#and then the only thing lift will be making a nice ribbed border

[the---hermit]

I showed my mom my progress with my mushroom cardigan and she was like "you'll look like a gnome in the woods" tis precisely the goal mother.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 6

Summary: Losing someone can make you realize what was already there and the Darkling is about to find that out the hard way.

Warnings: angst, violence, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five  

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Five days have passed and the Darkling had never stopped looking for his wife. His men never saw him rest, sleep was simply never on his agenda. He barely ate at all, merely giving time for the rest of them to gather their strength.

He was restless, constantly questioning how this could have happened. No matter how he looked at it, the Darkling felt guilt consuming him. Without his rage, he worried the guilt would have paralyzed him. Had he not went on a pointless hunt for something that’s likely a tale, she would have been right by his side, antagonizing him.

It’s been hundreds of years since he felt this way, as if his heartstrings are being pulled by someone other than himself. In this search for Y/N, he realized she is consuming. After all, she might have been right – a part of him may actually care for her. He cursed that part of himself over and over again as result.

They’ve tracked her toward Fjerdan borders. Every now and then, they would find bodies on the road, their throat cut or stabbed right through the heart. Sometimes, he found them alive still. He never refrained from calling on his shadows, trying to draw useful information to close in on their whereabouts.

Y/N never saw him use his shadows before. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d disapprove of the means he’s using to find her. After all, she called him a demon on their wedding night. She would never accept him as he is, he had no doubt about that.

Did she want to be found by him?

The first body they found, the Darkling smiled. He didn’t question it was her hands who have taken the man’s life. There was no concrete proof, but he was certain of it. Every body found felt like her own version of breadcrumbs.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled heavily. If she managed to set herself free so many times to leave what was now five dead men behind, he couldn’t help but worry for her safety. What was the price of each crumb she left?

It wasn’t just the exposure to snow he worried about – and he did worry as she got cold too quickly and he was the one to warm her up before. Who’d warm her up now?

The darkness of the forest gave him cause to worry too – she may have tried to hide it, but he knew she was afraid of the dark. He realized it when her breathing turned shallow and fast their first night together just as she extinguished the candlelight. The next night, he left his candle to burn long into the night.

Something stirred inside him, a beast has awakened. Despite the war his heart and mind waged, he wondered if he’s his own worst enemy. Maybe it was time to let someone in. For too long, he had been alone in the shadows of his past lives.

Why is he repeating the same mistakes?

How can he be afraid when he married a woman who never blinks in the face of danger?

His heart was ice and stone until she came and now the ice has started to melt. All he’s done is hurt and destroy, but he wanted out of the loneliness that clings to him.

She was right, as hard as it is to admit it. He’s a demon, a devil that walks the earth and he cares. Because of her he hopes he might love again and he can’t let anyone take that from him – hope is the only thing stronger than fear. And when a devil falls in love and discovers hope, it’s the most hauntingly beautiful sight. They should fear him as he will go to the depths of hell to protect her.

While his eyes may have been closed, his heart jumped as a bright flash forced him to open them again.

He was never given a chance to be soft. His hands had to be bloody, to have people fear him. Only when they feared him, they wouldn’t hurt him. Now was the time to show them just why they fear him.

“Where?” He growled out, looking to Ivan and Fedyor who were looking at the sky.

“East”, Fedyor replied hastily, ready to follow Kirigan who set off in said direction without a second thought. He didn’t order anyone to follow, but they did.

Ivan and Fedyor walked two steps behind their general, alert as the flash had awakened them from a deep slumber. They weren’t the only ones shaken, unsure what they’re walking into but none showed fear as their general lead them straight to the source. Their loyalty, their belief in general Kirigan runs deep.

Except for David. He was afraid. He didn’t want to be in that forest and he didn’t want to be in danger, but he trusted Kirigan. Besides, Y/N was nice and Genya seemed to like her. So he came along too.

Kirigan walked in strides, the snow didn’t slow him down. His hands formed fists, his face twisted in anger, but his heart pounded in his chest as he had no inkling what he might find. All he knew was that he had to get there, fast.

As if made of darkness itself, the Darkling emerged on what looked like a battlefield. The trees surrounded a small clearing covered in snow that melted under the spilled blood – still warm as it poured from the dead surrounding her.

She’s on her knees, two Fjerdans chaining her up as if she’s a wild animal.

“You think you’re scary, huh?” She spat at the Fjerdan’s feet – a crimson liquid, Darkling realized. She’s bleeding.  

“That’s adorable”, she chuckled maniacally as she held her fierce gaze on the Fjerdan stood before her. They pulled her left hand behind her back and her right hand in front as they tightened the chains that were secured over rope that laid just beneath.

Darkling’s blood boiled. It is fear that brings rage, that hot burning anger that seeks to harm. Once again, he was afraid, not of her but for her.

Four more Fjerdans came from behind the trees, all covered in blood. “Fucking bitch”, one of them kicked her in the ribs and he couldn’t take anymore. He could kill them easily for what they’ve done – he’s killed every one of them he ran into in the past five days without even blinking, regardless if they were involved in her disappearance or not.

“Mister, I’ve seen scary and you don’t have his handsome smile.”

Licking his lips, the Darkling nearly smiles at her remark. There’s no possible way she means anyone else but him. Looking at his Grisha, he found them nearly all in position. They would attack in a minute, swiftly and deadly.

Yet in a moment of carelessness, he missed the Fjerdans realization they’re being watched. Too quickly, more of them appeared. The pitiful human managed to land a few consecutive blows to Darkling’s face before drawing a dagger.

Angry, dark eyes showed the Fjerdan that the Darkling’s brain is in a different mode, that he has switched gears from empathy he had for his wife to cold emotional indifference. Never once has he directed this mode in Y/N’s direction, yet it emerged when he sensed a threat to her life, letting out a part of him that was full on protective.

Grunting, the Darkling’s eyes narrowed at the human who dared to sink the blade into his heart. Despite his immortality, he could still hurt. The pain of a stab wound felt just as it would if here as fragile as the human before him.

But he’s not human at all.

Connecting his hands, the Darkling lifts his head as he summons the darkness that spills from every corner of the forest. “Foolish”, he sneers, “Attacking me in the dark?” The Darkling smirked, walking past the petrified Fjerdan, allowing his shadows to administer a thousand cuts for his transgression.

As he walked toward the middle of the circle, his shadows followed, aiding his Grisha in taking the rest of the Fjerdans so quickly that Y/N gasped.

Looking around in shock, she found Kirigan kneeling beside her.

“You have a knife”, she coughed into her shoulder, “A knife in your chest.”

“I promised”, he gasped for breath as he pulled the knife from his chest. “That I would protect you and I intend to keep the damn promise.”

On the brink of tears, her lips quivered before she laughed. “I thought you’d let them kill me.” Better to laugh than cry, she thought.

Frowning, he shook his head. “That would be too easy”, he waved David over who stood at the tree line, wide eyed. “If anyone’s going to kill you, it should be me.”

Even with tears blurring her vision, she giggled at his stupid remark. She had tried so hard to free herself.

It wasn’t the first time she had been captured by enemies, she knew what to do. But there were so many of them. Each time she freed herself, they would descend upon her. She managed to run, twice, each time they dragged her back kicking and screaming.

Despite his words, Y/N didn’t believe Kirigan would come for her. She had to be her own hero and she tried. In the end, she used everything at her disposal – everything.

Feeling the chains drop, Y/N glances at David, “Thank you.” The ropes were cut as well, but she didn’t move. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she could stand on her own and asking for help would wound her. Rubbing her bruised wrists, she reluctantly looked at Kirigan.

“Here”, Kirigan offered his hands. Truth be told, he wanted to carry her, but he knew her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Hissing, she forced herself up despite Kirigan’s offer. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

He’d have asked her again because she trembled when the wind blew. Her hair was matted with blood, her face red and not from blushing. He could see the damage they’ve done more clearly now as she bent to take a deep breath as if the simple act of breathing hurt her.

Staring at her, he nodded despite his better judgment. Her breathing was ragged, dragging her feet as she walked. She felt his eyes on her, it unnerved her. All she could do is hope her legs don’t give out, but it felt as if they would betray her any moment now.

“Go and make camp ahead”, he ordered his Grisha to speed up as he realized her stubbornness would kill her. Stepping before her, he wrapped an arm around her waist. There would be no asking her for permission this time, he’ll not allow her to deny his help. Hoisting her up in his arm, he held his breath as she cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

How could he not bring any healers? How could he have been so stupid?

Groaning, she sent him a stern glare yet found no anger in his. His eyes are like the ocean - they have the potential to destroy, yet when the waves reach the shore, they dissipate, leaving soft designs in the sand as a gentle reminder of its presence.

Leaning into his embrace, Y/N let out a gentle sigh of resignation. She’s been caught in the riptide and for once, she doesn’t want to fight it.

“I really thought I’d die”, she admits reluctantly.

Feeling him stiffen as he held her in his arms, Y/N frowned. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, or anything at all. This isn’t what they do, they don’t bare their hearts open.

“And when I faced death”, she continued regardless. Tilting her head to look up at him, she let out a shuddered exhale. A shy smile adorned her lips as their eyes shared a gaze so tender, an outsider would believe them to be in love.

“I thought how silly it is that I don’t know your first name.”

Snorting, Kirigan raised his eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yes”, she breathes out.

Looking at her now, the Darkling couldn’t believe this is his wife. The woman who infuriates him so often seemed so small, so fragile in his arms. Her gaze held remains of the horrors she was cast into and yet he never saw her as earnest before.

“I married you and I don’t even know your name.”

Licking his lips, he stops. Truth be told, no one actually knows his name. His name was long forgotten, a piece of his soul he had left behind in the fold. He promised himself he’d never utter it while he lives. He had promised he would never be that man again.

Unfortunately for him, he seems to be breaking his promises lately.

He promised her he’d protect her and he failed, just as he promised himself he’d never care for her and yet he does.

“Aleksander”, he mutters, still unsure if it’s the right decision. He placed one of his greatest secrets in the hands of a woman who’d see his world burn. He gave her power she never should possess and yet he’s not afraid. No one could make him fear anything after the ordeal he was put through since she decided to tear down his defenses.  

Smiling softly, she closed her eyes. Resting her head on his shoulder she felt satisfied. It may be small, but finding out his name felt like a victory. She was born to play this game, it was her destiny. He is her destiny.

Waking up, she found herself wrapped in several blankets inside a tent. Grunting, she struggled to sit up on her own. It seemed to be dark still, but she had a blue light lantern lit inside. She may not know who left it there, but Y/N was thankful. Despite her fear of dark, she found it odd she did not fear Aleksander’s darkness at all.

When his shadows nearly encased her in the clearing, she didn’t fret or worry. She smiled.

As contradictory as it may seem, she wished he was with her now. Her entire body ached and still, she was more bothered by the empty spot beside her. Shaking her head, she bites her lower lip. Would it be so bad if she showed a sliver of vulnerability for a single night? Would making a small concession such as this truly take away her power?

Before she has a chance to change her mind, she’s already outside of her tent. The cold chilled her to the bone, biting every inch of exposed skin. Teeth chattering, she looked to the tent next to hers as it was the only one so close – seemingly intentional.

Trying to open it in the cold seemed impossible as her fingers shook violently. Feeling faint, she wondered why she couldn’t just stay in her own tent for the night. Surely it would have been a better idea than to admit she’s scared to be alone.

A warm liquid trickled down her lip and she nearly laughed at her own idiocy. The darkness and cold and her own injuries have all been fairly good reasons for her to just sleep and try to recover and she still tried to find her husband who showed so much disdain for her in the past.

Just as she was about to give up, a familiar head of hair peaked through.

Shivering, she wipes the liquid from under her nose with the back of her hand. Looking at it, she realizes it’s blood. There’s a slightly dazed look in her eyes, the blood loss suffered over the past days leaving its mark.

Looking up at Kirigan, her lips tremble and she sways slightly as her legs threaten to give out. “I didn’t know who else to go to”, she mumbles meekly before collapsing into Kirigan’s arms.

No…Aleksander’s arms.

Pulling her inside, he wrapped her in his arms as she shivered. Covering her with blankets didn’t seem to help either, but he had confidence it would soon enough.

She closed her eyes, clinging to him and selfishly, he smiled. It brought back memories of the night she climbed atop of him to warm up, he assumed. She didn’t know he was awake then, but she did now. She trusted him enough to seek warmth and as her shivers stopped slowly. That’s when the Darkling realized he would never deny her anything she asked of him.

“Fuck”, he whispers under his breath and her eyes open.

He looked at her in a haunted way, a shadow of a bruise marred his jaw and she reached up to touch it, her chest aching when he nuzzled into her palm. They have never been quite as tender with one another, never so intimate. It felt surprisingly nice.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked, feeling so emotionally raw. Physical pain and lingering fear of impending death must have weakened her for a short while. Surely, she can allow herself a few moments of humanity?

He caught her wrist and pulled her hand down to press flat over his heart. “Here.”

Drawing a shuddered breath, her eyebrows knitted in worry. That’s where the knife was, she remembered with guilt. He could have died for her. Hating him requires too much energy; one she had little to spare. For the night, he can just be her husband and she will just be his wife. What harm can it do?

“Why did you come for me? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for me?” Her confidence wavered as he sighed, brushing his fingers along her cheek. Not only did he come for her, but he murdered men for her.

Blinking slow, half in a daze as a low-grade fever began to grip her too, she had no more strength to deny how beautiful he is or how disarming his charm is. He may never love her, but she could…she could love him. If she ever fell for him, she knew she’d never be able to unlove him. She wouldn’t want to and that…that felt oddly comforting. For once, she was too tired to listen to her mind that preferred to set the world on fire rather than care for him.

As her eyes closed and her face relaxed, he stayed awake. He didn’t understand it, but he embraced the warm feeling spreading in his chest as she fell asleep.

“I’d burn this world for you.”

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Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon  @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06  @whatthefluffrichard​

PART 7

[alia-turin-fanfiction]

Because @golden-olea absolutely loves one of my OCs and I love him as well and she is my excuse to continue writing about him

Fic Title: Hot Spring Rating: Explicit Category:F/M/M Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Relationships: Eredin Bréacc Glas/Original Female Character(s)Original Male Character(s)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Eredin Bréacc Glas Original Characters Original Female Character(s)Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Threesome - F/M/MPool SexHot Springs & OnsenBlow JobsMaster/SlaveElf/Human Relationship(s)One Night Stands

AO3 Link

She watched the elf as he walked to the hot spring. His Red Rider armor was still on him, dirt and blood covering some of the shiny pieces of metal. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, his golden hair was tied in a high ponytail and she froze as his warm blue eyes stopped on her. She bowed her head realizing she had been staring. She had been working in the hot springs for a month now, she had seen a lot of elves pass through here, soldiers, generals, noblemen and even common merchants, but he was certainly one of the most handsome she had seen. 

He tilted his head in curiosity, probably seeing the blush on her cheeks. 

“I think this is the part where you help me take my armor off.” his voice didn’t sound annoyed, teasing or cheerful was what she would go for. That surprised her. Someone else, using these words probably would be already shouting at her. 

She didn’t wait for a second invitation not wanting to test her own luck. She came closer to him, her fingers easily finding the straps and ties of his armor. She remembered the first time she had to take one of these, her hands were shaking and she didn’t know where to start. Now that wasn’t a problem. Piece by piece she shed the metal from his body, then she unbuttoned the shirt, her movements becoming more nervous as she knew he was staring at her. She removed the garment and began folding it neatly as her eyes watched his body. She could see every muscle on his chest, arms and abdomen neatly outlined, he had a tattoo on the right side of his ribs, a horse standing on its hind legs, breathing fire. She wondered if that was something all Red Riders did, they were horsemen after all.

“Saw something you like?” he asked teasingly again and she realized she had stopped folding and had been just staring at him. 

“My apologies, my lord.” she felt stupid. He had been doing that every day for a month, she should just get it together. 

“Not a lord.” Aedan put two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him, just as she was about to reach for his belt. She was pretty, big blue eyes staring at him, long brown hair reaching way past her shoulders. “And you didn’t answer my question. Did you see something you like?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, probably concerned she had stepped over the line. She probably had, but he didn’t care. 

“You are pretty.” he said with a smile and her face turned almost as red as his cloak. “Can I kiss you?” this time she nodded, a bit hesitant but she nodded. Aedan leaned forward, and pressed his lips against hers, realizing it has been months since he has felt a touch like that. Stupid border patrools. “Why don’t you finish what you started.” he looked down at his pants which was the only piece of clothing he had left. 

Her face was still flushed but her fingers resumed to his belt, then his pants. She pulled them down, stopping for a second as she saw the bandage around his right thigh. 

“You won’t hurt me.” he finally said as he saw how much she was trying to prevent touching anywhere near the bandage. It had been bad a week ago, it still hurt when he walked or when he rode his horse, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when Eredin found him bleeding, dying. 

He stood there naked in front of her when she tried to make a step to the side to allow him to walk in the hot water, but he grabbed her hand and turned her with her back toward him. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” She was a servant and he knew he could do whatever, but he did not like abusing that power. Not like that. 

He kissed her neck, gently, his fingers easily finding the laces of her drass and working them slowly. His lips moved to her back, kissing every inch that the fabric revealed under his touch. Her dress fell around her feet and he pulled her body closer to his pressing her hardness against her back. She moaned as he cupped her breasts with his hand, her whole body feeling so small and fragile compared to his.  He moved one of his hands between her legs feeling she was already wet, he smiled as his fingers started teasing her, gently caressing her clit until she started moaning and wiggling against him. He continued kissing her neck softly, his body wrapped around hers, as he pushed two of his fingers in her, she felt so tight around him, he needed to push her on the ground and just take her like that, but he also doubted his legs would be able to withstand that without opening the wound. He continued fucking her with his fingers, his thumb on her clit pressing harder. 

“Look at you, going to come around my fingers like a little slut.” he whispered in her ear and he felt her tense under him as she came. 

Eredin walked to the hotspring, it had been a long trip, he needed to clean himself and relax in the hot water. His body ached and he needed rest. The springs had turned into something like a tradition for him and his men, the mountains around Tir na Lia were filled with them. The Aen Elle had found something sacred in the hot springs, a way to relax and communicate in the peaceful environment. All springs had servants that took care of the place, but humans were not allowed in. 

Eredin was about to walk to the pool, surprised that he had not been greeted by anyone, and then he realized why. The first thing that reached his ears was the lewd noises, a woman purring and moaning. Then he saw it, tall blond elf had wrapped his arms around a servant girl, one of his hands on her breasts the other between her legs fucking her slowly. Eredin raised an eyebrow, realizing who the elf was. He was surprised with the injury on his leg, Aedan was up for any of that, the man barely walked and barely rode, even if he did not complain for a second. He just leaned against the nearby wall and watched, his man was playing with the girl, her body completely helpless against his. 

For his own surprise he could feel himself getting hard, the space in his pants getting tighter with every time her body wiggled against Aedan’s, but Eredin watched. Now was not the time for him to walk in. He saw Aedan moving his lips from her neck to her ear, he could see his mouth moving and words coming out of it, words he could not hear, but whatever he said made the girl tense and then she came around wiggling even harder against him. Aedan kissed her, his hand gently caressing her arm. Interesting, from everything he knew about the man he would not expect him to be the caring type. He whispered something in her ear again and the girl turned around, her face flushed with embarrassment. Eredin watched her get on her knees, her lips slowly sliding over the tip of his cock. Now was the time to walk in. 

“Having fun?” Aedan groaned as he heard the familiar voice behind himself. He thought he had heard footsteps earlier, but as no one came, he thought it was just his imagination. The girl jumped away from him and stood up, turned toward Eredin but her head was bowed down in shame, her hands trying to cover her nakedness mostly unsuccessful. 

“Didn’t know watching was your thing.” Aedan was trying not to growl. Things between him and Eredin were complicated at best. The man had been his commander for months now and certainly his opinion has changed a bit. At first he thought Eredin to be nothing more than a lordling, a nobleman’s son who had been given that command to get some glory under his belt until he moved to a more pleasant life in Tir na Lia. Since then he fought next to the man, with him and Eredin had even saved his ass as much as that annoyed him. Deep down he was starting to understand his initial perception was probably wrong, but he still did not like him or trust him. 

“It is not.” Eredin answered as he took his own clothes off and walked in the hot spring. He moved to the furthest end of the pool and sat on the stone bench that was under the water surface. “Come here.” 

The words were directed at the servant and it took her a moment to realize that, but she started walking in his direction, going around the hot spring. 

“No. Get in.” Eredin’s words surprised even Aedan. Humans were not allowed in the pools, no matter what. He knew his general had shown great care about some traditions and little care about others. The girl hesitated, understandable. “I’m the master of the Wild Hunt, and you will obey me.” The way he spoke the words even Aedan would have obeyed him, if that was directed at him. The girl nodded and got in. “Come to me.” she did, following the same path Eredin had taken. 

Eredin watched the girl as she walked to him. She was pretty, no wonder Aeda had gotten his hands on her, she had been probably the first female he had seen since they returned, but certainly a very good looking one. When she came close to him, Eredin ran a finger over her soft cheek. 

“Was he nice to you?” his eyes were on Aedan who had walked in the pool as well, sitting on the opposite end. “I’m his officer, if he was not nice to you I will punish him.” he didn’t care how Aedan had tried the girl, his words were not for her, they were a reminder for the other man where his place was. 

“He was kind.” she spoke softly as Eredin turned her around so she could face the other elf. 

“Tell me, have you fucked two elves at the same time? Two Red Riders?” she shook her head for no. “Well there is a first time for everything isn’t there?” he said as he sneaked his hand between her legs, feeling the wetness inside her. “Exciting, isn’t it?” she moaned as an answer. 

He lifted her a bit, making her slide down on his cock as he was sitting. Her small hands grabbed his forearms for support, nails digging in the muscle. His hands were on her waist and he picked a harsh speed, moving her body up and down his length, his hips pushing up to bury him deeper. He looked at Aedan and smiled, the man’s blue eyes were a mix of anger and lust. 

“Missing your toy already?” Eredin asked mockingly as he grabbed the girl’s throat and pulled her back, exposing her chest above water. He didn’t stop his violent pace and her moans filled the otherwise peaceful place. 

Aedan couldn’t decide if his anger right now was stronger than his need for release. He wasn’t jealous, the girl meant nothing to him in the grand scheme of things, but he was first there. He knew that was Eredin’s way to put him in his place and he probably deserved it, for all the times he had disobeyed in the last few months. 

He was about to do something stupid and impulsive, his speciality, when Eredin pushed her off himself, the servant whimpering in displeasure. He watched as his general placed his hands on the edge of the pull, and pushed himself up, sitting at that same ledge. 

“I think your pretty mouth has some work to do.” Eredin said as the servant turned toward him. She leaned forward, one hand reaching for his cock, but before she could wrap her lips around his tip, he grabbed her hair violently and pulled up. “Hands behind your back, like a good little slut.” She did, as she was told, immediately, no hesitation and then leaned forward to take him in her mouth as best as she could. 

“Fuck it.” Aedan was done watching. He walked across the pool, as Eredin was giving him a smug smile. He wasn’t even going to ask him for permission. 

Aedan ran his hand over the girl’s back, feeling her tense for a second, his hands grabbed her hips to keep her steady and she froze for a second. 

“Don’t stop.” Eredin said as he tightened the grip around her hair. 

She continued moving her head up and down on his length as Aedan pushed in her, still so wet inside her. He picked an even faster pace than Eredin had, his thrusts moving the water around them and splashing it outside of the pool. She moaned, or tried, Eredin was fulling controlling her head, fucking her mouth with the same pace Aedan was moving in her. He felt the wound on his leg open, blood showed on the surface of the water, but he didn’t care. He continued chasing his orgasm, getting closer with every move, he moved one hand between her legs, finding it easy to drive her over her own edge, and as she started coming around him, he knew he needed just a moment but then something hit his chest and sent him flying back. 

Eredin almost laughed seeing the surprise on Aedan’s face as he kicked him in the chest. The man got on his feet, spitting water as he was trying to say something. The servant just moved her eyes between the two of them, but Eredin jumped in the pool, embracing her. 

“Do you want to return the favor? He made you feel good twice, I think you owe him at least one.” he pushed her closer to Aedan and she stepped behind her. “Take a deep breath and make sure you swallow.” he pushed her head under water, using her hair to guide her to Aedan’s cock. Even if the water was moving he could see her finding her way. Aedan didn’t need an invitation either, he grabbed the back of her head and stared fucking her mouth fast until he came, letting her go. The servant pushed herself out of the water breathing heavily and choking. Eredin gave her a few moments, when he grabbed her hair again and pushed her under the water, her mouth this time wrapped around him. It took him a few thrusts until he came, feeling her gasp for air around him. He let her head go as he needed a moment to recover. When he opened his eyes he saw Aedan sitting on one of the under water stone benches, the servant in his arms. He was kissing her neck and whispering something in her ear. 

“Get out and bring him a bandage.” Eredin had not failed to see the blood in the pool and now that the water had stopped moving he had no problem seeing the source either. 

The girl didn’t hesitate, she freed herself from Aedan’s arms and jumped out of the pool, her step shaky but she found her way easily. 

