split them up.” She said, making you cast a nervous look to Hank.

The first girl rose from her spot, lightning shooting towards all of you. You jumped back, scrambling to get behind cover. Running into a half-collapsed building, you ducked to avoid the lightning.

As you struggled to catch your breath, you saw the girl with the purple blades wrapping a kinetic rope around Hank’s neck.

You stumbled back outside just as she yanks the rope, throwing him through a wall. She began pulling him towards her, choking him out in the process.

Gathering as much control as you could, you shot a ball of fire her way, knocking her off her feet and giving Hank the chance to slip out of her grasp. He jumped up, flipping off the ground and kicking her once before grabbing her by the throat and throwing her up to the top of a building.

“Thanks.” He spoke once you caught up to him, standing at his side.

Once Hank headed for the top of the building, you turned your focus back to the original girl. She and Scott were in a showdown, his beams of energy against her lightning.

Just as you started heading over to help Scott, Kurt jumped in and grabbed you. In an instant, you were back on the plane with Jean, Moira, and the professor. It was a different feeling than when you’d be taken places by Peter, less nauseating.

It didn’t take long for Kurt to get everyone on board, Hank climbing into the pilot’s seat.

“Let’s go.” The plane began rising off the ground. You had to force the worry away, trusting that Peter would get back in time. “Locked on.”

“Here we go,” Moira said.

It didn’t take long, however, for a thudding to be heard on top of the plane. Shit.

“What the hell was that?” Moira looked back at the rest of the plane, the fear in her eyes only growing when a purple blade sliced through the ceiling. She turned back to the controls, trying to help in any way.

“Kurt.” Jean’s voice rang out, looking up from her spot beside the professor. “Everyone, grab a hold of Nightcrawler!”

You did as told, dropping to your knees with him and grabbing his wrist.

“I’ve never done it with this many people!” Despite his worry, he prepared for teleportation.

Before he could get you all out of there, however, the winged mutant broke through the ceiling, dropping down into the plane. In an instant, the plane was soaring to the ground at a terrifying speed. While Kurt continued to struggle, you watched the winged mutant for any surprise attacks.

“Kurt hurry!” Jean urged. “Kurt!”

The winged mutant managed to regain his balance, taking aim towards you again.

“Kurt!” Your voice was laced with worry, leaning away from the mutant’s gaze as he took charge towards you.

In a blink, you were safe. Kurt brought you all to a room that was relatively intact, considering everything. When you glanced at him, he was already out cold, overworked.

“Is he okay?” Scott asked, leaning over him.

“It’s his energy, he’s drained,” Jean replied as Hank moved over to check for a pulse.

“Get out.” You heard Charles mumble. “Get out!” He began thrashing around from his spot on the floor, Jean immediately going to him.

“Professor it’s okay, you’re with us.” He opened his eyes, disoriented. “It’s okay,” Jean repeated, her voice soothing.

Once he got a sense of his surroundings, he kept to one of the corners of the room, leaning up against the wall. You and Jean brought Kurt over near him, setting up a bed for him to rest on.

Hearing someone outside calling Charles’ name, you froze. Hank stopped what he was doing, turning in the direction of the voice. It was the mutant from earlier, the one leading all the others.

“Show yourself! Charles!” He yelled, Hank standing in preparation for a fight. You backed up towards the wall next to Charles, keeping a safe distance away from the windows in case you could be seen.

The yelling stopped for a while, the tension growing in the air as everyone waiting for the mutant’s next move. You and Hank exchanged worried looks, Jean and Scott standing off as if forming a human barrier to protect the professor.

“Peter.” He spoke quietly, making you snap to him.

“What?” You asked, dropping to the ground to be eye level with Charles. “Peter?”

He didn’t answer, lost in his own head watching something you couldn’t see.

“Raven,” when he spoke again, everyone turned.

“I’m going out there.” Hank decided, turning towards the door.

“I’m going with you,” Scott added.

You said nothing, simply standing from your spot before the professor weakly grabbed onto you.

“No.” He struggled to stand, using you as support. “It’s me he wants.”

“Charles, you can’t give yourself up,” Moira argued. “He has you, he has us all. The whole world.”

“Charles! Come! Rescue your weaklings! Give your life for theirs!” When the mutant called out again, you turned to see Charles crying.

“No.” He shook his head, voice breaking. Suddenly, he sat up, coming to a decision before he froze. “He was right. There is still some part of me connected to him. I can get inside his head.” He laid back down, finally confident. “Thank you for letting me in.”

His eyes closed, and you knew he was gone to deal with the mutant. Taking the opportunity, you ran to the window, craning your neck to see what had happened to Peter. Before you could, you heard Charles struggling.

Jean ran over to him, checking to see if he was alright when the wall in front of you turned to dust. As it floated away in the wind, you saw the mutant staring up at you. Peter was crouched by his side, his leg trapped in the ground. You backed up, feeling all too exposed. As you did, the mutant walked towards you. It was slow, menacing, and the way he looked up at the house you were in gave you chills.

A steel beam fell past the house, lodging itself into the ground. You jumped, brows furrowing at the object.

Erik?

A second one came down just as quick, forming an X in front of the mutant whose movement was swiftly blocked.

Magneto flew down, hovering above the fight as the debris around him fell back to the ground.

“You betray me?” The mutant’s voice was filled with disgust.

“No.” He answered simply. “I betrayed them.”

The debris flew up once more, shooting towards the mutant. A shield formed around him, protecting him from Erik’s attack.

You glanced to the side, seeing Peter too close for comfort to the debris and the fire that circled the force field the mutant created. Without another moment wasted, you spun around towards the stairwell behind you and ran. You heard Hank say something to Scott as you were heading down, but you paid him no mind. You had to make sure Peter would be okay.

By the time you got to him, Hank was grabbing Raven and getting her to safety. Peter looked up at you, hand instantly finding yours for support. You held onto him, using your free hand to concentrate your powers around the ground entangling his foot. Once you had managed to burn enough of it away, you pulled him free, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulder. He groaned in pain, making your heart sting.

“I got you, don’t worry.” You reassured, following where Hank ran off to, keeping Peter as protected as you could on the way there.

Behind you, Scott was trying to help Erik in his attacks on the mutant. The chaos felt like so much, and yet it wasn’t even putting a dent in him.

Finally, you set Peter down next to Raven, muttering reassurances under your breath that you weren’t sure if it was more to comfort Peter or yourself. Hank, after making sure Raven would be alright, ran off to join the fight as well.

“You’re gonna be fine.” You smiled, crouched down in front of him. He nodded weakly, leaning his head back on the section of the wall that was behind him.

When you stood to follow Hank, his hand caught your wrist, pulling you back down. His other hand came up, cupping your cheek gently as his lips connected with yours. Your eyes widened, before fluttering closed, leaning into the kiss. You reached forwards, one hand resting on his neck, the other finding his hair. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered.

Still, you pulled away, a wide smile on your face.

“Go.” He encouraged, smiling tiredly.

“I’ll be back for you.” You pointed, standing and backing away from the boy.

“I know.” He muttered, watching you run off to join your friends.

The painful realization was that you were losing. All of you. By the time you rejoined the fight, Hank was unconscious and Scott was stuck, ground tangling him into the wall.

Despite the circumstances, you let your powers loose, fire raging around him until he turned in your direction.

It only took one swift movement, and you were sent flying backwards in the air, painfully slamming against a wall. You fell to the ground, too weak to move as you watched him. It was a helpless feeling, watching him wave off every attack you all threw at him.

Until Jean stepped in.

She unleashed her power, burning away his armor and the force field that protected him.

It gave way for an opportunity, a way to fight back.

To win.

Hank stood up, rushing over to Scott to break him out of the wall, before running over to you.

“You alright?” He asked, helping you onto your feet. You nodded, ignoring the ringing pain in your head.

“This is it.” You exclaimed, making your way over to Scott as you conjured up as much power as you could.

The combined attacks were finally hitting, metal slicing through him as he was burned by not only Scott’s beams of energy, but your flames.

You didn’t stop when the force field came back up, trying to force the fire past it.

“He’s getting away,” Hank said, nearly defeated.

Just as you began to give up hope, lightning strikes came down on him from above. The force field melted away, along with the mutant that had terrorized you and your friends.

“All is revealed.” As he spoke his final words, Jean’s power grew, and you watched him crumble into nothing.

You stood there in the silence, relishing in the fact that you were all okay, all alive. Everyone settled, finding their own places; Hank took Scott back up to the professor, letting you go to Peter.

“Hey,” He perked up at your voice, grinning.

“Nice one.”

You shrugged, taking a seat next to him. “It was mostly Jean.”

“Still, that was one hell of a fight.” He leaned back, wincing in pain slightly. You nodded, closing your eyes.

Footsteps made your eyes snap back open, relaxing when you saw Erik. For a moment you wondered if he was here for Peter, but his gaze was focused solely on Raven. You exchanged looks with Peter, having a silent conversation.

You knew, in his own time, he would tell Erik who he was to him.

  -

  When the school was being rebuilt, you stood next to Peter, watching Jean and Erik work their magic. You hadn’t even noticed Ororo – as you found out her name was – approach until she began to speak.

“Mystique told me he is your father.” She said, looking to Peter. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I might,” he avoided her eyes, choosing to look up at Erik instead. “One day.” He turned to you, hand grabbing yours gently as his gaze softened. “I think for now I’m just gonna stick around here for a while.”

[seraphanangelica]

Can I please have scenarios or headcanons on how bnha characters (any that you like) would handle dealing with a ghost with their s/o who totally believes in the supernatural? Thank you in advance

I absolutely love this idea! As a firm believer of the supernatural myself, there was absolutely no way I could delay this response. So here you go!

How They And Their S/O Would Deal With Ghosts

💥This guy has only seen or heard about ghosts and spirits from horror movies. That’s all he cares about them. If they’re not in a movie, they have no existence. Of course, every time he says something along those lines, you roll your eyes and laugh to yourself at his blatant lack of attention to the supernatural.

💥You’ve tried, many times to prove just how real they were. And every single time it would go like this:

💥”I’m telling you, Katsuki, I’ve had experiences with them. You just don’t think they’re real becuase you haven’t.”

💥”Your experiences are just things you don’t want to give logical explanations to, dumbass.”

💥His point is proved further when nothing happens. And nothing happened for days after the last time you two had the repetitive conversation.

💥One day, as Katsuki woke up before you, he got out of bed and proceeded to go about his completely non-paranormal life. After giving you a light kiss on your forehead, he went downstairs to start preparing breakfast.

💥He stopped mid-stair though, as he heard another pair of feet pattering down the stairs behind him at a much quicker and softer pace. At first he thought it was you that had gotten up earlier than usual to spend more time with him in the mornings. He turned around to greet you with a smirk, his face falling slightly when he saw no one around.

💥Paying it no mind, he finished descending the stairs, and continued into the kitchen.

💥In the middle of sautéing vegetables, Katsuki reached out to grab the bottle of olive oil that sat on the counter to his left. He froze mid reach as he saw the barstool behind him rotate as if someone were sitting there out of the corner of his eye.

💥”Oh hell, no.” He still refused to take into account anything you’ve said about the matter.

💥Twenty minutes later, you were downstairs and eating breakfast, in the barstool next to the one that moved. You watched in curiosity as Katsuki leaned against the counter in front of you, crimson eyes darting from the empty seat then to you, then back again.

💥You were concerned, to say the least. “Katsuki, are you alright? You’re acting weird. Come sit down.”

💥He only shook his head and took a deep breath, looking you in the eyes. “Tell me about everything you know about ghosts. Now.”

💥And so you did. You told him everything you’ve been trying to tell him since you’ve known each other. The only difference was that this time, he was actually listening as if it were real and not a story.

💥When you finished he shook his head. “Look, I still don’t believe in this ‘ghost’ stuff, but-“ crash!

💥You’re heads snapped over to the source of the sound, your eyes settling on the plate that used to be next to Katsuki. It was now shattered on the floor, the pieces spreading out farther than the counter span. You knew Katsuki was freaking out but concealing it on the outside.

💥You couldn’t help but smile at your husband as his eyes still focused on the broken dish. “Don’t belive me now? We both know that dish was no where near the edge.”

💀Dabi would be disbelieving, but open to conversation. People talk about anime, right? It’s not real but makes for great small talk. He’d also be stupid. Very, very stupid.

💀The day he walked into the League of Villain’s hideout with an Ouija board under his arm, you thought he’d finally lost his mind.

💀”Are you crazy? Do you know the kind of stuff that happens when you use one of those things? You don’t know what you’re letting in!” You tried to reason with him, even coming up with ways to dispose of it without his knowledge. Unfortunately for you, he knew what you were up to and hid it.

💀”Oh come on. It’s just a little fun,” he teased you one night when he bagan setting it up in the center of your shared room. “What’s the worst that happen?”

💀”Asking ‘is anybody there’ is the stupidest thing you can do becuase thats inviting anything to come into the space. Secondly, you don’t know how to protect yourself against that kind of thing. The worst that can happen is possession, Dabi.” You scolded, leaning against the wall farthest from the board.

💀”Relax, Doll. I have someone in mind, actually. He didn’t really matter much, but I picked this from his wallet,” he reached into his pocket and tossed an ID card in your general direction. “See? Perfectly fine.”

💀It was not perfectly fine. You reluctantly joined him in the game, placing your fingers on the planchette, cringing with every subtle movement the burnt boy made. Because you didn’t want to do this in the first place, you let Dabi carry out the ‘ritual’.

💀As you would’ve guessed, the moment Dabi’s target was acquired, the planchette began moving, much to your dismay. Slowly, the letters formed a sentence. ‘You killed me.’

💀You shot a glare at your boyfriend. “What the hell did you do? Did you seriously just kill a man to contact him?”

💀He shrugged. “I caught the guy stealing from the convenience store, he had to go.”

💀”YOU STEAL FROM CONVENIENCE STORES!”

💀After you both said ‘goodbye’, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. It practically consumed you as the next hours passed, your eyes always finding themselves back to the abandoned board that still laid on the floor.

💀”WHAT THE FUCK!?” Dabi shouted from the bathroom, his voice one of surprise and confusion. You darted into the small room, expecting a prank left by Twice or blood left by Toga (it happens), and to be pretty honest, you were expecting this too. From the mirror, you could see eight distinct and parallel scratches on his back, too fresh and too deep not to be ignored.

💀Without a word, you bounded over to the closet and wrenched the doors apart with a set purpose. Pushing clothes out of the way, you pulled out an old chest you stored wherever you stayed. Opening the wooden box, you pulled out a match and a bundle of juniper and sage. Lighting the end of the dried herbs, and opening the nearest window, you let the smoke drift to all corners of the room.

💀Dabi watched in confusion and amusement as you walked towards him and started waving the herbs around him, cleansing him as well as the room.

💀”Y/N.”

💀“What, Dabi?”

💀”We should do it in a graveyard next time. This Halloween.”

💀”Fucking Samhain? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

💀He believes in ghosts now, so you had that going for ya.

🥦Midoriya would be skeptical about it. As someone who never rules out any possibilities, he has a wide range of knowledge towards that kind of thing. You never knew if someone had a quirk that could control the spirits of the dead.

🥦When you told Izuku that you see dead people, he honestly thought you were quoting The Sixth Sense. You were, in a way. In the same way you were being serious.

🥦You sat on the couch in the living room, remote in hand as you got ready to start a Marvel movie marathon when your fiancé got back from the store downtown. He got called in when someone was murdered just outside, appearing to have been trying to steal some food and magnets. Why someone would try to steal magnets from the convenience store was beyond you.

🥦Sighing, you settled into the cushions, and turned on the TV. Soon you began playing Netflix as you waited. You felt the couch dip next to you. No one was home but you, and you hadn’t heard Izuku get back yet. This was the time she came out.

🥦You faced the girl that sat next to you with a smile. “Looking for Izuku?” She nodded. “He’s not home right now, but you’re welcome to stay with me until he gets back if you like.” She thought for a minute, running a hand through her long hair, then nodded again.

🥦You scrolled through various shows until she pointed at one that sparked her interest. You began playing ‘Supernatural’, watching her reaction to each of the Winchester Brother’s ghostly adventures. “What, it’s not accurate? There’s got to be something that’s right.” You teased.

🥦The girl laughed, the sound never reaching your ears, and shook her head, continuing the show anyway.

🥦A couple episodes later, you heard the sound of keys turning in the lock, signaling your fiancé’s return. You turned to warn the girl, but she was already gone. She liked Izuku, but she was shy; something you learned upon meeting her. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, you know.” You told her in a low voice as Izuku stepped into the house.

🥦He gave you a smile. “Hey, sorry for being gone so long,” he held up a plastic bag full of sweets. “They gave this to me as a thank you for helping them, so now we have even more marathon snacks.” Setting the bag on the counter, he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a firm, loving kiss to your forehead.

🥦”It’s fine, Izu. You weren’t gone that long. I had plenty of company.” You returned the hug, your last statement directed to the girl who was now peeking in from the doorway.

🥦The movie marathon was a blast. You nerded out, quoting almost every line from every movie you watched that night. The girl warmed up to Izuku, you noticed, as she sat on the floor in front of him almost as if she were nervous to sit next to him.

🥦”You can sit next to him, kid. He won’t mind.” You told her. Both pairs of eyes snapped up at your speech.

🥦Izuku looked around to see if there were any unknown guests, turning back to you when he saw none. “Uh, Y/N?”

🥦You ignored him and continued. “He’ll be nervous at first, but he’ll warm up to you. Go ahead. You were in this house long before we came here.”

🥦Izuku screeched like a banshee when he felt the couch sink next to him. Like he was a cartoon, he jumped into your arms, clutching you like he was afraid to lose you. The poor panicked boy didn’t know what to do.

🥦So, you began explaining all that you knew about your abilities, or extra quirk as he said. The girl never left, quite amused by the interaction. Izuku never really calmed down. Sure he’s prepared for it in his journals, but he never thought there would be a day.

🥦”I told you ‘I see dead people’.”

🥦”Y-yeah, I guess you did."

