#anyway it’s actually about him growing up too fucking fast and being frankly terrified of it

[gethsemanegege]

I think about this moment constantly.

[navegandoaciegas]

Hay(wire)

Kinktober 1/31 : quickie, face fucking, facial.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected vaginal sex, sex in a barn, oral sex, facial, set after the events of CA:TWS.

Yeah, I actually did it 💀

A/N: day 1 of @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge + Kinktober.

Bucky despises you.

He loathes how his heart rate picks up whenever he sees you, or how the pit in his stomach grows larger when he doesn't. He can’t stand the way the other farmers talk about you and look at you, but mostly he hates how you bite your lips and clench your thighs when he catches you staring, the tangy scent that floods his senses when he’s close to you, and how you never question why an American veteran would be picking hayballs in the Romanian countryside.

He hates your kindness, the way you hang onto his every word when he describes the night sky, your stained hands and the flowers you weave in your hair, your nipples showing through your white t-shirts, his blood draining from his brain and shooting straight to his cock just looking at you.

You bring out the beast, the soldat lingering inside some recess in his mind, the side of him that wants to own you, and ruin you for everyone else.

You bother him, talking and being nice. Smiling. Cracking jokes. Eating your lunch with him when the other boys are too afraid to approach him. Filling the silence with your stories while he munches on buni’s sarmalele and merely grunts in acknowledgement. Bringing him water when he sweats buckets under the sweltering sun. Shamelessly flirting like you find him attractive.

As if a pretty girl like you could ever want him, he thinks, with the stench of horse shit clinging to his skin and oozing out of his pores.

He scoffs at himself, and stacks another hayball, willing himself to forget all about you.

-

You know he hears your steps on the cobblestones before you enter the barn where he’s stacking hay in neat piles, like he always does before going to bed.

“You can continue this tomorrow, I’m sure buni won’t mind if you take a break.” you quip, closing the door and leaning on the wooden stall.

You eye his tanned skin, reddened by the scorching August sun, the strain on his sweaty long sleeved t-shirt that clings to his bulging biceps, the outline of his back muscles as his chest heaves.

There’s something animalistic about him, something that makes your stomach churn and your pussy tingle. When his t-shirt trails up, you can’t help but observe the hard planes of his abs and the coarse, black hair that trail them.

“I’m doing what she pays me for, and so should you.”

He dismisses you with a curt nod as he keeps lifting the hay and stacking it away for the winter.

By that time, you’ll both be long gone, so you might as well make the most of what you have.

“I’m done picking plums, if you must know.” you state, an unimpressed look making its way on your face. “You work twelve hours everyday, and you won’t drink her țuică or smoke the cigarettes she gives the other boys.” you say, approaching him slowly until you’re standing in front of him, so close you can see the darkness in his eyes and smell his pungent sweat, “She worries about you, you know.”

Your eyes stray from his, traveling down to his plump lips. He swallows thickly and inhales a sharp breath.

“I worry too.” you continue, stalking closer.

His manly, musky scent is intoxicating, and you feel short of breath, heat and slick pooling in your panties.

“Always working, never having any fun. Life must be very lonely for you.”

There’s static energy, or maybe magic, between you two.

“My life’s just fine.”

He’s gruff as always, but you hear his voice waver when his eyes drop to your own lips, and he finds them parted, and so inviting.

You shrug, feeling your skin crawl with anticipation, want, need. “I know, I’m just saying, I could make it less… lonely.”

You see him cave. You know he wants you, and he’s never exactly subtle about it. But when your hand reaches for his left arm, the spell shatters, the air gets sucked out of the little barn, and the growl that he lets out terrifies you and excites you at the same time.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” he snarls, snatching his arm away from you. He looms over you, rage burning behind his steel blue eyes. “Or-”

He interrupts himself, taking a step back and restraining whatever wild instinct is clouding his judgement. The veins on his neck swell up, and the smirk on your lips and your tangy smell only add to his irritation.

You know you shouldn’t prod. You know he could crack your skull in half without breaking a sweat.

But you’ve also seen him bathed in spring’s pollen, cooing at newborn chicks and patting their feathers, whispering soft words in a language you don’t speak. You’ve seen him kissed by the summer’s sunrise, leaning his head on uică Dan’s horse while petting his mane, and humming to mătușă Ana’s cow while milking her.

You’ve seen him sneak outside your room every morning for the past two months to leave wildflowers on your doorstep, and you know he’s the one who carries you to your bed when you fall asleep on the deck chairs outside, after stargazing together for hours, and pecks a lingering kiss on your forehead, whispering to you, his sweet girl, to sleep tight.