“You don’t need to be a dick.” Aedan sank a bit deeper in the pool, relaxing his head on the stone. “Especially after that.”

“Are you nice to the deer in the woods before you kill it and skin it?” Eredin sat on the other end of the pool, sinking up to his chin; he needed the warmth of the water to relax his muscles. 

“Do you plan to kill her and skin her?” the blond elf laughed. “She is a toy, but I don’t like breaking my toys.” 

“And where is the fun in that?” Eredin asked and they both shared a smile. He had learned that the two of them had more in common than they didn’t. Maybe that is why they had started on the wrong leg. He didn’t care if Aedan liked him or not, but the man was an excellent soldier and that was something he needed and respected. He was young and reminded Eredin of himself at that age. Impulsive, hungry for glory. “Are we good?” 

“Ask me tomorrow when I am not bleeding in a hot spring because I couldn’t control myself when I saw a pretty face.” Aedan grabbed the stone ledge of the pool and pushed himself out, rolling his body on the floor just as the girl brought the bandage. Eredin sighed. Stubborn. As he thought, they had a lot in common.

[snowdragon4]

Cops and Robbers. A Bbrae AU

As much as Rachel enjoyed her job, she couldn’t help, but feel exhausted coming home at the end of a long day. Maybe it was the fact that she was on her feet all day, thank goodness for whoever invented flats. Still it was stable and fine work, a solid nine to five, giving her enough time to get home to work on her novel. The monotony of her daily routine was broken up when on her way home she noted a healthy handful of police cars driving around her neighborhood.

“Huh? I wonder if Dick could let me know what’s going on?” She of course was referring to her cop neighbor, Dick Grayson, but driving by his house, all the lights were shut off. “Maybe he and Kory are out.” She shrugged it off and parked her car before entering her home.

She moved through the doors of her modest three bedroom home as she usually did. Keys and mail on the table by her door, purse and jacket on a hook, turned on the TV for a bit of background noise and a nice cold beer in the fridge calling her name. She figured she’d make herself dinner, take a hot bath, and settle in for a night of writing.

With the news in the background she went about her nightly routine.

“—citizens of Jump city should be advised that the suspect could be armed and dangerous. For those who are just joining, please be on the lookout for Garfield Mark Logan, who escaped police custody earlier this evening—“

She took a beer from the fridge and removed the cap. “If his parents named him ‘Garfield’ they belong in prison too.” She commented dryly.

“—Garfield is wanted for the murder—“

She had gone to the counter when something had occurred to her. Going back she opened the door to the fridge and noticed something.

She was a creature of habit and structure, bordering on obsessive compulsiveness, but it made sense to keep her world in order at least. She had so much practice in fact that she noticed things out of place, even if it was just a fleeting glance. In this case there was something wrong with her beer. Was she missing one? She went shopping the other day, and only allowed herself and one a day or less, so surely she couldn’t have had more than one.

She counted a few more times, but came to the conclusion that she was, somehow, short one beer.

She took a step back when she felt something crunch beneath her heel. Lifting her foot she saw a pebble and some dirt, something she hadn’t noticed before. Didn’t she just clean the other day? Looking around she noticed more and more dirt leading from her kitchen and to the back door.

A back door that wasn’t locked.

If there was one thing she was absolutely sure about, it was that she ALWAYS locked her doors.

Her blue eyes flitted to the TV, noting the news report about an escaped convict, but surely he wouldn’t have run into a suburban neighborhood. That kind of stuff only happened in movies. Right?

She broke into a run, heading for her front door, but her hand had barely touched the knob when she felt someone wrap their arm around her waist and a hand clap over her mouth. Reacting purely on instinct, she stumped on their foot, eliciting a manly grunt of pain, and elbowed them in the ribs causing them to release her.

Momentarily free, she ran for the back door, telling herself she just had to get next door to Dick and Korys house. Nobody may have been home, but she would have felt safer in a cops home.

She weaved through the kitchen, aware that he was right behind her, but she kept her eyes on the door. She put her hands around the knob, but felt a pair of hands grab her arms and pull her back. She stumbled over something, him possibly, and fell backwards, hitting her head on the counter and collapsing onto the floor unconscious.

—:0:—

Her head was pounding as she slowly came back to consciousness, but when she tried to move her hands, they were stuck, in fact she couldn’t move any part of her body. Regardless of how much pain she was in, her eyes snapped open, finding that she was tied to a chair. Her hands had been pulled behind the chair, rope wrapping around her wrists and to the bars of the chair. Her ankles had been tied to the bottom rung of the chair and rope had been thrown over her lap, waist, and shoulders to keep her tied firmly to the chair back. Moving her head she felt one of her scarves had been stuffed in between her teeth and tied behind her head.

Saying she was in trouble was an understatement.

She wanted to panic, but she forced her rational, obsessive mind to take control. She took a few breaths through her nose to assess her situation. Looking around she was in her bedroom, the curtains drawn and the door closed. She had been tied to one of her kitchen chairs with rope that she kept in her garage that she used when she went camping to enjoy nature and solitude.

Her panic returned.

She had been unconscious, did he…?

She looked at herself, and aside from the rope she was still in the clothes she was in when she got home, white button up shirt and black skirt with flats, and nothing had been removed. Aside from the pain in her head, and the discomfort of the rope, she didn’t feel pain anywhere else.

Her rational mind returned.

So he knocked me out? Tied me up, but didn’t take advantage of me? He’s probably looting my home. But all of her valuables were in her room, were she was alone.

Still, a strange man was in her home, she was tied up and helpless. This wasn’t good.

Red and blue lights flashed outside her window, and a spark of hope lit inside her. Using her whole body, she began pushing the chair towards the window. If she could somehow get the curtain open, maybe someone could see her and possibly rescue her.

It was worth a shot, but not to be.

The door to her room opened and her chair was quickly grabbed and pulled away from the window. She grunted and growled behind her gag, struggling against the tight ropes. Whatever he was going to do, she was going to make it as hard for him as possible.

But she wasn’t expecting this.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! Please calm down! please!”

She paused. Sorry? Please? She focused on the man, seeing that it wasn’t quite a “man” at all. He was young, twenties maybe, with disheveled blonde hair and a dirty complexion and clothing. His eyes were a piercing green that were pleading, fearful, and remorseful. Her brows narrowed, angry, but curious. What kind of home intruder was this?

He sighed in relief when she settled down. “Thank you.” He stood up and started pacing, his hands running through his blonde locks. “I am so, so, so, so, sorry about this. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Any of this. It's just—ugh!” She involuntarily flinched at his outburst. “Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry I didn’t mean…” He continued babbling incoherently, that was beginning to grate on her nerves, but looking past him, saw that he had brought in a water bottle. For her maybe?

“Uughmph!” She grunted to get his attention, then motioned her head towards the water bottle.

“Oh! Yeah!” He grabbed it and brought it towards her. “Sorry, I’m just,” he paused, “wait, you're not gonna scream are you?”

She watched him closely, he broke into her home, attacked her, tied her up, and was now helpless and at his mercy.

Yet she wasn’t afraid.

Slowly, she shook her head no. He eyed her for a moment, but slowly came up to slip the gag from her mouth.

She moved her jaw around, sighing with relief, but didn’t scream. “Thank you.” She could see weight being lifted from his shoulders and a small, attractive smile on his lips. “Um, water?”

“Oh yes!” He brought it to her lips and allowed her a small drink. Her eyes closed at the liquid cooling her insides, helping to soothe and calm her down. She finished and he took the bottle away.

“Thank you.” She flexed against the rope. “Now can you untie me?”

The weight returned, and his smile faded into a worried stare. “Um… not yet, but if you don’t scream I’ll keep the gag out.”

Their eyes met, and still she couldn’t find any malice or maliciousness. She didn’t feel threatened, rather this felt like a necessity for him, self preservation, like a cornered animal.

Still she had to keep her guard up.

“Fair enough.”

He sighed again, becoming more relaxed, and he sat on top of her bed, a heavy silence settling between them. “So, um, you’re probably wondering what’s going on?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m mildly curious.”

He laughed nervously. “Right. Well, um, I’m Gar, and I’m…”

“—on the run from the police?” He looked surprised, “you’re on the news. Everyone is looking for you.”

His eyes dipped with what looked like hurt. “Oh.” Her head tilted in curiosity as he leaned forward to put his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

Now getting annoyed, “You’ve said that already.” She struggled against the ropes again. “Do you mind telling me what you're doing here?”

He lifted his head, wiping away a few tears. “Sor—erm, yes. Well,” he stood up, “I should start from the beginning I guess. So I was dating this girl, Terra, and I was crazy about her, but what she didn’t tell me was that another guy was obsessed with her. Some guy named Slade, I don’t know, but anyways he was stalking her, calling her, following her, all kinds of stuff.”

He slowed down, his voice tightening up. “I, uh, was at work, and when I got home…” his hands came up to his mouth, “she was…”

She couldn’t help but feel pity for him. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, wiping his tears again. “Thanks. Anyways I called the cops and when they showed up, they arrested ME?”

Her head lifted. “What? Why?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. They just showed up and slapped the cuffs on me! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

She waited a beat, wondering if he was serious or just stupid. “No. I have no idea what it’s like for someone to come uninvited to my home and restrain me against my will.”

He chuckled nervously. “Heh. Sorry—I mean. Um… anyways…”

There was silence for a moment or two. “Why did you escape? Why not just go to the station and plead your case?” She asked.

“I did! I mean, I wanted to…but I don’t know.” His hands ran through his hair again. “The cop car they took me in was T-boned, and the next thing I knew I was running for my life.”

She quirked a brow as she came to the conclusion on her own. “You mean you broke into my home by chance?”

He nodded. “It was the only home I saw with the lights off at the time, I picked the lock, and snuck inside. I grabbed a beer and was gonna leave when the heat died down, but then, I heard your neighbors leave so I hid.”

“Then I got home, and the rest is history.” She finished.

“Yeah. I hid as best I could, but when I saw you see the dirt on the ground, I knew I was done.” He motioned to the ropes. “I didn’t mean to do that to you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just panicked.”

She relaxed a bit. “I see.”

Silence again, this time a bit more uncomfortable. “So, um, what’s your name?”

He shrunk beneath her glare. “You broke into my home, knocked me out, drank my beer, and tied me up. We are not going to have small talk.”

He gulped with another nervous smile. “Cool.”

He clapped his hands on his knees. “So what now?” She asked.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

She pulled against the rope again. “Well if you're open to suggestions.”

“I know, I know, I can untie you and I will, I promise. I just need to think.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well take your time, it’s not like my hands need steady blood flow or anything.” She softened her tone. “But seriously. You need to turn yourself in, if you’re innocent then an investigation will show that.”

He nodded. “I know, I know. I guess I’m just not a fan of being caged or anything.” He stood up. “Just, give me a minute.” He left her alone, giving her a chance to test the ropes again, but they were unyielding. She couldn’t help but feel impressed by his knot work.

After a few minutes of struggling she sat back and relaxed, unable to free herself she had nothing left to do but wait for him to let her go. Hopefully soon since she had lost the feeling in her hands a while ago.

Finally after what felt like ages he returned. “Okay, here’s the plan.” He untied the scarf from her neck. “I’m going to turn myself in, but there’s some things I need to do first, but here’s the bad part. I’m gonna to leave you here.”

She was actually relieved to hear this. He wasn’t dangerous, sure, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be a hostage. “But I’m not gonna untie you either. I’m gonna make a 911 call and tell them about a pretty dark haired woman tied up and get the cops to come and untie you. Sound good?”

Her face was placid as she responded, but ultimately relieved. “Do I have a choice?”

He chuckled. “I guess not. Again, I’m sorry about all this.”

He brought the scarf to her mouth to regag her. “Rachel.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Rachel.”

He smiled. A wide smile that made her stomach flutter. “Rachel. Nice to meet you.”

—:0:—

The door burst open. “Police! Show me your hands!” Rachel flinched at the light shining in her eyes. “Is there anyone else in the house?” She shook her head as the officer came closer once the light was out of her eyes, she saw her neighbor, Dick Grayson remove the gag from her mouth.

“Took you long enough,” she droned, “did you stop for drive through?”

He let out a relieved chuckle, “Don’t you mean, ‘thank you for saving me’?”

“You’re right Dick, how about I give you a big hug… Oh wait.”

He moved behind her and began to undo the ropes. “Did you see who did this to you?”

“Nope.” She stated matter of factly. “They knocked me out and I woke up like this.”

[jodfics]

Sore

Dora Reader x Bucky Barnes

Timeline: After End Game / Before TFATWS

Rating: NSFW

Prompt: Reader is a trainee Dora and tries to get some extra training in, unfortunately, she hurts herself and goes to Bucky for first Aid.

A/N: I love my trainee Dora so much and I want to do more stories with her.

MasterList

Y/N leaned forward on her left elbow against the counter, her other hand pressed against her ribs, and her breath came in short, almost gasps.

It hurt.

Training to become Dora Milaje was hard work; it required daily training and sometimes they got injured. One of the most important rules was to never train alone - but she wanted to get better so that she could join her sisters sooner. Practising with her wooden spear by the waterfall had given Y/N plenty of surfaces and space to move her weapon. Unfortunately, it was also slippery, and she had fallen from a lower ledge and onto the rocks. The walk to Bucky's home had felt like miles, and she had been grateful to discover that the man had not locked his door.

The border village was safe; he had no reason to.

It was a small house with three rooms; The main room had a tall table against the wall for his trinkets and comfortable cushions on the floor surrounding a much lower table for when he had guests. There was a simple bathroom and then a small bedroom that he tended to lock the door of - He often worried that his nightmares would draw one of the children in and he would hurt them by accident. The last thing he wanted was to hurt someone trying to help. Taking in a deep breath, Y/N held it for as long as she could before letting out a shaky exhale, "Y/N?" A large, warm hand rested on her lower back, a thumb caressing her skin as Bucky came to stand close beside her. She hadn't heard his door open or Bucky's bare feet on the floor before he had touched her, and she groaned tightly as her body flinched in surprise. "What's happened? Do you need a doctor?" His voice was still a little heavy with sleep, but he was awake enough to gently lift her onto the table to sit.

He noted she was hunched and cradling her ribs, her eyebrows were drawn together and her lips were pressed tight. It didn't take long for her to start rocking as Y/N fought the urge to cry at the pain. Her clothes were damp. And when Bucky brought her into his arms, holding her as he pressed light kisses to her head, he could smell the fresh grass, the cool water and the scent of a dozen different flora he was yet to learn. Her earthy smell could only mean she had been at the waterfall or the clearing close to it. The sun was yet to fully rise and the village would be asleep for a few more hours. "Ayo is going to give you that look when she finds out you were training alone." Bucky pulled away to cradle her face and fix Y/N with an exasperated expression; he wanted to be mad at her. How could he when she was hurting like this though? Another press of his lips and the man headed for the shelves on the opposite wall. "I'll tell her that I was with you; better she kicks my ass than yours."

"She will still make me go to the doctor, James." Her eyes followed him as he collected the medical box he kept up high, away from the kids. It was still foreign to her that he had two arms now; she had met him when he had only had one limb and he had coped quite well without it most days. Of course, it was nice to be held with two arms and he had more independence - he had not liked it at first. It meant he had to go out and fight, but he understood the importance.

He seemed more at peace with it now but Y/N missed tying his long, brunette hair back for him.

Bucky came back and placed the box beside her, "You should see a doctor."

"Wakanda is still helping her people find their homes again. Many of us were gone - you and I included - then we all reappear after five years. We might be the greatest country in the world, but we're not miracle workers. The doctors and hospitals are trying to organise hundreds of treatments people were halfway through when it happened." Y/N sucked in another long breath and held it for a moment, hissing as she let it out, "I do not want to hinder them because of my stupidity."

The man didn't believe a word of it. His raised eyebrow told her as much; rather than call her out, he rummaged around the box to find pain relief. Bucky knew she hated hospitals. He knew she distrusted doctors, and he could fully sympathise because he knew what it was like to be poked and prodded and hurt by people in white coats. She had her own complicated past to deal with too. "Instead, you wake me up and get me to treat you - you know I'm better at breaking bones rather than fixing them, doll?" She didn't laugh at his self-deprecating joke, and he knew she would be giving him that famous Dora glare - if he were brave enough to look at her face at that moment.

"I doubt you were sleeping." Bucky didn't sleep well. Even though he was free of his programming, he was still not free of the guilt that dogged his every step. "But… I trust you." Before they had turned to dust, Bucky and Y/N had developed a casual relationship. It was not unusual for her to stay in the village when she was not expected to train. Becoming his friend had been easy; they found each other's company comforting and Y/N couldn't remember laughing so much before meeting him.

Her shy, sad-eyed, White Wolf.

Bucky didn't often smile, at least not a genuine smile, but when he did, she felt the same radiant warmth she felt when watching the sunrise over her beloved country. Those precious smiles only graced his handsome face when he was playing games with the children. Or when the more experienced Dora' bullied' him - he took their teasing as it was meant and would give it back to them just as well. Other times he truly smiled was when they were together. Whether they were enjoying an evening by the fire with the villagers, or nestled against the other in his home. It would not matter because his smiles were for her eyes only.

There was still much of his 'old self' that was locked away behind his blue eyes. Sometimes his confidence would spike, and he would tease more. He would talk back and make jokes that nearly had him skewered by Ayo as a warning on more than one occasion. He had not mocked her aim since. He would take Y/N by the hand and take her exploring with him; he would kiss her lips like he wasn't afraid to do so.

He would believe that he deserved to be loved and touched without fear of pain.

But he had his bad days too. Y/N had no less love for him on those days; when he would tell her he had done so much wrong and that he couldn't give her what she deserved. Though she asked him for nothing. Not even for him to become hers rather than his friend with benefits. It felt dangerous.

That the kind of commitment she wanted would somehow damage him and she would lose him completely.

"I trust the doctors here, Y/N. They terrify me, but I trust them… you should get treated properly." Bucky had already resigned himself to play medic for now, but he hoped she would seek real help before the Dora dragged her by force. "Let me see what you've done," Waiting for Y/N to let go of her side, he slowly realised she was struggling to lift her top and helped her remove it, "Shit… is that?" Bucky carefully got her to lean back and swore as red trickled out of the wound, "Babydoll, you've stabbed yourself." His eyes took in the darker patches bruising her skin, discolouring the usually rich, warm complexion, scrapes and blood marring the person he adored most. He wanted to be angry with her, to tell her to stop being so pigheaded and let him take her for help. Still, when he looked at her - their eyes meeting - Bucky couldn't help but feel her anxiety and understand it. "Okay…" it was a defeated sound that was accompanied by his shoulders slumping.

"When I fell, the spear was caught under me. Thank Bast that it is wooden and not the real thing." Y/N gave a shuddering breath as he got her to her feet, his arms keeping her steady until he could lower her onto the cushions of the floor, "I could feel it in there but hoped it would come out on its own."

The man repressed his urge to roll his eyes, "It doesn't work like that. I'll give you some of the morphine they gave me a few months back. It should take the edge off."

"No needles, James!" Y/N began to sit up, needing to make sure he wasn't going to inject her with anything, "I… You know I can't -!"

Bucky cupped her face quickly before pressing their foreheads together. His hair was loose and tickled her as it curtained them together; somehow, it made her feel a little safer as he hid their faces from the rest of the world. He encouraged her to lay back again, "Hey," he murmured soothingly, "Ukhuselekile xa unam… I have morphine pills." Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead, smiling as her nose scrunched up when his beard rasped against her cheek when he kissed it. "They gave me all the good drugs after I abused the arm in the fighting. They're not as strong, but I wouldn't give you a full dose anyway." Y/N laid back with her hands over her eyes and tried taking a few deep breathes to calm herself. Bucky was right; she was safe with him, though his pronunciation needed work.

Despite his reassurance that it would take a little time for the painkiller to kick in, Y/N insisted he remove the spear point. She could feel it with every breath and it made her stomach roil; it made her nauseous. "Here goes nothing…" He pressed his vibranium palm against her body to keep her still whilst he first located the wound under her breast. It wasn't too deep, and it couldn't have been more than an inch long. Bucky flipped on another lamp and attempted to remove the large splinter with a pair of tweezers, "This is kinda like removing a bullet."

"And how often have you done that?"

"More than I care to admit, doll." Her teeth were suddenly bared, and her hands grabbed his left wrist as it kept her down, "I'm sorry." It was the first of many apologies; his voice was soothing as he spoke to her, knowing it hurt and praising her when she made it through each attempt to get it out. On the fourth attempt, Y/N tried to wriggle away and the pressure on his artificial limb increased as she tried to fight him. "I know, doll, I know. Nearly there…" The metal of the tweezers slipped time and time again; they hadn't been made for their particular job, though, he was able to see he had dragged it closer to the edge of her wound. Pulling the tweezers out and throwing them into a bowl of alcohol he had prepared, Bucky licked his lips and exhaled through his nose harshly. There was only one way to do this. "Ndiyaxolisa." The brunette leaned down and caught her mouth with his, kissing her softly until she was kissing him back and distracted, then he deepened the kiss and pressed his fingers against her skin. Swallowing her pained keen and taking the pain of her teeth in his lip, Bucky was quick and pulled the wood free. Y/N gasped once he released her lips and gave a half sob into his neck, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He held her tight whilst she tried to process the pain he had caused her. "It's done, it's out…"

Bucky sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, feeling it swelling slightly and cleaning it of blood from where she had bitten him. It was a small price to pay. Washing his hands, Bucky picked up a clean cloth and a bottle of antiseptic. Pouring it generously and cleansing the lacerations scattered over her body from the fall. His hands caressed up her sides, along her ribs and his thumbs traced under the swell of her breasts. He was checking for further injuries but paused at Y/N's shiver; his eyebrow raised and he gave her a crooked smile, "Feeling better?"

"It's the drugs." She murmured and looked away from him, "But… maybe a little 'attention' from you would help?"

Seeing her pupils blown and the sway of her body, Bucky shook his head and laid an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "I still need to bandage you up. And, I'm not doing anything beyond holding you until the morphine fades out."

-

Everything had been a haze as Bucky cleaned and bandaged her body. She woke up in his bed, the sun streaming through a gap in the curtain and one of his Henley tees on her body. He didn't often wear his western clothes but she liked to steal them after he had. Y/N pulled the collar to her nose and breathed in - hissing in pain as she felt the pressure on her battered ribs. She hurt all over and quickly pulled a pillow over her head to block out the sun again.

"You need help with that smothering?" His voice was smother like cream, the huskier sound from hours ago was long gone and she sensed he was in a teasing mood. He lowered himself onto the futon and removed the pillow from her head, a soft smile on his lips, "There's my pretty dame."

"I am not a dame, James." She didn't mind his names for her; dame when he was teasing. Doll for every other sentence. Babydoll when he was feeling particularly affectionate. And her name for when they were intimate or amongst the Dora. The thought of the Milaje had her eyes widening - the sun was up and she should have been elsewhere!

Before she could fling the covers off, Bucky stopped mid tying his hair into a loose bun to stop her, "They know you're hurt. Because it was me, that suggested we go to the waterfall to train because I couldn't sleep and had too much energy. I practically forced you to go with me, as far as The Dora are concerned, I have been told to look after you as repentance."

Y/N frowned at him, "That's not true…"

"Let me take this for you, babydoll. You're already exhausting yourself with overtraining. You don't have to rush; there's no pressure but the pressure you put on yourself." He wasn't sure why she was so stubborn about this. She wasn't failing; she was right where she needed to be but she was so determined to succeed - she was going to get herself killed at this rate.

He was right, of course, he was. It didn't stop her from wanting to push harder though, and no doubt she would not hear the end of this for a while. Watching him pull his hair into a ball at the nape of his neck - the band trapped between his teeth, his bicep flexing at the simple action - Y/N couldn't help letting her eyes travel along his body. He wore only his boxer-briefs and she figured he must have showered after putting her to bed. The man had lost weight since arriving and he had admitted to her that he had overdone his training when in Romania. The new framework of his prosthetic arm wasn't as startling as the silver titanium she remembered him having when they first met. She often wondered what the original had looked like but then remembered the awful scarring around his shoulders and torso. It had been crude and no care had been taken in the installation of it. Had the fingers been as tapered and as artfully crafted? Did it articulate as smoothly? Had he had much 'feeling' in it?

The new arm came with a new scar. It was neat and healed quickly with Wakanda's technology. She would often catch him tracing where flesh met vibranium, or he would wriggle his fingers and smile when he thought no one was paying attention. He liked that it was his, not something from an old life he wanted to forget, something new, and clean, and his. "You're staring." He was smirking, gunmetal eyes looking at her playfully when the curl of his lips caught her eye, "You're gonna make me blush.”

Y/N scoffed at that, "You are hardly shy, James."

"Why does no one here ever call me 'Bucky'?" Bucky murmured rhetorically as he picked up her left foot. He placed it in his lap, rubbing her ankle in small circles whilst he examined the dark bruises on her shin. His vibranium hand caressed up and up until he was massaging her thigh, smiling when she let out a quiet moan. "You're going to need all those aches massaging away before you go back to training."