[stxrrywildflower]

bride

pairing - tara lewis x reader

summary - in which the team finds out you and tara are engaged

warnings - none

you and tara were both over the moon walking into work on monday.

the past weekend had been nothing short of pure love and bliss. no work meant spending the entire weekend together at your shared apartment; whether cooking or just relaxing, you were more than thankful for the time together.

saturday was an easy highlight; you had gained both a fiancé and a new ring to symbolize it.

tara had asked you that night, pulling you close to her while you cooked dinner and asked you simply, ‘marry me?’

you weren’t sure if you heard her correctly at first, choosing to carefully put the spoon you were using to stir to the side.

you spun around, resting your back against the counter with your eyes still focused on tara. her hands found their way to your waist once more, her eyes finally meeting yours. “what?” you asked.

“marry me,” tara echoed.

a grin immediately formed on your face. you surged forward, pressing your lips to tara’s out of pure joy. the moment didn’t long as you couldn’t stop smiling and tara had started laughing quietly at your reaction.

“so is that a yes?”

you nodded, “that’s a yes.”

tara kissed you again, both of you overjoyed at the events that had just happened. she gave you the ring a few minutes later, disappearing into your bedroom before returning with a small velvet box.

“i’ve had this for awhile now, it’s just been in our beside table. i’m honestly suprised you haven’t found it yet,” tara spoke, slowly opening up the box.

your smile returned as tara shakily slipped the ring onto your left ring finger, making your answer to her question just a few minutes ago official. “it’s perfect,” you commented.

“i love you so much.”

“i love you too.”

afterwards, both you and tara agreed to play a little game with the team to see who would be the first to notice and when they would say something. you thought it wouldn’t be somethint they could miss, there was a whole diamond on your left ring finger, but some people on the team were obviously better at picking up on small details then others.

there weren’t any official bets, though you did have suspicions on who would notice both first and last. you couldn’t wait for monday morning.

____

rossi noticed first, emily almost directly after him.

you needed to get rossi to sign off on one of the files, it was the least he could do since he rarely did paperwork. much to your suprise, tara was in there too; her and the older agent talking about something with cars.

“hey rossi, can you sign this so i can bring it to emily,” you greeted.

“you’re asking a lot from me kid.”

as you had handed the file over, his hand hit ours in the exchange. rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly before his eyes focused on your hand. a grin quickly broke out in the italian mans face.

“is that what i think it is?” he asked first and foremost. tara turned to you. “yes it is,” she confirmed.

rossi stood up. “congratulazioni to you both,” he hugged you first, kissing both of your cheeks befor doing the same with tara. “can’t believe two more of my work kids are growing up and getting married. feels like just yesterday when you two met.”

you laughed at rossi’s only slightly overexaggerated nostalgia. “come on rossi, we’re more than work kids and you know it.”

“rossi you know we talked about the party thing,” emily spoke, announcing her presence from the doorway. 

“well emily, the two lovebirds here are finally engaged and we were just celebrating,” he turned to you. “i definitely owe you both champagne at some point.”

“you’re engaged?”

for the second time that day, you and tara nodded, this confirming what emily had asked. the unit chief grinned before, much like rossi, hugged you both tightly. “congratulations you two,” she smiled.

that meant two down and five to go.

spencer and j.j. had both congratulated you privately, not making as big of a commotion as rossi and emily had.

it was right before you and tara were heading out after the usual work day was over. while you were grabbing your bag, spencer picked up on it and j.j. has found out from you. there had been hugs of course and smiles too.

now only matt, garcia, and luke had yet to take note of your new milestone.

matt finding out had been fairly accidental. you were up in the conference room pinning photos on the board when he entered on the phone with kristy.

you quickly put down one of the magnets and waited as it was evident he needed to talk to you.

“kristy wants to know if i can send her a picture of your nails. she wants to get the same color at her appointment this afternoon,” matt explained. you pressed your lips together, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“of course,” you answered, holding your hands. you narrowed your eyes at seeing matt have absolutely no reaction when he took the photo. it was only after he was going to send it that he realized.

when the agent had zoomed in to make sure the color had picked up properly, his head shot up.

“no way,” matt spoke. “tara finally proposed?”

you nodded, showing him your left hand which proudly displayed the grin. you laughed as matt hugged you tightly with a ‘congratulations!’

“you’re the fifth one to notice,” you informed him once you pulled away.

“who hasn’t noticed?” matt inquired.

“luke and garcia.”

matt chuckled, shaking his head slightly at that. “well good luck. i honestly wouldn’t be surprised if those two didn’t notice until they got the wedding invitations.”

you nodded. “i wouldn’t either.”

___

neither of you were suprised luke was one of the last to figure it out, he usually wasn’t great at noticing those kind of things.

however, his congratulations had been one of the sweetest.

you and tara were in the break room during the time you were given to eat lunch. the bullpen was pretty much empty, most of the agents either out of the office entirely or on a different floor.

for the rest of the team, most of them were out as well. rossi, spencer, j.j., garcia, and emily were all downtown at some new restaurant. you and tara had been invited, of course, but declined as you both had some work to finish up.

tara stood at the counter making coffee for you both while you were at the main table going over one of the files. “you know, paperwork isn’t that bad. i just hate how long it takes,” you commented.

luke entered the break room before tara could respond, greeting you both with a raise of the eyebrows.

“hey t-bird.”

“watch it alvez,” tara warned playfully.

he too went off to the counter to grab a mug for coffee. “what are you two up to?” he asked, making small talk. “nothing much, just helping tara with her caseload.”

“well aren’t you a good girlfriend.”

you and tara both wanted to laugh at that. your ring wasn’t even hidden, you hadn’t even tried from the begining. luke just was usually oblivious.

“hey luke, what would you say if i told you y/n and i weren’t girlfriends anymore?” tara asked.

“you aren’t together anymore?” luke exclaimed with a down.

you put your pen down, “quite the opposite actually.” as if a lightbulb went off in his head, luke dropped everything he was doing to react. his eyes darted from tara to you and back again, waiting to see if you were lying.

when it was clear you weren’t, luke hugged tara first and then you. “was i the last one to know? i feel like i was the last one to know,” he rushed out.

“penelope doesn’t know,” you revealed.

luke’s mouth dropped slightly. “that isn’t going to go down well. i’m just happy it wasn’t me. you know how i am with these kind of things. “yeah we do.”

____

the entire team, minus penelope, were gathered in the center of the bullpen around the desks. it was one of the rare moments where you were actually able to take a break.

you were sitting on tara’s lap, legs hooked over hers as you talked with spencer about some book he was reading and recommended to you.

“oh my god.”

tara spun her chair around, still holding onto you tightly, to discover the owner of the voice.

it was none other than penelope who was standing just a few feet away by luke’s desk, holding her laptop in hand and mouth agape. “when did you say yes?” penelope exclaimed.

“last saturday,” you answered. “and i didn’t know? you didn’t tell me?”

“well penelope,” tara spoke, “we didn’t tell anyone really. everyone found out on their own and by themselves. you’re the only one who hasn’t noticed yet.”

penelope sighed, “well i’m very happy for you and congratulations, you know i love you both, but when’s the wedding? what are your outfits going to be? we should already be planning to be honest.”

“woah woah woah,” tara started. “it’s been a week. we just want to enjoy being engaged for a little bit before any serious wedding plans.

you nodded, presssing your cheek against tara’s with a soft smile on your face. you kept one hand in your lap casually and the other running across tara’s shoulder.

penelope was clearly in a bit of disbelief at that. “can i at least be excited? this is the first bau wedding since morgan and even that was a few years ago and i’ve just been planning ever since-”

you listened to penelope go on about your future wedding, rossi even piped in about location details. as for the rest of the team, they joined the conversation as well though the topic switched extremely quickly.

tara turned to you as luke started talking about something with roxy and the others.

“are you good?”

you kissed her cheek gently, “i’ve never been happier.”

☆ ☆ ☆

tags - @ogmilkis @ssa-morgan @orbitluke @imagining-in-the-margins @lxdylena

[skiller0dani]

Aching Curiosity | Klaus Hargreeves

M A S T E R L I S T TUA Masterlist

smut requested requests info

I am now talking The Umbrella Academy Requests! See my requests info for the details. Klaus is my precious baby bean, he’s one of my favorite characters. god I am so hot for this man. like look at his smile, and his shoulders, and his neck, and his jaw, and his chest, and and~~ 

okay I’m done. enjoy xx

You knew he was a mess when you met him. 

You could tell before he even spoke a single word to you that his life was falling apart, even with the cheeky smile he sent your way, along with the palm that read Hello. Reginald Hargreeves had hired you recently as a maid, cook, personal assistant to Grace. You knew almost nothing about him or his 7 strange children, other than that there were comic books written about them, along with action figure toys made. You’d always found that odd, was it because Mr. Hargreeves was rich? One of his daughters, Vanya Hargreeves had released a book but you have yet to pick up a copy. You were employed to her father, it felt like spying on him. Even after Mr. Hargreeve’s death you remained with Grace and Pogo-  it didn’t take you long to figure out what made the Hargreeve’s children so famous. 

One has super strength, Luther.  One never misses, ever, Diego.  One can control peoples minds, Allison.  One can speak to the dead, Klaus.  One can time travel and teleport short distances, Five.  One had tentacles emerge from his body, Ben. And one was completely ordinary, Vanya.  

While you had met most of Mr. Hargreeves children, Ben had passed away a few years prior and Five went missing nearly 16 years ago. Either way none of the children lived in the house anymore, you spent your days with Mr. Hargreeves, Grace, and Pogo. Until the untimely death of Mr. Hargreeves. 

As soon as he’d stepped foot in the door, you knew he was a mess. There was black rimming his red hazy eyes, a joint in one hand and a big lazy smile on his face. An eyebrow cocked when Klaus’s eyes landed on you, and the other eyebrow joined when his eyes trailed over your uniform. He had a bottle in his palm and his tongue darted out to catch a drop rolling down the side. Grace came up behind you, “welcome home dear. This is Y/N, your father’s new maid.” She smiled, her eyes wide and robotic as Klaus pressed a kiss to her cheek. Your heart felt as though it was beating like wild when Klaus turned to regard you once again, a smile was pressed to his face and you waited in anticipation when he opened his mouth. “Why the hell would you take a job here?” A short laugh escaped as a huff from his mouth before he’s turning for the living room- and a bar. 

With only 1 person, 1 robot, and a monkey living in the house it wasn’t particularly dirty. Pogo gave you your instructions most of the time but since Mr. Hargreeves died he didn’t have much of anything for you to do. Most often you roamed around the house, admiring the books or examining the individual brush strokes of each painting. You followed Klaus into the living room, where your eyes landed on a painting of Five. Klaus leaned against the bar, another bottle in his hand. He tilts his head back as he ingests what you hope is a medication that was prescribed to him. Based upon his appearance however, you doubt it. 

“Why did you take this job?” He asked, turning around so that his back is pressed against the bar. 

“Good pay.” You say simply, truth is, is that there’s more to it than that. But you don’t feel like saying your sob story to a drunk pill popper. Klaus must have caught wind of your timidness as an almost greedy smile crossed onto his face before he pushed away from the bar. He swayed from foot to foot before finding his balance. You felt heat simmering in your lower belly as Klaus towered over you, his eyes narrowed. A teasing smile stretched across his lips, “my father was probably the most miserable person to be around, and you chose to spend all day with him, every single day for... good pay?” Klaus inquires, a sarcastic tone in his voice as he leaned down to look you in the eyes. You blushed under his hard stare. 

“You’re either really lonely or really desperate.” Klaus shrugged, standing up straight. He had to have been the most attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on even though he had an air of femininity to him, which strangely made him more attractive. Feeling embarrassed by his interrogation you make a beeline for the staircase, watching Klaus’s smile turn upwards in victory as you retreat. 

It wasn’t until hours later that you’d seen Klaus again, and this time he sought you out. The sun had long set under the edge of the city, and most of all the other siblings had arrived- even Five. Which you couldn’t wrap your head around still- the image of him falling from the sky replaying in your head. You were tidying your cramped bedroom, or rather broom cupboard that Mr. Hargreeves had given you to use as a bedroom. You folded clothes, yours and Grace’s to be exact, so they would be ready to put away the following morning. One harsh knock, followed by 2 more took your attention from the laundry in front of you. You almost never had anyone knocking at your door, and all the siblings except for Klaus and Vanya had all but ignored you. You didn’t take it personally, they did just lose someone although you’re not sure Mr. Hargreeves was very important to them. 

“Klaus?” You were confused to say the least to see him leaning against the wall opposite your bedroom. He had a smile resting lazily on his face and in his hand he held a bottle and two glasses. “Have a drink with me.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and you knew already that you lacked the strength to turn him away, it was curiosity that drove you forward. You took one of the glasses as you led him down the hallway, your bedroom was far too small to sit comfortably in. “Mine.” Klaus said as he snatched your wrist, and with a short nod you were following him back through the house towards his own- much larger- bedroom. 

You felt nervous as you crossed the threshold into his bedroom. Klaus collapsed against his bed, and you stood stiff as a board in the doorway. “Sit down, Jesus before you turn into a fucking statue.” Klaus grumbled with a playful smile, and you try to ease your nerves as you sit on some cushions he has placed on the floor. Being alone with Klaus, sent tendrils of electricity pulsing through your entire body, and you’d only known him a few hours. You felt a strong magnetic pull towards him and anytime the opportunity presented itself, you allowed your eyes to take peaks of his body. Klaus poured the clear liqueur into his glass and you followed suit. 

“Why did you really take this job?” Klaus asked after the 4th glass, and to your surprised he still seems pretty composed. You were on your third glass and were already starting to feel the alcohol’s effects. You let out a deep breath as you slam the rest of the alcohol in your glass, “needed an escape. Somewhere I felt safe, my ex boyfriend is a real piece of work.” You say with a sigh and Klaus’s eyebrows furrow together as he scoots of the bed to sit on the floor with you. “He used to go on drunk tangents, would break stuff, threaten to hurt me. He scared me so when I got the offer from Mr. Hargreeves to be a live in maid, I immediately said yes.” You didn’t realize tears were in your eyes until Klaus was brushing one away as it fell down your cheek. A dark look flashed in Klaus’s eyes before he was cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“Did he ever hurt you?” There’s a haziness in his eyes but you can tell he’s being serious. You shook your head, even though it was a lie. Your ex boyfriend definitely has hurt you before, but something tells you that this would upset Klaus beyond belief and you don’t want him to worry. When you noticed Klaus’s eyes locked on your lips your heart jumped in your throat. You froze as he inched forward, giving you plenty of time to stop him. Much to his delight, you don’t stop him before he presses his lips against yours. Normally Klaus isn’t this assertive, tending to be more submissive but he can practically taste the timidness coming from you. He wants to feel your lips on his, to feel your body on his and he knows that won’t happen unless he takes the lead. 

At first you’re stiff, but when Klaus’s hand tangles into your hair at the back of your head you immediately melt against him. Knocking the glasses aside you lean up into his inviting lips as his tongue slides across your bottom lip. Klaus cups your cheek with his left hand, his other still tangled in your hair as he presses you more firmly against his mouth. You feel like there’s a drum beating in your chest as you lean up on your knees to press against Klaus. He falls back against his bed, and in your drunken haze you crawl frantically onto his lap. You grind your hips down on his hardening bulge, your brain fogged by alcohol and lust. All you can feel is him- lips and tongues and teeth and hands wandering all over each other’s bodies. After a few minutes of a heated make-out session you finally regain your sanity and come to your senses. Klaus’s lust blown eyes stay locked on you as you have your hands pressed to his shoulders. 

“What’s wrong?” His question is genuine and his chest is heaving as he catches his breath. Your lips are pink and swollen as your heart hammers wildly in your chest, “K-Klaus I can’t. I’m a virgin.” You whisper the last part, your mind screaming at itself for not having lost your virginity yet. Your body longs desperately for him, for his cock to be buried inside you. Klaus leans against his bed, his chest heaving, “oh.” Is all he manages to huff out. His lips are tingling and all the blood is rushing to his cock. His hands grab at your hips, his grip his loosening even after your confession. “Well that’s okay, I don’t mind.” Klaus shrugs, his eyes scanning your face but he can’t tear his gaze away from your lips for very long. Your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline, “you still want to...you know...with me...even though I’m a virgin?” Your cheeks blush darkly as the words stammer from your lips. Klaus smiles like a schoolboy, “oh yeah.” He reassures, his hands ghosting up and down your sides. 

Timidly, you press your lips against his once more. Klaus moans into your mouth at the contact, his hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. The kisses become more and more desperate as your lips begin to move against his faster. Klaus’s hand drifts up your back to suddenly push your body against his, your breasts crushed against his chest. “You sure you’re okay,” he starts, beginning to kiss down your neck, “with me popping your cherry?” Klaus gasps in between kisses as he nips at your neck. Your hands grab at his biceps as you moan softly, feeling his lips working down your neck to your collarbones. “Mhm I’m sure.” You whisper lazily, your head rolling back as Klaus’s mouth presses wet kisses to the tops of your breasts- still mostly covered by your shirt. “If you want me to stop just say so.” He says, pulling away from you to look in your eyes. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought you were gay when I first met you.” You muse aloud as his mouth returns to pressing kisses to your collarbones. Klaus chuckles as he thumbs the bottom of your shirt- you quickly get the hint and nervously pull the fabric up and over your head. “Oh baby I don’t fit in any one box, I fuck whatever makes my dick hard. Be it a man, woman, I don’t care.” Klaus mumbles, his lips exploring the newly exposed skin. Your breasts are nearly spilling from your bra when Klaus’s hands hastily yanks your bra down to expose them to him completely. His eyes widen and Klaus swears his mouth is watering at the sight of you, “fuck” Klaus hisses under his breath. Fumbling with the clasp Klaus eventually just yanks the bra off, tearing it in half as he does so. You moan as he does so, and Klaus arches a brow at your response. 

Klaus is leaning down to capture one of your hardened nipples into his mouth as his other hand drifts down your stomach. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his teeth bite down on your nipple, forcing a cry of both pain and pleasure to erupt from your mouth. You reach up to cover your mouth with your palm but Klaus gently removes your hand, “I want them to hear you.” As soon as the words leave his lips you feel a rush of arousal head south, dampening your panties. Klaus dips his hand into your sleep shorts as you pull at his shirt, helping him yank it over his head. You stayed in his lap, subconsciously grinding against him as his fingers make contact with your aching clit. 