So no, you’re not afraid, and very turned on.

“Or what, big guy? What are you going to do?”

Jaw clenched, fists so tight his knuckles are white, nostrils flared. He closes his eyes, heaves a heavy sigh and mutters a ‘fuck that’ under his breath, and in a blur he’s on you.

But he’s not hitting you, no.

Just like you predicted, he goes haywire, feral, his mouth is on yours, his tongue prods your lips, his hands roam everywhere, tangling your hair and kneading the flesh of your ass.

He bites your bottom lip, and you taste metal on your tongue. A moan escapes you when one of his thick thighs comes between your own, and your core rubs against the rough material of his jeans.

“Took you long enough.” you tease him when he allows you to catch your breath.

He’s sweaty, rough, his clothes soiled by the ground he spends his days working on, and you find that you don’t care, that you want him to dirty you and ruin you in this barn, with hay poking your skin and cicadas screaming outside.

You’re staring at each other, panting, eyes swallowed by darkness.

He doesn’t answer, never speaks much anyways. He’s on you again, his hand on your throat, and it doesn’t hurt but it’s tight enough to make its threatening presence known.

Your walls flutter around nothing.

The other hand, splayed on your back, guides you as you grind yourself on his thigh. It’s been two months of sexual tension, and it’s about to explode.

You reach for his t-shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours, but he stops you, and the look in his eyes, hard yet pleading, is enough to make the protest die in your throat.

Your own shirt is discarded, maybe shred to pieces. His touch is bruising and desperate as he explores your body like it’s his last day on Earth.

He nips and sucks your skin, surely leaving dark marks behind, rolling and pinching your nipples between his fingers, swirling his tongue around them until you’re pushing him off of you.

“I need you.” you moan, shrieking when his teeth bite down on your shoulder.

Pain is a bucket of cold water on your burning skin, a contrast to the pleasure he brings you, and yet it doesn’t diminish it, but amplify it until his teeth on your flesh are all you want.

He lets himself fall on the hay, dragging you down with him. It irks you, pokes you, and quite frankly, it doesn’t smell like roses.

But it will do.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and hastly drags them down to your knees, not even bothering to get rid of them.

When he pulls on your hair and spins you around, it’s not romantic. When he forces you face down, ass up, it’s not pretty. When he spits on his hand and roughly shoves two fingers inside you, making you wince, it’s not soft and caring.

“I’ll take care of you later, need to be inside you now, doll. I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you.” he murmurs.

You hear him fumble with his belt as he keeps rubbing your clit and pumping his calloused fingers in and out of you. “It’s been so long.” he adds, as an afterthought, while he strokes his cock and gets himself ready for you.

The hay scratches your cheeks, and you feel his intense presence as he kneels behind you, ready to take you like an animal in heat.

“Please.” you whine, wiggling your hips and brushing against him, “I need you to fuck me now, James.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and lines himself up with your entrance, teasing your folds and smearing your arousal on his tip. You feel him prod your tight hole and you brace yourself for the pain, but when he breaches you, your walls stretch perfectly around him, accomodating him, and all you feel is a dull burn that soon gives way to pleasure.

Moaning at the fullness of his heavy weight inside you, you try to bounce on him, but his hands on your hips halt your movement. He's as rough as you expected him to be, and the coil in your core is unbearable.

“Fuck, you’re so damn tight.” he groans, picking up a faster pace, slamming in and out of you. “Made for me, so good.”

He pulls on your hair, and the pain shoots straight to your cunt, making your walls clench on him.

Arching your back you meet his harsh thrusts, feeling his cock hitting that spot inside you, the one that makes the pressure build impossibly fast every time he bumps against it.

It’s all too much and not enough, and when he tugs on your hair again, your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You don’t feel the hay scratching you anymore.

“Fuck me harder.” you plead with tears streaming down your face, revelling in the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy and the slapping ones of his balls hitting your folds.

He never talks, and he won’t start now, you realize. You don’t care though, because all you can think about is his other hand snaking between your legs and furiously rubbing circles around your swollen clit.

You mewl when he snaps his hips and his tip hits your cervix. “I wanna hear those sweet noises pretty girl, wanna hear you fall apart on my cock, only for me.”

He brings you high, and higher, and the pressure grows more and more, until the knot unravels.

“Cum on my cock, fuck, cum all over me sweet girl. I missed this so much.”

When the dam breaks, you feel months of sexual tension release, and the tight coil inside your belly snaps. Your limbs jerk as a hot surge of electricity assails you, and you gush all over his cock, feeling your pussy constrict him in a vice.