It was a little of both. Y/N's muscles hurt; her thighs, her hips, lower back, her torso, all of it was throbbing, even lifting the pillow earlier had ached. "Are you offering to help, White Wolf?"  

His grin was almost predatory but his eyes remained gentle, always a little reserved, always a little frightened to overstep. "Of course I'll help - But," Bucky moved up the bed, placing his body between her legs, his fingers pressing into her sore muscles. "Wolves sometimes eat naughty girls who train alone." Leaning toward her, he pressed a kiss to her clothed stomach, then he sat up and got to work on her legs, kneading her muscles expertly until he felt them relax. He rubbed circles on her hips and hooked his thumbs under her top, pulling it up to rest just beneath Y/N's breasts. The mottling of almost black bruises across her beautiful dark umber skin bothered him. "Does it hurt worse than before?"

"No. I just ache… and your hands were helping, so get back to work." Even his left hand felt good; it was warm and smooth, not much different from his right hand, other than the few callouses he had. But she liked the feeling of them. Y/N adored the barely-there scratch of the rough skin and the tickle of his stubble when he nuzzled her. "Either help me or eat me, 'Mr Wolf'."

Bucky huffed out a small chuckle and sat up, "Not sure you're healthy enough, doll."

Without thinking, Y/N let her head plop down on the pillow and pouted, "You're so… What's that word?" Her eyes met his and she remembered it, "You're so wet!"

Bucky's eyebrows rose and his sudden grin was brilliant, his eyes crinkling in the corners and his laughter happily surprised. "Is it like that?" His voice dropped, and he slipped quickly into the velvety tones he reserved for her. His Brooklyn accent was more prominent than before as he tilted his head cockily. "You wanna go toe to toe with me in a slanging match? You're gonna lose, babydoll." He watched her try not to giggle at the change in him, "I ain't no drugstore cowboy new to this little game."

Y/N reached up and pulled him down, wincing at the movement but feeling it worth the discomfort when their mouths connected momentarily, "Do not be a - a Wise Guy!"

He hadn't expected that one and struggled to keep his face straight, "Did you google Brooklyn slang?"

"No…"

"So I won't find forties slang searches on your phone?"

Y/N gave a half shrug, "Maybe."

"You're adorable, Y/N," He kissed the woman's nose, "Sit up for me. I'll finish your massage.”

Bucky helped her sit and checked the bandage on her wood before moving to sit behind her. Y/N leaned her back against his chest and sighed contently when his hand squeezed and kneaded her shoulders. "They want you to see a doctor-"Immediately, the man felt her shoulders tense, "I convinced them to let you see the village healer first. But if she says you have to go to a doctor, then that's it." It was the best he could do for her, "Aneka isn't as fond of me as Ayo and I nearly got a cutting disc to the face."

"Ring blades." She corrected him, "It is not a tool for cutting wood; it is a very versatile weapon to- Oh." Y/N felt a knot come loose in her shoulder and moaned in relief, "That has been there forever!"

Her head fell back against his shoulder and Bucky dragged his teeth over his lower lip; the slight tang of copper reminded him of the bite she had given him earlier. He knew he should have been more concerned with making her feel better, but her little noises, the sighs and tiny moans made his hands a little bolder than he had intended. They caressed down along her arms and around her waist as his lips pressed to her throat.

Y/N whined as his beard tickled her neck, distracting her from his hands' journey under the Henley, the whine soon turning into a quiet little moan when his palms cupped her breasts and his thumbs brushed over her nipples. Y/N sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, squirming against him as he rolled her right nipple between his fingers, her thighs parting when the smooth vibranium slid down to cup her sex, "James…" Y/N started almost shyly, "I want… will you?”

"Anything you want, babydoll." Bucky slipped his hand under the band of her underwear and a deep rumble vibrated against Y/N's back as he moaned at how slick she was for him. Because of him. Y/N inhaled sharply, pushing herself harder into the touch to encourage him further. His digits ran up and down her folds. More insistent with each pass until the tip of his index was caressing her entrance. He was playing with her on purpose; she could feel him smiling into her throat before dragging his teeth over her skin and kissing the spot. Her hand tried to cover the back of his, tried to push him deeper whilst his thumb made lazy circles around her clit.

"And you said I was the one that was 'so wet'." She didn't have a chance to reply to his jibe as his middle and index fingers slipped inside, stretching her open just a little so that he could brush and rub her trembling walls. "God," He growled into her ear and nipped at the top of it, "You're squeezing so hard, babydoll. Are you already close? Huh? You know how badly I wanna get my tongue inside of you? Lap up all that sweet, sweet honey and make you shake and shiver apart?" Y/N turned her head and his mouth covered hers, his tongue tasting and ravaging her whilst his fingers kept working her body.

Y/N felt her injuries protest as her breathing became ragged and her thighs shook with the effort not to snap closed around his hand as she got closer. "Come on, Y/N, just a little more," Bucky murmured against her lips, encouraging her not to hold back and just enjoy it, "That's it… come one." Her eyes fell closed, and she grabbed his thighs hard as she felt the heated coil low in her belly snap, and pleasure rushed through every nerve, her back arched and held until it was over. Slumping back against Bucky, she shivered and gaped for breath. "That's my best girl." Bucky's fingers slowly withdrew, his thumb brushing over her swollen bud until she pushed weakly at his wrist.

"I don't think I can do more…" With the endorphins slowing down after her orgasm, Y/N felt her bruises and the raw skin of her wound beginning to feel heated and sore.

"I think I'm old enough to take care of my own needs, Y/N." He kissed the side of her temple and got out of his position between her and the wall. "I'll get you some more painkillers."

He was barely out of the door when the trainee Dora called to him. Bucky paused and tilted his head curiously, "You're still going to eat me up later, right?"

The look in his eyes and his grin was wicked, his tongue running over his lip before he gave her a playful snarl before vanishing through the doorway.

"Was that a yes?" No reply came and she called out again, "James? That was a yes, right?"

[cardinalnuggets]

You make me feel safe.

Pairing: Ayna x f!mc Word Count: 1350 ish Rating: T Summary: The attack on Kennedy was a bit more attack and less red paint being thrown on her. She's ended up in hospital and wakes up to Ayna sitting with her. It's pure self-indulgent cheese but hopefully it'll cheer some of you up given what's coming later tonight.

- - - - -

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

The noise was incessant, and it was only making the squeezing in her brain worse. If only it would shut up, she might be able to drift off again until the worst of it had passed. But just as she thought this, she slowly became aware of dull pain aching all over her body, right from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head was definitely the worst, however.

There was a nice sensation as well, now that she thought about it. Something warm and silky under her palm. It was enough to calm her, give her something to focus on before she lost her patience with the pain. With every bit of energy she had, she concentrated on moving her fingers, trying to figure out what was beneath them. Smooth as a baby’s bum, she thought, skin? As though to confirm her theory, the thing tightened around her hand and she realised it must be someone’s hand.

Could it be my mom? She thought, and then almost immediately dismissed that. Even an attack on her wouldn’t be enough to make her mother abandon her political engagements. If she were able, she would have rolled her eyes at her own foolishness.

Tatum then? That seemed the most logical. No doubt he would be feeling guilty even though there would have been nothing he could have done. She would have to put up with him hovering around her even more than normal.

Just then, a soft groan reached her ears, decidedly too feminine to belong to Tatum. A quiet rustling next to her was followed by a weight lifting from the bed next to her hand.

“Kennedy? Are you awake?” The voice was hoarse with sleep, but it was instantly recognisable. Ayna. Ayna must have followed her to the hospital, and God she didn’t think she’d ever been so thankful for anything before. The attack had left her shaken, but Ayna’s presence was sure to help keep her from the worst of her panic.

Almost as though her body was waiting for confirmation she was with her, Kennedy’s eyelids fluttered open. At first, she looked like nothing more than a vaguely person shaped blob but with a few blinks to rid herself of the last of the sleep, she could see her in all her beauty.

She looked so soft, bathed in an almost ethereal glow from the hints of light filtering through the room’s crooked blinds. Angelic, Kennedy thought as her heart stuttered in her chest before picking up double time. Unfortunately for her, the heart monitor attached to her beeped along with it. With a look bordering on panic, the last of the sleepiness disappearing, Ayna turned towards the monitor.

“Is something wrong? Are you in pain?” Her voice wavered with the worry written on her face. She was half out of her seat, focused on the bell to call the nurse above Kennedy’s bed.

A short snort of laughter escaped Kennedy, though it quickly snuffed out as her broken ribs screamed at her. Ayna’s soulful gaze flickered over Kennedy’s face, her brows crinkling in confusion but seeing the pain on her face, she reached again towards the call button.

“No, no you don’t need to press that! I’m fine!” Kennedy’s voice was raspy and she instinctively reached up to try and grab Ayna’s hand, sending another wave of pain through her ribs. She all but doubled over in the bed, ruining her assertation that she was okay. “I promise I’m fine it just hurts to move.”

Ayna’s hand dropped to her side and instead of sitting back in her seat, she perched on the edge of Kennedy’s bed. “Are you sure?” She asked gently, reaching out to lace her fingers with Kennedy’s. “Your heart -”

“I’m fine.” Kennedy repeated, giving her fingers a squeeze. Heat crept up her neck and blossomed on her cheeks as she turned to stare at the wall opposite Ayna. “I just – I was – ugh,” she stuttered, rolling her eyes at herself, “I can’t believe I have to admit to this out loud, but you looked so beautiful sitting there half asleep. It just – caught me off guard. I’ve never gotten to see you like that before.”

Although the words came out half-garbled as Kennedy tried to rid herself of them in a rush, Ayna caught every one. Kennedy could see her go completely still out of the corner of her eye, so she turned back to face her, worried that she had said too much. Ayna’s mouth had formed a little “o” shape and her eyes were wide behind her glasses. She opened her mouth to try and shove what she had just said back in, or maybe her own foot. Before she could, though, Ayna’s face melted into the warmest smile Kennedy had ever seen, but her dark eyes glittered with mischief.

“I might have said the same about you if I could actually see your face behind all the wires and bandages.”

A sharp, startled laugh escaped Kennedy, though it was once again short lived thanks to the excruciating pain in her ribs. “Oh, please don’t make me laugh,” she whined, though her face was lit up in a way Ayna hadn’t seen it for a while.

“I’m sorry,” she answered, leaning down to plant a kiss on the small bit of Kennedy’s forehead that wasn’t bruised or bandaged. She probably would have felt a little guiltier if Kennedy’s smile didn’t look so joyful. There hadn’t been much of this kind of happiness on her face since they had gotten caught by the paparazzi in the lake.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, so with a last squeeze of Kennedy’s hand, Ayna shifted her weight to get off her perch on the bed to sit back in her seat. Before she could move, however, Kennedy stopped her with a tug on her arm.

“Are you going to stay with me?”

Ayna answered with a short nod but before she could say anything, Kennedy patted the small space next to her in the bed.

“Then you should lie beside me. It’d be much more comfortable than sleeping in that chair.”

Honestly, the whole attack ordeal had been quite traumatic, and although Ayna’s presence calmed her, she didn’t think it would work enough to let her get back to sleep. Having her arms around her though, well that might just work. But Kennedy was not ready to talk about the attack and how much it had scared her, so she would have to hope that Ayna would take her up on her offer.

Ayna could feel Kennedy’s palms get clammy, see her eyes darting about in barely concealed panic and she knew there was more going on than Kennedy wanted to say. Gently lowering herself into the bed, she replied “okay, but you have to promise me you won’t kick me in your sleep.” Her eyes swam with worry, but her lips curled up in a cheeky grin.

“I’m a wriggler, so no promises. I can apologise in advance with a kiss?”

“Hm, making me an offer I can’t refuse. How diplomatic of you.” With that, Ayna leaned down to tenderly brush her lips with Kennedy’s.

Her lips were pillowy and soft, and Kennedy swore that she could gladly spend her life kissing her. Despite the sharp pain lancing through her, she reached a hand up to rest on the back of Ayna’s neck, hoping to keep her there for as long as possible. But all too soon, Ayna pulled back, dropped a kiss onto Kennedy’s forehead and said “you should try and get some more rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

With a nod, Kennedy snuggled into the warmth of Ayna’s chest, feeling her arms wrap around her. The scent of her sweet perfume calmed her instantly.

“Promise?” Came the quiet reply, Kennedy’s eyelids already drooping.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” And with that, Kennedy fell asleep, safe in the arms of the woman who was quickly starting to feel like home.

[weaver-z]

Birthmark

A short horror story by B.E.

The women in my family have port-wine birthmarks, but none ever had any as strange as mine. 

Not even my mother, who had one that stretched across her forehead like a bloodshot eye, the pale sclera-white of her skin visible under the glaze of reddish violet. She told me, when I was very young, that my grandmother had one, too, along the back of her head--she, unlike us, had been lucky enough to have one that could be hidden under a bonnet, though her blonde hair still revealed it in the summertime.

“Can I see the ones on the legs?” Thomas asks, chewing the inside of his cheek like a cow chewing its cud. I allow it, even though I am a girl, because Thomas and I are friends, alone in the center of a field of tall summer alfalfa. I can feel his eyes boring into the marks on me in fascination, as he moves around me to see my arms, at the marks on those.

“I like the winter best,” I say, pulling my skirt up. “Pa hates it. But I like it, because I can cover all of ‘em up with my clothes, even the ones on my arms.”

“They’re not so bad,” he says. “They’re not on your face, at least.

“Guess so.”

He sits in front of me in the clear space between the eden-green strands of the grass, looking down at the marks on my legs. They are strange, wobbling lines, not blotches or patches--the lowest two are at my knees, lines that wrap around the joint like the borders of a county. 

There are two more on my upper thighs, though I don’t show Thomas those--he’s still a boy, and even though he looks at my markings with nothing but fascination, I still feel a little kernel of shame rubbing at the walls of my chest. The arms are easier to show to him--there are only two marks, just too low to be covered by my short sleeves, broad and awkward unevenly-stamped lines.

“So you’ve got more? On your back?” Thomas asks, sitting on his haunches, looking at me with intent, dust-brown eyes too large for his face.

“Yes. Almost like a corset,” I say, “like a nice corset, the kind rich ladies wear with their jewels. One on my waist, like a belt. One below my shoulders. Oh, and a line down my back, a kinda wobbly one.”

“Like the laced-up part of the corset,” he says, and I nod, happy that he understands. Most boys who live in these parts wouldn’t. He moves around me, and I sit straight, lifting my long frigid-blonde braid so that he can see the very top of the line that travels down my spine, the source of the splotchy red-and-purple river. 

“You ever wish that you could have them wiped off?” He asks. “I heard that God sometimes grants big miracles if you pray for ‘em enough.”

“Maybe,” I say, doubtful. “I’ve tried it. Pa makes me pray each night, but nothing seems to work.”

“Shame about that. Real shame. Maybe God’s busy with somethin’ else--” he says, and suddenly a gunshot rings out in the distance.

He freezes, pupils dilating like a rabbit that hears a hawk, and I scramble for my boots, forcing them on over the crumbles of mud on my feet. We can both hear Pa, coming through the brush, forcing his way through it with snaps and tears and nearly inarticulate grumbling. Thomas is off like a shot, running almost on all fours as he crouches, and by the time my father reaches me, panting and huddled in the grass, my friend is nothing but a mole-trail disturbing distant strands.

Pa is a tall man--though I inherited his height, I’m only 13, and he towers over me, so broad and heavy that I am thin as grass and summer wind below him. I stand, looking up at him with a look that must look shameful, and he lowers the rifle to point at the earth, face still and steely with malice.

“I told you I didn’t want no boys ‘round,” he says, voice thick, like smoke from a bonfire. “Told you I didn’t want you foolin’ round like a little whore.”

“He didn’t do nothin’,” I say, arms wrapped around my chest. “Honest.”

“Who was it, then? And why didn’t he come see me, an’ ask if he could talk to you?” He takes my arm--not tightly, but with such strength that I couldn’t run if I tried. 

“He and I met while I was out with the chickens. He was on the road going up to town.”

“Sure he was.” Pa shoves my arm away and laughs, the sound like metal clattering to a dirt floor. “Sure, the devil ‘e was. I heard him talkin’ bout your legs, girl. Didn’t hear much, but I heard that. You think you’re the pick of the meat at the market, don’t you?”

“Pa--”

“Don’t talk, pretty girl. Don’t talk, and don’t you ever try and do this again. You’re gonna pray as long as you can tonight. I want your damn tongue to fall out before you stop praying,” and he begins to move, and now the pain comes as I stumble half-backward with him, held in a vise by my arm. 

“Pa, I’m sorry--”

“You ain’t sorry yet, Lu,” he says. He looks back at me, from under the shadow cast beneath his brows by the white sun overhead. “You ain’t sorry, yet.”

---

He makes me pray, that night, for hours and hours, for forgiveness, for something I never did. But the praying he makes me do that night is only meager practice for the praying I do during the winter.

Our chickens die when a coyote pack rolls through in the late days of fall, snarling and barking with a sound like mocking laughter. We salvage what corpses we can, and for a while, we eat well, but not well, because while we dine on fresh meat, the knowledge that something terrible to come hangs over us like the fog of their blood. The cattle start to go soon after, the first to a weak cover over a well (it falls in, it screams for hours), the second to a river, the third to disease, the rest tumbling like the articles like a rotting shelf soon after them. 

When winter comes, we have little, so little, and my father tears into his meager dollars to buy us what we can. I am grateful to him, even as the food dries up, even as he becomes silent, frighteningly silent, staring at me above the candle that lights our dinner-table with a face like a haunting.

I am not allowed to leave the house anymore.

I only cook--clean--mend--read the scraps of old newspaper used to patch the walls of the house as best I can. I make what food he finds for dinner, if he finds any, and I give more to his portion, and he says almost nothing to me except to remind me to stay in the home, to keep house and to keep out of the snowstorms and the paths of wild things. He fixes the roof and sharpens the knives--those are the only tasks he does around the house, besides force me onto my knees beside him to beg God for something for our stomachs.

And it is in cleaning that I find the box.

It is a small box, barely as long as my forearm and as shallow as the length of my hand, and it is under his bed, dislodged from a long stay deep in the shadows beneath his cot by a storm that shook the house.

I pull it slowly from beneath--it is unpainted, made of thin wood that leaves little splinters in the flesh of my thumb-joint. I remove its lid and look inside.

My mother is there, first, as I remember her--thin, short, with a look in her eyes like the hollow of a tree, unexplainably empty. The mark is clearly visible in the photograph, as she stands next to my father, mottled and dim. Neither of them are smiling. They are younger in this photograph--it is blurry, hard to make out.

Beneath that is a scrap of newspaper that I have a hard time understanding for a moment. 

Mrs. Mary J. Letts, 68; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Letts, wife of Mr. Roger Letts and mother to Mabelle Letts, which took place last Thursday due to a tragic accident involving an injury sustained to her head while riding. She is survived by her husband and daughter. 

The paper cuts off there. I don’t recognize the name of Letts, and the paper is old; I continue reading as I find another scrap.

Mrs. Mabelle Dawson, 36; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Dawson, who is survived by her husband, Mr. Arnold Dawson, and her young daughter, Lucy Dawson. Their family has our greatest sympathies. She was killed accidentally as she was cleaning a weapon owned by Mr. Arnold Dawson, who claims deepest regret that

I feel my mouth run dry and my pulse hammer against my skin like stone against a drum. That is my mother’s name--that is my name, too, faint against the paper. I don’t understand why these things are in the box, among other pictures and portraits of my mother, and, unmistakably, my mother’s mother, whose mark is just visible in one small portrait of her, clearly done by an amateur hand. I can imagine how it stretched across the back of her head, branching along her skull--I can see my own mother’s mark, clearly, in the center of her forehead.

I feel cold as the wooden floor under my feet as my eyes trace the border of the mark on her forehead for the first time. 

“Lu?” my father calls, from downstairs. “Lucy? Lu-cy?”

The starburst on her forehead is strangely jagged. Unsteady. The shape that a bullet hole would make, if someone were shot close in the head. An accident while cleaning a gun. A trauma to the back of the skull. I hear a footstep on the stairs, almost hesitant, its weight barely masked by the slowness with which my father places it down.

“Lucy?” he says. “I prayed to God for a miracle, and he told me what we ought to do. I need to see you, now.”

I can’t breathe. My throat is choked by a snare as I throw myself back, scrambling across the floor and away from the box. My skirt flies up--my legs are exposed, the lines on them obvious in their purpose.

Summers ago, I went to the village with Pa, and we went to a stall hung with pig carcasses. There, there was a picture of a sow, her legs and sides and ribs marked with uneven lines where the different cuts of meat came from. Here was the thigh--here was the shank--here was the cut you made along the spine and the stomach.

I hear a slow, low rumble of creaking wood as he stops outside the door.

“Lucy?” he says, his voice more paternal than I have ever heard it, and I begin to cry--begin to pray to anything, anyone that will listen, pray that something else kills me before he enters, and nothing does.

And the door opens--slowly, too slowly, as though I’ve had a nightmare and he’s coming to check on me like a good father should--and he sees me with the box, with the tears flowing down my face, with my chest heaving in great stops and starts.

He takes a step forward. In his hands, he holds a sharpened butcher’s knife.

[kakashiswilloffire]

Friend Killer Kakashi

ao3

words: 2.2k

warnings: angst, mention of gore, mention of vomit, no comfort

He was ready to crawl out of his own skin. His whole body flushed with waves of heat, prickling uncomfortably in his chest, like thousands of pins jabbing both inside and outside of himself. He stopped, gripping the counter to hold himself steady while he dragged shallow breaths into his lungs. He knew he needed to take a deep breath, he was telling himself to take a deep fucking breath, even just one, why can’t he just even breathe correctly, how the fuck was he supposed—

The sound of his fist interrupted him before he’d even realized he had struck out. Knowing it would be several minutes before the pain really set in, he smacked his hand against the counter again and shook his head viciously. Silver strands, oilier than he usually let them get, stung as they met skin while the weight of his hair shifted.

He sucked air thickly into his nostrils then pawed at his nose, grimacing at the spices that overwhelmed the air around him. He tossed the pan into the sink, not caring that it still sizzled or that the oil splashed onto the cold tiles beneath him. He was trying to make pan fried eggplant to go with the premade miso soup he’d picked up last week. It had been a shitty week and he just wanted to make his favorite meal to make everything hurt a little bit less. There was no way it’d be as good as what Gai made, or whatever Dai had done when he first made it for him, but Kakashi figured it would do, and since it would be the first thing he had cooked himself all week, there should be some sense of achievement and dopamine to relish in when it was done. Unfortunately, it had gone terribly.

He couldn’t remember exactly what spices went on the eggplant. Salt, pepper, minced garlic, and then Gai would riff from there. Kakashi hated that—he was fine as long as he could follow a recipe. Gai, however, could just pour a splash of soy, or a squeeze of lemon, or even a drizzle of honey on anything and it was phenomenal, and also, unrepeatable. He could remember what the version he wanted tonight should taste like, and it didn’t matter what bottles he shook out into the pan, it never smelled right. The oil just kept popping onto his arms and hands, and the eggplant got slimier, and everything started to smell way too strong.

Kakashi Hatake, master of a thousand jutsu, and fucking garbage at cooking.

Whatever.

Running his hand along his forehead, he tried to find a single thought to focus on rather than the swirling mess in his head. Rin’s death a few months ago had hit him hard, much like he had hit her. He knew Gai hated to hear him think like that, but she would be alive if he hadn’t been there. If his hand hadn’t crushed through her chest, her ribs scraping along—

He lurched forward, the smell of the kitchen and the visceral memories getting to him at last. His shoulders jerked erratically as he retched into the tiny sink then sunk to his knees. The cold of the floor helped ground him while he wrapped his muscled arms around his stomach, leaning his head against the cabinet until the room stopped spinning.

Pathetic.

Obito would be absolutely pissed to know this was what he died for.

Gai wouldn’t be back from his mission for at least four more days. Kakashi was on a temporary leave pending the results of the investigation into Rin’s death. Ibiki had tried to reassure him the other day that unofficially it was looking good, and should turn out in his favor soon. He was almost certain to be found not at fault. Kakashi had scoffed—even if that was the official ruling, her murder was entirely his fault.

While they weren’t living together, Gai had taken it upon himself years ago to have a spare key, or maybe several spare keys, to his apartment copied and he kept one in a pocket in that garish green spandex at all times. With everything going on, Gai had been by every other day or so that he was in the village. The couch still had a crumpled blanket at one end he had used the last time he stayed overnight, and the one throw pillow with the Hatake crest that Gai wouldn’t let him get rid of. He tossed it out of his way as he flopped down on his back, letting his legs kick up and rest over the top of the dingy couch.

Why did anyone bother with him? Why would Ibiki go to the effort of leaking confidential information about his investigation to him? Why would Asuma invite him out for drinks every Friday night? Why would Kurenai and Genma leave bottles of sake in his mailbox with notes that everything would be fine? Why would Gai.. anything relating to him?

He couldn’t even hold the memories back long enough to successfully make dinner. He hadn’t even reheated the miso soup, and that was only two steps. He couldn’t save Obito, he couldn’t save Rin, he couldn’t convince Gai to leave well enough alone.

What if Gai was next?

Fuck.