“Am I not going fast enough darling?” Klaus teases as he watches your hips lazily roll against his hard cock on their own accord. A blush darkens your cheeks as you play with the short hairs on the back of his neck. You shake your head, “faster.” You whisper, your empty pussy clenching around nothing. Klaus presses a quick kiss to your lips before lifting you with him as he stands. Turning around, Klaus gently lays you back on the bed, and your heart is hammering hard. Your head is still hazy with alcohol, and all you can think about is Klaus’s cock pushing inside you. Klaus reaches up to hook his fingers into your sleep shorts and panties, and he yanks them down your legs with one quick yank. Once you’re laying completely naked underneath him you squirm from the heated look he’s giving you. Klaus’s fingertips brush against your tummy, a wide grin splitting across his face. 

Gliding his fingers through your folds, you whine loudly while Klaus hums appreciatively at how wet you are. Prodding a finger against your entrance, Klaus very gently pushes a finger into you. Your legs spread open further as you moan softly, feeling sparks shooting through your entire body. Klaus begins to steadily pump a finger into you, and he can’t take his fucking eyes off you. Your back is arched slightly as the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard tumble from your parted lips. Very carefully Klaus adds a second finger and you groan, your fists curling into the sheets as you already feel a climax approaching. Seeming to sense your orgasm as well, Klaus pulls his fingers from your wet pussy immediately, standing straight. Your chest is heaving as your head thumps back against the pillow, but you lift your head when you hear Klaus undoing his jeans. 

When his tight pants are shimmied off his legs you can’t take your eyes off the prominent bulge in his boxer briefs. Klaus leans down to press a sweet kiss to your lips before digging around his bedside drawer, his mouth turning up to a smile when he pulls out what he was looking for. A condom. “Hold this for me okay baby?” Klaus says gently, sensing your nerves coming back. You swallow thickly as your trembling hands reach forward to take the condom from him. “Still want to do this?” He asks as his fingers curl into the waistband of his briefs. You nod instantly. Klaus smiles before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before pushing his briefs down his legs, allowing his leaking cock to spring free. Klaus hisses in relief as his aching cock hits the cool air and he smiles at you before plucking the condom from your shaking hands. 

You watch as Klaus tears the condom wrapper open to slowly roll the condom down his shaft. You swallow thickly as you part your thighs for him, settling your head into the pillow as Klaus leans over you. “Will it fit?” You ask, feeling dumb for even asking. But Klaus simply presses another kiss to your lips as he nudges the blushing head against your wet opening. “Don’t worry baby, it’ll fit.” Klaus reassures, one of his hands snaking between your bodies to line himself up. Once Klaus slots the head of his cock against your tight opening he looks up at you before does anything, “are you absolutely sure you want this? I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with regrets.” He says, his face falling. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, “I’m sure. If we don’t do this, that will be the only thing I’ll regret tomorrow morning.” You whisper as you pepper kisses along his neck and shoulder. Klaus licks his lips with a nod and a small smile. 

Very gently Klaus begins to push into you, his lips pressing sweetly against yours as a cry of pain begins to escape your lips. Klaus’s hands find yours as he slowly works the head into you, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the pain. Klaus begins to slide the shaft into you and your mouth falls open as tears drip down your cheeks, the burning is unbearable. Noticing your tears Klaus panics and comes to a halt, “oh shit I’m so sorry, am I hurting you? Do you want to stop? W-we can stop-” His voice is bordering on frantic as he brushes your tears away quickly. You cut him off by pressing your lips against his, but when you pull away you still see the panicked and guilty look in his eyes. “Please keep going, I don’t want to stop.” You beg, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks. Klaus remains still inside you, he looks unsure. “Klaus please, please I want this. I want you, I can take the pain.” You plead, and finally he gives in.

Klaus very timidly resumes working himself into you, his eyes darting back up to scan over your face as he slides into you. Eventually he hits the hymen and by now he’s damn near panting because of how tight you are hugging his cock, and it’s taking every ounce of self control for him not to pound into your little pussy. Klaus presses his forehead against yours, his arms curling around your body as he surges his hips forward- breaking your hymen and sliding fully inside you. You gasp in pain as your arms wind tightly around him, holding onto his back. Klaus pants into your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Holy shit,” He gasps, and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. Klaus sits still inside you, waiting until you give him the green light to move. 

After about 5 minutes you release a shaky breath, the burning subsiding. “You can move, but gently okay?” You tell him, your words muffled by the skin of his neck. Klaus leans up on his elbows, as he brushes his nose against yours. He gently pulls his hips back before slowly sliding back into you. The small thrust has stars bursting behind your eyes as your nails dig into his back. Klaus continues his gentle thrusts, sliding back in with a little more force then before. As he feels the pleasure building in his stomach Klaus’s lips frantically find yours, his thumb reaching down to roll your clit as he sweetly fucks into you. You kiss him back with fervor, feeling your own climax approaching again. “Please don’t stop, fuck Klaus don’t stop.” Your pleas spur him on as he gently fucks into you a little harder, rubbing harsh circles onto your clit. “Oh God Klaus fuck I’m-I’m-” Before you can finish your sentence, you’re clenching hard around his cock as you cum. You gush around him as he cums in hot spurts into the condom as soon as he feels you clamp around him. 

Chest heaving, Klaus pulls out of you with a wince to discard of the condom. There’s a dull ache between your thighs and your legs feel like jello. Klaus comes back to bed and collapses next to you, a smile stretched across his face. He flicks his lamp off, and he brushes his nose against yours. “Did I do okay?” Klaus asks, insecurity creeping into his voice. You wrap your arms around him to pull him against you, “you did perfect.” You reassure him and he nuzzles his head against your chest, before the two of you drift to sleep. 

The next morning you’re being carried to the kitchen on Klaus’s back. You had tried to stand but your legs wobbled and you fell back against him. That’s when he scooped you into his arms and began to piggyback carry you around the house on his back. As the two of you enter the kitchen, Diego raises his eyebrows. “Did you have a good night?” He asks, a knowing smile on his face. You blush and open your mouth to try to deny it or even explain yourself but Klaus smiles widely, “fuck yeah I did! I totally got laid.” You hide your face in his back in embarrassment, feeling the vibrations of his laughter. 

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xxx. Beauty and Her Beast

@bubblesthemonsterartist XD yes, exactly!! poor Izana, you know he had it all planned out and then Zen brings this chaotic energy in here to complicate things... I’m so glad, people enjoyed that last chapter much more than I expected ^_^

@the-pompous-potato awww, thank you!! <3<3 it makes me so happy that you enjoy the metaphors; it really struck me re-watching the anime that Izana thinks in abstract, even poetical terms - very challenging but also rewarding to write!

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || AO3 || Next>>

“How pretty!”

Shirayuki bends over the shop’s counter, gazing at the rows of teacups. They are small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, each decorated with a delicate pattern of leaves, blossoms, stars, or shapes. 

She hovers over them, one hand floating at shoulder height as she hesitates to choose among them.

“Do you think they would like this, Obi?” she asks, succumbing to the temptation to suspend the moment of decision by stopping to consult with her companion.

She casts him a look of mingled hope and appeal, wishing to be finished with the difficult choice, yet wanting reassurance that she hasn’t settled too soon.

...

“Hmm?” Obi turns towards her, a chain glimmering between his fingers. 

He slides his hand under her hood and admires the shape of the pendant against her hair. It curves behind her ear and drops like a kiss against her cheek. 

Obi smiles down at his bride-to-be. 

“I think it’s beautiful.”

...

She blushes.

The delicate pink color draws him like the irresistible tug of a magnet. He leans into her, eyes intent and unblinking.

“Obi!” Shirayuki mumbles, laying her palm against his chest - like restraining a whirlwind with a white flag. “We’re not… the people… We haven’t finished shopping!” 

“Ah, shopping.” He drops back, retiring with the lazy smile of a cat who knows he has only to wait a little longer for his cream. “Yes, of course.” 

Returning the chain to its hook, he selects a woven choker instead and drapes it across the fine angles of her collarbone.

“How about this one?”

...

She laughs up at him, a little giddy with the same relief that sings in his blood. 

It is seven days since Lord Haruka’s announcement. The threat of the first prince’s proposal has vanished like a phantom at noontime. 

She and Obi have begun their wedding preparations in earnest. Now that he is the acknowledged heir of Clarines’s foremost nobleman, who could object?

In the end, after everything, they are still together.

...

Her eyes crinkle as she shakes her head. “You’re no help at all…”

It is a Clarines tradition to give gifts to guests at a wedding: something small, something memorable. 

“I want to find a gift that would make anyone happy,” Shirayuki murmurs, her gaze distant and soft with this picture of the future. But--”

She stills as a thought seizes her. “What about…”

...

Obi loops his hands behind his head, deliberately pacing himself to a long, languid stroll as he follows her around the shop. Any faster and his stride would outstrip hers - but he doesn’t want to let her out of his sight; he wants to follow behind where he can watch her every move and drink in her every look.

She presents an intriguing picture just now: flitting from a shelf of engraved pens to a box of monocles. At last she wheels around and brandishes a lace-edged handkerchief at him.

“Would a lord like something like this?” she asks, her eyes huge with sincerity and concern.

...

“Eh?” Obi recoils in confusion. “A lord? I wouldn’t know anything about that, mi--Shirayuki.”

When she droops, he bites the inside of his cheek, frustrated with himself for failing to please her. Casting about for an alternative track, he settles on his usual method of questioning her.

 “What makes you think a lord would come to our wedding?” Obi tries, hoping he might winkle out a problem more easily solved by his limited resources. 

“Oh…” She fiddles with the cloth. “Just… he is… Lord Haruka might… want to see his son married... don’t you think?”

...

A studied flatness drops across Obi’s face like a curtain. 

“You mean that stuffy old man.” He grimaces. “Who knows.”

Shirayuki regards him solemnly, her mood turning to that instinctive gravity with which she met the pain of any fellow creature. 

Her lips part, but she hesitates. 

Obi’s fingers creep up to reclaim their familiar grip on his left shoulder.

...

Shirayuki replaces the handkerchief and continues her circuit of the shop, quietly inspecting the merchandise and its prices. 

Obi idles in her wake. Because he can’t help noticing everything she does, even when he is preoccupied, he marks the tiny glances she steals in his direction. 

Whenever he tries to meet her gaze, her eyes dart away. It’s like opening the door repeatedly to a gentle tap, only to find the threshold empty.

...

At last, he corners her by the umbrella stand. “What is it, Shirayuki?” he demands, shamelessly exploiting his height advantage to block off her escape. “You have something you want to ask.”

She wavers, caught between retreating into herself and yielding to him. 

Her feet make the decision for her, carrying her to his side without her conscious choice, as the reassurance of his solid, warm presence draws her in. 

Tucked under his arm, peeking out from lowered lashes, she ventures: “Did it surprise you… the announcement?”

...

“You mean, all that about…” 

He had thought he had the upper hand, but the shape of her against his side is pure distraction. Absorbed by her nearness, his thoughts struggle to coalesce into an intelligible reply. 

He shrugs, trying to focus on her question. 

“What can I say… Sometimes you know something without needing someone to tell you.”

...

Unwelcome memories rise, like vapor on a cold morning. 

The old man had sent for him once, disastrously, when Obi was still small. 

Several weeks of stringent regime had failed to produce the result sought by the elder, while the younger rapidly calculated that the impositions on his freedom had come to outweigh the advantages of reliable food and board. 

Their paths had rarely crossed again until…

...

Obi stares at the woman cradled in his arms, stricken with the realization that he might never have laid eyes on her if not for that shameful assignment that now felt like another lifetime ago. 

His willful violence against her innocent effort at starting a new life had lingered between them like a thorny briar at the beginning of his service with Zen.

It had also contained the seeds of their life together.

...

Confronting uncomfortable thoughts, Obi resorted to another of his favorite tactics: drowning them out with the sound of his own voice. 

“Why bother about all that? My mother was a foreigner, a wanderer…” He tries to smile, to coax an answering smile from her, but the expression sits oddly on his face.

He has fuzzy memories of her: dancing around the firelight, shining black hair, huddling together in the cold, laughing often...and missing her.

Shirayuki watches him, solemn again.

“She left him,” Obi forces himself to say, “so I don’t know why he would tell everyone now.”

...

“Maybe…” Shirayuki speaks as gently as she would handle a bruised flower. 

She long ago made her own peace with an absent father. The wish that someone might fill the space left by Mukaze’s absence has receded to a quiet, passing thought.

For herself, it seems enough that she stopped by the stationary store earlier today and picked out a nicely patterned card for sending her father news of the wedding. 

That doesn’t mean that she can’t imagine something happier for Obi, can’t hope that he might find a way to fill in the corresponding space in his own life - a shape whose outlines she is just beginning to understand.

...

“Maybe he’s lonely,” she suggests. “There isn’t any other...family, is there?”

Obi chuckles, as if it’s a joke. 

“Who cares! Let the old man do as he pleases…” He drew Shirayuki around to face him, spanning her waist between his hands.

“Now, thanks to him…” Obi’s voice drops to purr, “we can do as we please.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

The Name Written on My Heart

Sequel to Name on a Coffee Cup  requested by Anon. Happy Valentines/Galentines Day my darlings! 

Modern!Tommy and Ava continue their relationship outside the cafe.

             After his first date with Ava, Tommy felt like his heart was slowly being restarted. After Grace passed, he assumed that the rest of his love would be given to Charlie. But even then, he felt like he was failing.

            Oftentimes his son would much rather go spend the day with his aunts or uncles or have playdates with friends. Polly assured him that it was natural for the young boy to want to be independent as he got older. But still, Tommy felt like he was always the second pick for Charlie and he was afraid it was because he just wasn’t enough for the boy. 

            When Ava began to spend time at Tommy’s flat, Charlie gravitated toward her like a magnet. Not that Tommy could blame him. She was much better at interacting with him. She wasn’t afraid to get down to his level to play and go along with his wild imagination. Still, Tommy was a bit dismayed he wasn’t the kind of father Charlie needed.

            Until he subconsciously took cues from Ava to relax a bit. He wasn’t as strict and felt like his relationship with Charlie was getting better and more natural.

~~~~~~~~~~

            On the other hand, Tommy was easing back into a serious relationship. There were a few roadblocks along the way. Around Halloween one year, Ava came over to carve pumpkins and bake some sugar cookies in the shape of bats and ghosts. Charlie had a ball and demanded that Monster Mash be played over and over again as he darted around the living room on a sugar high. When he finally crashed, Tommy carried him to bed before helping Ava clean up the mess in the kitchen.

            “It’s late.” She noted.

            “Yeah, I’ll drive you home. Don’t want you taking the tube this late.”

            “Oh.” Ava glanced by the door where she’d left her bag. The bag that she had packed a change of clothes and her toothbrush in. Her face went red as she realized how stupid it was that she thought it would be the first night she might sleepover.  

            Tommy read her expression and paused. They’d been dating for quite some time. Almost two years at that point. He was even beginning to think that maybe they would spend the rest of their lives together. He could certainly see it happening, even if it was a bit soon to know for sure. And yet, there was always that hesitation that he felt. The protectiveness he had for Charlie. The thought that Tommy didn’t deserve love. The fear that he would lose someone else that he cared so deeply about.

            “I understand, it’s alright,” Ava said as if she could read his mind.

            Tommy didn’t move for a moment. Half of him wanted her to stay, half of him wanted to just drive her home so he could be by himself. Something he thought he deserved. She was far too kind and forgiving for him. Far too sensible. Far too sweet. Far too understanding.

            “Stay.” The word came out before Tommy could realize what he’d said. “I want you to stay. You belong here…you’re perfect with Charlie and you get him better than I do. I know I don’t deserve you but I would do anything to have you here, even if it’s just for a night.”

            Ava hugged him close and kissed his cheek. “I think you’re selling yourself too short.” She murmured. “Charlie adores you and so do I.”

            Tommy took a deep breath and held her for a moment before she slipped away.

            “C’mon, let’s take care of this mess so we can go to bed.” She smiled at him.

~~~~~~~~~~

            It was what Tommy loved about her so much. She made having emotions so much easier. There was no big spectacle of it, she never called him out for feeling upset or depressed. She always knew exactly what to say.

            The next year, once Ava’s lease was up, she moved into Tommy’s flat. Charlie was overjoyed that he had there every day. And she meshed perfectly with their schedules. On the days that she was opening the café, she woke up early, around the same time Tommy did. They went about their morning routines and welcomed in Charlie’s nanny who would wake up the boy for school. When Ava worked later shifts, she took care of getting Charlie to school on time. It worked exceptionally well.

            Almost to a point where Tommy expected things to go wrong. Everything was going too well and he became very suspicious. About a year after Ava moved in, Tommy self-sabotaged.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            One night, Ava had gone out with friends from uni that she hadn’t seen in a while. Tommy was up late working at the flat when she came home. Although a little tipsy, she was coherent as she kissed his cheek and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

            “I take it you had fun then.” Tommy chuckled.

            “It really was. Of course, we didn’t close the pub like we did back in those days. My ex-boyfriend wanted to stay but we were all so tired.” She laughed softly.

            It set off a trigger inside Tommy. “Didn’t know your ex would be there.”

            “Our whole friend group was. We’ve been planning a little reunion like this for a while.” Ava didn’t immediately pick up on his icy tone.

 ��          Tommy set down his pen and leaned back in his desk chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “Just something I thought you’d tell me.”

            “I didn’t think it would matter.” She frowned and withdrew her arms. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

            He didn’t answer, looking ahead at his laptop on a home screen.

            “Tommy, honestly.” Ava tried again to make him talk with no avail. “We dated years ago. I’ve been dating you longer than I’ve ever dated anyone else. You really think I’d throw that all away?”

            Tommy simply shrugged.