He couldn’t let Gai be next. There were a lot of things he had failed at, but damned if he wouldn’t succeed in this. He could not, under any circumstances, let Gai any closer, any further into his life. The further away he could get the overly-enthusiastic shinobi, the better.

He nodded, swinging his legs around to the edge of the couch and letting that propel him into a seated position from which he sprang up. He walked over to the tiny end table and wrenched open the single overstuffed drawer, digging through for a pad of paper and the first writing instrument he could find, a blue pen with the academy’s logo printed on it.

Gai—

I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have to stay away from me. It’s for your own good. No one close to me is safe, even from me.

Sorry. Please understand.

—Kakashi

He read over the messily scrawled note, then tore the sheet off the pad and crumbled it in a fist. There’s no way Gai could read that and not have about a billion questions. Especially with how they had relied on each other through the years, from Dai’s death to Rin’s, this wouldn’t be remotely good enough to get Gai to stay away.

He sat down on the couch again, tapping the pen absentmindedly against the faded lined paper. What do you say to someone to convince them to be done with you completely?

When the key scraped into the lock, he froze.

The door swung wide open, Gai slumping into the apartment. His jumpsuit was nicked and torn and his hair didn’t have its usual luster. He was clearly exhausted, though not chakra exhausted. Kakashi felt the familiar pangs of panic begin to hit—how was he back so soon?

“Hey, ‘Kashi. The client blew the mission terms totally out of proportion—he made it seem like it’d be almost an A rank, and instead it was like a grueling C rank. We’re still not sure if the pay will be adjusted accordingly, but Ebisu is arguing it shouldn’t be because we did still run into trouble—Stone ninja near the border tried to take Chouza out. Recognized him somehow, but no worries, Konoha’s magnificent Green Beast was on the scene and we handled them without any major issues.” He grinned and flexed, posing for a moment before relaxing now that he had reached his destination and sliding his vest off and onto the hook by the door.

“How have you been? You eaten yet? Yakiniku is running a special according to Chouza—he asked me to join him for a post-mission meal and I told him I’d have to swing by here and see if you wanted to tag along. You like their short rib, right? Or are you still on the vegetarian kick?”

It never failed to impress Kakashi how Gai could fill a space, whether it be with his words, his personality, or his posing. No matter how he did it, though, it always was genuine and warm, and it was nearly impossible to maintain the solemn composure he frequently fronted. They made a nice contrast as a pair. Shame they would never have the chance to explore the friendship further.

He looked down at the crumpled paper on the ground and kicked it under the couch, setting the pad and pen aside. Unfortunately, he was going to have to explain in person.

He walked past Gai without making eye contact, the other man stepping out of his way without resistance. He lifted the vest off the hook next to his own vest, brought it briefly to his own chest, and immediately regretted it when the scent of his rival slammed into him. Once again, he shook his head vigorously, then shoved the vest back at Gai.

“Get out.”

He laughed, taking the vest back and slipping it on without understanding. “Want yours as well?” he asked, reaching for the door.

Kakashi felt flushed again, realizing that Gai meant for them to get dinner together. He walked back into the small living room, keeping his back to the door.

“Don’t need it. Get out.”

Gai’s laugh died in his chest, questions rising to the surface. “I… You okay? Did something happen while I was gone? Your investigation results? I told Ibiki to send word if they made the announcement, that asshole—”

“No, Gai. Nothing happened. I just…” Kakashi swallowed and felt his heart frost over. “Just did some thinking. Realized I’m better off without you.”

He scoffed. “Very funny, Kakashi. Come on, grab a jacket or something, Chouza said he’d wait on me to get back.”

“I mean it, Gai. You’re holding me back. The stupid challenges, do you think I actually care? I’ve always been stronger than you, and now that I’ve got the Sharingan, it’s comical, competing against you. I can see all your moves from miles away. You broadcast like a bull. You’re loud, annoying, and a useless ninja. I want you out of my life.”

There was silence for more than a full minute. It might have been as long as the two of them had gone without speaking, ever. Then Gai crossed to Kakashi in two steps, grabbing his left shoulder and spinning him around to face him.

“I know you’re not saying all that ‘cause you mean it, Kakashi. Look me in the eyes and think about this.”

Kakashi steeled himself, making full eye contact with the single grey eye. “Why don’t you think about it, Gai? Honestly? What kind of a ninja can’t even use ninjutsu? Everyone’s just humoring you and letting you make a fool of yourself. You’re a walking lesson in how to not be a shinobi.”

Gai blinked hard, his eyes beginning to shimmer. He cocked his head to the side, his grip on his rival’s shoulder only strengthening.

“’Kashi, I know things are hard for you. I know your brain lies to you sometimes. It’s okay. Listen, we’ll stay here tonight, I’ll cook, we can watch a movie or something, I’ll keep watch so you can sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning. There’s no pressure. I care about you, Kakashi. Let me help you.”

His eyes were swimming now, the passion making tears roll slowly down his face. The silver-haired man refused to move or answer. Swallowing, he made one last effort to persuade him. “Kakashi… please. Don’t do this. I love you.”

Kakashi’s heart, freeze dried, now shattered, crumbling into a powder and blowing away on a light breeze. Of course Gai loved him, and he loved Gai, but could Gai really mean that he… could he love him the way?—

Impossible.

No. Of course not. And even if he did, that just put him in all the more danger.

His resolve strengthened, he scowled back. “Fuck off, Gai. A ninja that only uses taijutsu is useless in battle. Don’t you remember how your dad died? Couldn’t save himself, could barely save you. What did you even do to try and help him?”

He was grateful for the fist that slammed into his jaw, shutting him up and knocking him into the wall.

“Fuck off, Hatake.”

He only dimly registered the door slamming, and possibly coming off its’ hinges. After a beat, a glint of silver flew through the air and lodged into the wall directly opposite the door. Slowly, he gathered himself up and limped over to it, realizing with a sharp ache that it was the key to his apartment. Turning to the mirror propped near the door, he stared down the version of him with grey circles under his eyes, thumbing at the blood growing at the corner of his mouth.

Friend-Killer Kakashi was starting to sound more like him by the moment.

[intheticklecloset]

No Quirk Required (My Hero Academia) / 12 Days of Ficmas

Primary Universe

Day 2/12

Requested by: Jolly Anon

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Shipping: Kirishima/Mina (It was unclear to me whether this was an actual shipping or just the characters you wanted to see, but either way I wrote some fluff! ^^)

This was a really fun one to write! Both prompts were super cute! Thanks for the suggestions! Jolly Anon requested a fic in which Kirishima and Mina engage in a quirkless sparring session, during which Mina finds out Kiri’s ticklish. When she starts throwing pokes instead of punches, he isn’t going down that easily! Enjoy!

~

“Whoa!” Kirishima barely ducked in time to dodge the leg that was swinging up to his head. He flipped over backward to escape decapitation, then did a quick backflip to get himself away from his opponent before she came after him again. “Jeez, Mina, you’re not playing around!”

“This is training, isn’t it?” she asked, lunging for him again. Even without his quirk activated, trying to punch Kirishima was like trying to crack a boulder. It just didn’t faze him, and hurt her more than helped her in this situation. “We need to take it seriously if we’re going to make it to the top.”

Kiri deflected her next punch easily but made to move to counterstrike. “I mean, yeah, but still.”

Every punch or kick she threw at a him, he dodged. He was quick and hard to catch off-guard. Mina huffed, frustrated, beginning to wish she hadn’t suggested a quirkless sparring session. At least with her quirk she had some sort of edge to her fighting style.

At last Kiri fought back, deflecting a right hook she aimed at his jaw, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her, making her stumble back and bump into his chest. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to beat me, Mina. Even without my quirk I’m immovable, you know?” He chuckled.

Mina’s first instinct was to try and kick him where it counted, but she knew he’d activate his quirk to protect himself from that if nothing else, never mind that she couldn’t easily twist her body to be able to do it in the first place. Her second strategy was to try and squirm out of his grip, but again, he was too strong for that. She had extremely limited options here.

So she did the third thing that came to mind, and reached her free hand behind her to dig into his side with her fingers.

Kirishima yelped and let go of her, stumbling back. Mina whirled around, fists up and ready to fight again instantly, but she paused when she saw the bright smile on his face. “You okay?”

“Th-That’s cheating!” he cried, still grinning wide. “You can’t tickle me like that!”

Mina tilted her head, curious, beginning to smile back. “Oh? The only rule was ‘no quirks,’ right? I don’t see why tickling you is off the table.”

Kiri held up his fists as well. “Lucky break. Come at me again, for real this time.”

For real? She’d already been genuinely trying to land a blow on him. His words stirred something in her, and with a smirk, she ran at him again, aiming a kick to his ribs. He grabbed onto her leg just as she expected, and while both his hands were occupied, she reached forward and drilled into his side again.

This time Kiri burst into giggles, letting go of her to push her hand away, but she wasn’t done. She followed him ruthlessly as he tried to back off, fingers wiggling into his sides and stomach until his knees finally gave out and she was able to push him to the ground and sit on his hips, trapping him.

Kirishima’s giggles were airy and light, as genuine as she’d ever heard from him. He smiled wide and pushed weakly at her hands, though she couldn’t tell if his lack of strength was because he was really that ticklish or if it was something else.

“Ch-Cheheheheheheating!” he cried. “You’re cheheheheheheheating!”

“I am not cheating,” she replied with a giggle of her own. “I didn’t use my quirk to take you down.”

“I’m not dohohohone yet!” he declared, suddenly reaching up to grab her sides, tickling her as she’d tickled him.

“Nohohoho! Kirishihihihihima!” Mina cried, grabbing desperately at his wrists and trying to push him off of her. He was quick to gain the upper hand once more, however, as he rolled over and pushed her to the ground in his place, tickling all the while. His touch was light and gentle, but it didn’t impede her steady giggling at all. “Stahahahahahahahap!”

“Why? You said yourself it’s not cheating.” Kiri grinned down at her. “Besides, the color of your skin and hair would suggest you like being tickled pink.”

“Shut up!” she squealed, his teasing only making it worse. She reached up for him again, fingers drilling into his underarms this time. He let out a bark of laughter and nearly toppled over, but he managed to stay on top, moving his tickling fingers up to her underarms as well.

“I’ll tihihihihickle you wherever you t-tickle mehehehehehe,” he declared between giggles that bordered on laughter.

Mina felt a spark of hope. “Oh yeheheheheah?” With great effort, she lifted her hands even higher to scribble along his neck and ears, counting on him doing the same. While he dissolved into giggles and even began to blush a little, she wasn’t sensitive in these spots whatsoever, and she was able to use the opportunity to hook a leg around his hip and roll, forcing him back onto the ground with her straddling his waist. “Gotcha!”

“Mihihihihihihihina!” he began to protest, but before he could get any more words out, her fingers pressed into his ribs, and Kirishima tossed his head back and laughed. He grabbed onto her arms but didn’t push her away, squirming beneath her only the slightest bit, his ticklish laughter bright and happy as it filled the air around them.

About half a minute later, it dawned on Mina what was happening here. Her heart swelled as she beamed down at him. “You like being tickled, don’t you?”

Kiri’s blush darkened a shade, but he didn’t protest. He just kept laughing without fighting back, his sunshine-bright smile the only answer she needed.

“You’re so unbelievably cute sometimes,” she teased, raking her fingers up and down his ribs, making his laughter reach new heights. He even bucked his hips once. Mina laughed with him. “Ah-ah! That’s not nice.” After another few moments, she stopped to pull his arms away from hers, pinning his wrists to the ground on either side of his head. She smiled down at his blushing face. “Having fun?”

He couldn’t stop grinning. “This is still cheating, you know.”

“Because I found a way to make you helpless, but you don’t want to fight back?” She suddenly let go of his wrists and scribbled into his underarms, enjoying how he squealed and brought his arms down again, grabbing onto her shoulders for support this time. This laughter was more breathy, coming out in huffs and wheezes while his heels dug into the ground behind her. “Come on, Kirishima. Just admit I’ve won the battle and I’ll let you go.” She smiled, already knowing his answer.

“Nehehehehehehehever!” he declared, though it was obvious to her that there was more excitement than defiance in that response.

“Have it your way.” She shoved both of his wrists above his head and held them with one hand while the other scribbled crazily along his vulnerable torso, paying special attention to his ribs, as that seemed to be a particularly good spot.

Laughing freely and not at all fazed by the new situation he found himself in, Kirishima managed, “Yohohohohohohou’ll hahahahahave to do behehehehehetter than thahahahahahat if you w-wahahahahahant to beat mehehehehehehe!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mina replied, trying to muster an evil smile but only able to grin down at the adorable, giggling redhead beneath her. “I intend to.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Requests are still open and you're gonna write for the boys. I'm gonna take the opportunity now and ask for a Romantic Yandere Starlight. If you're game for making it more specific, it would be interesting to see her being more "evil" like the other heroes. Except instead of being a dick to everyone she's just... Very, very obsessive and maybe even a little sadistic with the reader. Maybe she's still a hero at heart but all of the stuff that happens makes her a tad frustrated.

Yandere Evil-ish Starlight 

(Again, I did this based off the tv show and not the comics, but I am game for writing for the comics if anyone wants that.)

Tw: Mentions of abuse

Becoming apart of the Seven, Annie thought it would be her chance to be a real hero, someone people could really look up to and strive to be like. She wanted to utilize her abilities to make a real change in the world but those dreams were shattered when she actually joined the Seven. They’re all people who have no real care or empathy for anyone other than themselves, going against everything Annie ever really believed in or thought of yet she’s forced to become something she’s not, forced to smile and bare everything that the company demands of her all the while witnessing the true intentions of both the company and their ‘heroes’. Annie prides herself on not being anything like the other Seven but when she falls into her obsession that may just shatter like everything else.

In her obsession for you Annie will be extremely obsessive and clingy. She loves you and would do absolutely anything for you, nothing would ever change that but Annie can get a little aggressive in her love for you. Sometimes she holds you just a little too tight, kisses you a little too forcefully. She means well and wants to show off everything she feels for you on the daily but she gets a little out of control when it comes to executing all her emotions. 

Annie can’t help but acknowledge just how powerful she really is compared to you; she’s far stronger and faster than you, even being capable of doing things no one else could. You treat her like something to behold, something beautiful and strong, something that should be worshiped. Is this how all the other Seven fell? No wonder they let it get to them, she really is something far more powerful than you and yet she chose you. You were the one she chose to give herself to, some nobody but you were something to her, she made you into something far more important, at least to her.

Now she understand juts how much the Seven get off on being powerful. Annie can’t say she doesn’t like how it feels being at the top of the food chain, especially when she has something so weak and powerless underneath her. You’re lucky she loves you when you’re situation could be much worse. 

Sometimes Annie can be too loving and too affectionate. She loves to give you a hug when she sees you, especially when she comes home, and more times then not you’ll hurt later because of it. When she’s with you you make her forget how to function and keep things, much like her strength, under control.More times then not you’ll be left with bruises from her ‘love’. 

It’s almost like she doesn’t see the bruises or hear the little yelps of pain you let out when she’s being just a little too forceful and rough with you. You’ve told her plenty of times to tone it down a little and to be more gentle but it feels like your words go in one ear and out the other. You don’t know if she’s just too caught up in her own ‘love’ or what, she apologizes on the rare occasions that she actually acknowledges your discomfort but otherwise she never ends up listening to you whatsoever.  

If you do try to put your foot down then that’s where her behavior takes a turn for the worse. She’s so use to giving and giving, getting nothing in return but now, for once, she wants to be the one to take and be selfish. She’s done a lot for you, can’t you see that? Why can’t you just shut up and give her what she wants? 

Annie will increasingly become more rough and aggressive with her ‘affection’, bordering on abusive. If you shy away from her touch then you’ll earn yourself a hard slap. If you try to physically avoid any of her “affection’ then she’ll just have to tie you up, making sure to tie you up nice and tight. Maybe she’ll just swoop in and lift you up in her arms, giving you a tight and crushing embrace, only fracturing your ribs this time. At least they aren’t broken, right?

 If you try to say “no” to her then you’re just asking to be punished. She’ll lock you up, maybe even starve you. Tell her you love her and that you didn’t mean what you said and maybe she’ll consider letting you out or at least giving you some water, maybe even a little food. What am a I saying she’ll let you out and take care of you once you give her what she wants. 

Depending on the situation she may just blind you, making you have to depend on her. She may even just burnout your eyes all together, but don’t worry she’ll take good care of you when you need her most ‘cause that’s what good girlfriends do, right? 

She doesn’t even see just how cruel she’s really being. She doesn’t see how twisted and disgusting she’s become, just like the people she vowed to never be. She probably won’t realize the severity of her behavior until it’s far too late, you’ll never be the same. But at least she makes sure to clean you up and takes care of you when she’s done dealing out your punishment. 

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (2/5)

This is a trick.

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

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

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9.1K which is also more than I remember writing. Which should probably be the subheadline of my life.  AN: Guys! All of you! Collectively! Separately! Thank you so much for your genuinely incredible response to this story that took on a life of its own. It’s very nice! You’re all very nice! More exclamation points! This time around we’ve got; a very discombobulated timeline, bedtime stories, peak!dad David, peak!dad Killian and f e e l i n g s. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || Or you can start from the start

————

“How did you figure it out?” He lifts his eyebrow. Only one, and exactly the same way he does in whatever part of time the real Killian Jones is lingering in, but the thought of this Killian Jones not being entirely real makes Emma’s stomach knot. Several times over. She can’t stop staring at his eyebrow. It’s off-putting. And the complete opposite of that. “Out?” Killian echoes. “Not when?” “No, no I figured you knew pretty much from the get, but—” Emma shrugs. Tries very hard not to fall off the kitchen counter. Which might actually be made of granite. 

God, maybe they’re legitimately rich. 

She can’t imagine what the mortgage on a house like this is. 

She can’t imagine there are actually mortgages in Storybrooke. 

“Were you thinking about going to get your sword? Because it seems shitty to challenge an unarmed person to a fight.” The eyebrow gets higher. Arch'ier. Pointier, even. “As you’ve already pointed out today, I am a pirate. And that’s not really an answer to my question.” “Or mine,” Emma challenges. “Are you not a pirate anymore, then?” “You know you’d make a rather atrocious spy, darling.” Sneering is decidedly juvenile and the only thing Emma is capable of doing in the moment. “You are dancing around any answer and—” “—Well, if you’re a time traveling, abysmal spy then it seems wrong to provide you with any more information than what you’ve already gleaned from your day here, doesn’t it?”

She deflates. 

Shoulders sag and exhaustion creeps up the wholly unnatural and very uncomfortable curve of Emma’s spine, fear tickling the back of her mind because Killian hasn’t actually made a single move towards the basement, but she’s only passably sure of where the basement is and the specific sort of glint in his eyes makes her even more confident that he wouldn’t mind brandishing his sword at her. 

Literally in this instance. 

“I’m not sure it’s time travel,” she mumbles, staring at a floor that is questionably clean if it does in fact belong to her. Maybe Killian cleans. “Fascinating.” “I’m not the bad guy here.” “Because I am?”

Her shoulders can’t sink any lower. They try all the same, shamed by the hitch in his breath and the tilt of his head, angled to make his hair drift across his brows and eyes that are as distracting as ever and far too easy to get swept up in and—

Emma swallows. 

Exhales. She doesn’t remember when she decided to hold her breath. 

“I don’t know,” she admits softly, barely able to move her lips and no one remembered to turn the Christmas tree off. Lights reflect off the ridiculous number of windows in the wall, painting streaks of color on paint that isn’t blue and shouldn’t remind anyone of a ball gown Emma knows she hasn’t worn yet, but it’s pretty all the same and she wonders why she wound up here. At this point. This moment. 

Killian might not be breathing either. 

“What do you know, then?” 

Emma bites her lip. Hard. “That one second I was somewhere else, and then I was—” Shaking her head does not help what is undoubtedly a migraine blooming behind her left eye, but she hasn’t fallen off the counter yet and she imagines victories are going to be few and far between, so it seems fair to cling to them as they pass by. Six of her knuckles crack when she grips the kitchen counter. “Waking up, and you were telling me we had to go get paint, and people were bowing to me.” “They don’t do that where you’re from.” “Not a question.” “No,” Killian agrees, which is a very strange way of doing that, “more like a documented point. You haven’t tried to attack anyone yet, though. So I suppose that’s at least one marker on the positive column.” “I’m not going to attack anyone!” Eyes flashing at the crack in Emma’s voice, Killian’s neck all but snaps as he glances over his shoulder. Towards a staircase, and she hasn’t spent too much time upstairs yet, but those same stairs are as empty as they were sixteen seconds earlier and the force of Killian’s exhale ruffles the ends of his hair. 

“If you wouldn’t mind being just a touch quieter,” he all but growls at her, spinning back around with far more grace than Emma thinks is entirely fair, “I’d really appreciate it. Takes her forever to fall asleep.” “Hope, you mean? Don’t I, well—don’t we or…” “I’d suggest you stop talking.”

“And you’re still avoiding my questions,” Emma accuses through clenched teeth. That only hurts her jaw. And the rest of her, really. She’s so tired, she can’t believe she’s still forming coherent sentences. Counting that as another marker in the positive column is probably a dick move. 

And the standoff that ensues over the next twenty-seven and two-thirds seconds is something in the realm of ridiculous. Clenching her jaw tight enough to crush a variety of diamonds, Emma resolutely refuses to blink, and Killian’s an ass, apparently, so he simply stares right back, while his shoulders heave on every inhale. 

She doesn’t know what to say. Has no idea what string of words will convince this relative stranger, who still feels like someone who could potentially be hers in an overwhelming sort of way, that she’s not a threat and wouldn’t do anything to hurt that kid upstairs. Not when that kid did her own bit of staring at Emma all evening, like she was the sun and the moon, and a variety of constellations and—

Killian drags a hand over his face. Leaves red streaks in his wake, twisting the skin on his cheeks and the stubble there doesn’t move because it can’t, but Emma’s admittedly starting to teeter again. In more ways than one, really. 

The crinkles around his eyes are deeper. As if he’s used to laughing and smiling, and Hope had clung to him on their walk home. 

There’s that word again. 

Doing something silly to Emma’s heart. 

“I know you’re not going to attack anyone,” he sighs, “although I don’t really know if you’re in a position to demand I tell you anything, either.”

“What if we call it a request?” His lips twitch, fighting off the smile Emma can see tugging at his mouth and it’s definitely wrong to find any confidence in that. Charming a guy who’s already married and procreating with a different version of her shouldn’t be regarded as another victory. 

She’s going to do it anyway. 

“Tell me who you are, then.” “I’m—” Grunting hurts Emma’s throat, both of her elbows threatening to damage her ribs when she flails her hands. “I’m me. Just—” “—Not mine?” ���Oh, that’s decidedly possessive.” Humming, Killian’s nod is barely that. More like a quick jerk of his chin and swipe of his tongue across the front of his teeth. She’s got to stop staring at his mouth. “Aye, it might be. I am having some difficulty wrapping my head around this, though. So you’ll have to forgive me.” Emma scoffs. Nearly laughs, really — which is as surprising as it is nice, and nothing about this can be nice. On principle. Her body doesn’t seem to care, and her heart certainly cares even less, and it’s still a struggle to rationalize this version of Killian with the one she left, but there are far more similarities than her brain is able to process quite yet and that same dark and distant part is very quick to point out she’d like to. 

No matter where she might be sitting.

If she’d let herself. 

“You can feel my magic?”

Killian nods. “Usually.” “What does that mean? It doesn’t always work?” “I—” Gritting his teeth only shows off how frustratingly straight there are, and at some point she’s going to ask about that. Pirates don’t get braces, after all. “I’d rather not disrupt all of time by telling you things you don’t already know.” “I don’t know anything,” Emma argues, trying very hard not to scream the words. And only sort of succeeding. 

“Did you fall into a portal?” “Are you fucking with me?” Killian glares at her again. “I’d advise very strongly that you answer the question, Swan.”

“Or what? You’ll legitimately go get your basement sword? Why do you keep your sword in the basement, anyway? Aren’t there—I mean, a monster a week in Storybrooke, right?” His goddamn fucking tongue is going to be the death of her. Sooner or later, Emma is positive. Shifting and poking at the side of his cheek, and she can hear the gears again, trying to place the few clues she’s given him with a life he’s already lived and it is absurd that she even thought the word clues. 

“Not in quite some time,” he admits, and Emma’s mind leaps. Back to conversations and knights and realm-borders. She needs a map. Or Regina, God help her. “That’s not the point, though. It’s—” Another head shake and hair movement, and pinching the bridge of his nose only makes it ten-thousand times easier to see the ring on his finger.

There are a lot of Christmas lights in this house. 

“You’re not someone else,” Killian finishes softly. 

“Disappointing, I know.” His head moves so quickly it’s hardly more than a semi-dark blur of hair and slightly pained eyes. Both of which make Emma very glad for her spot on the counter. If she had been standing, she would have fallen over. In a rather undignified heap. 