            She scoffed at his attempt to be blasé to the issue when she knew he was stewing inside. “You’re impossible.” With a huff, she stormed out of the room and went to the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

 ~~~~~~~~

            The next day was even worse. After spending the night on the couch, Tommy felt like an ass for what he’d done. Although it wasn’t an argument like they’d had before, it still cut deep. He had basically spelled out that he didn’t trust her. It wasn’t entirely true. Tommy trusted Ava because it was unlike her to be unfaithful. But he didn’t trust the world. He’d seen what could happen to good people. In his eyes, Ava had a target on her back because of her tendency to be so warm-hearted and vulnerable.

            That morning, Ava had left before Tommy could even get a word of apology in. She didn’t answer his texts throughout the day and it drove him insane. He had to settle for the breakroom coffee because he couldn’t gather up the courage to go down to the café and face Ava.

            The rest of the office picked up on the fact that he was in a sour mood. All but Arthur, who walked in whistling to himself.

            “So, what’ve you got planned for Valentine’s Day?” The eldest Shelby asked.

            Tommy looked up from his paperwork, then to the calendar on his desk. Indeed, Valentine’s Day was that weekend. He’d ordered a custom bracelet for Ava and had it hidden in his desk drawer. But other than that, he’d completely forgotten. “I’m not sure.” He mumbled. “I upset her last night.”

            Arthur sighed. “Tom, we’ve talked about this. You don’t think you deserve happiness so you ruin your own life. You can make it up to her. Just put on the ‘ol charm, aye?”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~` 

            Ava was giving Tommy the silent treatment for most of the week. He felt it was deserved and just prayed Arthur was right and that he could redeem himself.

            Come Sunday, Ava came home from work. She still felt hurt, especially since Tommy appeared to have forgotten it was even Valentine’s Day. But then Charlie rushed to the door.

            “Ava, Ava!” He was bouncing up and down. “C’mon!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

            Tommy was chopping up vegetables. He glanced up and smiled sheepishly.

            Ava looked a bit confused. “What’s all this?” There was an array of items all laid out on the counter. Balls of dough were resting on cutting boards next to little bowls of toppings.

            “I asked Charlie what we could do special for Valentine’s Day.”

            “And I wanted pizza!” The little boy piped up. “Look, he climbed up onto a stool and patted the dough.

            A small smile formed on Ava’s face. “Well, that looks fun.” She said and walked over.

            “Here, Charlie,” Tommy handed his son the rolling pin. “Try to flatten it, but not too thin.” Then he turned to Ava.

            “So, you were scheming today, huh?” She asked.

            “Av, I’m sorry.” He took her hands in his. “Whenever I have a good thing, I never think I deserve it. And you’re one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

            “I don’t want you pushing me away.” She replied quietly. “If you have an issue, tell me. I’m here to be your confidant.”

            Tommy nodded and took a deep breath. He kissed her softly.

            “Daddy, s’a square pizza!” Charlie exclaimed.

            The two pulled away and chuckled. Indeed, the little boy had rolled the dough out into a square.

            “I guess it’ll taste the same.” Ava smiled and went over to help him.

            Tommy lingered to the side a bit, watching her with Charlie. The two laughed as they made a mess with the sauce and cheese.

            This was a good thing. He would hold onto the good and keep it close to his heart. Everyone deserved love. Tommy was just thankful that he had Ava and Charlie.

            “Daddy, look,” Charlie called.

            Tommy chuckled when he saw a smiley face made of pepperoni on the pizza. “Why don’t you make it a heart? It’s Valentine’s Day.”

            His son made a face. “That’s yucky.”

            “Oh, Charles, you won’t be my Valentine?” Ava pouted.

            “No, gross. Girls are gross.”

            “Are they, then?” Tommy raised an eyebrow then went to give Ava a big dramatic kiss.

            “EW!” Charlie pulled his shirt over his head to hide his face.

            They laughed. “Alright, alright. I guess your dad will be my Valentine. And maybe we can add a nose to the smiley face.” Ava put another piece of pepperoni on the pizza. “Go on and add some peppers and onions. I’ve got to get your Valentine gifts.” She washed her hands and went down the hall.

            Tommy took the cue and grabbed Ava’s necklace from his briefcase.

            Ava returned with two wrapped gifts. “Charlie, love, this is from dad and me.” She gave him a box which he happily tore into to find an art supply kit.

            “Wow, cool! Thanks!” He beamed.

            Ava and Tommy exchanged gifts as well. He opened his to find a photograph of his newest racehorse with his name, Kingsman, carved into the silver frame.

            “To add to your collection.” She smiled knowing that Tommy kept a photo of all of his winning horses in his office.

            “I love it.” He remarked at the stunning picture of the pure black stallion.

            Ava didn’t answer. She had opened the jewelry box to find the silver necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant. She had never owned anything so beautiful before. “Tom…” Her eyes welled up with tears.

            “D’you like it?” He asked hesitantly.

            “Of course.” Her voice shook. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.” She touched his cheek and kissed him deeply.

            “Daddy, I don’t like mushrooms, I’m not putting mushrooms on the pizza.” Charlie interrupted them.

            “Alright, it was worth a shot.” Tommy sighed and went back over to the counter.

            “That looks very nice, Charlie.” Ava praised. “Why don’t we let dad put it in the oven and we can check out your new art supplies.”

            “Okay!” Charlie hopped down from the stool and carried the box to the kitchen table.

            Ava kissed Tommy’s cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” She said softly.

//It felt so funny writing the tube. Like I feel like it’s some sort of slang that Americans think British people use but they don’t? In my city we call the subway the T. That’s also stupid but our subway lines are bastards who don’t deserve full names or loving nicknames. Fuck you T. 

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

PB Masterlist

[camillemontespan]

her one constant [part six: the beautiful and damned] [drake the bodyguard AU]

Last chapter if you want to catch up

After my readers poll about where to take this chapter, results showed more sway towards my ‘secret’ option. So, here it is. I’ll be honest, the ‘secret’ option turned out a bit differently than I meant and I did struggle with this chapter for a while. But I’ve edited and edited, hopefully you will like this. 

I am following some canon but also there are twists within this series so timelines don’t add up. 

@jovialyouthmusic​ @ibldw-main​ @pug-bitch​ @marshmallowsandfire​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @princessleac1​ @notoriouscs​ @kimmiedoo5​ @burnsoslow​ @moonlightgem7​ @katedrakeohd​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @pedudley​ @saivilo​ @gardeningourmet​ @kingliam2019​

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

Drake’s fingers raked through Camille’s loose hair, holding her close as he kissed her hard. Their tongues twisted and swirled, eliciting a deep groan from Drake’s throat and Camille smiling against his lips. She smelled of coconut and summer. Paradise. This was paradise.

He rolled her over so he was now suspended above her body. He rested his weight on his arms that were placed on either side of her head and he kissed her hungrily. He was mad for her. 

Camille’s hands reached out to unbutton his shirt. She pulled it off eagerly, breaking away from his lips to kiss his exposed chest instead. Drake closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her lips brushing his skin, committing this moment to memory. 

His fingers pulled down the skinny straps of her silk dress, unveiling her cleavage that heaved above her balconette bra. Drake let out a growl and kissed her cleavage, his tongue darting out to lick her in a moment of sheer abandon. Camille groaned his name; a sound he had always wanted to hear on her lips. 

Her fingers ran down his torso, delicately running along the skin above his belt. Drake let out a hiss. Camille hastened to unbuckle his belt. As her fingers rushed to unbuckle it, Drake closed his eyes again and felt his heart begin to race and the thoughts in his mind run wild with abandon.

You are her bodyguard. Right now, you are no better than Lou or Micah. Fucking her like the other bodyguards fuck their Duchesses is not how this is supposed to go. No, you’re supposed to protect her and give your life for her if necessary. You love her. Fucking act like it.

Drake’s eyes flashed open as he realised the magnitude of this.

‘Camille, stop,’ he rasped out. 

Camille stopped pulling down his trousers and looked up into his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, her voice already laced with disappointment.

Drake exhaled and rolled off her, lying down beside her.

‘We need to slow down,’ he finally said, pushing his hands through his hair. ‘I’m sorry. I really, really want to do this but at the same time..’

‘Your job,’ Camille said matter of factly.

Drake sighed. ‘Yeah. My job.’

Camille sat up and settled against the cushions. She pulled the straps of her dress back up and cleared her throat. ‘I overstepped,’ she said. ‘I should treat you like the other Duchesses treat their bodyguards, I suppose.’

Drake’s jaw set. Camille sounded so defeated; Drake hated that. He didn’t want her to treat him like he was her regular bodyguard but he knew he couldn’t have it both ways. 

Before he could agree with her, Camille spoke, her voice stronger now. ‘Except I don’t want to do that,’ she told him. ‘I like having inside jokes with you. I like talking to you. In this crazy world I’ve found myself in, you are the one normal person inside it. You allow me to be normal. You treat me like I’m still Camille - not a Duchess.’

‘Thing is,’ Drake said quietly, ‘you are a Duchess. You have to realise that we’re not the same. Not anymore. In terms of social standing and hierarchy, I am on the bottom rung. If you pursued something with me, you would be dragged through the mud. The media would torment you. The public would criticise you. The crown wouldn’t support you. Right now, you should be kissing a noble like Maxwell or Liam. That’s the people you should be mixing with. I’m not noble. I’m not rich. I’m not the same as you, Camille, and I’m definitely not the same as those guys.’

Camille’s eyes flashed. Drake saw the fire build and she rolled on her side to face him so their noses were mere inches apart. Her eyes bore into his and Drake was unable to look away from the fire.

‘We are the same,’ she said. ‘We have the same humour. Same thoughts. Same values. Drake, just because you serve a noble does not lessen your worth. Just because you’re not like Maxwell or Liam doesn’t mean you’re lesser than them. You know what I think whenever we’re in a ballroom together?’

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I think how compared to all the noblemen in the room, you are the one I want to dance with. And I know you work for me and you’re supposed to stand in the corner of the room and not take part but I always wish I was dancing with you instead.’ 

Drake swallowed. Hearing her be so honest was an addictive sort of torture. Her words caused him pain but also so much joy. 

‘I can’t dance,’ he said quietly. ‘Terrible at it.’

Camille studied him for a long moment before she got up from the bed and stood in her silk dress, holding her hand out to him. The low light of her lampshade cast her in a bronze glow and her hair was tousled from Drake’s hands.

‘Dance with me,’ she said softly.

Drake sighed. ‘I said we should slow down-’

‘I know,’ Camille interrupted. ‘And tomorrow, we can slow down all we want and just be our usual selves, sitting in the back of the car wishing we could hold hands. I know you feel it because I feel it too. Tomorrow, we will continue our teasing and our discreet flirting and you will continue to call me by my first name. You will protect me from intrusive photographers and keep me safe. I will treat you like I always do, like you are my friend as well as my bodyguard. But tonight, I want to dance with you. I want to forget that you are my bodyguard and I am the Duchess of Valtoria. Please.’

There was a heavy, loaded silence. She continued to stare at him with her hand out, not giving up. Drake pulled himself up and buttoned his shirt. Now that he was fully dressed, he got off the bed and moved towards her. Her eyes followed him, unable to tear her gaze away. He was so handsome. So strong. So kind.

‘We don’t have music,’ Drake said. 

Camille shrugged. ‘We don’t need music.’

She reached up to place her hand on his left shoulder and took his right hand. Drake slowly pulled her closer, as if they were magnets. His hand ran down her back to rest above her tailbone. He was reminded that Leo had done this with Camille when they had danced together and wished he hadn’t done the same thing. He moved his hand to rest on her upper back, awkward but respectful. 

Camille reached behind her to pull his hand back down to her tailbone.

‘Dance with me,’ she said again, her voice low. ‘Dance how you want to dance.’

‘But I can’t dance.’

Camille rolled her eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Just go with it.’

Drake rolled his eyes lightheartedly. He kept his hand on her tailbone and made his first step, moving her backward. 

'See, you can dance,' Camille said softly. 'We should get you on Dancing with the Stars.' 

Drake chuckled. 'I bet I'd get tens across the board!' 

Camille smiled, her eyes sparkling. Drake took a chance by twirling her. Camille giggled and twirled, her hair billowing around her shoulders. 

She moved closer and rested her head against his chest. Drake slowed the dance down so they simply swayed on the spot. He rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes as he appreciated this moment. 

Professionalism was out of the window. But the thing that stopped Drake from opening his eyes and leaning down to kiss Camille was her reputation. She was a Duchess. To be seen in a public relationship with her bodyguard would have her ripped to shreds. She already had a rough start at court; Drake didn’t want to make it worse. 

But it was moments like this, these moments in between, that Drake savoured. Because here, he was just a man dancing with a woman he was in love with. 

The dance slowed to a stop. Camille looked up at him, her eyes searching his. Drake's hand still rested on her tailbone. 

'Thank you for dancing with me,' she whispered. 

Drake squeezed her hand. 'Happy to do it.' 

They broke apart. Drake cleared his throat and gave her a weak smile. 'I'll let you get to bed,' he said. 

Camille nodded. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Tomorrow. Where they would be normal again.

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

The following evening, another ball. 

Drake spent the night standing by the wall with Lou, Micah and Thomas, Penelope's bodyguard. It seemed like their little group was growing with each social event, much to Drake’s dismay. He didn’t want to be part of a group. 

Camille was dancing with Liam. Drake watched her, glad she wasn’t dancing with Leo. Leo was absent this evening; he was probably fucking a maid.

As Camille and Liam danced past Drake, she looked at her bodyguard over Liam's shoulder. As she met Drake’s gaze, she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, a completely un-Camille like expression that made Drake let out a surprised laugh. 

Lou looked from Camille to Drake. 'Aw man, you've really caught feelings, huh?' 

Drake sighed. 'Not engaging with you, Lou.' 

Micah sniggered and nudged Thomas in the ribs. 'Drake's got a thing for the Duchess of Valtoria,' he explained. 'Yet to seal the deal.' 

Thomas chuckled. 'Better get on that, Drake or you'll miss your shot.' 

Drake pressed his lips together. So, it seemed EVERY bodyguard was fucking their Duchess. Jesus. Everyone except Drake. 

Drake couldn't bear the idea of a meaningless night with Camille.

Camille Montespan deserved candlelight dinners. She deserved a bouquet of lilies - her favourite flower- for random reasons. She deserved breakfast in bed every Sunday. She deserved love and happiness. 

Drake only hoped that the guy she would end up with would treat her the way she deserved. If not, he would kill the bastard.

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

Applewood was next on the agenda for Camille. King Liam was determined to win public affection and change their opinions about the monarchy following Constantine’s death.  His father had been a tyrant and had tainted their line with his legacy. Liam refused to stand for that. 

‘God, I have to plant an apple tree,’ Camille said to Drake as they were driven to Applewood for the weekend. ‘What if I fuck it up?’

Drake chuckled. ‘How can you fuck it up?’

Camille’s eyes widened as she answered him quickly. ‘I could make the hole in the dirt too shallow, I could water it too much and it will die, I could drop it-’

‘Camille, breathe,’ Drake said softly. ‘You are able to plant an apple tree. It’s not hard. You can do this.’

‘But-’

‘No buts,’ Drake interrupted. ‘Believe in yourself. You got this.’

Camille let out a breath, closing her eyes as she tried to push down her anxiety. Drake reached out to take her hand. ‘It’ll be a good weekend for you,’ he whispered. ‘Relax and try to enjoy yourself.’

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

The tree planting went perfectly. Camille smiled at the adoring public who were excited to meet the new Duchess of Valtoria while Liam gave a speech about how happy he was to be there. 

Camille planted the tree to the sound of applause and flashing cameras. She and Liam posed for a photograph before the court made their way to Applewood Manor. 

Drake kept close to Camille as they walked through the courtyard of the manor. ‘See?’ Drake murmured in her ear. ‘You did great.’

Camille smiled, relieved it was over. 

They reached her room and as per their routine, Drake checked the windows to ensure they were locked and he looked in the cupboards and bathroom. 

‘All clear,’ he said. ‘You can sleep safely. I’m down the hall, so I’ll be close if you need anything.’

Camille gave him a thumbs up, a dorky cute gesture that made Drake’s heart skip. But he pushed it down.  

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

That night, Drake settled down in the armchair to enjoy a glass of whiskey. He looked out through the window, surveying the view of the courtyard. For a moment, he pretended that this manor was his and this was his bedroom. This was his whiskey and this was his armchair. He was Lord of the Manor. 

Except he didn’t want to be a noble so scratch that. 

As usual, in his quiet moments, his thoughts moved to Camille. 

He wondered what she was doing right now. Probably in bed reading. Camille loved to read and was always giving Drake impromptu book reviews during long car journeys. Right now, she was reading The Beautiful and Damned by F Scott Fitzgerald and she was on at Drake to read it too.

‘We could start a book club!’ she had suggested enthusiastically a few weeks ago. Drake had laughed and said he didn’t read books like that. Thrillers and conspiracy theories were more his scene. So, Camille said that they could read those books too and exchange notes. Did he like The Da Vinci Code? 

Drake had said he would get back to her.

Now, he wished she was beside him, telling him all about The Beautiful and Damned. That would be nice; Camille reading to him her favourite passages while he drank whiskey. Maybe they could start a Book & Whiskey Club?! Drake made a mental note to suggest this to her in the morning.

A spine tingling scream echoed down the corridor. 

Drake recognised it was Camille.

He bolted up from his chair, knocking over his glass of whiskey, but he didn’t care. He threw his door open and ran down the corridor, getting to Camille’s door in an instant. 

‘Stop it!’ she screamed. 

Fury filled Drake’s heart. Without hesitation, he kicked the door in to find Camille in the arms of a noble that Drake didn’t know. Both of them were staring at Drake who stood in the threshold, changed from the calm and whiskey drinking man he had been just moments before. Drake’s body filled the entire door frame. His eyes were wild as he made a quick study of Camille. Her face was streaked with tears and even worse, she was in her underwear. The man was gripping hold of her arms, his fingers pressing hard into her skin. 

Drake barreled into the room, white rage filling his senses, as he shouted, ‘Get your hands off of her!’

As his fist connected with the man’s face and continued to connect hard, Drake felt a mixture of rage and guilt. Intense guilt. 

Because Drake himself had checked the room. He had declared it safe for Camille to sleep in. So how had this man gotten in and how had Drake managed to put her in harms way?

[capnjay21]

A House is Never Still 4/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and here is chapter four! thank you so much for all the support so far, this chapter actually has one of my favourite sequences I’ve written for this fic. but I’m not telling which it is!

again, heaps and piles and many fancy vases full of gratitude for @hollyethecurious​ for creating this amazing aesthetic, without which this fic would not exist.

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

starting a tiny taglist since I got a request for one, so I am ~tentatively~ tagging a handful of people I think might want to read this - NO obligation to, and feel free to drop me a message to say hell nah if you would prefer! I won’t be offended in any way, shape or form! 