“No,” Killian exhales as the magnets make a glorious return. He crowds into her space before she’s entirely ready for it. Although that also suggests Emma would ever be ready for the way his face has twisted and how ridiculously warm he continues to be, the hand that’s already resting on her knee threatening to burn straight through her jeans. “Strange,” he adds, clenching his fingers when Emma flinches, “and possibly a little terrifying, since—” “—Your Emma has disappeared entirely.” He grins. It’s disarming, and inching closer to the kind of flirting they’d been dancing around before and Emma’s got to get off this dancing metaphor kick. She’s not a good dancer, anyway.  “No portal, right?” “No portal,” she confirms. “And I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a very lucid dream, so.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

She realizes that about halfway through the sentence. Any hint of camaraderie or déjà vu-based flirting disappears from Killian’s face and immediately shifts into the same brand of pain that came when she called him Hook. 

Biting her lip is really Emma’s only option.

“You don’t think this is real,” he whispers, another statement she doesn’t feel the need to point out. Shrugging, Emma’s vocal chords fail her again, and the step Killian takes away from her resembles a rather large chasm. 

Grand Canyon-esque. 

“We’re back to things I don’t know,” Emma says, “but um—do we have other kids? Aside from Hope, I mean? I—” Heat rises in her cheeks, the weight of the compliment threatening to burst out of her both foreign and necessary and Killian doesn’t do anything. Well, he lifts his eyebrows again, but that’s something like second nature to him and Emma refuses to count it and his fingers find the back of his hair. 

Huh. 

“Henry,” he replies.

“And you’re counting Henry? As—” Her tongue is really going to become a problem, if it’s going to remain this size in her mouth. “As your kid too?”

Strictly speaking, Emma’s not sure she actually wants an answer. Can only imagine what her emotions will do if she hears the confirmation that’s quite obviously pressing behind the seams of Killian’s mouth, but that confirmation might also prove several thousand things that have been at war in her for far longer than she’d ever be willing to admit, and he nods once. 

“In all the ways that matter,” Killian says. “And Neal is…” Shaking his head, all Emma gets is another smirk as soon as she huffs out her frustration, but the frustration is also kind of lacking when it feels like her whole body is running on overdrive and there’s no way he could fake the emotion behind those words. Even in a dream-like state. She’s not creative enough to come up with that particular voice inflection. 

“How’d you know?” she presses. “Honestly?” “Aside from your rather startling inability to act like yourself?” “Yeah. Aside from that.”

Stairs creak behind them, a not-quite ominous warning that this conversation has lasted longer than it should and there’s a kid of indeterminate age demanding to be put back to bed just out of sight. Emma should figure out how old her kid is. 

Hopefully that won’t ruin the space-time continuum, either. 

“You’ve got this lovely habit of calling me babe,” Killian drawls, leaning close enough that Emma swears she can smell him. Wishful thinking, maybe. “And I can’t remember the last time you called me Hook.”

He flashes her another grin — reminiscent of a man who is not this one, and then he’s gone, scooping up the kid and muttering promises against her hair, and Emma never knows how long she spends sitting on the kitchen counter. 

She does creep, eventually. 

Curiosity gets the better of Emma the longer she sits there, waiting without much hope for Killian to return. He’s not going to. She knows that. There’s only so many times he can come back, and this is a totally different thing than it was before, but it's also a perfect segue to the other reason she hopes off the counter. Her overall discomfort. Literally, and metaphorically. Marble, it seems, is a very fancy stone and good for the kitchen counters some alt-version of her eventually owns, but it also starts to dig into the back of her knees and those knees are bent kind of weird and in the grand scheme of where she wants to look again, inching up the stairs to peer through the barely closed door of Hope’s room is a much more appealing prospect than a basement that apparently houses weapons. 

So, Emma doesn’t spend too long thinking of the pros and cons, or how she should really be creeping towards the room of someone who might understand magic and why she’s here. Instead, she winces slightly on the creaky step halfway up the staircase and does her best to stay in the shadows, but these shadows aren’t quite as terrifying as they were in the realm she’s only just recently teleported from and that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot. 

He’s reading her a story. 

Captain Hook, terror of several storybook seas and probably a few Emma isn’t aware of, just to drive home the confusion point, sits propped up against a mess of pillows with his sock-covered feet stretched out in front of him, and curls pushed up against his side, a book balanced precariously on one thigh and she really would make the world’s worst spy. She hadn’t noticed the empty brace at the end of his arm. 

That’s never happened before. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even entirely sure it was possible, which is total asshole territory and maybe she’ll just collapse. Right here in the hallway. The carpet looks almost plush, so it might not be the worst move. 

And trying to memorize the look of it only feels like a half-dick'ish move, if only because the lack of a hook does sort of confirm the overall safety of this place, and Emma figures that outweighs whatever scene she’s interrupting. Or trying not to, as it were. 

Knotted scars line his skin, some of them looking older than others and that makes a few more of Emma’s internal organs flip. Something that feels a bit like anger rises in the back of her throat, an unexpected emotion that isn’t really directed at anyone except the people who caused those scars and that pain and he looks comfortable. 

Now, at least. 

Even slouched as he is against pillow cases that are far too frilly and remind Emma far too much of her mother. She keeps documenting. Lets her eyes trace over every inch of Killian — the way his fingers fluttering mindlessly against Hope’s back, brushing away strands of hair with the kind of ease that makes it clear this is a regular occurrence. His shoulders aren’t as taut as they were in the kitchen, but his head lolls towards the side more than once as fatigue starts to color his gaze. 

The story has princesses in it. Well, one princess. On a rather expansive adventure, if Emma’s actually keeping up with the plot. Dropped into a place she’s unfamiliar with, the princess in question naturally has a dashing love interest — although his name is Charles, so...maybe not all that dashing — and they get into several more adventures. Which include, but apparently are not limited to; taverns, a ridiculous amount of flirting, interactions with pirates, kissing as a distraction, the last of which endlessly entertains Hope, and the overall force of the little girl’s laugh makes Emma’s breath hitch, but then there’s more to the story and of course there’s a ball. More royalty, too. Obstacles are faced, only to be immediately overcome and Emma’s smile happens without any thought to the overall inappropriate nature of it. 

“And,” Killian says, shaking his head until his nose grazes Hope’s hair, “the exceptionally dashing prince took on the guards single-handedly, telling the princess to go and get the treasure they’d been looking for. While—” “—’Feating all of them, right?” Hope exclaims. As much as it’s possible to exclaim while also sounding half asleep. 

“In dramatic fashion. There was quite a lot of spinning involved. Made his jacket look all the more impressive. Fluttering tails and whatnot.”

Eyes flicker towards Emma’s garbage hiding spot, and she’s still not breathing correctly, so the odds aren’t very good he heard her, but she’s wondered more than once if he doesn’t just have a sixth sense when it comes to her and possibly them, and she pulls her lips behind her teeth. 

“What happened after that?” 

Most of Hope’s question comes out as a singular word, Killian’s soft laugh both indulgent and decidedly parental and he kisses her once before muttering, “Nuh uh, you’ve already gotten more story than you should, and you’ve got to get some rest.” “But I—”

Shaking his head once is all it takes for silence to descend on the room, although it does come with a slight pout and that’s—weird, it’s weird. Watching her own facial expressions reflect back to her from a kid she didn’t know existed a few hours earlier is more than enough to send Emma reeling. Wobbly knees shake underneath her, retreating in just enough time to not look totally suspicious as Killian mumbles something else and closes the door behind him, and she might have been right about the eye thing. 

They practically fly towards her. 

And the wall that was far closer than Emma anticipated. Hitting her head on it hurts more than it usually would, she imagines. 

“Truly,” he says, “an absolutely Gods awful spy.” “Was that supposed to be plural? On the Gods, I mean?” Tilting his head is the only response Emma gets, and she can’t blame him for that. For anything, really. “Does that happen a lot? The, uh—the stories.”

Silence. 

Relatively speaking. There’s the distinct sound of disgruntled kid on the other side of the other side of the door, what Emma figures are four flailing limbs as it appears Hope is determined to beat her half a dozen pillows into submission. 

Little sea monster makes a bit more sense now. 

“I do that too.”

Fatigue disappears. To make room for the invisible two-by-four that settles between Killian’s shoulder blades, shifting them until his spine is ramrod straight and he’s staring at Emma like that was the most obvious statement in the history of the world. 

“I’m well aware,” he says, but his voice drops, gruffer than it’s been all day. She’s going to bite both her lips in half. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s—makes sense, I guess. I, um—” No one actually told her to take her boots off, but Emma might have assumed, and the carpet does feel soft. Through her socks, at least. While she tries to dig a hole into the ground with her toe. So she can fall into it. “Seemed like a popular story.” “Aye, it is. Big fan of sword fights.”

“Ah, well, when they’re full of dashing princes who wouldn’t be?”

It’s another thoughtless sentence. One that makes Killian’s tongue shift and then his mouth shift and Emma only stares at that for a few seconds before her eyes drop to his arm and his wrist and—

He twists his arm. Behind his back. 

Her inability to dig a hole with her foot is genuinely disappointing. 

“A question for the ages,” he says. “What are the other ones, then?” “Excuse me?” “I cannot keep telling you how badly you mask your expressions. It seems redundant. So while I also can’t imagine getting too much information will be good, you’ve obviously got questions. As do I, if we’re being honest.” “Are we being honest?”

The lack of sword belt — or actual pants — makes it all the more absurd when he leans forward, thumb hooking into the top of the sleepwear he’s got on, and Emma’s fairly proud of her ability to not linger on that particular thing. Less so in her ability to temper the butterflies in her stomach as soon as Killian leans forward. 

Directly into her space. 

He must radiate heat. 

“I’ve never been anything except entirely honest with you, love,” Killian says, and there’s no way to doubt those words or that voice and Emma hasn’t. Ever, actually. 

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Eventually you really do believe it.” Blood hits her tongue — sharp and absolutely disgusting, threatening to make her retch in the middle of the hallway. Only marginally better than her hole idea. By some miracle, sent from an apparently merciful God, Emma manages to take a deep breath, jutting her chin out and meeting Killian’s almost cautious gaze with a determination of her own. 

The kind that sends magic shooting down her arms, and directly into the tips of her fingers. His eyes widen. 

“That’s never been the problem. It’s—” They’ve got to stop cutting themselves off. Sentences that hang without end will torment Emma for the foreseeable future, but the muscles in her neck are going to seize up if she doesn’t twist them, and Killian’s fingers tense at his side when her hair moves. Like he wants to brush it away from her face. “Where’d the tree come from?” “Anton.”

“No.” “Swan, we just proclaimed honesty and now you’re—” “—Don’t know if it was a proclamation,” Emma grumbles, but Doc did call her your highness before so maybe she wields that kind of power now. Killian’s lips tilt up. 

Finding something else to stare at should be number one on the list of things Emma needs to be doing. Desperately. 

“Aye, that usually requires your mother’s seal anyway.”

“My mom? Why would...isn’t Regina mayor of this town?”

Exhaling through his teeth is oddly attractive. “Not as such, no.” “Huh.” “That’s about the right reaction. But to get back to your original question—” Emma sticks her tongue out, Killian’s laugh soaring out of him. Directly into her. It feels that way, at least. Warmth blooms between her ribs, another pulse of magic she resolutely ignores in favor of watching his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle and it would be very easy. All of it. Is, currently. If she’s being honest with herself.  

That’s a problem.  

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian murmurs. 

“Well, depending on who you ask, I either got tugged through time, or I’m being tormented in my dreams and—what?” His eyes have gone very thin. “Tormented, is it?” “That was a shitty choice of words.” Humming, Killian’s eyes move anywhere but Emma’s face, and the regret in her gut is like a black hole and dying star and several other space-based puns she does not understand at all. All she knows is what a mess this is becoming, and she’s been a mess for as long as she can remember so that’s all the excuse she needs, hands moving on a mix of want and instinct that she’ll let herself over analyze later. 

He doesn’t flinch. 

For another moment, it feels like he’s going to do something drastic. Parting his lips, Emma hears his exhale, the quick flick of his tongue making her toes curl and her fingers tighten, and she wants to run. That’s her schtick. She can’t. She’s rooted to the spot and this carpet, and there’s nowhere to go really. 

Getting back to Neverland already seems impossible. 

“He’s very happy here,” Killian says, and it takes her a second to realize they’re talking about a giant again. “Has been for years. Grows all sorts of stuff, and you didn’t see the Christmas tree your parents have, but it’s ridiculously massive. Apparently there’s some sort of giant-type gene that helps with that.”

“Well, yeah of course.”

Whatever sound he makes isn’t the laugh Emma selfishly wants it to be, but the air that finds her cheek is warm and his left arm isn’t behind his back anymore. “You can take the bed.”

“What?” “We do have a bed, love.” “Yeah, but—” “—Very gallant of me, I know,” Killian quips, stepping away from Emma and the moment and she can’t believe the moment included talk of a giant growing Christmas trees. Somehow that’s almost comforting. “But it’ll be fine, and well if you’re going to talk to Regina tomorrow—” “—You think I should talk to Regina?” “Don’t you?” Nodding hurts. Standing hurts. The whole thing’s ridiculously melodramatic. “Probably,” Emma admits. “Um, but...maybe on my own?”

She’ll never admit to wanting an objection — this isn’t her life, or her Killian, but it also feels wrong to claim any Killian, and this constant flipping between emotions is going to snap her skull in half. “Whatever you think is best,” he says. “Two doors down on the left.”

“Ok, thanks.”

Nodding again, Killian gives her a barely-there smile before moving back towards the stairs he only sort of rushes down. That one step creaks again. 

Sleeping doesn’t happen. 

Emma didn’t think it would, but it’s disappointing and frustrating all the same. Her muscles ache, practically begging her for unconsciousness, but every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Killian’s face and the space between them and she’s got to get back to Neverland. 

Soon. 

Emma’s got to fix this. 

No one’s at Regina’s house. 

Waiting until everyone left her own house is something of a massive copout, and using that particular possessive makes Emma feel like a liar, but she couldn't bring herself to get off the bed until the front door slammed shut and she wasted quite a lot of time sitting on the mattress. 

Also very comfortable, despite the distinct lack of sleep it witnessed. 

So, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when no one answers Emma’s rather pointed knocks. Or the few kicks she levels at Regina’s front door, just to be sure. All that does is make the wreath hanging out front wobble precariously. “God, fucking—” Snowflakes land on Emma’s face when she tilts her head up, as if the gods she’s challenging are responding. She’s still a little caught on the polytheistic. “Alright, alright, where would she go?”

“Emma?” Spinning, she doesn’t wobble at all — a testament to Regina’s salting regiment for her front steps, and the blonde twenty-something with impressively thick glasses who called her name far too easily grins far too quickly. “What are you doing out here?”

There’s no hint of confusion to her question. At least not in regards to who Emma is. She’s obviously surprised to find her standing there, though, and nothing about her is familiar. 

“I’m looking for Regina. Do you know where she might be?”

“Yeah, of course. She went into the office early this morning, said she had to deal with the knights situation and magic acting up and—” “—Magic is acting up?”

“Didn’t Uncle David tell you?”

“No,” Emma shakes her head, already moving because there are only so many offices in this town and it’s got to be the same one. It isn’t until she makes it back to Main Street that her mind catches up with titles, but then the woman is jogging up the stairs of town hall and swinging open doors and Emma’s jaw drops. 

At the “Regina Mills, Queen of the Combined Realms” etched in glass in front of her. 

“You coming?” this nameless person asks, jerking her head towards the office and at least the wallpaper is the same. Emma gives a jerky nod, willing herself to step forward, but it’s shaky going at best and Regina is on the phone. 

The buzzing in her ears makes it difficult to hear the conversation, but Emma picks up the gist. Magic, and knights and the sound of her dad’s vaguely frantic tone, while Regina sighs at regular intervals, rolling her eyes occasionally as well. 

“Aunt Gina,” the woman hisses, slumping into the closest chair. Sliding a small handful of bills across her desk, Regina widens her eyes meaningfully, not bothering to cover the receiver before she mutters—

“Only what was on the list, ok? Henry’s stuff is already taken care of, don’t let Doc try and swindle you.”

She gives a crisp salute, Emma’s mind practically tripping over itself because that’s like a slap to her entire being and the sanity she’s only just clinging to at this point. “I’ll sic Killian on him, if he even tries,” she promises, leaning across the desk to kiss Regina’s cheek before breezing out of the office with a quick “see you later, Emma.”

Emma doesn’t move. 

And Regina hangs up on David. 

“Well,” she says, somehow dragging the word out until it sounds like those royal decrees Killian was talking about, “here you are, then.” “Should practice your surprised face.”

Gasping as dramatically as possible, Regina widens her eyes and jerks back, making her chair squeak on its wheels. Her hand flies to her chest, and the necklace that hangs over her shirt. It looks a bit like an arrow. “How was that?” “My dad called you.” “Probably two seconds after you left the farm. So,” she props her chin on her palm, “time travel, is it? You fall in another portal?”

Blinking as quickly as she is makes it difficult for Emma to stumble into the chair only recently vacated by that girl, but she manages somehow. And doesn’t twist anything in the process. Victories, she’s claiming all of them. “How many time-altering portals are there?” “Only one that I’m aware of, but you also didn’t answer my question and I don’t think you can alter something that hasn’t happened for you yet.” “Because this is the future.”

“Frankly?” “You’re going to do it either way,” Emma grumbles, Regina’s sneer not quite as challenging as she expects it to be. 

“Nothing is ever set in stone, not really. Which is why you can appear here. We're...a possibility for you at this point. So, no—I’m not sure you can destroy yourself with knowing. With staying, for sure, but—” “—Wait, what?”

Regina’s fingers flutter against her cheek. “When did you come from?

“Not here.” “Obviously.”

Slumping further into the chair, Emma’s knees nearly slam into her chest. It’s definitely an arrow around Regina’s neck. “Neverland,” she says, “we’d just left the Echo Caves and you’d gone off with Gold somewhere.” “Rumor has it you met Ariel.” “Is that seriously who that was?” Regina nods. Emma exhales. Loudly. “Ok, ok, well—” Recounting the rest isn’t as hard as she expects it to be, details flowing out of Emma like some other water joke she’s not willing to make and Regina doesn’t interrupt. Occasionally her hand drifts back towards the necklace, but Emma chooses to ignore that as well and her mouth is only sort of dry by the time she’s done. 

And then Regina purses her lips. 

Which speaks volumes, without actually saying words. She says words too. “A giant plant. That crawled out of the ground and—” “—Ok, I never once said it was giant, just that it exploded out of the ground.” “It’s not much better.” “Killian can feel my magic here.” “Yuh huh.”

Lifting both her hands in what Emma can only hope is obvious frustration and soon-to-be-resolved confusion, Regina doesn’t look all that impressed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Emma demands. “Is that a normal thing? I—as far as I know he can’t in Neverland.” “Well, normal is in the eye of the beholder, really, but have you ever actually asked the captain if he can feel your magic?” “Why would I—did you just call him captain? Are you and Killian friends now?” Clicking her tongue, Regina makes a noise that’s neither confirmation nor objection. “I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t—none of this is real.” “Ah, that’s actually a little rude.” “How did this happen, then?” Another noise. More guttural that time, and Emma hopes it hurts the inside of Regina’s throat. She’s feeling a little vindictive. No one’s explained the Unified Realms concept to her yet, that’s why. “I’ve got several working theories, some people who would know far more about Neverland’s vegetation and what its capable of than I would, and the deep-burning desire to know whether or not you told Killian about the plant.”

The gods are clearly feeling particularly charitable to Emma right now. All things considered, she feels like she deserves that. 

And she doesn’t fall out of the chair. 

“Do you think he remembers this? If I disappeared in Neverland, but he still married me here...God, that’s weird to say.” “Is it, though?’ Regina challenges, scrunching her nose like this is a conversation they can have.

“Why are you also being so goddamn weird?” “Time travels a funny thing. Lots of twists and turns, and potential pitfalls. And I’m not being weird, this is who I am now.” “Huh.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time,” Regina advises. “But I do think you’re right, you need to leave this part of the timeline. It’ll fall apart otherwise.” “You say so calmly.” “I’m almost very confident in your abilities.” “Almost,” Emma echoes, fully prepared for the snark-filled grin that gets her. Flames flicker between Regina’s fluttering fingers, not the first time that’s happened, but it usually only happens in times of particularly high stress and for as even-keeled as the so-called queen is acting, Emma knows at least part of it is a facade. “What happened with the knights? Also, shouldn’t knights from Camelot be under Arthur’s rule?” “That’s a whole other story. One your husband could recount much better than me.” “He’s not my husband.” “Not yet, I suppose.” Grimacing makes it harder to pull a breath in, but Emma’s butterflies make a triumphant return and the coffee maker was still on when she got downstairs. That might not be the coincidence she wants it to be. “The knights,” Emma demands, “what’s their deal?” “Nefarious, it seems. Which isn’t usually how they operate, and is wholly against the law.” “Of your kingdom?” Maybe Regina and Killian are friends. She’s much better at arching her eyebrow now. “Something like that. Anyway, the knights are here, without the proper paperwork, because they claim magic has been acting strangely in Camelot. And they’ve tracked it to our forest. What that magic is doing that’s so strange appears to be some sort of state secret, but Snow’s got a bird on it, so maybe we’ll find out eventually.” “That keeps happening.” “The fleeting nature of a bird’s attention span?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Is she not Mary Margaret, anymore?”

The flames disappear, Regina sitting up a little straighter like they’ve finally delved into the serious part of this conversation, and whatever’s churning in Emma’s gut is a bit like regret. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” “How am I thinking about it, then?” “As someone who still hasn’t found Henry in Neverland yet.” “Sounds like we do.” “Not something you ever should have doubted.” “I don’t,” Emma says, only kind of a lie because she still can’t really shake her worry and her fear has always been such a strong part of her; the concept of letting that go is as terrifying as anything else. The coffee had been good that morning. “Why this spot? I mean—if I was going to get tugged to any point in my timeline, Christmas in Storybrooke seems a little out of left field, don’t you think?”

Regina considers that for a moment, drumming her still-flameless fingers on her vaguely imposing desk. “Honestly? Seems like a test.” “Of what?” “You, obviously.” “Speaking English, Your Highness.” “Majesty,” Regina corrects, sliding away from the desk so she can stand up and rest her palms on it and Emma’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. “And you’re being obtuse on purpose. I understand, but it’s—well, it’s only going to get more annoying, for both of us. The point is, games were part of Neverland. Tricks and sleight of hand, making you believe something that wasn’t there because that belief fueled the place. Belief’s even stronger for you, Emma. Because of what you are, and what you’ve done. Or will do, I guess.” “No pressure.” “Some, but—you’re distracting me. That’s still an unconfirmed theory.” “What is the point, then?” “The point,” Regina repeats archly, “is that pulling you out of Neverland, away from a place that made you feel like the Lost Girl you believe you are, turns this into something of a Utopia. Home, and safety. When’s the last time you celebrated Christmas?” “Never?” “See, everything you’ve ever wanted all tied up and—” “—I don’t want to be married to Hook.”

Disbelief colors every inch of Regina’s face, the sound of her laugh far more evil than she’s been all morning. “You’re an awful liar, Emma Swan. No matter what you do, and all you’ve ever been able to do is make eyes at the pirate.” “I don’t make eyes.” “Don’t worry, he does too. Even now, which is romantic if you like that sort of thing.” “The point, Regina.”

She grins. “You’re being offered a choice. Here, or there. Past or possible future. It’s a dangerous option, Emma, and one you can’t give into, no matter how much you might want.”

Finding her dad is far easier than Regina. 

Emma’s feet drift down the path towards the farm, boots squelching in the snow, but none of the moisture gets to her socks and the screen door opens before she can think about knocking. 

“Would have been offended if you had,” David says, pulling her against his chest and answering a question she didn’t have a chance to ask. It’s the hand that does it though. Cupping the back of Emma’s head, there’s something inherently safe about the whole thing, her cheek scrunched and her eyes stinging with more unshed tears and the first whimper she lets out is so goddamn depressing she can’t believe it came from her. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” David chants. Over and over, pressing the promise into her hair and her temple, the bridge of her nose once Emma finally lifts her head, and the slight jut of her chin because she’s nothing if not consistently stubborn and falling apart feels like failure. 

“C’mon, we’re going to sit down,” David continues, already directing Emma back into the hallway. And through the hallway. Past more pictures, and this couch looks even more comfortable than the one she’d woken up on, and she’d been right about her mother’s taste in pillows. An excess of frill. 

“Was I that obvious that you had to immediately call Regina yesterday?" David shrugs, lifting his arm in unspoken invitation. Emma slings her legs over his when she moves, the flannel now under her cheek oddly comforting. As is the kiss she feels pressed to the crown of her head. “A little,” he chuckles, “but mostly it was Killian’s blatant freakout.” “He wasn’t freaking out. At least not here.” “He was. Not loudly, maybe. But obviously. And you looked at Hope like you’d never seen her. That also kind of freaked out your mom.” “How old is she?”

Emma doesn’t bother being anymore specific. She knows she doesn’t have to — not when her dad’s arm tightens around her shoulders, and she wishes she’d come here first, if only to help keep her balanced on the precarious edge of lingering sanity, and she’s got absolutely no idea where Killian went. She should ask about that too. “Four.” “Shit. That’s—shit.” Another chuckle and second kiss, and David has to shift slightly to make sure Emma’s elbow doesn’t impale his side. “Reasonable response, really. Anything else?” “About a million and two things,” Emma admits, with enough acid in her voice to do permanent damage to the atmosphere. Making science-jokes is apparently a coping device now. “Regina thinks it’s a test. Of whether or not I really will leave, when given some sort of idyllic future.” “Well you’re not a selfish asshole, so I’m sure you’ll do what you have to.” “Kinda blunt, Dad.”