@snowbellewells​ @carpedzem​ @kmomof4​ @optomisticgirl​

AO3 | one | two | three

-/-

4 – an unearthly hand

Present Day

The clouds parted for the first time since Killian’s return to Storybrooke on the day he brought Regina to Brooke House, lifting the feeling of grey that had cast its blanket over the town. For days, it had warmed itself in open doorways, prowled after townsfolk around street corners and crept beneath windowsills, and Killian was relieved to be granted something of a reprieve from the fog of autumn in New England.

The house stood, as it had the day before, in the north woods just a brisk, ten-minute walk away from the well-trodden track of the White Pine trail. He didn’t need the faded pieces of string to guide his path to the house anymore, and it had become so present in his impression of the town that he had forgotten that Brooke House, as it looked at that moment, had not always been there.

Regina had stopped twenty paces from the door, expression unreadable but for her parted lips.

It seemed almost unusual to see it in the sparkling sunlight of the morning, like something had been taken right out of it. Here it was white brick and rotted wood and barren, where at night it positively brimmed with something far more than any one person could comprehend. Even at a shell of its normal, terrible self, Regina had taken a little time to process.  

“It really is here,” she had said finally. “How about that.”

She said how about that the same way you would say it if you found out an old classmate had gone on to become a movie star, or you discovered your local grocery store was lifting its embargo on branded products.

Not like a house that was sometimes there, sometimes not there, was today, decidedly, there.

It had been a bit more of a laborious journey than he was used to, but Killian’s Chevelle could only take them so far and he had a lot of equipment to bring with him today, cramming everything he could as delicately as possible into his rucksack. Regina, too, had brought a duffle bag full of materials, and Killian could spot the heavy corner of her book of shadows poking out from within, begging to be noticed. The previous times he had visited Brooke House he hadn’t been properly prepared, but this time around Killian was determined to leave the house with something he could quantify, rather than just the deep, sick dread that had left with him every other night.

He had entered the house ahead of her, the novelty of its return long since worn away, and moved into the living room just to the right of the hallway. It was far brighter in the light of day, the long, Victorian windows allowing a brilliant glow from the outside, and Killian could now even spot a few holes near the top of the front wall where the mortar had crumbled away, as dapples of sunlight trickled directly in from above painting yellow specks on the floorboards. Even still, he was not entirely comfortable being there. He walked twice around the edge of the room, every unexpected creak making his heart lurch uncomfortably into his mouth, and even once whispered Emma’s name out into the dust.

Nothing stirred.

Today it was bricks, and rotted wood, and bare.

He was just setting his camera atop its tripod when Regina finally entered, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the old wood.

“It’s like walking back into high school,” she commented drily, clearly taking in the discarded scarf, the Apollo chocolate bar wrapper. “Is that my Ouija board?”

She looked almost indignant, as if Brooke House were an old friend who had borrowed a CD and never bothered to return it, but Killian wanted her attention focused elsewhere.

“Here, come and feel this.”

He led her by the hand (amid protests) to the centre of the room, a ring of dust slightly newer than the rest just barely visible on the floor. It was the place he had been standing the night prior, when Emma had dug her nails sharply into the back of his jacket.

“Palms out. Doesn’t it feel colder here than the rest of the room?”

Regina looked unconvinced. “Maybe a little.”

“It is,” Killian insisted. “I’m sure of it. Stay right there.” He darted back to his rucksack and pulled out two identical aluminium rods, bent at a right angle six inches from one of the ends. When he returned, he held them out to Regina so she could hold the shorter end, and although she pursed her lips in displeasure, obligingly she took them. “Hold them loosely, like this.” He adjusted her grip to match.

Regina looked unamused. “And what, in God’s name, are these?” She arched an eyebrow. “I better not get struck by lightning.”

Killian returned to where he had been squatting by the camera, tilting the tripod so it could capture the spot Regina was standing in. On the infrared display, she was a warm scarlet and gold storm.

“They’re dowsing rods.”

“You’re joking.”

“Couldn’t be more serious. Hold them steady – like that.” Regina reluctantly obliged. “Tell me if they move.”

Killian had experienced limited success with dowsing in the past – it had been shown to him by a farmer in Iowa who had used it to find buried metals and ores underneath the ground, and admittedly actually had a lot to show for the results. Killian himself had been sceptical, and given how intermittent his own successes were, there was no way to tell if they could be attributed to any real sense of divination or sheer blind luck. Still, he wanted to throw everything in his arsenal at Brooke House.

“I don’t have to tell you about the ideomotor response, do I?” Regina said flatly. “Unconscious involuntary movement. Dowsing is bullshit.”

“Says the woman brewing potions in her living room,” Killian shot back. “I mean it – even if it’s a little, tell me if they move.”

Satisfied with the positioning of the camera, he plugged in his tablet and left it set to record before returning to his rucksack. After some deliberation, he reached for the electro-magnetic field reader he had tried to cushion in the bag with a thick scarf. It was blocky and old, and looked like something that had been lifted from a 60s Star Trek set, but it had become one his most valued instruments over the years.

Regina had been craning her neck to see what he was holding, and once she realised, she let out a noise of frustration.

“Killian, if you wanted an EMF reader I would’ve brought mine – at least it’s not a hundred years old. And that’s clearly a single axis meter.” Single axis meters were notoriously more difficult to use than a tri-axis, as they required significant coordination in order to measure the information recorded across all three axis ,while also trying to move the instrument to gather more data; a tri-axis allowed for much more detailed data acquisition. You could only point Killian’s meter at one thing at a time, slowly, whereas Regina’s could probably handle something far more intricate.

Even so, Killian had far more faith in his own device.

“Believe me,” he informed her, “this is better.”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Where did you get all this stuff anyway?”

“Ebay, mostly.”

She scoffed. “You look like a quack.”

Killian laughed. Quack was probably the most positive way Regina had ever described him. “And you’re listening to a quack,” he pointed out, “so what does that make you?” He glanced over to see her still standing where he had left her, holding the two dowsing rods outstretched. It didn’t look like they had moved. “Let me know if they cross.”

He was just tweaking with the settings on the EMF reader when Regina carried on.

“Where’s David today, anyway?”

She said ‘where’s David today’ as if she were enquiring which films her old school friend had starred in, or when branded products would be making their way onto the shelves at her local supermarket. Mild disinterest and a characteristic neutrality. She didn’t fool Killian for a second.

She carried on. “I was sure we’d be joined by the witless wonder in no time.”

Killian had sent David just one text message last night, a simple I’m sorry. David had read it, and not replied. He had to remind himself it was better off this way.

“He’s… busy.”

Regina looked surprised. “It’s been three days. How have you already fallen out with him?”

Killian tried to make his shrug as blithe as possible. “It’s a gift, I suppose.” He could just add David Nolan to the long list of people in Storybrooke who really didn’t want him to be there. Deciding finally that the dowsing rods weren’t getting anything from the cold spot, or perhaps weren’t getting anything from Regina, he crossed back over to her and swapped them for the EMF reader. This was something Regina was far more familiar with, and immediately began spinning slowly in place even as she wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the antiquated design.

“And, why, exactly, are we here?”

“We’re looking for Emma.”

Help me, Killian. Let me out. Please.

He had thought it over constantly over the last day. Maybe those words hadn’t just been spoken by that dark, terrible spectre of the house. Maybe that had been a little of Emma, their Emma, bleeding through. He had to find out for sure if there was anything but darkness left, and these were the only ways he knew to look for ghosts.

“We’re looking for Emma,” Regina repeated, in a strange tone.

It gave him pause, so he turned to look at her. She looked unfairly doubtful, and it made irritation flare within him. “The house is here, isn’t it? Where it wasn’t before. It stands to reason she could be here too. David saw her. So did Ruby. You said it yourself, something is changing. Why can’t it be her?”

He’d seen her, he wanted to say. But something held him back. Something private and longing and scared beyond his wits.

“Why can’t it be her?” he repeated, a little more forcefully when she didn’t immediately reply.

Regina bit her lip, as if trying to work out how best to proceed. She took a few steps forward, the wood underneath her boots creaking loudly.

“You and I both know… Emma wasn’t the only thing there that night. In the dark.”

Black lightning. Her wrist stained red, angry welts erupting across her forearm. Eyes as dark as obsidian.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

A wave of nausea rose within him.

“Is it wise for us to start messing with stuff we don’t understand – again?” To her credit she looked like the suggestion made her almost as miserable as it did him, but her nature dictated she give voice to the thoughts that cut everybody to the quick. “I mean, what if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?”

So good of you to come and see me.

First David, then him. After all, Mary Margaret hadn’t reported any ghostly sightings, and neither had Regina – and she had practically drenched herself in the supernatural.

Killian shook his head, clutching the dowsing rods tightly.

“But what if it is Emma?” he said finally. The crux of the thing was that he could never ignore her, no matter how sensible the suggestion that he do so. He knew he looked weak, that the confidence he had projected toward Regina since returning to town had crumbled and he must look stupid next to her now, seventeen again and blithering and hopeful beside her world-worn pragmatism. “We have to try.”

He begged her, pleaded with her silently to support him.

Regina was quiet for a long moment, and the EMF reader let out a low zinging noise from where she was pointing it. After a while she sighed.

“Alright,” she said briskly, and Killian visibly sagged with relief. “But I’m going to need much more sage.”

-/-

October 24th – Five Years Ago

“Killian, it’s creepy here,” whined Mary Margaret. “When can we go?”

Emma watched as Killian laughed from where he sat across the room, drawing something onto the floorboards in thick, black marker.

“I’m sorry, Mary Margaret. Just indulge me a little longer.”

Brooke House wasn’t nearly as scary the second time Emma had visited it. They had come virtually straight from school, the sky starting to fade from bright blue to soft pink, but while Emma still didn’t exactly relish the idea of being there after dark, it had lost something of its harshness from the last time she’d been there. Somehow, by bringing Regina and Mary Margaret too, expanding their nervous trio out into a confident fivesome, it took power away from the old walls of the house. Regina had laughed when they showed her the spinning wheel, kicking it into an aggressively fast spin while they all gaped and cried for her to stop. Mary Margaret had removed the sheet from one of the armchairs in the sitting room, declared it looked comfortable enough to sleep in and confidently sat herself down – only for a large spider to creep out of the seams of the cushion, and crawl onto the edge of her dress.

Her shriek had nearly brought them all to tears, and Emma hadn’t been able to move or breathe for laughter for at least ten minutes.

Ever since Killian had asked them all to come to the house, and David had taken great pleasure in informing them it was probably haunted, Regina had been saying she would bring something to match the occasion, and she did not disappoint. Currently she, David and Mary Margaret sat on the floor (the latter with her skirts bunched up around her, casting nervous, fearful glances around for anymore creepy crawlies) surrounding what Regina had called a Ouija board. Emma recognised it only as something she’d once seen on television.

It was an old, polished wood surface ornately decorated, with all the letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0-9 beautifully calligraphed across the top. The symbol of the sun had been drawn in one corner, and a crescent moon in the other. The board came with a planchette, a triangular pointer with a glass circle in the centre to allow you to see the characters underneath. The idea, as Regina explained, was that spirits were supposed to speak through the board, by directing the planchette around its surface to spell out words and wishes.

All three held the tip of a finger on the pointer, and Emma watched with mild interest as it inched across the board. It was all bullshit anyway, but it did add to the atmosphere.

“Mary Margaret, you’re moving the pointer,” Regina scowled.

“I am not,” she replied, affronted. “David’s moving it!”

“I’m not! I swear I’m not!”

Regina brushed her hair from her face impatiently. “At least wait until we’ve asked it a question.”

“Where’d you get the creepy board, anyway?” Emma asked.

“My mom was keeping in in the attic, I found it last year when I was looking for Christmas decorations. She was so pissed when I brought it down, made me put it straight back. I always knew she was a bit nuts.” Regina grinned smugly. “So obviously I had to get it out again now the occasion called for it.”

David cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to the board. “Let’s start.” He raised his voice, projecting it around the room and inserting as much grandiose as he could muster. “Are we alone in this house?” The planchette slid across the board, and David sounded out the letters it landed on. “N… O. It said no.”

“David, you’re clearly moving it.”

“I’m not!”

Leaving them to bicker, Emma turned her attention back to Killian. He had finished what he had been drawing on the floor, and was now scattering salt in a circle around it. Completely entranced in his work, his attention flickered between the salt in his hand and a few battered pieces of paper he had lain flat against the floor. Emma recognised one of them as the one etched with doodles and a few scribbles that they had found in Liam’s toolbox. Somehow, that only increased her feeling of unease.

“Hey,” she said, after crossing the room to sit beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. She was careful not to let her trainers disturb the circle he had made. She also wondered if Archie knew where all the salt at the group home had gone. “You okay?”

He had joked around with them while they let the others explore the house, but had soon retreated to his work. Which, Emma now realised, was a five-pointed star drawn on the floorboards in thick black marker, with each tip touching the edge of the salt circle.

“Yeah,” he replied, flashing her a smile. “I’m almost done.”

Emma bit her lip. “Remind me what it is you’re hoping to achieve? Do you really expect to, uh… summon some kind of ghost?” The look he gave her was unimpressed, but Emma shrugged. He hadn’t exactly given them a lot of clues. “What? I was there with Belle, remember? ‘Do you believe in magic?’”

Emma most certainly did not believe in magic.

The five-pointed star and the circle of salt were telling her something else about Killian, though.

“All I want is to understand. To just – get in his head, I don’t know. He was working on this house for weeks, but it looks like all he did was start peeling off the wallpaper. And why did he go and see Belle? Why did he –?”

Drive his car into a ravine? Emma couldn’t count the number of times Killian must have asked himself that.

He shook his head.

“It has to have something to do with this house. And look, these were in his toolbox.” Killian stepped carefully over his handiwork so he could crouch beside her, showing her the piece of paper, curling at the edges. “He drew the pentagram, right there.” He pointed out an image identical to the one Killian had just drawn on the floor. “I was doing a little research into the symbolism, and a lot of Satanic cults use it for, uh, stuff.” He trailed off unconvincingly, and Emma tried not to look the equal parts amused and creeped out that she felt.

“And like he’s done here, I’ll light a candle at each point. The notes he’s actually written are brief so I just had to interpret as best I can – ‘salt circle’ and ‘curvy dagger’. Did you bring your fishing knife like I asked?”

Emma leant forward so she could reach into the back pocket of her jeans to retrieve it. She held it close to her chest for a moment, thinking about all the comfort it had given her back when she was a kid – in a world where she could control so little, she had liked how powerful it made her feel. The first time she had showed it to Killian was when they were fourteen, and his eyes had grown so round that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giggling.

After a moment of hesitation, she handed it over.

Another of David’s noisy questions out into the room drew their focus.

“Will I become rich and famous one day? Oh – Y… E… S.” He smirked triumphantly. “Well, better start sucking up to me now guys.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “It’s for talking to spirits, stupid, not predicting the future.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regina purred. “Will David get a smack if he keeps moving the pointer? Yeah?”

There was a loud thump as she swatted him on the arm.

“Looks like it tells the future just fine.”

“Regina!”

They joined in the laughter with the others, the indignant surprise on David’s face just too funny to ignore; he protested loudly at all attempts of maltreatment, and started entreating the spirits in the house to retaliate on his behalf.

“They think this is a joke,” Emma said quietly, careful to keep her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear her. “Please don’t let it get to you when… if this goes nowhere.”

Killian had started wandering down a dangerous rabbit hole – she just didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, as he started placing candles at the five corners of the star. “Summoning an evil spirit? I have my expectations really low.”

“E…M…M… Emma, it’s spelt your name!” Mary Margaret squeaked.

Emma rolled her eyes, growing more tired by the minute of the game Regina had started. “Cut it out.”

“C…O…M…E.”

David narrowed his eyes at Regina suspiciously. “You’re moving it, right?”

Regina glowered back. “No, you are.”

“Guys,” Killian called over, “I’m ready.”

They left the Ouija board where it was, planchette resting atop the E, and came over to join them in the centre of the room. Killian directed each of them to sit at a point on the star, David and Mary Margaret giggling to each other but trying to keep a straight face, before he followed the line of the circle with some matches, lighting each candle. David jokingly blew on his, causing the flame to flicker wildly, and Emma shot him a warning look.

She only wanted them to take it seriously for a few minutes, just for Killian.

“What exactly are we trying to do?” Regina asked, looking bored as she played at dabbing the tip of the flame with her finger.

Emma had been about to bark a rebuke, but Killian beat her do it with an indulgent grin.

“We’re trying to get results.”

“I think I saw this ritual on an episode of Ghost Hunters,” Mary Margaret whispered excitedly. “See, the wife had murdered the husband, but they found a second body buried under the…” She seemed to sense the atmosphere starting to shift to something a little more sombre, and let her sentence trail off.

Killian stepped outside the circle to take his place at the final point of the star, placing the knife carefully in his lap once he was settled. Then they waited.

For a beat, nothing happened at all. The candles flickered in place, they exchanged uncertain looks. The shadows inside the sitting room had grown longer the closer the sun inched behind the trees, and it made the dappled light from the star in front of them look a little more ominous now that daylight was fading.

Regina huffed loudly. “Now what?”

“Erm,” Killian scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t really know.”

“Maybe we should hold hands?” David suggested quickly.

Emma felt that suggestion was probably more to do with the hand he would be holding than wanting to increase their chances of success – and she knew Killian agreed from the amused glance he sent her, but they consented all the same. Mary Margaret blushed as she slipped her hand into David’s.

Killian’s hand in Emma’s was warm, and a little clammy. It didn’t feel like it had the day of her birthday, when he had walked her back to the Nolan house from Granny’s. They had held hands the entire way, continuing to talk with enough forced nonchalance that they both knew the other was also clearly trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, hiding their smiles with glances out into the road. Then, it had made her feel dizzy with possibility, the gentle move of his thumb on the back of her hand sending her stomach spinning with delight.