It’s not the first time she’s used that word — but titles have been thrown around in enough conversations already, and Emma’s really very wobbly on her metaphorical cliff and she wants something. Solid and dependable and she refuses to acknowledge how Killian might be both. Is definitely both. 

In any version of this life. 

“Kinda,” David agrees, “but the knights showed up when you did, and I don’t know if that’s a coincidence. There have been reports coming into the station, too. Stuff feeling out of whack across the realms—” “—How many realms are there, exactly? Is Regina in charge of all of them?”

“There was something of an election.” “For a queen?” “We’re a very progressive united coalition.”

“And you’re what? Prince of that?” David makes a contrary noise, and it takes longer than Emma expects to detail the hierarchy of this realm, but she understands why her mom would need to make royal decrees now and why people keep bowing to her and— “So that makes Killian a prince,” Emma says, pleasantly surprised to realize she does not in fact die when her heart explodes. Or when she realizes that some parts of that bedtime story may actually be based in reality. 

She kind of wants to see him spin in the middle of a sword fight. 

“Tell him that,” David suggests. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.” “Makes me think he won’t.” “Sometimes people bow to him, just to see what he’ll do.” “Challenge them to a duel?” “Nah, that’d mean he has to get his sword and that’s a whole thing. Plus, he’s got stuff to do in the station and there’s a fair bit of sailing involved.” “He keeps his ship?” Emma asks, sharper than she intends because something’s fluttering at the back of her brain and it’s big and important and she’s got absolutely no idea why. “And did you just say station?” David hums. “Doesn’t like wearing the badge though. Which I think is an affront to the position of deputy, but—” She nearly hits his chin. Jerking her head up, Emma’s eyes widen quickly enough that they also water and her dad might be the asshole here because he doesn’t do anything except smile knowingly at her. “You’re happy here, Emma,” he says, “after everything. And there’s a lot of everything, but it ends eventually. Gets the happily ever after it deserves, that both of you deserve. Although he’s a merciless cheat in Monopoly, drives me nuts every Christmas.”

It’s not a laugh. Not really. Sagging forward, air flies out of Emma’s lungs and her very dry lips, and that second thing is because she keeps breathing out her mouth, and trying to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t all that interested in finishing before. Now it’s all she wants, desperate to see what the picture is, and it’s probably very pretty. 

A covered bridge, or an oceanscape or something. Thomas Kinkaid, maybe. And part of her hears the warning, knows all too well that she’s already failing the test, but the rest of her absolutely does not care. 

“Are you really here, or is that some kind of trick my mind came up with because you’re actually stuck in Neverland?” David kisses her nose. “Here. And for the time being, so are you. Which means you can sleep.”

“Mind reading isn't one of your talents, as far as I knew.” “I get better at it,” he promises, tugging an exceptionally soft blanket off the back of the couch and Emma doesn’t put up much of a fight before resting her head on his shoulder and promptly falling asleep. 

There are lights on in half a dozen windows when David’s new — at least as far as Emma’s concerned — truck comes to a stop in front of her absolutely massive house, and she’s got to get out. Easier said than done, particularly with trembling fingers and obviously fluttering curtains in that one bay window, and it takes no less than four tries for her to undo her seatbelt,

“It’s going to be fine” David says again, “no matter what happens.” “Even with magic being weird?” “We’re not sure that’s entirely your fault.”

Scoffing, Emma tries very hard to believe that. No one’s updated them on the location of the bird. She kind of hates this bird. Possibly all birds, really. “Sure it’s not. So, what—I’m just supposed to go back into this stupidly large mansion and—” “—Wouldn’t all mansions be large?” David interrupts. “By default?” “Did we rob a bank to pay for this?” “You’d have to ask Killian, but I don’t think so.” “He says I call him babe.”

Wincing, Emma belatedly realizes this is probably not a conversation she should be having with her father, but she hasn’t really seen her mother and she wants to talk about it to Regina even less, and she obviously can’t bring it up to Killian when she’s avoiding him so much and—

A door slams. Footsteps rush towards them, voices on the breeze and the snowflakes that have kept falling all day because it’s New England and as far as Emma knows it’s required to snow in New England on Christmas. Or in the days leading up. 

David nods towards the door she should have opened five minutes ago. 

And it takes her about one sharp inhale, two eyes that very nearly fall out of her head, and that maternal-type adrenaline she’s starting to get used to, for Emma to tumble out of the truck, sprint the few feet between them and practically launch herself into Henry’s waiting arms. Arms that are much more adult than she’s familiar with. 

Although that does also make it easier for him to tighten them around Emma’s middle, and she supposes time-traveling beggars cannot be choosers. “Hey,” Henry breathes, mostly into her hair. Wind whips around them, only kind of unnatural and a little magical and the door opens again. Emma doesn’t look up. Seeing Killian standing there, with his feet crossed at the ankles, she’s sure, will only drive her closer to a line she’s not all that willing to cross. Yet. Or ever. 

No, definitely ever. 

Everyone calling him Killian is nice. Exceptionally, so. 

“Killian said it was bad, but…” Trailing off, Henry pulls back and Emma’s crying again. Like a total, entirely incompetent ass. She’s got so many questions still. Her arms tighten, a fresh round of terror rattling around her soul, or some other ridiculous sentiment, and Henry doesn’t argue. He kisses the top of her hair too. 

He’s much taller than her now. 

“Did Killian talk to you?”

“Mom,” Henry sighs, “c’mon—even when I was a kid, that shouldn’t have surprised you.” It doesn’t, not really. But there’s a grown man in her arms, and snow flying around them, and Henry’s barked “not now, Lu” causes another kid to scamper back up the porch. Towards Killian and his ridiculous grey-streaked hair, and he picks her up without looking away from Emma. 

He’s looking at Emma. 

Still, or always, or whatever. 

“Don’t ask what kind of favors he had to pull in to get us here,” Henry adds, “but he said you’d need it, and it might help and Ella definitely wanted to leave, even if she won’t admit to it, so—”

“Stop telling lies, Henry Mills,” another voice calls from behind Killian, and Emma’s going to pass out. For a variety of reasons, least of all her lack of caloric intake today. 

Henry clicks his tongue. A family trait, apparently. “It’s not a lie, she didn’t even really want to go, but Lu gets a ridiculous present haul, so we had to and—” Several puzzle pieces fly into place. Helped along by Lu’s rather loud screech of “papa” directly into Killian’s ear, and Emma is glad she hasn’t eaten. Throwing up on Henry’s shoes is not the festive reunion it should be. “I’m really here,” Henry adds, reading Emma’s mind. Or her face. “No matter what you think might have happened in Neverland, it didn’t. I’m here, and you’re here and Killian made food, so you should probably eat.” She’d been right about the puzzle, it is a pretty picture. One that doesn’t belong to her, entirely. But pretty all the same. Desirable, maybe. 

That’s a dangerous line of thinking. 

“Hook can cook? Ignore that rhyme, please.” Henry grins, marching them back towards the house as David yells something about getting Snow from school and then there are smells and kids and that goddamn Christmas tree. And it takes Emma a few moments she thinks she deserves to realize—

“How did Henry know I’d come from Neverland?” she asks Killian, standing in the middle of the kitchen. He’s stirring something. She’ll think about that for at least two hours. 

“I told him.” “How did you know?” Leveling her with an incredulous stare, Emma once again fails at the whole no blushing thing, and they own a stand mixer. Only adults own stand mixers. “How many times should I request you give me more credit before that also becomes redundant?” “This is probably good enough.” “Generous of you, and it wasn’t very hard. Although I am still trying to pinpoint when it was, exactly. Quite a lot happened in Neverland.” “Looking awfully smug about that.” He shakes his head, offering her the spoon and there’s sauce there. Delicious sauce. This must happen a lot. “Hard to do that when you can’t look at me straight on, but—” “—Echo Caves,” Emma says, rushing to interrupt him. Killian’s eyebrows jump. 

“Huh.” “Regina doesn’t think telling me things will affect anything.” “Huh.” “Nothing to add to that?” Silence. More relative, at least. The TV is on, and a pillow fort is apparently being engineered in the living room, and everyone was very quick to leave the pair of them alone. With the sauce. “Thank you, though.”

“For?” “Getting Henry here, whatever favors you had to call in. I—well, Dad told me some of the stuff, and it’s...nice.” His lips disappear when he presses them together. Emma’s still staring, it seems. “Part of the deal, I think.” “Of?” “You really want me to answer that?” “Probably not,” Emma exhales, “but—still. It’s nice, and I...well, I appreciate it.”

“That’s not something you have to thank me for, love. Now, c’mon, I know you haven’t eaten and there are some ravenous kids out there who will mutiny if we don’t get them spaghetti soon.”

Emma nods, not able to say anything else because nice is suddenly a vast understatement, and she eats a second bowl of mostly sauce, and she never really knows how she gets back into bed, only that she fell asleep under the pillow fort with Killian’s shoulder close to hers. 

[justahopelessssromantic]

Perfect

Part 10

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9

A/N: Sorry this took what feels like forever to update or even to post anything. I don’t know what happened but I really struggled to write this and get it done for y’all. I just hit a terrible block out of no where and I really tired my best to push through. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frustrated. Hopefully it has lifted now 😊Thank you so much for the understanding and patience. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy and as always thank you so much for reading! ❤️

*gifs not mine*

Warnings: Angst and Fluff

Exiting the car you headed towards the clubhouse to find EZ waiting just outside the gates. Angel sent him a text letting him know the two of you were on your way knowing his little brother would want to see you. Angel turned to you giving you a kiss on the cheek before walking past you, stopping to give EZ a quick hug and then heading further in to give the two of you some privacy.

“Hey,” EZ said meeting you the rest of the way and pulling you into a tight hug, “How are you doing?” He never got the chance to really check in with you last night understandingly after everything. Watching you come in with Angel helped ease some of his worry with the knowledge that you had not spent the night alone.

“I’ll be fine,” you replied. Not you were fine, but you’d be fine. “We talked almost everyday. Why didn’t you say something EZ? You should have told me.” You weren’t angry with him but you were a little hurt to know that he had known and had not mentioned a single thing to you. You were also upset with yourself for not catching that something was wrong, but then again you were also good at keeping things from those closest to you. Especially something so painful. Still you were family, it involved you just as much.

“Until we knew all the facts it was just too dangerous,” he tried to explain to you. He felt bad for not telling you sooner but he wouldn’t apologize for it. If he could go back he'd make the same decision to keep you in the dark. “You had a lot you were going through already (Y/N). I didn’t want to add to it.” He pulled you into another tight hug. “And I knew if I told you you would have come back. I wanted you back more than anything, but it had to be when you were ready, on your own terms.

“You knew I’d be back?” When you first left you had no intentions of coming back. You thought that would have been the last you’d seen of Santo Padre and the people who made it what it was, but then again you were angry and hurting.

“Santo Padre is just as much a part of you as you are it. It needs you, it’s your home.” EZ said grinning at you after pulling away from the embrace. You rolled your eyes at him trying to stifle a giggle. “Don’t look at me like that.” He chuckled.

“You’re such a cheeseball,” you teased playfully pushing his shoulder. “Now come on, I wanna see all the other guys.”

Angel was sitting atop the picnic table outside putting out his cigarette when he saw you and EZ headed his way. Hopping off the table he met the two of you following behind as you headed in the clubhouse, more than likely to say hello to all the guys before you went into the shop today.

You walked into the clubhouse sighing as the cool air touched your skin freeing you from the unbearable heat just outside. Your eyes adjusted to the room from being in the sunshine when you noticed Coco, Gilly and Matt sitting at the bar. You smiled to yourself not expecting to see your new friend so soon.

Angel however groaned to himself the minute he saw Matt sitting there next to Coco. What the hell was he doing here? He glanced over at you and his heart sunk at the smile you wore. He should be the one making you smile like that, not Matt.

Looking over at your entrance Matt grinned the moment he saw your beautiful face. He got up from his seat walking over your way, eyes only on you. Coco followed behind meeting the three of you in the middle of the room.

“Funny seeing you here,” you commented.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Matt said. For him it was like you were the only two people in the room. He had just been here discussing business but the moment you walked in the room the air around him became lighter and all of that went out the window.

“Yo, you two know each other?” Coco asked looking between the two of you and then to Angel who looked less than pleased to see Matt. Clearly Coco was missing something. He’d have to ask the Boy Scout about it later.

“Yeah,” Matt answered, still looking at you with that charming smile, “I met (Y/N) at Carniceria Reyes yesterday. She really helped a poor lost guy out.”

Now it was making more sense.

You smiled back. It was refreshing to run into Matt here. The conversation was a good distraction for you, helping to push the last hours to the back of your mind. “You two know each other?” You asked, pointing between him and Coco.

Angel sat back a bit with EZ, watching you intently as you talked. He couldn’t stand this and he was doing everything in his power to not say something he could possibly regret.

“Know each other?” Coco shook his head with a grin before slapping his hand down on Matt’s shoulder, “Asesino here is family, mi hermano, we served together. This man could take down a man with just his fuckin’ bare hands.” Coco boasted about his Marine buddy.

Angel felt as if he was being hit by a truck. Coco knew Matt, called him his fucking hermano. Angel was his hermano. He couldn’t possibly fathom how things could get any worse.

“Asesino?” You asked looking at Matt with your eyebrow raised. He just smiled modestly glancing down at the ground. You looked between the two thinking what are the odds. “Wow that’s so crazy. Small world.”

Angel was growing impatient, each word testing his resolve. Glaring in the direction of the three of yours exchange he muttered to himself, “Too fucking small.”

EZ heard the comment elbowing Angel swift and discreetly in the ribs shooting him a glare. Angel matched his look before turning back in your directions and swaggering his way over to the three of you. EZ tried to reach out and stop him but couldn’t without possibly making a scene.

“Angel,” he introduced himself with a smirk extending his hand out and interrupting the conversation. Standing straight he was a good four inches taller than Matt giving him that extra sense of confidence.

Matt took his hand, shaking it firmly, both men’s grips tight. He took Angel in, sizing him up. So this was the man who broke your heart, who broke your trust.“Angel,” he repeated back, “Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh I know who you are,” Angel stated cockily, “Matt." He made a point of ununciating the t at the end."I make it a point to know everyone who’s hanging around my family.”

The men’s hands were still connected. You could practically feel the tension growing thicker and thicker. Coco exchanged a glance with EZ trying to figure out what the next move should be as you sent your own pleading look back towards EZ. The last thing you wanted was Angel driving your new friend away.

The men eventually dropped their hands and it was like the three of you let out a breath in unison that you weren't even aware you had been holding. Angel stepped back taking a stance next to you with his thumbs hooked into his pockets sizing Matt up now.

“So what exactly is it that you’re here for Matt?” Angel interrogated him, “What drives a man like you to settle here in Santo Padre.”

You looked back at EZ once more pleading silently once more for him to intervene. He didn’t want to get in the middle but for you he would. Taking a deep breath he stepped up and next to Angel.

“I’m here for work.” Matt explained simply to Angel. He didn’t like the guy, mostly because of what you told him but he liked you, respected you so he would be civil. He knew what Angel was doing though, trying to mark you as his. From what he could see you were your own woman, you could make your own decisions and he fucked up. “Got a job across the border.”

“Well Santo Padre is glad to have you,” EZ smiled at Matt butting into the conversation, “EZ,” he extended his hand introducing himself with a quick handshake. “Now if you don’t mind I need my brother for a minute.”

“Not at all, he’s all yours.”

Angel glared at EZ as he pulled him away from the conversation without giving him a chance to resist.. Once outside EZ released his hold on his brother’s shoulder following him around the side of the building.

Angel spun around shoving his brother, “What the hell was that?”

“She doesn’t need this now,” EZ said calmly. Matt seemed like a decent enough man to him.

“Yeah? Well I don’t need that right now!” Angel snarled pointing back in the direction where they had just left you all alone with Matt. Well mostly alone with Matt besides the other guys but that didn’t matter.

“Hasn’t she suffered enough, Angel?”

“Fuck, not now EZ. I don’t need this shit right now,” Angel protested trying to spare himself from the inevitable lecture that would be coming his way. He’s already heard it so many times, given himself the same shit, and right now after dredging up all that shit this morning he was not in the mood to hear it again.

“I’m just saying. Haven’t you done enough damage?” He knew his brother was hurting too but he was the one who cheated on you not the other way around. You had every right to talk to Matt, to do whatever it was you wanted. As long as he brought a smile to your face after last night that was all EZ cared about, “I know you are hurting but if Matt can make her happy, why won’t you let her have that?”

“No, I don’t think you do know Ezekiel.” Angel snapped back at him, getting in his younger brother’s face.

“Then tell me! Because from what I can see it’s pretty fucking simple.” EZ barked back standing his ground, “You cheated on her Angel. You’re the one who broke her heart, who sabotaged your perfectly good relationship.”

“Fuck! We were both broken,” Angel exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He knew what he did was inexcusable but it kept getting harder and harder hearing the same shit from everyone. “Our relationship shattered the moment we lost the baby, not the affair!”

And there it was out in the open, the thing you had sworn to keep to yourselves.

“What?” EZ’s eyebrows furrowed trying to wrap his mind around the revelation as he looked at Angel’s broken expression.

Angel backed away from his brother running his hands through his hair. “She was pregnant. We were gonna have a family.” Angel explained, defeated. He hated the pitying look his brother wore, that was exactly one of the reasons it was kept a secret. “I was gonna be a fuckin’ dad EZ. We were so excited and then” he paused a moment, “then we lost it.” His voice broke.

“Shit Angel. I had no idea.” EZ’s heart broke for the two of you. He wished one of you had said something. It surprised him to know you had kept something so big and so painful to yourselves. He wished you would have let him in, let him be there for you. Although it was different circumstances he knew what it felt like to lose a baby.

“No one knew.” Angel mumbled, shaking his head. Leaning back against the side of the building he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his cut fiddling with the carton in his hands, “It was too painful, we wanted to keep it to ourselves. And shit EZ you had enough on your mind while you were inside.”

EZ stepped over to his brother taking a place beside him against the wall. “I wish you had said something but I understand why you didn’t.” He placed a hand on Angel’s shoulder giving it a squeeze, “You are going to be a great dad someday Angel, I know it.” He said, trying to bring him some comfort.

“Fuck,” Angel sighed bowing his head, “I only wanna be a fuckin’ dad to her kids.” Picking his head up he looked at his brother. EZ could see all the emotions trapped inside him through his brother’s eyes, the fight within him clear as day. “I love her EZ. I love her so fuckin’ much it drives me crazy, keeps me up at night.” Angel leaned his head back against the building looking to the sky now. Last night was the first good night sleep he had gotten and he knew he’d be going back to shitty nights filled with shittier thoughts. “I need her. I’m so lost without her. I can’t do this without her.” His eyes glassed over as he stared up at the big blue sky. Maybe if he stared long enough it’d pull him in granting him peace from his seemingly never ending suffering.

EZ looked at his brother. He wished there was something he could say to ease Angel’s pain but there was nothing he could do. All he could right now was just sit with him in it, to be there for him, and sometimes that's all you can do for someone. Even so he still felt terrible for the heartache his brother had gone through. The heartache you both had gone through and continued to go through.

—————————————————————————————————————

Coming into the carniceria had been a terrible idea, still you pushed through. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, from imagining what EZ must have seen that dreadful day. At least the shop was busy with customers coming in and out giving your mind the distraction it needed. Felipe told you to go ahead and close up early so you had just flipped the sign over in the door and locked it up. You were doing the last minute cleaning, the radio playing quietly in the background when a light tapping on the glass caught your attention. Looking over in the window you saw Matt standing there holding up a cup of coffee and a paper bag from Mr. Garcia’s with a smile on his face.

Setting the broom against the wall you dusted off your hands onto your jeans before unlocking the door and letting him inside.

“Hey, I hope it’s okay that I stopped by after closing,” he said stepping into the small shop. “I wanted to bring by a little something to thank you for yesterday.” He handed you the little brown bag first.

Smiling, you opened the bag pulling out your favorite kind of scone, maple and doing a little happy dance. You were starving. The only thing you had eaten was from this morning and you couldn’t wait to devour the delicious treat in record time. “Thank you. Maple’s my favorite. How’d you know?”

“Hector was kind enough to share with me your usual order,” he grinned. To him you were one of the most amazing people he had met. Your little dance warmed his heart and he was thankful he had met you. He could really use someone with your light in his life.

“Hector?” You repeated sitting down at the little table inside the building. Matt sat across from you setting your coffee down in front of you. “Mr. Garcia must really like you. He doesn’t let just anyone call him by his name.”

“What can I say? What’s there not to like?”

You rolled your eyes laughing before digging into the delicious scone, savoring the sweet taste in your mouth. If there was one thing you loved more than anything it was good food.

You ate your scone just chatting casually between the two of you. You tried to stay present you really did but everything kept slipping to the front of your mind stealing you from the moment and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“You okay?” Matt asked, his face scrunched in concern. You were still just as lively as ever but there was a hint of pain behind your eyes, of sadness.

“What?” You asked, caught off guard. You were very good at hiding your true feelings most of the time, you pride yourself on that. The only one who could really see through you was Angel with the exception of EZ a few times. Maybe you were just too rusty or maybe everything finally became too much. You felt vulnerable, as if he could see right through you and that made you a little uneasy. At the same time it was refreshing to not have to put up a front, to know that through all the pain you were going through it didn’t go unnoticed, to know that he truly cared. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you started to say out of habit before catching yourself. Letting out a sigh you held your hands in your face, “Fuck, no I’m not fine.”

Matt grabbed your hand gently bringing it down onto the table as he looked at you, “There’s nothing wrong with not being fine. It’s okay to not be okay, just don’t let it consume you. Sit in the pain and then work through it, but don’t let it take up permanent residence in your life.” He knew what it was like to be in a dark place, to let it take hold dragging you so far down that you couldn’t see an escape. He didn’t have anyone but he’d be damned if he let it happen to you. You were too special, too important to those around you in this town and he would hate to see the light diminish in you. “I won’t push you to talk about it but if you ever need a friendly ear, someone to talk to, well I’ve got two.” He gave you a crooked smile holding your hand tight.

You laughed half heartedly feeling more at ease, a weight being lifted just from admitting out loud to someone outside your tight circle that no you weren’t alright and to be told that there was nothing wrong with that. You were a bubbly personality, always going out of your way to make other’s lives a little better, a little happier. Sometimes you felt as if you got stuck in that role, that all you were good for was bringing other people up no matter how down you felt. That you were such a happy girl, so full of life, someone like you couldn’t possibly be sad, couldn’t possibly be holding in a darkness so heavy you felt you might shatter into a million pieces. It felt so good to finally let some of that out. “I appreciate that Matt, I really do. More than you may ever know,” you gave him a smile squeezing his hand, “But I can’t talk about it, not now at least.”

“Well, I will be here when or if you ever can. And I’m here for anything else at all that you may need.”

"Thank you," you said genuinely. Standing up you tossed the garbage into the bin behind the counter. "I got some stuff I need to get from Mel's hardware store before he closes. Would you like to walk with me?"

"Sure," he nodded, standing up and following you out the door, waiting as you checked to make sure the door was locked.

You wandered through the aisles of the small store looking for the parts you needed to change your locks, Matt trailing just behind you. He insisted he carry the basket for you so anytime you found what you needed he’d hold it up for you to place the items inside.

Getting to the check out you greeted Mel at the counter setting your things down in front of him.

“(Y/N)!” He exclaimed with a large smile, “How are you doing dear?”

“I’m good,” you smiled back, “How is your garden doing?” Mel had a greener thumb than anyone you had ever known. He used to let you come by and pick out anything you wanted and in return you’d cook him dinner or bake him a special treat out of some of it.

“Doing great,” he beamed. Not many people asked him about it and he loved your enthusiasm whenever you’d stop by. He missed you while you were away, just like everyone else in the small town. “You should stop by again soon. You can have anything you like, like always.” He said, sending you a wink.

You chuckled at the old man and his charm, “You know I’m going to have to take you up on that.”

“Good cause I’m getting a little thin,” he chuckled, “I’m gonna waste away without your good cooking to plump me up.”

“I’ll bring you something again real soon,” you said resting your hand gently on his arm, “I promise.”

He gave you a thankful smile before finishing up scanning your items, “Hey, you have a new place to yourself now, correct?” He asked you.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ve got something just for ya,” he said. Shuffling back into the storage room behind him he came back with a box setting it down in front of you, “We just got these in today. Living all alone you should have a little extra security.”

You gave him a smile after you looked at the box of the ring doorbell but didn’t think it was something you needed.“That really won’t be necessary.” You tried to protest.

Matt watched the exchange silently. He loved watching you as you interacted with the people around you.

“Plus I wouldn’t even know how to set it up,” you continued hoping that would satisfy the older gentlemen.