This afternoon it didn’t thrill her the same way. She could feel how nervous he was in the slight tremor of his hand, and as she glanced at Regina on his other side she could tell the other girl could feel it too. Whether it was a sense of compassion for him or a desire to just get it over with, Regina slipped smoothly into control.

“We’re talking to the spirit in this house,” Regina said clearly, firmly, looking up into the ceiling. “Are you there?”

They all waited with bated breath.

“Can you hear us?”

All at once Emma was struck by the old, kind face of Belle Gold, wide eyed and fearful.

He found – he found a house, in the woods – and he thought it might make him strong.

Something thumped inside her chest. Like static from a radio, she could hear something crackling at her ear, but every time she turned her head toward the sound it disappeared. Twice she cleared her throat to try and speak but no sound came out. She knew, she knew, but she didn’t know how she knew, and Killian had turned to look at her, concerned, as her hand tightened on his.

“The knife,” she blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow. “It should be in the middle.”

Killian didn’t question her, merely stared at her curiously as he let go of Regina’s hand to slide the knife into the centre of the circle. It clattered against the floorboards before rolling to a stop in the middle.

But it felt – wrong.

“Wrong,” Mary Margaret echoed. Her eyes were closed.

David, too, had shut his eyes, and after Killian had once again completed the circle, Emma did the same. Regina didn’t speak again. Emma sensed she felt the same as she did; they had asked whatever they meant to ask, and it would be cheap to do so again. Only for show. Outside was nothing but stillness, not a sound to drown them out – in fact she had only become conscious of noise in the absence of it, and she now wished she had been playing closer attention to what it was that had stopped dead when they formed the circle.

They had been heard.

“I’m here,” Killian whispered quietly, so quietly Emma couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Find me.”

It had grown colder, gooseflesh beginning to erupt along her arm. Everything began to feel much farther away, as if her ears had popped, and a faint buzzing replaced the quiet that had blanketed them before. Oxygen was taking longer to reach her lungs, like the pressure in the air had changed. She could feel hair rising from the back of her neck and the thought suddenly entered her mind with a shuddering fear that she was about to be struck by lightning.

A rumble sounded from above, the rumble of something trapped beating against impossibly old doors.

The wardrobe.

It was all – wrong.

Come.

Listen.

Static zinged through her grip on Killian’s hand, and they both yelped and broke apart.

“What?” David spoke first, but the other three were all giving them baffled looks. Both Killian and Emma nursed their injured hands with matching grimaces. “What happened?”

“Electric shock,” Killian answered, shaking his hand out. “Bloody hell, ouch.”

“It’s the weather,” Regina offered. “I saw the forecast earlier. It always gets like this right before a storm.” Finally tired of the whole affair, she blew out her candle with an air of finality. “I think we can safely say this house is not haunted.”

Emma was willing her racing pulse to slow, trying to process what the fuck had just happened, but everyone else seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had occurred at all. David was helping Mary Margaret brush cobwebs from her hair while she asked if he wanted to come over to the Blanchard’s for dinner. Regina stood up and began to pack up the Ouija board. Killian stared at the flickering wick of his candle, looking despondent and a little frustrated. All like nothing in the world had taken place.

“Wait,” Emma said, looking around them all at confusion. “Are we really not going to talk about what just happened?”

They all turned to stare at her.

Killian was the first to reply. “What do you mean?”

“The – you know. It went quiet. The, uh, atmosphere.” She realised with frustration that it was amazingly difficult to describe, that breathlessness. The sense of standing on the edge and peering out into the dark. “You said it,” Emma pointed at Mary Margaret, remembering now that the girl had spoken. “You said ‘wrong’.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” When Mary Margaret again shook her head, Emma grew indignant. “You did!” She hadn’t goddamn imagined it, so why was the other girl bothering to deny it?

“Emma, she didn’t say anything,” David said cautiously. “Nobody said anything until you guys did.”

When she opened her mouth to retort Killian put a hand on her arm. It made her hesitate long enough for them all to brush past the moment.

“This place is creepy,” Mary Margaret declared, “and I’ve got to get home. David, are you coming?”

As Mary Margaret collected her stuff, David looked torn. Emma merely smiled at him weakly, but nodded her head – he should go. She was just… she was overtired. She probably shouldn’t have stayed up so late the night before studying for their calculus test on Monday. And she was letting the feeling of that house, of Killian’s hopefulness in that house get to her, and she’d let herself get carried right along by something else altogether.

They finished helping Regina pack the board away, but Emma stayed behind to help Killian clear up, promising to see the others at school the next day, and David that night once he got back to Ruth’s. The pair of them worked mostly in silence, using the old bucket and sponge Liam had left and a bottle of water to wipe the black marker away from the floorboards. Even amongst the disrepair of the house, it felt dishonest to leave the markings on the floor.

Or perhaps they just didn’t want to leave any permanent evidence of their being there.

“I believe you,” Killian said quietly. “I didn’t hear her, but I believe you. I think these things have to affect all of us differently.”

And by ‘these things’, he meant the supernatural. Ghosts. The movement of the planchette across Regina’s spirit board.

Things Emma definitely, categorically did not believe in.

Right?

She dismissed him. “You only think I heard something because you want me to have heard something.” It wasn’t true belief in her, it wasn’t because he knew her to be honest or trusted her. It was because something else was what he had come here for, and her ramblings had been his only glimpse of it.

Killian’s wanting, longing, was palpable in his every hopeful inhale.

“That’s unfair.”

Emma chose not to reply.

“What else did you feel? In the circle?”

“Killian, stop.” She made sure her voice was firm. “You promised not to let this get to you. We tried, okay? Nothing happened.”

They had been heard.

“But you said –”

“I didn’t hear anything, alright? Just forget it.” She stalked over to the window and picked up her rucksack. If she said it forcefully enough to him, she could make it just as true to herself. “Do you want to grab some dinner somewhere?”

She knew she sounded irritated, and Kilian didn’t respond, just watched her from the centre of the room. He was not impressed with her brushing him off, clearly wanted to continue down that line of questioning, and was waiting until she felt ready to talk about it. Suddenly irritated with his saintly level of patience, Emma huffed.

“Fine. Stay here by yourself. See if I care.”

Without waiting to see if he would reply, Emma barged out of the front door and stomped down the rotted steps without another word.

-/-

But she couldn’t sleep that night.

Every time she shut her eyes, drifted near enough to something dreamless, images so vivid they felt more real than the bed she lay in assaulted her. Killian’s disappointed expression from the centre of the room, expectant, waiting. The scrape of the pointer across the board. The knife, lying still in the middle of their circle. Firelight flickering. Regina blowing out her candle with a whoosh that seemed to extend for minutes at a time.

The nothing she had felt as she sat and breathed in the circle. That terrible, absence of anything.

She had realised too late that she had left her fishing knife in Brooke House. It was altogether likely that Killian had picked it up, and after a quiet dinner with Ruth she considered going around to the group home to retrieve it from him. Instead, a wave of annoyance had risen in her. If Killian had picked it up, he should have brought it round to her. And after the brief spat they’d had before she left the house, she decided, really, he should be the one putting effort in for her. Her resolve had strengthened, and she had announced to Ruth that she would be going to bed early.

She had lain awake for a few hours, ears pricked for any noise downstairs. David had come home a little later than expected, had spoken with Ruth for a long time before retreating to his own room. Ruth had stayed in the living room for a while, likely catching up on a few chapters of the novel she had been reading, before Emma heard the creak of the stair indicating she, too, had gone to bed. Killian had not come round. Still the night wore on, and Emma found herself no closer to sleep.

Downstairs the refrigerator hummed, and the electric heater on the landing rumbled, with the occasional clank she had grown used to. On her first night, all the odd sounds of the Nolan house had unnerved her. Much like tonight she had stayed awake for hours, worried she would never be able to sleep, certain the Nolan’s would want to send her back before too long, missing Killian terribly. The further her anxiety had skyrocketed, the more restless she became.

Tonight the noises included the sliding pointer, the squeak of Killian’s pen on the floorboards, Mary Margaret’s quiet whisper, wrong.

In Brooke House, something clattered in the attic. The wardrobe doors bumped and groaned.

Emma’s eyes flew open.

Something was trying to get out.

Her heart began to thump wildly.

Come.

Listen.

She threw back the duvet and reached for her trainers.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself stood in front of Brooke House.

Emma stumbled backwards, as if she were just now falling back into her own body and her knees felt weak with the strain of it, and dry leaves crunched underfoot. She was wearing her trainers. She was also still wearing her pyjama shirt and shorts, but had thrown a hoodie and a coat on over the top. Her legs were bare, and cold. In one hand she held a torch and the other was clenched into a fist at her side.

Why had she come here?

Something loud crashed inside the house, a shadow darted across the upstairs window.

Yes, Emma remembered now. She had come for her knife.

She always felt safer with that knife.

Climbing the front steps, slowly, her shoes sounded more muffled than usual. Before she had a chance to touch it the front door creaked open, beckoning her to step inside. She felt foggy, all – all lost, and what time was it, anyway? A dazed search of her pockets told her she hadn’t brought her cell phone. Why had she left without it? Why couldn’t she remember?

The by now familiar creak sounded from the landing. Emma was halfway up the staircase before she remembered setting her foot on the first step.

For a moment she felt Killian’s hand resting on the small of her back again, ready to steady her if she lost her balance, and she began to lean backwards into it – before it vanished and she had to jerk herself forward to avoid toppling down the stairs. Her hand was so tight on the banister that her knuckles had turned white. Right, Killian wasn’t there. Killian was at home, asleep.

Emma was in Brooke House.

The second floor was lit with tendrils of moonlight, dirty white and shapeless, crawling up the walls and stretching across the floor. The creak sounded again, and Emma gently opened the door to the room with the spinning wheel. As expected, the spinning wheel lay turning slowly on its axis by the soft press of the pedal underneath, except this time a man sat there, steadily feeding in pieces of straw until they came out as spun gold twine, which then pooled into a basket at the end. His face was obscured by the shadow of the windowsill, but he raised a hand in greeting before returning to his work.

She shook her head to try and confirm what she was seeing, and realised with a start that the door to the spinning wheel room was closed, and her hand was still poised above the handle. Had she opened it at all? She couldn’t remember. The old wood of the spinning wheel groaned behind the door and, firmly this time, Emma swung the door open inwardly. The wheel spun slowly – but on its own. Gone was the man, the spun gold, the straw. Only the empty dark and the dancing moonlight remained.

An odd noise jerked her attention away from the wheel, just as the light from her torch winked out. Now concerned, Emma smacked it against her palm a few times to try and knock the device back into working, but it did not respond. The sound came again, and to her ears it seemed like –

No, there it was again. She was sure.

It was a giggle.

High-pitched and delighted, something was laughing at her.

“Who’s there?” she said. Or did she?

She might have said: “I’m coming.”

Uncertain which she had said and which she had not said, Emma reached the end of the corridor and stood on her tiptoes so she could begin to scrabble with the door to the attic. The metal ring which would allow her to pull it down was just out of reach, but after she asked politely the panel dislodged from the ceiling by itself, and with it came the ladder. She rose one cautious step at a time, up into the black, and tried to remember why she was there.

Her knife, yes. She was coming for her knife. She had been just thirteen when she took it, lifting it from a set of tools a dockworker had left abandoned while he helped unload a seiner, and it had made Emma feel so dangerous to be holding it that she had immediately cradled it with both hands before making her escape. The blade was deadly sharp, far sharper than any knife she had seen in the group home or otherwise, and she had cut her hand while examining it later.

It had reminded her of herself. All along she had been afraid that one day someone might fall on her, and get hurt on all her sharp edges.

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

As she reached the top her pulse began to race, and her heart turned her head and waited for her body to catch up. She ignored the desk, the vials, the shattered glass on the floor; like a string had been tied to the centre of her chest, made of hope and sadness and something wild, it propelled her forward to the darkest corner of the room. There, tucked into the downward slant of the roof, stood the wardrobe. It rattled in place, as if someone were stood behind and shaking it back and forth, and she could feel it.

She could feel it wanting, could feel it longing for her, and she longed for it right back. Breathless and exhilarated, she crossed the room in three short steps and knelt before it, hands reaching for the ornate handles on the doors. Darker swirls of colour spun out from the handles and almost seemed to move, curling delicately around her fingers.

Yes, they whispered, come.

Listen.

Emma tugged open the doors.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself in her bed at the Nolan house, blinking against the hazy light of morning.

Once realisation struck Emma bolted upright, glancing wildly about her room. Her trainers were tucked against her dresser, her coat hung on the back of her door. There were leaves in her hair. Once she registered it was morning she scrambled for the clock at her bedside, which read 6.03am. Almost time to wake up for school.

Had she – had she dreamed it? The house?

It was already beginning to turn foggy and fade, the corners curling in on themselves with greater speed the more she tried to remember, like clutching at the tendrils of a dream that was vanishing out of sight. Everything was as it was.

Except for the knife.

Emma blinked, realising her left hand had been curled around the hilt of a very strange, very ornate knife – no. Dagger.

The hilt was black as pitch, and cool to touch, but the blade was what interested her the most. It’s edge was curved, as if it were blurring in and out of sight in the nature of a mirage, and was ornately patterned with twisting black shapes reaching all the way to its desperately sharp point. It was heavy, and unlike anything Emma had ever seen before.

But perhaps what intrigued her the most was the name emblazoned across it, written in an almost medieval cursive.

Weighty in both heft and emotional damage, Emma could scarcely believe it. What did it mean?

For written on it was a name she recognised. One they were all familiar with.

Liam Jones.

-/-

2nd May 2015 – Seven Months Later

David was the last to arrive by a couple of minutes. Although the air that night was cool, the day had been hot, and he was still dressed in the same t-shirt and shorts he had been wearing earlier. Killian couldn’t be more grateful for the drop in temperature – he could remember a time he had been a fan of the immortal summer, of scorching afternoons and ice cold drinks, it made him think of fly fishing in the lake in the middle of Memorial Park or setting off cheap fireworks by the docks that fizzled and burnt with the whole year’s lost potential. Last year he and Emma had borrowed Archie’s car and driven all the way to Portland, just so they could track down a lobster restaurant a traveller stopping in at Granny’s had told them about. They spent the entire afternoon searching until, tired and hungry, they’d picked up a few sandwiches from a convenience store and perched at the edge of the harbour, watching the boats roll in, and roll away again.

The whole day had been a bust. Killian couldn’t remember it being anything but perfect.

As the days stretched and he found himself looking for her amongst the sun-soaked streets of Storybrooke, summer became just one more thing he wanted no part of anymore.

“Is this going to take long?”

Mary Margaret’s voice jogged him back to the present, and Killian quickly jerked his head around to check nobody else was nearby. They had met at their usual spot, just a little ways into the north woods. Far enough that they would go unnoticed by any stray observer near the edge of the forest, but near enough that the distant sound of cars zooming past on the street could still be heard. Most of them were reluctant to venture any farther in now, if it could be avoided. Especially after dark.

Regina scoffed. “Why, are we keeping you from something?”

“My mom doesn’t like me being out late anymore,” Mary Margaret replied defensively. “I had to sneak out my window.”

“Well, our apologies for the inconvenience.” Unsurprisingly, Regina did not sound that sorry at all.  

“Would you just stop?” David groused.

“Guys, please,” Killian interjected, wanting to cut them off before they could start getting too snippy. He turned his attention to Regina. “By the way, are you alright? I hear Humbert gave you a hard time yesterday.”

Regina had been collected from the school gates by Sheriff Humbert, in full view of everyone. He liked them to be observed when he decided to bring them in for another interview; it was one of his favourite tactics.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she shrugged. “It was the same questions as always.”

Why were you out in the woods? When did you see her last?

Is there anything you’re not telling us?

Smooth, long exhale.

Nothing, Sheriff Humbert.

“Good,” Killian answered, nodding slowly. “That’s good. And you, Mary Margaret? Did you get a chance to look for the house this week?”

They had been taking it in turns for the last few months, always making sure that they weren’t spotted together heading down the White Pine Trail, to investigate the place Brooke House had once stood. Ever since the first time they had been caught by Sheriff Humbert there, they had realised the man had started watching their every move in the weeks that followed Emma’s disappearance. Killian, especially, had scarcely been able to get away with taking an unusual route home from school without the sheriff picking up on it. The more time marched forward the less observed they felt, but they still stuck to the same precautions just to be sure.

It had been seven months since Emma had disappeared. Graham Humbert never let him forget it.

And with Emma, Brooke House had also vanished. Nothing stood at the end of the orange string trail Killian had once left anymore, only silence and torment.

Finding it again had to be their best chance at finding her. It was just that these days, finding felt a lot more like waiting.

Mary Margaret hadn’t answered him, so Killian flicked his eyes over. He could see her eyes were averted, jaw clenched. One of her shoes kept stringing up a restless beat on the floor for a few seconds at a time.

“Mary Margaret?”

She let out an almost irritated sigh. “No, Killian, I have not gone looking for the damn house.”

Killian blinked. “And what’s with the tone?”

“I have to study,” she burst, “I have AP tests in two weeks, and if I don’t pass I probably won’t be able to go to college. And instead, I’m disobeying my parents, standing in the middle of the woods and thinking about how much I don’t know about environmental science.”

Regina looked the way Killian felt; completely dumbfounded. “You’re thinking about exams right now?”

“It’s not just exams, Regina,” Mary Margaret insisted. “It’s my life. I want to make something of it one day, and I suggest you do the same.”

Something still had settled between them, as if Mary Margaret had started to lift the lid on something they had sworn to keep closed, and even the night around them was stiffening with anticipation. It was sacred ground on which their harsh words steered them, and it was impossible to discern where the line could be drawn between how to move forward, and how to avoid moving backward. At times they seemed to be the same thing, but somehow it was impossible to think of them the same way.

Emma had wanted to pass her exams too. Desperately, in fact. It had been so important to her that she be able to push off into the rest of her life in better straits than how she had been brought into it, and to that end she had often stayed up long into the night studying at the group home so she could avoid the noise and the steady stream of interruptions that came during the day. It was that which had prompted her to accept Ruth’s offering of a fostering, even after deciding long ago never to hand her heart out again to somebody she was sure would just return it later.

Killian had encouraged her; he had hoped she might find more at the Nolan house than a quiet place to work, and she had. She had found David, and with David came Mary Margaret, and Regina had fallen in as easily with them as she had with Killian and Emma years earlier. They had been a haphazard band, and for a year everything was warm and gold.

That was over now, and they had begun to splinter.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

He heard her, always. Always, always.

“What about Emma?”

It was David who spoke, and he looked stricken to have even needed to say the words.

What about Emma? Was holding onto this, meeting clandestinely in the middle of the night to yet again swap how little progress they had made in getting her back – was this moving forward? Or was this trying so desperately not to move backward that they couldn’t keep their focus on anything ahead? Brooke House was never there when they looked for it. But Killian didn’t care about school, anyway. He’d had enough credits to graduate at the end of his junior year, before all of this. Every AP class he’d taken he had since dropped. Archie had barely been able to convince him to go to school for much of the year.

It didn’t matter to Killian, not a whisper; but was it okay for this to matter to someone else?

“Emma is gone,” Mary Margaret said, quietly. As if scared that they might hear her and yet desperate for them to. “And it’s…” She sucked in a sharp breath before continuing. “It’s devastating. But it’s – it’s been seven months. We have nothing. And more importantly, the police have nothing.” Killian could tell from a subtle movement in her fist that she was trembling. With fright, anger, sadness. Who could know for sure? “Finding Emma, if she can be found, should be up to them.”

Killian felt as if he’d been slapped. “How can you say that?”

“It’s their job, isn’t it?” she bit back. “And the more I think about that night… the more we feed into that – that hysteria, or – or whatever we thought we saw – the less help we’re being to them. The police, I mean.”

Killian felt his temper rising. He knew what he had seen – they had all seen it, although for reasons Killian couldn’t fathom, it had become a matter of spirited debate between Mary Margaret and David, and he and Regina.

“We never should have lied,” Mary Margaret continued firmly. “We should have told them everything from the start, about the house, about all of it.”

“They would have told us we were crazy,” Regina pointed out. “Hell, I would have called you crazy if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

“But at least I wouldn’t feel like this!” Mary Margaret’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and the bite in her expression had crumpled. She was all melancholy, draped in it like an old cloak, where in their group she had always been warmth. Everything was twisted now, like none of it could ever be light again. “Like I have this weight, poised above my head, and I’m just waiting for it to – to fall and crush me. And it hurts.” She clutched at her throat, eyes wide and sad. “And I’m breathless, and scared. All the time. And sometimes – sometimes I don’t realise I’ve forgotten that it’s there, but then I look up –”

David had taken a few steps closer to her, and put his arm around her shoulders. She curled into it and buried her face into his chest for a few moments, shaking, while he murmured something neither Killian nor Regina could hear. They couldn’t find the words to interject.

After a few long moments she gathered herself, her fist clenching into David’s shirt.

“It’s this lie,” she said fiercely, speaking into the solidness of David’s form, sounding as wretched as she looked. “And this feeling that if – if we’d just told the truth then they would have found something, and they would have found her.”

The accusation was softly cushioned, and gently aimed, but Killian felt it with the keen force of any blow.

“They wouldn’t have found her,” he answered evenly. They couldn’t. “It’s up to us.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you would say that.”

Killian’s temper flared. “Excuse me?”

“It clearly doesn’t bother you, Killian, but I’m just saying – if I could do this again I wouldn’t lie.”

I wouldn’t tell the lie you told me to tell.

The lie he had told them tell to protect them.

Humbert’s hard expression flashed in front of him.

Your friends say she was with you when she went missing. That you were the last one to see her.

“I wouldn’t either,” David added quietly.

Disbelief marred everything, it made everything black as tar – was this really what it was all coming to? Rounding on him?

“And what would you have told them?” Killian shot back. When David grimaced he pressed on. “No, really, I’m interested to know what you would have told the sheriff about the haunted house and the magic dagger.”

“Stop that,” Mary Margaret snapped, “it’s not magic.”

“Then how the bloody hell do you explain it? Explain this?”

With intent, Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out the dagger. Its curving edges glittered dangerously in the dim light, and in a movement so quick he might have imagined it he thought he saw Regina reach out a hand to take it, before snatching it back. The intricate pattern engraved onto the blade was one he had memorised from long nights spent staring at its edges, begging for it to reveal its secrets. The inky black writing crafted beautifully on top spoke of everything they had lost – the truth they all knew, and the only tangible proof that forces greater than themselves were at work.

The name carved across it was clear: Emma Swan.

Like a spell, it brought with it an almost supernatural quiet. Mary Margaret had begun to weep silently, and she shrugged away from David’s touch this time. Regina watched but did not speak. David couldn’t bear to do more than glance at the dagger, a pained expression on his face clear before he turned to look out into the forest.

“This is how we know she’s still out there,” Killian insisted fiercely. “We can’t give up now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

For a little while, the only noise was Mary Margaret, trying to suppress a gasp or wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. After some time, she sank down to perch on a nearby log and Regina joined her, threading their fingers together tightly. In the distance Killian could hear the rumble of the road, the sound of an engine increasing in volume before skittering away. Although reluctantly, he slipped the dagger back into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the blade was cool against his chest even through the fabric of his shirt. A cold comfort, but a comfort all the same.

“The truth is,” Mary Margaret began quietly, staring at the mossy ground at their feet. “I want to grieve. I loved Emma. I want to treasure her memory… I want the chance to miss her.” She lifted misty eyes and looked at each of them in turn. “But it’s impossible around all of you. For you she’s still here. But I want to keep moving forward.” She brushed a hand across a tear-stained cheek. “Will you – will you let me do that?”

With quiet strength, she dug the stake into the earth. Beneath it, they cracked.

She stood. There wasn’t anything else to say.

She looked impossibly guilty, and Killian searched for something to say that would deliver her from that, but all of it felt brittle and fake. The honest truth was that he loved her and wanted nothing but her happiness, but he might never forgive her if she walked out of that clearing now.

Mary Margaret looked to all of them, but it was Killian’s gaze she sought most eagerly. He couldn’t give it, staring stonily at the ground instead.

“I’ll… I’ll see you.”

She didn’t say at school, since he wouldn’t be going anyway and they both knew it. Recklessly, he thought that without it there might not be another excuse for their paths to cross. If she wanted to keep moving forward and leave all this in the past, then Killian would not be going with her. Dry leaves crunched as she departed, slowly receding until the only sound was the breeze whistling by.

“I’m not giving up. No way.”

It was Regina who had spoken, and Killian felt a wave of unreserved tenderness for her.

Her face softened, and she stepped over to lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“She’ll come around.”

She wouldn’t, but it was easier to pretend.

After Regina had gone Killian sat on the damp earth underneath him, leaning his head back to stare through the canopy. The trees had clustered together here, dark shapes towering over through which he could spot the stars winking in and out.

David shifted from where he stood. “Are you okay?”

Killian let out a long breath, one that he felt like he had been holding onto for a number of days. His chest felt tight, and he could feel a familiar tugging sensation behind his nose as the stars started to swim before him.

“Belle died. Yesterday.”

David let out a soft expletive. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“It was peaceful,” he nodded to himself, like it made everything fine. “In her sleep.”

Belle had been a great source of comfort for him. She talked in circles and remembered very little, but she remembered Liam and often asked after Emma, and had lived a deep and fulfilling life she loved to tell him about. It did her good to talk, the nuns had said, which was why they let him come. Every character in all of her stories was long gone now, but it didn’t cause her any pain. She spoke only of the joy in having known them and the colours with which they had brushed her soul. It didn’t matter how lonely it looked now, or how sad everyone else thought she must be to be alone; she had assured him many times that she was lucky, and wanted for little else.

He wanted desperately to feel like that, even if only for a heartbeat.

Sometimes, she had said with a smile, the best books have the dustiest jackets.

“It just feels like everything is slipping away.”

Mary Margaret, Belle. Liam. Emma. Everything he touched was dust.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

A hot tear spilled down his cheek and he angrily swiped it away.

He cleared his throat loudly, mostly to try and cover the sudden rush of emotion, but he knew that David had seen it. “Sometimes I can’t help but think… maybe it’s all in my head, you know? The more I think about that night the hazier it gets.” Like trying to remember a dream after you’d woken from it, every single day more details faded into nothing. “I just hear her.” That final, startled scream. It would never leave him, he just knew it. “All I can hear is her.”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

“Me too,” David admitted quietly. “I hear it too.”

“I’m leaving,” he said suddenly, and with the confession came a twinge of relief, and he forgave himself a little more for it. “Right after graduation. I have to find an answer, and there isn’t one here.”

He’d go as far as needed, for as long as it took. He’d walk the stretch of the Earth if he had to.

For a moment David looked crestfallen, but he mastered it quickly. “I understand,” he said. And he might think he did – but David would never be looked at the way Storybrooke looked at Killian. In their eyes he would never be blameless, not the way the David Nolan was. Emma was his sister; she was just Killian’s victim.

“I’d go too,” David continued, “but my mom… it’s just hard, you know? I feel like there’s so much she doesn’t know. And I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Killian assured him, “it’s alright. I wouldn’t ask you to come.” It was something he would rather do alone.

A few moments of stillness passed, before David let out a low whistle.

“So. Right after graduation, huh?”

Killian nodded. June twenty-third, 18:00.

There was a bus to Augusta that he had promised he would not miss.

-/-

Present Day

As night fell, Killian again returned to Brooke House.

He had already spent much of the day there with Regina, taking readings, burning herbs and mumbling variations on familiar incantations from her book of shadows. There were a few key vocabularic differences, but the intention behind a few spells seemed similar to some he had seen from the coven in Pennsylvania. Just once they had let him sit in on a cleansing ceremony, a practice of healing for the soul, and he could recognise some of the actions as Regina guided him through a ritual for cleansing the air in the house. Smudging, she called it. But by the time they had departed in late afternoon, visibly nothing had changed within the house.

After grabbing a quick bite at Granny’s Killian had spent the remainder of early evening categorically working through all the other data he had been able to gather over the course of the day; and not one instrument had indicated anything outside of the realms of a normal abandoned house. In fact, most of the anomalous readings one could expect from a long period of constant use (a sudden spike in electromagnetic radiation, a noise in static on a recorder where there had been none aloud) were completely non-existent. Brooke House was as silent as the dead other than the sounds he and Regina made. It were as if they were measuring nothing at all.

No doubt, that was its intention.

He expected much to be different in the dark.

Again, he left the dagger rolled up in his scarf in his car, not wanting to bring it any closer to Emma – or to whatever Emma was. They were clearly linked, the spectre of the house and the dagger, and he had to believe that somewhere buried in there was his Emma. She retained the same memories, even if she warped them for her use. She recognised him. It was her name on the dagger.

He had taken the dagger to three different psychometrists over the years, seeking insight. Each one had only been able to tell him that its origin was evil, that its master was lost.

Even Killian could have surmised that much.

“Emma?” he called, as he stepped over the threshold. Only creaks of old wood answered back.

He lingered briefly in the sitting room, checking his old tape recorder that he had left running, tucked under the sheet of one of the armchairs as gently as possible. He wanted to avoid the possibility of muffling any sound while also trying to prevent its detection from any nefarious spirits that chose not to make a sound while he and Regina were there. All he needed was some kind of proof that something in the house moved when it was left to its own devices. In the morning he would return for it and listen for any erroneous sound.

As if reading his thoughts, an audible thump came from above him. He headed back out into the hall. For now, Killian decided to pocket the recorder and return it after he’d come to say what he meant to.

Again Killian called Emma’s name, mounting the stairs slowly. Once he reached the top he spotted the flash of white fabric trailing along the floor, disappearing into one of the rooms on the landing. Aside from the room with the spinning wheel that never faltered, Killian hadn’t spent much time in the other two rooms. One was a bedroom and the other a study, boasting only a desk and a wall lined with ancient, brittle bookcases, the tomes atop them turned grey with age with faded and illegible titles. It was into the study that he had seen her go, so Killian opened the door cautiously so as not to startle her away.

The bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the door had collapsed, the books falling into a haphazard clump onto the floor. A dust cloud still lingered so he imagined it couldn’t have happened too long ago; he wondered if that was the noise he had heard from downstairs.

Emma stood with her back to him, the rustle of pages the only indication that she was moving. Then, without warning, she swung her right arm back and hurtled the book against the wall. The binding tore with a snap, and in pieces it clattered down onto the ground. Killian, reluctant to become a target for one of those heavy missiles, cleared his throat to announce himself, but quickly tucked the tape recorder subtly into one of the bookcases as he did so. He didn’t want her to catch it on him.

Emma turned, her jade eyes sharp in the gloom. As always, they cut right through him.

“Have you decided?” she said, her voice as heavy as stone.

Killian didn’t answer immediately, but tried to look at her more critically. What was he seeing? Just what he wanted to see, or something more?

Regina’s warning repeated itself over and over. What if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?

“Why didn’t you show yourself to Regina?”

They had been at Brooke House all day, there was ample opportunity. Not a creature had stirred out of place, as if the house had been holding its breath and waiting for them to leave. That meant one of two things – Emma did not think Regina could help with what she wanted, or there was nothing of Emma to show.

Emma lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and turned back to the bookcase. She picked up another book, and began lazily flipping through its contents.

That, too, found itself tossed to the edge of the room.

“I didn’t feel like it.” She reached for another.

“Come here,” he said, before he felt he’d truly made the decision. “Let me look at you.”

She turned slowly to stare at him; it was clear in her expression that she was unaccustomed to receiving orders, and was flirting with the idea of being furious, or going along with it. Keeping her eyes locked on his she discarded her final book, letting it flutter onto the floor, and started to walk towards him. It felt distinctly like being stalked by a predator, and he resisted the urge to step back when she came to a stop in front of him, looking up.

Instead he steeled his resolve, and lifted his thumb and forefinger to her chin. Her skin was glacial to the touch, pale and smooth. Like marble.

Applying a little pressure, Killian turned her head first to one side, then to the other. She allowed him, her eyes continuing to follow him intently. Up close, she looked human. With a little more colour in her cheeks she would look just like he remembered her. Would it even be possible, he wondered, for him to conjure up something so near to perfection? Was he capable? Could he really have imagined this?

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed sadly, brushing his fingers along her jaw, stilling them when they reached the tip of her neck.

Emma tensed underneath him. “What for?”

The list was unending.

“All of it.”

Something flickered across her expression, but it had moved too quickly for him to notice it. A blackened petal dropped from the circlet around her head, and became tangled in her hair. Without thinking, Killian gently tugged it loose.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

A cold hand came to rest over his. Then, to his surprise, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and leaned forward. Too shocked to move, Killian froze in place as she reached him. Like the rest of her, her lips were icy to touch, and moved gently against his like the purl of the ocean against the sand. His eyes stayed open but he could see hers had fluttered closed – she looked unarmed. Gentle. Like a girl.

She pulled back because he did not know how to keep her, and he could feel now that he was trembling. He was cold, his heart ached with grief, and he was furious.

That was a kiss that he had been saving, and she had taken it.

He opened his mouth to rattle off a rebuke, but something in her manner had changed. Her brows had knitted a little closer together, her lips parted – even her eyes looked as if they might have dulled from their usual startling shade.

Recognition fluttered across her features. She blinked slowly. “Killian?”

Killian’s heart began to hammer against his ribcage. Hope stuttered to life with every beat, but he tried to remain cautious. Something was different, he was sure of it, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to her before so he might able to more clearly see now what had changed.

He watched her warily. “Emma?”

It happened in painfully slow motion. Her eyes glazed over, she turned herself away, something that had been out of alignment clicked back into place. In an almost unnatural way her head tilted, and began to stare at him with those new, wide eyes.

Her lips curled in a snarl. “That’s enough of that.”

A rush of air blew past him and she was gone, but Killian, exhilarated and almost breathless, couldn’t let her go.

“Wait, I –” He caught her in the hallway, her hand resting on the door to the spinning wheel room. She whirled around to face him expectantly, eyes ablaze. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

The corner of her mouth curved upwards, a smirk rising into place.

Killian swallowed. He’d been at her mercy since the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Just… tell me what you need me to do.”

[flamegatorwrites]

Death on Two Legs (Jotaro/Kakyoin)

Chapter: 4/?

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

A/N: hey y'all! I'm sorry this took like a month to write haha. I've been so busy with school and band and everything. thanks for being patient, though! I promise I'll try to update more, this chapter was just so Hard for me to write because I just felt like it wasn't good? Anyways, pls enjoy :-)

-

Kakyoin nervously straightened out the collar of his shirt. He examined himself in the bathroom mirror. He and Jotaro had decided to hang out today, and he was terrified. He wore his favorite cherry patterned button up over a white T-shirt, paired with some slightly baggy lightwash jeans he'd rolled up at his ankles. He probably looked insane to other people- he definitely didn't look like he was going to be a priest within the next few months (nor did he want to)- but that was the least of his worries.

He and Jotaro had exchanged phone numbers after he'd fallen last week, after finding out they had similar interests. They'd talked every day, eventually deciding upon meeting up at a local arcade to play a new game that was arriving today. Jotaro wasn't too into video games, but Kakyoin had convinced him he would like this one.