“I can do it for you. No problem at all,” Matt offered, speaking up behind you. It wasn’t his decision to make but he wasn’t a fool, he knew Santo Padre came with its many dangers. It couldn’t hurt to have just a little extra safety measures in place and he would gladly assist you with that.

You came to that conclusion yourself the more you thought about it. Before you never felt unsafe, you lived with a Mayan which made you a target in its own way but Angel would always protect you, you always felt safe with him. And with him being a part of the MC most people wouldn’t dare to try anything. But things were different now. Now you were connected to the cartel and Angel wouldn’t always be around. It couldn’t hurt to have a little extra security.

“He can do it for you,” Mel encouraged with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a grin playing at his lips. Mel never liked Angel mostly ever since he became a member of the Mayans MC. The club never sat well with him.

"Fine," you gave in shooting him a quick glare. "But that will be all for today, thank you."

Satisfied he smiled scanning your last item and setting it into the paper bag with the rest of your items.

Back at your home you watched as Matt set up the device outside your home. He had just finished changing the locks and was now installing your new doorbell for you. It was sweltering hot outside so he had shed his top layer leaving him in a tank top that showed off his well toned arms. You tried not to stare but that was proving a little difficult. Shaking your head you tried to clear your thoughts. Now was not the time. Walking over you leaned against the door jam arms crossed. "How's it going?"

Slipping the screwdriver out of his mouth he grinned glancing back at you. "Great. I think you'll like having this around."

"I'm warming up to the idea," you admitted. The sun was beginning to set outside as you realized just how late it was."It's not much but I have a frozen pizza in the freezer I can heat up." You said pointing back in the house. It was the last thing you personally wanted to eat but at the moment the last thing you felt like doing was cooking. "It is getting kind of late."

"Sounds great," he smiled. He wasn't a picky eater. His mama taught him just to be thankful for what he did have and to be respectful when he was a guest. You could make him anything and he’d be happy with it.

You turned to head back in to preheat the oven when he stopped you in your tracks.

"Before you go you can give me your phone? If you don't mind.” He added, “I can get the app and everything all set up for you."

"Yeah, that'd be a life saver." You unlocked the phone with your finger print before going into the settings and turning the lock feature off for now. You handed him your cell before slipping back inside. You had nothing to hide so there was no concern leaving your cell in the hands of another. And you trusted Matt. Also you sucked at technology. Angel used to always give you a bad time whenever you had to ask him how to accomplish a certain task on your cellphone teasing you how he should just buy you one of those phones advertised for the elderly.

Pulling the box out of the freezer you read the back setting it on the counter as you leaned down setting the temperature on your oven. You then pulled a couple of cold beers out of the fridge while you waited for the oven to ding. Opening the box you unwrapped the distasteful thing and set it onto your pizza pan. Your precious pan deserved better but there was no time for that now. You'd make it up to it another day.

Angel sat outside with the guys at the end of the day watching as the sun set. They all had a cigarette in hand and a beer nearby enjoying some time together before they all headed off for the night.

"So Matt's your hermano?" Angel questioned Coco sitting across from him with a raised eyebrow.

Coco rolled his eyes, "Come on fuck, don't tell me your fuckin' jealous of me and Matt." Coco shook his head flicking his cigarettes butt to the ground, "I get it with (Y/N) but damn man, get a fuckin' grip."

"I'm not fuckin' jealous," Angel lied, "I've just never heard you mention him before. If he’s your hermano like you said, shouldn't I have heard of him before now?”

Gilly snickered into his beer at his brother’s exchange. Jealousy was not a good color on Angel.

“Fuck man. Quit being a fuckin’ pussy. It’s not like I have to share every damn detail of my life with you. He’s my hermano and you're my hermano and that’s that.” Coco stated matter of factly.

“Ok, fine.” Angel grumbled. It was definitely not fine but maybe he could use this to his advantage. “So since you know this Matt so well, this Asesino” he mocked the nickname, “why don’t you tell me about him? There’s gotta be some dirt or something you got on Mr. Fucking Perfect.”

“Nah. Shit man I ain’t doing this,” Coco said standing up, “I’m not getting in the middle of this. He���s good people, Angel. That’s all I’m saying. Now I’m getting out of here. See ya fuckers tomorrow,” Coco called out, flipping Angel off as he walked away.

Of course he was. Angel couldn’t seem to catch a fucking break. All he could see was you slipping from his grasp for good. There was no way you’d choose him over Matt. He was losing you and he couldn’t bear to watch.

He was trying to not let it get to him, to step back and give you some space, especially after the shit they just dumped on you. He didn’t want to add on more pain again. Still he couldn’t stop worrying about you, wondering how you were holding up. Standing up he tossed his own cigarette down and pulled his phone out of his cut pulling up your contact.

He spent way too much deciding on what to say before he finally typed out: ’Hey, I know shit’s been tough so I thought I’d swing by and check on you, make sure you are doing alright’ before hitting send and slipping the device back into his cut.

Heading out himself, EZ jogged up behind him catching him at his bike. “Hey, you heading home?” He asked. With everything going on he didn’t know how good it was to leave his brother alone.

“Not yet,” Angel replied slipping his helmet on, “I’m gonna swing by (Y/N)’s place, to check in and make sure she’s okay.”

“Do you want some company? I can ride along.” EZ offered.

“I’m good, E. I should probably go alone, you know?” Angel said before swinging his leg over the bike. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He called out over the roar of the engine. Giving his brother a nod goodbye he walked his bike back before pulling out and down the road.

Your screen lit up as Matt was downloading the app for your new doorbell with a message from Angel. He wasn’t meaning to be snoopy but the message was right there before his face. He read it furrowing his eyebrows before swiping the notification off the screen and continuing on the task at hand. Angel didn’t exactly sit well with him but still it wasn’t exactly his business. From what he could tell today had been a tough one for you so where he didn’t delete the message or anything he also wasn’t going to tell you about it either in the hopes to spare you some. You seemed to be more relaxed tonight and he wanted to keep things that way.

Stepping out onto the deck with Matt he smiled up at you from his crouched position by the door.

You handed him one of the beers. He gave you a thanks before popping the top off and taking a long drink of the cold refreshment. “Pizza will be done soon. Are you almost done out here?”

“Yeah,” he answered nodding his head, “Just got to finish up a few things and then you’ll be all set.”

“Great,” you grinned fiddling with the label of the beer in your hand, “Thank you again. For everything.”

“Of course. Anything for you, (Y/N).” He loved saying your name and you had to admit it felt nice every time he did.

The oven dinged from inside your home and you took that as your cue to get the pizza out. Heading back inside you turned the volume of the music you had been playing up. The sound was competing with your noisy ac unit so it was a little louder than you usually liked it. Grabbing an oven mitt you pulled the door open and took the pan out. You then got to work cutting the pizza into evenly cut slices.

Matt heard the rumbling of the bike as Angel rolled down the street and suspected it might be him. Turning around to look in the direction he met eyes with him giving him a nod before shoving the screwdriver into his back pocket and heading in your front door.

Angel’s blood boiled when he saw Matt standing there outside your door. The little nod he gave him only pissed him off more. Clearly you didn’t need him, and that fucking hurt. Matt had only been in your life for one day and you already were choosing him. Angel sped up down the street needing to get out of there before he had the mind to turn back around and lay into the fucker. He knew you didn’t need that. It was taking everything in him to not fuck up any more.

He shouldn’t have done it but he did. Stopping at a stop sign he pulled out his phone sending a text he would surely regret later.

Matt felt your phone buzz in his pocket reminding him he still had it. You stepped out to the bathroom real quick and he was sitting at the small table in your kitchen waiting for you to eat. Pulling it out he looked at the screen reading the message.

‘I was over last night and now you got another mother fucker over?’

Shaking his head he listened to make sure you weren’t coming back yet before deleting the message entirely from your phone and then turning the screen off.

Once you were back he handed you back your phone, “We can test it out after we eat. I’ll show you how everything works.” He said.

You smiled feeling more at ease than earlier in the day. Matt was a nice guy and you had enjoyed spending the evening with him. Taking your phone you slipped it into your jeans before chomping down into the crips crust of the pizza. The two of you talked and joked enjoying the terrible food with good company.

For a moment you forgot about all the shit, all the pain, and were genuinely, truly happy.

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[laventadorn]

hold this for me

A/N: It’s FINALLY done!

Read on AO3

The cold was sharp and biting, the sky craggy with dark clouds. Harriet, bundled up in her heavy winter cloak, followed the trench Snape had crushed in the snow as he walked ahead. Snow powdered on the black cloak hem, crunched beneath his boots; her breath hung cloudy in the air. The world was silent except for those breathing sounds, the breaking of snow and the settling of branches in the dark mass of the forest ahead. 

Snape turned his head a little, one black eye peering over his shoulder, past strings of his hair. She smiled, reflexively. He whipped forward again, as if pretending he hadn’t been caught looking back at her. She saw the tip of his ear turn red and grinned. 

The plan she’d formed last night was already getting a good set-up.

Jogging a little, she closed the gap. He didn’t look around, but he shifted the basket on his arm. Since he didn’t register discomfort until something like his leg was about to fall off, she knew he wasn’t moving it to find a better position. This was a fidget. 

She hummed a little tune to herself, pleased. Snape let out a breath, like it was too much work to sigh. She grinned. 

“If we were here to find anything that required stealth,” he said, his voice curling in the air like fog, “you’d be making all our work useless.”

“You wouldn’t have brought me if you needed stealth. Although I can be perfectly sneaky.”

“Sneaky is not the same thing as circumspect,” he said dryly. 

“Well, we’re just here for plants anyway.” 

“Some plants require stealth in order to approach. Which you’d know, if you paid attention in Herbology,” he said, like the swot he was. This would be the sort of snotty grown-up observation that would completely kill the mood if Hermione didn’t also say the same things all the time (only more nicely). 

She rolled her eyes. “Gosh, how will my ego survive you trashing my Herbology marks?” 

They’d come to the edge of the forest, into the shadow of the trees, the forest gloom folding over them. 

“These are Frost Blooming Drops,” said Snape, still swotty. “They grow quite a distance inside the forest. If you get cold, you know what to do; you’re a witch.”

“I’m all set.” She patted her cloak pocket, where a jar of Hermione’s little bluebell flames warmed her ribs. 

“And don’t wander off. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason.”

“I’ll be clingy,” she promised. 

“Hm.” Snape’s gaze slanted along his gaunt cheekbones, then swept forward again. She smiled and followed him beneath the enfolding branches of the snow-crusted trees. 

The thing with Snape was, you had to filter everything through a translator. There was normal-person speech, which would express concern by asking “Are you warm enough?” However, Snape-speech was, “If you get cold, you’re a witch.” After all, if he didn’t care, he’d have waited until she was already freezing before saying anything. 

There was also this whole outing. Yesterday Snape had actually showed up at lunch, sat next to Slughorn (who was on Harriet’s left), and made noise about going into the Forbidden Forest to collect some rare seasonal flowers. It was a very long walk; the flowers weren’t even very useful, hardly seen in any potions you would use except twice every five years; pretty much a waste of time to bother collecting them. He’d go early so he could get there and back before dark. 

This was clearly an invitation. He wasn’t even the Potions professor this year, and Slughorn’s attitude had clearly wondered why anyone would be so mental. So Harriet had bundled up this morning after breakfast and loitered near the empty Quidditch Pitch until Snape turned up with a basket over his arm. His face passed through some interlocking expressions that she couldn’t decipher, but all he said was, “Walk behind me,” and crunched a path through the snow. This, too, was Snape-concern: if he made a path, she didn’t have to. 

The snow in the forest wasn’t as deep, so she could walk next to him. He kept fidgeting with his basket. She smiled to herself. 

It might work in her favor that he was twitchy about something. She’d come on this outing with one specific goal, and she might be able to get away with it if he was too distracted to see it coming. 

“So what potions do these flowers go into?”

“What do you think Frost Blooming Drops would be used for?” he retorted, which she interpreted as a desire to have a conversation. Good; it saved her the trouble of pestering him for one. 

“Minty fresh breath?” She smirked. 

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I should know better than to ask you Potions trivia.”

“Probably,” she said peaceably. Her middling marks seemed to genuinely irk him, although now that he was her Defense professor and she was his top student, he didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Sometimes he seemed downright helpless. 

“So, what do they do?” she asked again. 

“One of them does give you the power to expel frozen breath.”

She squinted. “You’re making that up.”

“Would I?” he asked blandly. 

Right, a double agent who never made things up; that was believable. “What would you need frozen breath for?”

“You tell me.”

“Mmm. It’s hot out, and you want a cold drink?”

“Yes, for a wizard it would be far more sensible to mix a potion to cool the breath than to simply conjure ice.”

She grinned. “Which is why I’m saying you made it up.”

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to trap me into admitting anything,” he said, affecting boredom. She knew it was fake because he was picking at a sticking-out bit of weave on his basket with a split fingernail. 

She pointed a mittened finger at him. “So you do admit something.”

There was a glint in his eye, but his voice was still bland and his expression smooth. “I speak generally.”

“Yeah, sure. C’mon, don’t you want me to learn something about Potions for real?”

He gave her a look: I-know-what’s-in-your-head-and-it-most-certainly-isn’t-Potions. “If I thought it wouldn’t go in one ear and out the other, perhaps I’d give it a shot.”

She shrugged, smiled, and spread her hands in their mittens. He only rolled his eyes again. 

They crunched along for a bit without speaking. Harriet watched his hand fiddling with the edge of his basket and thought about her plan. She’d mapped it out last night. All she had to do was find the right moment. . . She’d say, “Here, hold this for me,” and he’d say some variation of, “Why do I have to hold something for you? Aren’t you a witch?” but he’d put his hand out anyway, and then she’d--

“Harriet!”

“Huh?” She looked around, because he wasn’t next to her anymore.

“What did I say?” He was glaring her way, one foot below the edge of the path, apparently ready to climb down something. “What did I say about wandering off?”

“Right, right, my bad.” She crunched over to him. The tops of his cheekbones were pink, for some reason. Maybe it was the cold. 

She peered down the slope, where a little side trail made of rocks descended along a narrow trench, beside a gentle stream of black water. “We’re going down there, then?”

“Watch your footing.” He stressed every word. “These rocks are icy.” 

He shot a spell at the rocks to crack the ice, but even without the ice, the rocks were still wet, and she did have to watch her step. At the bottom, where a little trail wound into the snowy gloom beside the stream, he put his wand away. 

His glare was still giving off little sparks, like a log settling in the fireplace, so she put on her best contrite air and decided she should wait till he cooled off a little before she tried. . . anything. 

She hadn’t actually been in a snowy forest before, despite living on the borders of one most of the year for the past six years. Her previous jaunts into the Forbidden Forest had been during autumn and spring, but it was. . . different now. It was almost completely silent, and the silence seemed to have a weight, almost like being underwater. She felt almost like speaking would be wrong, as if she’d entered a temple that called for silence. 

The light faded the deeper they went, the shadows gaining depth, as if they were in an old photograph. 

Sometimes she thought she heard voices in the distance, whispers or laughter or broken pieces of song. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason, Snape had said. She wanted to shiver for a different reason than the cold. 

She cleared her throat quietly. “I’ve been in here before, obviously.”

“Really?” Snape said with diamond-grade sarcasm, but his voice, like hers, was soft. 

She rolled her eyes, one corner of her mouth pulling up. “But it never felt like this before.”

“It’s affected by time of year. Much of what lives in the forest is either hibernating or gone, and this close to the winter solstice, there is more. . . activity among the non-living and the magical. In your first year’s detention” -- he gave her a look that said he wouldn’t forget about that little lark if he lived eight hundred years -- “you didn’t go this deep.”

She nodded and lapsed back into silence. 

In the crisp, aching silence, a voice somewhere in the murky shadows began singing again. She couldn’t decide if the song was happy or sad. She didn’t think the words were English. They lifted and fell, fading in and out of hearing. Trying to catch the tune, she hummed along. 

“What are you singing?” Snape asked, almost idly. 

“Dunno. Whatever it is they’re singing.”

Snape stopped walking. His cloak swung against her legs and his basket bumped her upper arm. “Whatever who is singing?” 

“Uh. . .” She looked around. They were the only people nearby -- she hoped? Or did she definitely not? Would it look too chicken to edge closer to him? The non-living and the magical, he’d said. “I. . . don’t really know.”

Snape’s gaze bore into her. “I repeat: do not wander off.” He even reached out and plucked at her cloak, drawing her to walk right next to him. 

Oh, this was the perfect time. All she had to do was calm down the jumping beans that had suddenly rented a trampoline in her gut. 

It’s easy, she told herself. Just pull off your mitten -- he’s not even wearing gloves, cuz he’s too cool for the cold or something -- and say, “Hey, can you hold this for me?”

She tugged at her right mitten. Her left mitten slipped on the woolly rounded edge. Why hadn’t she bloody worn gloves? 

“Hey,” she said, clearing her stupid throat, which was wanting to stick shut for some stupid reason, “would you--”

“Look,” he said, weirdly close to her ear. His arm crossed in front of her, almost brushing her nose. The black wool had a smell like woodsmoke and wintergreen. Standing almost right up against him, she could see the individual strands of his eyelashes.  

??? said her brain. 

Snape sighed through his nose. “Over there.” He tapped her shoulder and pointed -- oh, that’s what he’d been doing. 

She looked to the left and let out a soft oh. 

Floating through the air were little blue fires, in a loose formation almost like a flock of birds. Not just floating, but drifting in the same direction she and Snape had been walking, at about head height. Against the dark trunks of the trees and the snow in the foliage above and on the ground below, they were like a constellation under construction. She’d never seen anything like it, and she felt a deep urge, almost like she’d swallowed it, to step off the path and follow them. 

“What are they?” she asked in a low voice. 

“Little ghosts. Not fully formed, like the ones at Hogwarts -- more like impressions.”

This would be a really good time to grab his hand. She wanted something to hold onto. But she was afraid that if she moved, she’d go running after the little ghost fires. As if Snape would let her, but she’d look really stupid. 

She swallowed, trying to hold very still, like that could dissolve the lump of yearning that had settled into her core. “Why do I want to go after them?” 

“They’re lures.” Snape put a hand on her shoulder, as if holding her in place. “We’ll wait for them to pass.”

“Lures?” Jesus, was her back sweating? He was voluntarily touching her shoulder and she was trying so hard not to go running off after ghost fires that she couldn’t even properly appreciate it. 

“The Forbidden Forest has its share of gateways that the living should never pass through.”

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. 

They watched the ghost fires bob through the tree trunks, fading as they passed into thicker shadows. When the light of the last one winked out, Snape dropped his hand from her shoulder. He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it in.

“This is why I told you not to go wandering off.” He brushed a hand down the front of his cloak, another nervous gesture; the black fabric was pristine. His hand shook a little, and there was a dent between his eyebrows. “Not many people would have been able to keep from following them.”

Harriet’s jostled brain processed this. That was another compliment, wasn’t it? She clenched her hand in its mitten -- Hey, hold this for me -- just say it, dammit, and take his hand, his hand had been shaking --

“Hey, uh.” She cleared her throat, which felt two sizes too big. “Would you hold this. . . ?”

“Hm?” He bloody seemed to have been thinking about something else. 

“What?” He focused on her the hazy look in his eye fading. 

All her courage deflated. She wanted to smack herself between the eyes, or maybe even him. It turned out that having him distracted was not good for the plan. 

“Nothing,” she muttered, and tugged her mitten back on.

“Then come along.” He shooed her lightly and started walking.

Blowing out an explosive breath that ruffled her fringe, she trudged forward.

“You didn’t follow them,” she said after a bit. 

“Hmm,” Snape said again. “No.”

“You said not many would’ve been able to, but it was really hard for me. You seemed fine, though.”

“You exerted control without assistance,” he said dismissively, as if the compliment didn’t matter. “They had little effect on me. They’re more interested in. . .” His mouth twisted, the glint in his eye sardonic. “The young.”

She didn’t think he’d appreciate any commentary on that, so she asked instead, “How young is young?” 

“Past twenty, their powers considerably diminish.”

“What, are kids, like. . . Happy Meals to them?”

“Mm,” Snape said, bland again. “So you see, you had more to contend with.”

He turned his attention forward again. Harriet supposed she’d let him, since he seemed to be watching for more creepy things that could lure them away to make snacks out of them, and so she could smile like a dope without him noticing. Well, hopefully. 

“We haven’t run into any centaurs,” she said once she’d gotten her face under control. “I thought they didn’t like people coming into their territory.”

“They don’t. But this isn’t their territory. They live farther to the east. We’re headed southwest.” 

“Huh. I ran into them both times I came in here before, though.”

“In your first year, Firenze was out of bounds, deliberately. As for last year, Miss Granger knew exactly where she was going.”

Harriet had to be proud of Hermione. Trust her not only to come up with the idea to lure Umbridge into centaur territory but to actually know where to find it. Harriet had thought they just roamed the forest at will. 

“Here,” said Snape, stopping, his cloak brushing against her leg. He was pointing at a black rock that towered over them on the side of the path. 

“. . . a rock?” Harriet said. 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Follow me.”

Then he stepped down the embankment and disappeared into the bloody rock!

Harriet jumped off the path, slid on the icy ground, saw the rock rushing at her face, and threw out her hands to brace her fall. Only instead of the rock, she plowed straight into Snape. Not expecting her to suddenly hurtle at him, he was knocked off his feet; they tumbled to the ground. 

“What in God’s name was that?!” he snapped. But he was patting at her shoulders, as if checking for injuries. “Did a random ghost suddenly possess you?”

“. . . I thought the rock ate you,” she said sheepishly. There were some twigs in his hair where his head had struck the ground; wincing, she reached up and pulled one out. “Sorry, sorry.”

His face did something that was difficult to interpret even for her. She’d have called it flustered if he didn’t look so disgusted, or disgusted if his eyes hadn’t looked so wide and helpless. He snatched his hands back and twisted his face away, patting the ground for his basket, like it might have gone invisible and he could only find it by touch. She found the basket behind her and silently offered it in apology. 

“Thought the rock ate me,” he said, his voice sounding funny. When he saw her holding the basket in his periphery, he snatched it out of her hands and started turning it over a bit -- well, a bit crazily. 

“You just disappeared. What was I supposed to do?” She looked up at the rock walls rising above them, black and slick with ice, and the little path between the two. “It was an illusion?”

“Less than you’re thinking. The angle of the rocks makes the path invisible.” He got to his feet, brushing ineffectually at his cloak, leaving a muddy handprint that he didn’t even seem to notice. “This way.”

There was still forest detritus stuck in his hair. Harriet figured she’d mention it later. 

No more disasters befell them as they came out the other side of the rocks. They’d come to the edge of a slight clearing in the forest, where the ground sloped down toward a massive tree, ancient, even the lowest of its towering branches soaring above the younger trees around it. All up its trunk sprouted piercing white blossoms, glimmering in the icy air like a cascade of pearls, and broken petals lay scattered across the frost-tipped earth, shimmering in the wintry light.

“Damn,” she whispered, her breath fogging the air.

Snape gave a delicate snort. Harriet’s mouth twitched. “I see why you wanted to come here.”

“For Potions?” He gave her an ironic look, but his long fingers flexed on his basket. 

She smiled. “Obviously.” 

“We can’t use the petals on the ground,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him down the slope. “Well, you could, if you wanted to make perfumed sachets. But for potions, we need to pick the blossoms fresh.”

Harriet wasn’t the perfumed sachets type, but she thought Asteria might like some. Curious, she knelt and scooped up a handful of shimmering white blossoms. Their scent was sweet and light and somehow icy. 

“Do you have--” She stopped and caught the bag Snape had tossed over. “Thanks,” she said, smiling, and scooped a couple handfuls of flowers in. If she had to take off her mitten to achieve greater accuracy, well, that was just taking advantage of an opportunity. 

It felt sort of sacreligious to crush the fallen blossoms underfoot, but they lay in such a thick carpet that she didn’t have a choice. She crunched over to Snape’s position by the tree -- its roots were taller than he was -- where he was peeling the petals off the flowers twined in vines around the trunk. His long fingers moved delicately, without ripping the velvety blossoms. Her bare (very cold) hand wanted to reach up and fold over his. Too bad it would look so dumb right now. 

“The best ones would be those up there,” he said, tilting his head all the way back to look up at the flowers clustered beneath the tree’s lowest branches. “But neither of us is quite tall enough.”

“We could’ve brought a broom,” she said, though surely he’d have thought of that. 

“Inadvisable within the forest bounds. Don’t even think about it,” he added darkly. 

“I wouldn’t.” Honestly, she wasn’t a danger addict. Hermione called it a ‘saving-people thing.’ Maybe it was, but just going into the Forbidden Forest for some flowers, by herself, was a bit much. Not only did the place rank high on the Creep-o-Meter, but too many people would flip out if she did. 

“Good,” he said, like one would wield a knife. 

She looked up the trunk, then reached out and tugged one of the hanging vines. It was sturdy wood. “I could climb up this.”

“You’re not climbing over a hundred feet off the ground.” She could just see the ‘Why did I think it was okay to bring Harriet freaking Potter into a danger zone’ zipping through his head. 

“Not that high. Pretty sure my arms would give out. Just a bit further up.”