To be completely honest, he didn't know if he would like it. Hell, Kakyoin had never even played it before. He just wanted to see someone that wasn't a member of the church. At least, that's what he'd convinced himself.

He didn't want to admit that he just wanted to see Jotaro again. He believed if he told himself he was just tired of seeing the same faces over and over again, he'd be less embarrassed. It wasn't anything other than the fact that he was just worried. He knew the past two weeks haven't been the highlight of Jotaro's life, and he was hoping to help try and make him feel better.

Jotaro, on the other hand, barely managed to get out of bed on time. He slept in 30 minutes later than he was supposed to, only waking up because his phone was ringing in the living room.

He sat up, groggily, and trudged into the living room. He picked up his cell phone, taking it off the charger and checking the caller ID. When the name registered in his mind, he answered almost immediately, hurriedly placing the phone up to his ear.

"Avdol?"

"Okay, I need you to listen closely, Jotaro," Avdol whispered urgently.

"Okay..."

"Polnareff and I have been doing some research, and we've discovered that there's an stand user in your town. He's an American man, and we have reason to believe that his power can manipulate emotions. If you're leaving your home today, please be on the lookout."

"What do I do if I find him?" Jotaro yawned, running his fingers through his messy hair. Deep down, he knew what he would do. He would eat, and hopefully not feel guilty about it.

"Well... we're about to board a flight to Japan. We've discovered something huge, and we can't tell you this over the phone. We currently have one of the workers from the Speedwagon foundation handling Iggy for the flight. For the time being, just... just defend yourself, in any way you can."

"Wait, shit! I am leaving today! Thanks for the help, but I've gotta go."

"Jotaro, wait! Whatever you do, do not let anyone else get inv-"

Jotaro hung up and tossed his phone onto the couch in front of him. He grabbed his discarded black skinny jeans he took off the day before off the floor, sliding them up his legs in record time. He then ran into his room, jumping across his bed and opening a drawer on his dresser, blindly grabbing one of his many plain t-shirts. He put on the deodorant he had placed on top of his dresser and pulled the shirt over his broad shoulders. He shoved his feet into his boots and tied them.

After he brushed his teeth, he grabbed his cell phone off his couch and shrugged on his denim jacket, then grabbed his old, ripped up hat and placed it on his head.

He finally managed to shut and lock the door to his apartment. He jogged down the hallway to the elevator and pressed the button. Thankfully, it opened right away, making his exit at least 2 minutes quicker.

He pressed the ground floor button and waited, anxiously tapping his foot.

He knew Dio was going to start getting stand users ready again, but he didn't expect it to be so sudden. It had only been two weeks since his grandfather's demise, and Dio certainly hadn't been healed from his own critical injuries that quickly.

The elevator opened, allowing him to jog through the lobby and out the main entrance. Thankfully the arcade was only a 5 minute walk away- but he could make it in about 2 minutes if he ran.

He burst into the arcade, out of breath and thankfully not sweaty. The cold air outside helped him that much, even if he was cold. He shivered, the warm air of the arcade hitting him like a punch to the gut.

He locked eyes with Kakyoin from across the room. The different video game themes playing from large, bulky machines that were lined up in rows filled the arcade, along with the dozens of people crowded around a certain spot in the back. The redhead blushed furiously, briskly walking towards Jotaro.

"Sorry," Jotaro coughed. "I had a phone call."

"It's fine! I managed to order us a pizza, and I remembered you liked pepperoni so I just got that."

Kakyoin led Jotaro to a booth near the back of the room, the video game noises growing quieter the further they walked away from the annoying machines.

Why had he agreed to this? He hated being in public, he hated people, and he didn't quite enjoy the loud, repetitive music that seemed to blare through the entire building. Kakyoin just had this influence over him. He couldn't think straight when he was around him, his heart would pound and his head would spin and he just felt so odd. But there was also something... powerful about the smaller man. There was something pulling the two together, like magnets, or like-

Like stand users.

A stand user that could manipulate emotions. That was why Jotaro felt all weird and nervous and anxious- it had to be. He knew there was something off about Kakyoin from the start. The fact that he didn't even look like a priest should've been enough to warn him, but, of course, since he had the emotional manipulation powers he didn't feel like he usually would.

He could always tell when he was in the presence of another stand user. Looking back at the past few times he'd been in contact with Kakyoin, he could remember feeling that faint mental connection he'd felt with the crusaders, with all of Dio's stand users.

Jotaro sat down and eyed Kakyoin suspiciously. He had to admit, the guy had a decent cover. But he saw right through it.

"Is everything okay over here?"

Kakyoin glanced up at the waitress, a look of concern replacing the smile he wore before.

"Uh, are you okay, miss?"

Jotaro looked up at the waitress. She glared down at Jotaro with bright red eyes, the hatred she radiated was almost tangible. Her eyes bore holes into his own, and for once he felt uncomfortable.

"Kakyoin," he said, not breaking eye contact with the woman. "It's been three weeks since my grandfather's death. Couldn't you have at least waited a little longer?"

"What?"

Jotaro began to feel uncomfortable. It wasn't like he normally felt around Kakyoin, this was different. It was the feeling you get when something bad happens at a friend's house, or when someone you know does something absolutely stupid and you can't help but close your eyes and hope it's not real. It festered inside of him, clawing it's way deeper and deeper into his chest.

In an instant, everyone in the arcade was motionless. It was as if someone had stopped time. But he, kakyoin, and the waitress were still moving, the waitress's gaze becoming more and more terrifying. 

"Jotaro Kujo," the woman said, in a voice too deep to be her own. "Lord Dio has requested your company. If you refuse, you will perish."

"JoJo," Kakyoin whispered, "this isn't funny."

"Will you accept this offer?"

Jotaro stared at Kakyoin. There was no way he wasn't a stand user, he knew that much. But was he the enemy? Avdol said the stand user was an American tourist, and Kakyoin didn't really fit that description.

"Star Platinum!"

Just as Star appeared, the woman punched Jotaro- hard enough to draw blood. He felt the familiar sting of an open wound on his cheek, the warm, thick blood slowly dripped down his face.

Kakyoin's eyes darted from Star to Jotaro, then to the woman. He was clearly a stand user, but was he the enemy? Did he even know he was a stand user?

"Jotaro, I think I should leave," Kakyoin said shakily. The woman grabbed a chair and threw it at Kakyoin as if it were as light as a feather. The minute the chair left her grasp, a green tentacle shot out from somewhere behind him, grabbing the chair right before it hit his head.

-

After they found the enemy stand user hidden inside one of the video games, they decided to just go back to Jotaro's apartment. Kakyoin was in shock. He helped fight off the man, but he was so afraid while doing so and Jotaro felt awful. He decided to bring him home and tell him about everything- stands, enemies, even Dio. He told him everything except for his own secret, out of pure shame and self-loathing. 

They had been there for about 2 hours now. Kakyoin wasn't safe anywhere else; there could be a stand user anywhere, and considering he didn't even know he had a stand, Jotaro knew that it would just end in Kakyoin's death.

"So," Kakyoin cleared his throat, "How did I get it? Is it like a disease? It can't be an STD, can it? Oh, no-"

"Good grief," Jotaro huffed. "It's not a disease, and how the hell would you have an STD? Aren't priests, like, virgins or some shit?"

He let out a sigh of relief, then registered what Jotaro said. He blushed, sending a playful glare in his direction from the opposite side of the couch.

"Deacons," he corrected, "and yeah. But it's still scary, like, what if it's airborne?"

"Wait, STDs can be airborne?"

"Well I sure hope not. I've got 3 months left until I can become an actual priest, and that would be a little hard to explain to everyone."

"Well," Jotaro said, "It's not a disease. Have you been shot recently?"

"What kind of question is that?" Kakyoin laughed.

"I guess not then. You must've been born with it, it just fully... awakened today."

Jotaro checked the time on his phone. It was 3 pm. Avdol and Polnareff wouldn't be there for at least 2 more hours if they were taking one of the private jets from the Speedwagon foundation.

"So what's the deal with your... stand?" Kakyoin asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, can I see it?"

Jotaro summoned Star Platinum. The purple figure loomed over the both of them, awaiting Jotaro's command. Kakyoin stared, in awe. He stood up and walked over towards him, his head barely meeting the stand's chest. He neared 9 feet tall, which made even Jotaro himself feel like a child.

"He's kinda cute."

Star did something Jotaro had never seen before- he blushed. He disappeared into thin air. That was... new. Knowing that someone thought his stand- his nine foot tall, beefed up, purple stand- was cute was a bit disgruntling.

He glanced over at Kakyoin, who was blushing again. He picked up his soda and took a long drink- probably to hide his face.

He didn't realize he was staring until his phone rang. He was getting a call from Avdol, which he answered almost immediately.

"Avdol, I ran into the stand user today. He wasn't just able to control emotions. This man could literally possess people."

"Is he dead?"

"No," Jotaro sighed. "But we kicked his ass. He's crawling back to Am-"

"Who is we?"

"Oh..." Jotaro took a deep breath. "So I've met another stand user, and he just found out that he has a stand today. He's got... potential?"

He looked back at the smaller man, who was playing with one of his stand's tentacles. It seemed to have two forms- a more humanoid form, which was good for fighting; and a bunch of tentacles, which were good for a more strategic approach to things.

"Jotaro, what did I say?" He sighed. "I specifically told you not to get other people involved, and what did you do? You got someone else involved. This isn't a game. He could be targeted because of this- killed, even."

"If I wanted a lecture, I'd bring the old man back from the dead."

"Well, actually, that's what I'm calling about."

Jotaro's eyes narrowed.

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Jotaro, your grandfather is still alive."

[jamfingers]

Fuck it, gotta purge now - Bonkai, slight Sky High AU, untitled.

There's not a lot of free time at Gemini Tower. Being that every prisoner there was superpowered, there wasn't much else to do at the max security pen except exercise or read when you weren't being kept busy by being worked to death. Or you know, pretend to exercise or read while you were really conspiring to escape.

Which is exactly what Kai was doing with Laurence Hales (aka Absolute Zero, the ice king of all the cryokinetic villains) when his number is called.

"Prisoner seventy-two thirteen! To the call room - you have a visitor," the burly guard barks.

Kai pauses, checking the sleek metal cuff on his right wrist. There was a matching one on his left arm. All the prisoners wore cuffs like this, that doubled as power suppressors as well as high tech transportation handcuffs. They were also unique to each inmate's biology, engraved with their identifying number. And sure enough, there it was: 7213, printed right on his wrist. Kai steps back from his co-conspirator to address the guard.

"I have a visitor?" he doesn't bother hiding his bemusement. Who on earth would want to see him? Anyone who might be interested were most likely already within these walls. Or Draconia's. Kai pities the villains that end up at the asylum.

"That's what I said," the guard snaps. He holds up the remote that magnetizes Kai's cuffs together, pressing the button and glaring at Kai.

"Let's go, Red Hand," he sneers. Kai shares a look with Law, nodding. They'll finish the conversation later. Mentally adding Fugly Prison Maid to his blacklist, he walks towards the guard and allows himself to be guided to the call room.

He's never been here before. Never had to be. His cuffs are demagnetized from each other and he's allowed to sit freely at a table. The rest of the room is empty and guards stand at every entrance and checkpoint Kai can see, far enough for privacy, but close enough to shock the hell out of him with their tasers if he steps out of line. Kai counts eight of them and is running scenarios of how he might turn this in his favor when she steps into the room.

'She' being Miss Magnificent, one of the founding members of The Society of Heroes. 'She' being Miss Magnificent, the third and most powerful woman (telekinesis, pyrokinesis, super-strength, and rapid regeneration) to pick up the mantle, the one with the most influence. 'She' being Miss Magnificent, his arch-nemesis and the reason he's imprisoned in the first place. 'She' being Miss Magnificent, who is supposed to be in a rocket somewhere in the cosmos, mediating peace talks with hostile Martians and decidedly not here on Earth, at Gemini Tower, sitting across from him in an empty call room (that he now realizes is empty because of her), looking very much like she's hoarding a small melon under her dress.

He stares at her protruding belly, then her face, raking in her pretty features. She looks tired, but happy and a little wary, not unlike any other young, expecting woman visiting a high security prison for super-powered villains.

Inordinately, he's angry. Kai's hands curl into fists and he sees her eyes dart to them immediately, her combat instincts seemingly as sharp as ever. A guard shifts and Kai schools his face, relaxing back into his seat. Looking once more at her belly, Kai tries to smother the feeling of betrayal that fills him when he greets her.

"Hi, Bonnie," he says amicably. Bitingly. "I'd ask what's new, but..." He trails off, nodding at her stomach. He tilts his chair back, balancing it on its back legs, watching her take him in. She snorts and finally takes the seat across from him.

"Hi, Kai," she banters back. "I'd ask what's new, if the answer wasn't clearly 'not much'." Her face goes serious and she looks him over. Kai hates the tenderness he feels when he sees her face soften in concern. "Are you..." she hesitates. "Are you eating enough? They're not overworking you are they? I've been working with other Society members and policymakers to incite prison reforms to move towards rehabilitation and building up applicable work skills, so that..."

Fuck. Her nervous babble has him charmed and he stops trying to barricade his heart off from her, no matter how angry he is at the prospect of some other man's child growing under her hundreds. Miss Magnificent may be his arch-nemesis, but there's a reason Red Hand, known for his ruthlessness and ability to drain life with a simple touch, quickly stopped turning his power on her with intentions crueler than knocking her out.

She cared, more than most other heroes. She was willing to crawl in the muck and shit to save everybody, even the scum like Red Hand. It was idealistic and naïve, but even if Kai's behavior was never going to reform, his heart might. And besides that, well. Malachai Parker always has a soft spot for Bonnie Bennett.

And wasn't that some shit?

She cuts herself off when Kai's chair slams back to the floor, watching him as he reaches for her hand. She doesn't pull away, doesn't even tense. Kai wonders if it's her faith in the cuffs or her faith in him that keeps her relaxed. Both ignore the huffing of the security guards. They don't like him touching other people.

"Aren't you supposed to be in space? I saw you get on a rocket with Fractal and Honeycomb on the news last week."

She beams at him, and he doesn't get why until he realizes he's inadvertently given away his own concern. His eye twitches, but whatever. He's holding her damn hand.

Still smiling, she answers, "That was one of Psiren's illusions. She's the one who boarded. I'm on leave."

Kai turns her hand over between his, doing the same with her words in his mind. He wishes he had his powers, so he could siphon off some of her strength. Maybe some of her regeneration for when she inevitably guts him. All those times before...he had thought...

But no, his thoughts were just that. The shit in his head. No way would someone like Bonnie be destined for someone like him. Just no way.

"On leave?" he muses in a neutral tone. "Can I take a gander on why?"

Bonnie smiles at him. "It's hard to fight crime growing a human," she teases, something in her easing. Apparently, she'd been expecting a more unpleasant response. "A lot of the other Society members are really upset with me. Others, like Psiren, not so much. It's rough having a tank off-duty, but since Psiren is usually out of the public eye, she came up with the plan for Miss Mag to mediate alien affairs so Bonnie Bennett can get ready for maternity leave from the lab."

"Yeah? And the dad? What's he doing?" Kai inquires, mentally bracing himself. She's not for him, no matter what they might have shared in the past. Clearly, it didn't mean as much to her if she's moved on so completely.

"He's in prison. Not much help at all, to be honest."

Her answer pulls him out of his wallowing abruptly.

"What?"

"Yeah, why did you think so many other heroes are pissed at me? It's because the father is a villain, not because I can't fight." She watches his bewildered face in amusement. "It's bad press for the Society of Heroes if it gets out that one of their founding members is having a baby with her arch-nemesis."

Kai thinks his brain has short-circuited. He drops her hand. Blinks. Looks at her small bump. Does mental math.

Shit. Holy fucking shit.

He wonders briefly why it never even occurred to him why he might be the father.

But then again - Bonnie and Kai. Miss Magnificent and Red Hand. Not exactly what comes to mind when one imagines first-time expecting parents.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he questions quietly. Bonnie makes a face at him.

"I aaaam?"

He scowls. "You know what I mean."

The heroine sighs. "I had to be sure."

That hits Kai like a slap.

"Oh," he sighs. He tries to pull his hands down to his lap, but Bonnie grabs his arm in an unrelenting grip.

"Kai, you have to understand - you're not the only criminal I've fought and you're certainly not one of the ones who wanted to kill me."

"Yes, I did," he grunts, keeping his eyes trained on the hand holding his forearm.

"Oh-kay, not a criminal who still wants me dead."

Kai hums, not in agreement or disagreement. Bonnie huffs, exasperated.

"Malachai Taylor Parker," she growls lowly and Kai can't be blamed for his body's interested twitch. "You can't push this on me. I'm twenty-seven. I fight crime. This is my first child and it's with someone I personally made an effort to get imprisoned." Kai scowls at the reminder. "Can you blame me for being a little scared?" she ends quietly.

"You?" Kai scoffs. "Scared? Yeah, right."

"It's true. But...mostly I'm scared because I want this." She shifts. "Some of the other members are considering starting a school for kids like ours. Ones who might be...uh, exceptionally gifted. Somewhere isolated where they might be safe. I think it might be a good idea for this little guy to be around others like him."

"Why are you telling me this, Bon? I've got a life sentence."

"I know! But like I said, we've been working to reform the prison system and honestly every person you killed was considered a case of self-defense and -"

"You don't have to excuse me, Bonster. I did what I did. It's why you were so gung-ho about getting me incarcerated."

"Because I want you rehabilitated! It's not-"

"Shh," he soothes. He wasn't trying to rile her up, he was just stating the truth. Her hand on his arm is a little tight. "No biggie, Bon. I don't blame you. I'm not trying to fight."

She nods, temper cooling.

"I love you," she says quietly. Kai can't ignore the way those words tighten his chest. "That's what took me so long. I had to wrestle with the truth for a while there."

Kai nods. He can't say it back, of course not. But he can bring her hand to his lips and press a kiss to her palm. Eyes closing, he recalls these hands touching him other ways, the good and the bad of their relationship and all the times they've simultaneously built each other up while ripping each other to shreds.

"What's his name?" he questions, opening his eyes to catch her staring at him longingly.

Bonnie looks away, embarrassed at being caught. "I dunno yet," she answers.

"How about Warren?" he throws out. Bonnie thinks about it.

"Warren. It's nice. I like it - Warren."

He snorts and places her hand back on the table, but doesn't let go. The rest of her visit is pleasant enough, some warm reassurance in his chest as he starts to plan out a future for himself and the woman he loves.

Because honestly? Bonnie might be an idealist with a justice boner, but Kai only deals in reality.

If he wants this, he's going to have to make it work. Eventually (he hopes) Bonnie will come around to his way of thinking. Besides, an early beach retirement with Bonnie? She'll come around or he'll keep her hostage until she does.

Resolute, he let's her kiss him goodbye when she leaves. He holds her tight, because fuck the guards. She was his woman, pregnant with his kid.

When he's back in the rec room, he seeks out Law to resume their conversation.

Can't have that beach retirement with his family if he's doing life in prison, now can he?