“No,” he said firmly. 

“C’mon, just, like, six feet.”

“No.”

“I have muscles!”

“I don’t -- from what?” He switched tracks in the middle, looking confused.  

“I do chin-ups in the Room of Requirement. And I’ve got a punching bag.” Her biceps and triceps weren’t bad, actually. She could deadlift Asteria no problem. 

Snape seemed to be thinking about something else. When she reached out to grab the vine, he came back to life and plucked it out of her hands, looking flustered. “You’re not climbing anywhere. Stay on the ground. Right there.”

“It’s just climbing a damn tree, it’s hardly more dangerous than being in the forest in the first place.”

He pressed his lips together, looking steamed because he knew she was right. Not that he ever let a little thing like a reasonable argument sway him. 

She jumped up and grabbed the tree root over her head. 

“Harriet!”

“It’s fine!” She hoisted herself up and then swung her legs around until she was straddling the root. Below, Snape was fluffed up like an angry owl; he had his wand out, as if preparing to keep her from pancaking on the ground. “C’mon, Quidditch is more dangerous than this.”

“And I’m so happy you play it!”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” She scooted over so she could reach out and pick the blossoms. “How were you doing this?”

“For starters, I was standing on the ground!” 

“And you’re really good at it, too,” she said kindly. He replied with an angry owl noise. “Taking the petals but not the stem, right?”

He chuntered under his breath while she gently extracted a petal and held it cupped it her bare hand. “Gimme the basket, ey?”

“I’ll give you a. . .” she heard him mutter, but he floated it up. He probably wanted to yank her off the branch but had realized this would defeat the purpose of protecting her from a  fall and was reduced to hovering beneath the root and puffing out little swears that floated up to her as she worked. 

“All right, that’s enough,” he said after maybe two minutes of this, which showed, for him, laudable restraint. “Come down.”

“Fine, okay.” She’d carried her point, at least. She handed the basket to him and then prepared to swing down.

She was dangling from the root for a second, gauging the distance to the ground, when something brushed at her legs. Startled, she kicked out with her foot, heard a grunt and then a light thud. 

“Ah shit--” she said as she realized what had happened, and staggered when she hit the ground, falling onto her rear.

Snape was sitting sprawled out in his cloak, knocked for a second time to the ground, a very exfoliating glare knifing past his messy hair. The petals had spilled out of his basket. 

“Sorry! Did you -- try to grab my legs?” 

There were bright spots of color on his high cheekbones; Snape did not blush prettily. She wanted to pat his face. “I thought you weren’t sure how to get down!” He tried to brush his hair out of his face, straighten his cloak, and right his basket at the same time, and just ended up worse off than before. 

Harriet found this behavior both cute and worrying, and silently helped him scoop the petals back into the basket. She hoped they weren’t ruined but didn’t dare to ask. When he got to his feet and stalked around the root to get to more petals, she followed and hovered without speaking, just watching him. 

It occurred to her, finally, that if Snape was distracted, there must be a reason. He wasn’t a spacey person, and around her, his focus was normally laser-searing. And suddenly, the strangeness of him inviting her into the deadly Forbidden Forest, when he regularly fretted at her even getting up on a broom, begged to be noted. 

She’d almost think he was an imposter, if it weren’t impossible for anyone to act as precisely peculiar as he did. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly. 

He stilled, staring at the tree, nothing of him moving. Strands of hair hung around his ear, which was bare to the cold and a little red. His profile, always forbidding, was harsh and remote, but she thought for a moment that something like sadness flickered in his eye before he turned his face away. 

“What about our lives right now is easy?” he asked after a long moment. He extracted another flower from the vine, delicately, as if maneuvering fine glass. 

“Something’s bothering you,” she said, as slowly as he was picking the white petals off the tree. “Is that why you asked me out -- here?”

She’d almost said asked me out but realized just in time that this would make him clam up from embarrassment. If Hermione ever found out about this strange limbo of affection between them, she’d have a stroke and then report Snape to Dumbledore; but the truth was that Snape was more skittish than a cloistered maiden. There was a reason Harriet had spent all of last night and today plotting just to hold his hand for two seconds.  

Snape paused with a petal in his fingers on the way to the basket, and then dropped it and lifted his hand to the next one. 

“I merely thought. . .” he said, still delicate, and Harriet was almost amused that they were having this conversation in slow motion. “That time. . . doesn’t wait. For any of us.”

She frowned. “What’s that mean? Wait.” She took a step closer, trying to peer up into his face, but he turned away as if very interested in a patch of petals to his left. “Is something going to happen soon? What’s going to happen?”

“It’s merely a general observation,” Snape said tightly, picking up his flower-picking pace, his shoulders tight like a shield. 

Bullshit. “Is this about you taking the Defense position? Is something going to happen to you?”

“Who knows what will happen?” he asked stiffly. “I’m done.” 

He spun, a little clumsily, having retreated quite close to another root to hide, and ducked underneath it to stride off. “Come along,” he threw over his shoulder, and picked up his pace when she jogged after him. She broke into a run, knowing he wouldn’t do the same even to get away, and caught up. 

“Then why are you acting weird?” 

“I am a weird person,” he said waspishly, walking faster with his damn long legs. Well, she didn’t have a lot of dignity, so she skipped to keep up. His face flickered with something that may have been amusement or dismay. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re being a pest, that’s what’s going on.”

“If you told me,” she said, unperturbed, “I wouldn’t have to pester you.”

They were about to get to the rock path, which wouldn’t be wide enough for her to follow beside him. He was about to speed up --

Fine. 

She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Severus,” she said.

He froze at the touch of her hand, and then calcified at the sound of his name. The clearing was silent, the forest dormant and indifferent. 

“If you’re in danger,” she said quietly, “I want to know.”

Snape’s hair fell in his face, and he stood as if any movement was too much to bear.

“Who is safe right now?” His voice was barely louder than the silence. “The two of us. . . are in possibly the most dangerous positions in our world. I’m a double agent, and you’re. . .”

“Public enemy number one?”

His hand shifted slightly in hers as he inhaled, as if he was taking a fortifying breath, or sighing. 

“My tasks. . . are my burden to bear. Literally. It’s -- ” She imagined his mouth twisting, though his face was still turned away. “My job.” 

She was quiet, processing this. She knew better than to think she could force him to tell her what was really going on. Getting any admission out of him, even one as simple as There’s something going on but you’re not going to know what it is, was a lot. “I hate your job,” she said at last.

“Really? I love it. It’s almost as enjoyable as grading.”

She smiled, though she didn’t feel like laughing. 

“Come.” Snape took a tiny step forward, as if testing that he wasn’t going to break apart if he moved. “We’ve been out in this cold long enough.”

Gently, Harriet pressed on his hand, keeping hold of it. He could easily pull free if he wanted, but she tried to convey that she didn’t want him to. 

At the pressure of her hand, he went still again, but only for a moment. When he started walking, he left his hand in hers, his fingers slightly curled around her palm

For now, that was enough.

[lyranova]

A Fractured Diamond

Episode 3: The Dungeon

——

Hi guys~! So i’m sorry I haven’t posted this chapter in a while 😅, but here it is! I also want to quickly apologize that this one sucks and not much happens in it, i’ll try and make the next one better 💕! Also, i changed the episode numbers a bit lol!

Word Count: 1,784

Warnings: Mild Violence, Mild Swearing

It’s been a couple of months since Captain Vangeance forced Neva to work in a group, and surprisingly, she found her team was starting to grow on her. Even Klaus was, although he would still annoy her sometimes. But she learned to either brush it off or ignore it completely, the one thing she hadn’t been able to brush off though; was her Captain's off behavior.

He was gone more often than he was here, which wasn’t too unusual seeing as how he was a Captain. But still, it wasn’t normal; not for him. Anytime Neva went to go see him and ask him if everything was alright, he’d smile his usual smile, pat her on the head, and tell her she worried too much. It was annoying. She tried to keep track of his movements as discreetly as she could but she wasn’t good enough to outsmart him, he always sensed her mana. No matter how hard she tried.

Neva had to admit she was somewhat surprised he had decided to send her and the others to check out this new Dungeon that appeared on the border of the Clover and Diamond kingdom. She had figured the Captain would send Langris or Alecdora to come check it out, but instead he decided to send them. Although she wouldn’t complain, it was a way for their little squad to show everyone what they were made of. She stretched as they landed at Dungeon sight.

“ So what’s the plan?” Mimosa asked as she herself stretched as well, Yuno and Klaus both seemed to be trying to come up with some sort of idea.

“ Mimosa, don’t you have a spell that allows you to see the layout of a building?” Klaus asked her, she nodded and quickly cast the spell. They all gathered around her to look.

“ It looks like we’re directly above it.” Yuno muttered, Neva nodded in agreement before frowning a bit.

“ What are these two dots Mimosa?” She asked as she pointed, there were two bright dots that were almost directly underneath where the group stood. They didn’t appear to be moving, so what exactly was it?

“ Oh! Those are people, so that must mean we’re not the only ones to be sent out here to investigate.” Mimosa said, all of their faces turned serious. It was either another Magic Knight squad, or it was the Diamond Kingdom. Yuno looked around before speaking.

“ This will probably be the best way in. Klaus, you can use your steel magic and drill a hole into the ground for us to go through,” Yuno turned toward him before turning to Neva. “ you can make a diamond platform for us to stand on while I use my wind magic to help us descend safely.” Yuno added, Neva couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on her face. He was a natural born leader. He raised an eyebrow.

“ What’s with that look?” He asked in his usual monotone voice, Neva shook her head before pulling out her grimoire.

“ Nothing.” She told him, Yuno sighed and shook his head in response before Klaus drilled a hole into the ground, Neva made her platform for them to stand on, and Yuno used his wind magic to lift them up and gently lower them into the dungeon.

“ Be on guard. We don’t know what we’re walking into.” Klaus warned, the others nodded in agreement. For all they know, they could be walking into a small army of Diamond Kingdom soldiers, and that would not be good.

—————-

What the small squad found was not what they were expecting; a young blonde haired boy and a silver haired girl were currently caught in what appeared to be a trap. A plant trap to be exact. Before Neva could send a diamond spell its way Yuno had used his wind magic to cut it down. After the group had landed the blonde hair boy came running up to them.

“ Hey Yuno.” He greeted Yuno cheerfully, when Neva looked at his face her eyes widened in surprise. He had a smirk on his face but his eyes held a fondness in them. Did they know each other?

“ Hey Asta.” He greeted. Neva had to admit she was a little surprised, she had thought he was like her; a loner. But surprise surprise he seemed to have a close friend, but then again, so did she. She looked the two teens up and down, her eyes settling on their robes. They were Black Bulls, her eyes narrowed slightly; why would the Wizard King send out another squad to investigate the dungeon? Whatever rested in this dungeon, must be very valuable if they were sending out two magic knight squads here to recover it. She heard Klaus sigh and turned to look ‘Oh great, here we go.’

“ Yuno, what was your reason for saving these two?” He asked irritatedly, Neva’s eyebrows raised; why wouldn’t they try to save them?! Apparently what Klaus had insinuated hit a nerve with Asta and he confronted him about it. Neva shook her head and couldn't stop the sigh that escaped her, it looked like they would be a while. She then turned her attention to the young woman with silver hair, wait, silver hair...Neva’s eyes narrowed and noticed she had two cross earrings. ‘No way, this girl is a Silva?!’ Neva thought in shock, shouldn’t she be a part of the Silver Eagles like the rest of her siblings.

“ Hi Noelle, it’s good to see you!” Mimosa said cheerfully, Noelle seemed to look shocked as she turned toward Mimosa.

“ Oh, Hi Mimosa. I’m surprised to see you here.” The girl, Noelle, said as she crossed her arms. Mimosa giggled.

“ As am I. I didn’t think they had sent out another squad to investigate.” She told her. Neva looked next to her and noticed Yuno was doing the same as her; watching the others interact. Apparently they both wanted to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

This, as Neva called it, small pissing contest went on for at least five minutes.

“ How about we race?! Whoever makes it to the center of the dungeon first is the winner!” Asta suddenly shouted, Klaus smirked before pushing up his glasses.

“ Fine! Challenge accepted! Mimosa scan the area, Yuno create a vessel for us to ride in, and Neva create a barrier to protect us from any traps or attacks!” Klaus ordered, the others simply nodded before doing as they were asked.

“ It was nice to meet you Asta, Noelle, see you guys at the center!” Neva shouted as Yuno’s wind current raised them higher, she saw a smirk on Asta’s face.

“ Not if we see you there first!” He shouted after them, Neva had to admit, even though she hadn’t interacted much with the two Black Bulls, they seemed to be an alright pair.

—————

As the Golden Dawn traveled a little ways Klaus decided it would be a good time to belittle the Black Bulls. Again. Neva rolled her eyes, ‘Doesn’t he ever get tired of putting others down just to make himself seem better?’ Neva thought with an annoyed sigh. This was part of the reason she hadn’t wanted to be on the same squad as him, she hated stuck up nobles and how they always wanted to be holier than thou. She watched Yuno turn to look at Klaus.

“ Don’t underestimate Asta. He’s one of the strongest people I know.” Yuno defended his friend, Klaus’s face turned a slight shade of pink before he went silent. ‘Finally.’ Neva thought with a satisfied smirk on her face.

After a few more minutes of traveling, Neva was beginning to get bored. The silence was gnawing at her and she needed someone to break it. So that’s exactly what she did.

“ How do you and Asta know each other, Yuno?” She asked, she noticed Yuno turn slightly to look at her and shrug.

“ We grew up together at the same orphanage.” He told her simply, Neva nodded slightly in understanding.

“ So, he’s like your brother?” She asked curiously, they sure acted like it even though she had only seen them interact for a couple of minutes at the most. She could tell they cared for each other. He looked contemplative for a moment before nodding.

“ I guess you could say that.” He agreed, Neva went to say something else before Mimosa spoke.

“ We’re almost there, it should be right up ahead!” She shouted and the others nodded before they came upon a giant door that led to the center of the dungeon.

“ Are you sure this is it Mimosa?” Klaus asked as he turned toward her, once she nodded in confirmation they turned back to the door.

“ So...how do we open it?” Neva asked, there didn’t seem to be a lock nor did there appear to be a mechanism to trigger that would open it.

“ Maybe it goes on magic power?” Mimosa suggested, the others half shrugged and half nodded, it would make sense; you had to have a certain level of mana in order to open it. That’s all they really had to go on at this point so it was worth a shot.

“ Yuno, try and hit it with one of your spells and see if that works.” Klaus ordered, Yuno sighed but began to cast a spell when, suddenly, Mimosa gasped in surprise.

Neva turned to her side and her eyes widened in fear, Mimosa was surrounded by what appeared to be diamond, her clothes ribbed, cuts appearing on her body.

“ Mimosa!” They all shouted in unison, Neva quickly pulled out her grimoire.

“ Diamond Creation magic: Diamond Shell!” She shouted before a huge dome made of diamond appeared around the golden dawn members. ‘Dammit! Where are they? I don’t see anyone!’ She thought as she gritted her teeth, her eyes scanning the area around them for their opponent, Klaus and Yuno doing the same.

Neva turned to look at Mimosa, ‘That...that looks like my magic! But somethings different about it, it’s made differently...which means..’ She trailed off, no, it couldn’t be...a soldier from the Diamond Kingdom?!

“ Show yourself!” Klaus shouted, suddenly a young man appeared from the shadows, casually, as though he had all the time in the world. Instantly all the members of the Golden Dawn tensed up, he was strong if his mana was anything to go by. This was going to be one hell of a fight.

“ Get out of my way.”

———-

Again I apologize this chapter sucks, I was reading on this arc again and I didn’t want to copy it word for word so that’s why it’s kinda choppy I’m sorry 😅! I probably should’ve just skipped this arc, but anyway I’m sorry again and I hope you guys enjoyed it I’ll make the next chapter better I promise I hope you all have a good day💕~!

[sunflowersseemhappy]

[Fluff] Morga X Mc hunting trip...where they cuddle by the fire?

So fortunately this was already a work in progress that I almost abandoned, probably the quickest fic I’ve done for a while but it’s bordering on angst as well as fluff. I hope you like @the-chaos-siblings! :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN and here is my Masterlist!

---

This hunting trip had not gone as planned, that was all you were sure about, everything else? Not so much. You weren’t sure how long you and Morga had trekked through the forest checking snares, or if the sounds of the forest were just small critters hiding in the bush or something much more dangerous. Neither were you certain the fire would keep such dangers away but right now you’re not even sure if Morga wants to talk to you ever again.

Your uncertainties began an hour or two ago...

“Could you be... any louder?” Morga’s voice comes out as a hushed grumble as she ducks under the branch ahead, noiseless and smooth. You are less so; as twigs snap beneath your feet and you fight against the onslaught of grabbing branches and tickly leaves. Birdsong is loud in your ears and you watch as a robin cheeps down at you from above, so caught up in it’s song you forget the branch ahead.

“Why would I- ow!” Your head makes a thudding sound as you walk into the branch. “Who put that there?!” Rubbing at your forehead, you notice Morga has turned to look at you. Seeing the ghost of a smirk on her thin lips you smile, embarrassed flush rushing to your cheeks. But as soon as you see the look its gone, closing her silvery eyes and taking a deep breath Morga takes a moment to survey the surroundings.

“We’ll make camp soon, there’s a river down this hill, we’ll camp there.” Her careful gaze scorches over you, almost as if she’s looking for your approval. It’s nice, she’s been getting better at communicating with you, looking to you for opinions. Not that she needs it, you know, she’s a seasoned huntress. She knows what she’s doing, but you nod all the same. “Good, seeing as the snares are empty we might have to improvise some-”

Morga’s head snaps to look rightwards, further up the hill the cry of an eagle sounds. Jæger. You hadn’t heard from the bird in sometime, usually that was a good thing that meant there was no danger in sight. Even on the rare occasion you would hear his cry it usually meant there was a stag or something equally good to hunt. But this call, reverberating in your eardrum’s was a sign of something else something lurking in the forest.

“Morga?” The woman puts out a steadying hand to hush you, you fall into silence as Morga places herself before you. Her head swivelling around to look out into the trees, you mimic her. Knowing full well whatever was out there would see the both of you long before either of you saw it. Taking a steady breath you push back the surge of adrenaline, Morga had always said it was bad for survival to rely on adrenaline. But your legs are already turning to jelly, heart racing, taking in quick breaths.

The forest had always felt so sheltered, but now it was sheltering another, you were no longer safe.

That’s when the snake appeared, not a normal snake by any account. This one was the length of ten men and had a body as wide as the trunks of the ancient oaks around you, black and shimmery scales catching the evening glare of the sun. It’s eyes were equally as black, pits of ebony sitting in its head. Usually you quite liked snakes, but the fact that this one was eyeing you for its evening meal was not giving you much reason to like it.

“Morga,” your warning tone causes the woman to glance back at you, seeing the obvious fear in your eyes. She knows it, you know it and the snake knows it. There’s no outrunning the creature. Too much muscle ripples under the scales, it glides so smoothly over the leaf litter, languid and unhurried. “What do we do?”

“I’ll keep it from you,” Morga answers steadily, “run to the river and follow it’s path, there will be a village...” You startle, both at the at the end of the sentence and the fact that she want’s you to leave her. Before you can answer the snake strikes, leaping forward with such startling speed that if it were not for Morga’s hand tugging you by the wrist you’d be snake-chow.

Yelping you fall into the leaves, almost instantly regaining your feet you watch as Morga brandishes her spear in the snake’s direction. She shouts something at you before she charges, but you bearly catch it over the hiss of the snake. Not expecting it’s food to fight back, however striking out at Morga in it’s irritability. The strike misses by centimetres, the flash of Morga’s spear and the crack as it snaps down onto the skull of the snake makes you wince.

She’s twirling and dodging the snake as it slides around her, striking at given chances and hissing as Morga lands blows to it’s body. You’re caught up in a trance, unable to do anything, let alone run to the river. But then it happens, the snake’s blunt head flashing forward and ramming Morga in the chest. The hunter looks shocked as she is flung to the side, winded and grimacing on the ground as the snake advances.

“No!” On autopilot you scrabble forward, Morga only a few metres from your place. Bearing down on you the snake hisses triumphantly as you pick Morga up, wrenching her arm over your shoulder as she growls at you.

“I told you to run,” she says, tone desperate as she tries to stand to her feet.

“That’s not a lesson I remember learning.” You snap, facing down the snake, this time it’s mouth opens to swallow you both as it leaps.

You can’t fight, nor run, not with Morga winded and injured around your shoulders. Magic? Terrified nothing comes to mind as the fangs stretch out to tear into you. Your heel teeters behind you, the hill! It drops down and you hope its rushing water you can hear at the bottom and not the snake’s fierce hiss. Wrapping Morga up in a protective hug you take an intake of breath and let yourself fall...

The hissing of the giant snake is instantly cut short. Afterwards you were vaguely aware of how your hand cradled Morga’s skull, rolling down the hill and bashing into trees. Sharp rocks sticking you in the side and leaves whipping your skin like cat-o-nine-tails. You’re pretty sure you screamed as you hurtled down the hill, it probably wasn’t Morga. But you heard her own grunts of pain, until you didn’t. When you felt yourself float through the air and then crash down into water.

Swept against rocks and the banks with closed eyes and a prayer to someone, anyone that you would live as water closed over your head. That Morga would live, as the river swept you away. It seemed those prayers were answered.

You shivered as you built the fire and stripped off your clothes, it was warmer without them. Morga mimicked you, but said nothing as you built the biggest fire you could. You had found her spear, snapped in two by the fall, amazed it hadn’t impaled one or both of you. Well you would be amazed that you survived, but Morga wasn’t talking to you and that definitely down played the amazement.

At some point Jæger arrived, the big bird of prey surveying the two of you from the trees. It seemed even the bird could sense the uncomfortable tension in the silence, but at the very least he had not given you any indication that the snake had followed you down the hill and the river.

You were no longer sure about what to do, but you did know one thing. Morga had broken her leg, it was swelling too much to be anything else. Maybe that’s why she was mad, you had pushed the both of you down that hill. Each injury; the cut on your forehead, the ribs you are sure you broke, the gash along Morga’s arm, the broken leg, not to mention all the little cuts and bruises...

Were all your fault.

After setting her leg in deathly silence, minus the hisses of pain from Morga’s clenched teeth, you kept a safe distance between the two of you. Hugging your knees as you sidled up to the fire and Morga glared over her broken spear, you could only focus on how cold you were. All other thoughts were guilt, sadness and fear.

“Why didn’t you do as I told you?” Morga’s tone is even as she speaks, at first you’re confused. She doesn’t look at you as she says it, but when you stay silent she glances up at you. Taken aback you lower your hands from your knees and place them in the leaf litter, crunching them nervously between your hands.

“I... I don’t know...”

“Don’t lie to me Y/N,” Morga’s tone sounds borderline threatening, but it softens when she sees your shoulders tense up. “You should have done as I told you to, you were in danger. You needed to run.” She puts a particular stress on ‘needed’, but it sounds like she wishes she had begged you to run, not just ordered you to.

“You were in danger too and I needed to save you more than I needed to save myself. You’re not invincible, much as you’d like to think that.” You can see Morga open her mouth to comment but she closes her mouth before any words come out, grumbling to herself. If she was able to move she’d probably give you one of those taps at the back of your head, her way of saying ‘I hate you but you’re right.’

“I... know.” Morga states, she goes no further into the conversation, but suddenly a great weight has lifted between you. Now much more comfortable you stand stiffly and limp over to Morga, pain painted across your face at the aches, cuts and bruises pretty much everywhere. You settle beside her, leaning into her shoulder, the tenseness in them melts quickly as the two of you get comfortable beside each other in the leaf litter.

Evening droning on you stretch out next to each other, crickets chirps sending you to sleep, Morga’s arms warp around you. One arm cradling your skull from the floor and the other draped over your mid-section, you do the same for her. Bodies pressed flush together, skin touching skin you shiver despite the warmth of the fire as you tangle your legs up in her unbroken one.

Morga’s hand is already tugging through your hair, undoing the knots and riding it of the twigs and leaves, the feeling of her fingers against your scalp is heavenly as you bury into the crook of her neck. Gentle kisses from your chapped lips grazing over her skin, collarbone and shoulder tenderly loved as you press kisses to the cuts and bruises.

“I’m not going to run away when you need me Morga, never.” You whisper, etching circles against her skin with your fingernails. “I’d face millions of giant snakes and more before I ever do that...”

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” Morga sighs tenderly, pulling back from your praise on her neck and watching as your eyes wind back up to look into hers. She tilts her head forward to nuzzle her face against yours, forehead resting gingerly against yours.

“I learned from the best.” You giggle giving her a lopsided grin, Morga actually chuckles under her breath knowingly, eyes fluttering. She’s usually last to fall asleep, but... God’s knows she needs it, you think hugging her closer as her breathing shallows. Morga stirs slightly, searching for your lips with closed eyes, not one to miss out on a kiss you bring your lips to meet hers.

The kiss melting so slowly as Morga falls into sleep, you break away and plant another lingering kiss on her cheek, then snuggle back into her neck. No longer afraid or unsure, just content in the fact that the two of you are in this together.