He rides your aftershock, pummeling inside you while icy cold claws your every nerve ending. You’re drooling out of your mouth as a man you barely know brutally fucks you like a beast, but in the hazy state you’re in, you couldn’t care any less.

“I’m close.” he gnarls, tightening the hold on your hips, “Where can I-?

“On my face.” You turn and peek over your shoulder just in time to see the shock in his eyes. “I like it that way.” And I’m not on birth control.

When his thrusts become sloppier and his breathing erratic, he pulls out of you and stands. You turn around on your knees and face his thick cock, half wondering how he could make it fit inside your cunt.

“Open those pretty lips of yours babydoll, I want to fuck your mouth too.”

You comply, parting your lips. He shoves himself inside you, clutching your hair and neck as he fucks your mouth relentlessly, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

You can’t breathe anymore, but he keeps going, moving your head along his length. You taste him on your mouth, heady and salty, feeling every vein and ridge of him.

You look up, and seeing him all disheveled, hair sticking out everywhere and red faced, lights the fire in your pussy again.

Your hand finds its way between your folds while he holds you down until your nose rubs against the coarse hair on his pubic bones and his balls slap against your chin.

Quickly, he slides out of you, and pumps his cock once, twice. He cums on your face with a moan, painting your lips, cheeks and the tip of your nose with his white hot spurt.

When you open your eyes again, you find him staring at you already, with the most expressive look you’ve ever seen him wear and something akin to a smile dancing on his lips.

“God, doll. I didn’t even know I could do that.” he confesses, all doe eyed. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, babygirl. I’m gonna keep fucking that tight pussy of yours all summer.”

You let out a giggle when he hoists you over his shoulder and the hay that’s stuck to your clothes flies everywhere.

“Gonna fuck you until you’re sore, until you’re sobbing and you beg me to stop. Fill you up over and over again. Make this pussy all mine. No more other farm boys, you hear me?”

He keeps his word that night, and you keep yours all August long, and you know neither of you want this summer to ever end.

—-

Day 1 of Kintober done. Join my taglist if you want to be tagged in more :) (link on my blog)

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[thephantomporg84]

Okay so in DMC5 Nero is pretty significantly older than Dante and Vergil in DMC3,right? Why does he still feel so much younger than them? Like DMC3 is like “oh damn! These powerful demon idiots are going to get us all killed! They’re so cool and badass!” And with Nero it is like “this is baby boy. Must protect. He is my son now.”

Okay so in DMC5 Nero is pretty significantly older than Dante and Vergil in DMC3,right?

Yup! Nero is ~19 in DMC4 and ~25 in DMC5. For comparison, the twins are ~19 in DMC3, ~38 in DMC4, and ~44 in DMC5.

Why does he still feel so much younger than them? Like DMC3 is like “oh damn! These powerful demon idiots are going to get us all killed! They’re so cool and badass!” And with Nero it is like “this is baby boy. Must protect. He is my son now.”

Good question! Lol. This is almost pure personal opinion and interpretation, but from my experiences playing through the series:

Both D&V and Nero had bad life experiences growing up, with the twins objectively having the more violent and terrifying events happen to them. However, Dante and Vergil are half-demon, and Nero is only a quarter. We’re automatically gonna relate to Nero more, in the long run and for the most part, because he appeals to us on a more human level. He still has what are essentially superpowers, but it’s nothing in comparison to his father and uncle, IMO.

[Not a perfect comparison, but it’s kind of why people relate to/enjoy characters like Batman and Iron Man despite them being billionaire/genius/celebrity types in comparison to, say, Superman or Captain America/Marvel, etc. They have abilities but in comparison to other characters they are very much mortal and not essentially gods walking the Earth. I actually do feel similarly about Nero and Spider-Man though, funnily enough. Incredible abilities but got dealt an absolute shit starting hand in life, good at heart, the works. Tugs on your heartstrings. Anyway, lol.]

With the gods thing, though — Dante and Vergil basically are gods, in a way, by the end of DMC5. Nero acts as the audience surrogate at the end of the game, because he’s annoyed at these two fucking idiots he’s related to and we’re annoyed for him.

The twins are, in general, more confident than Nero. Dante and Vergil know who and what they are and what bloodline they descended from. They are also aware they are not just the children of some random demon. They might not like it (in Dante’s case) or even reject what they don’t like (Vergil with his human half), but they are aware of their abilities and the power they can wield, and learn very quickly if they don’t. Nero, by contrast, grew up not knowing either parent and is left on an orphanage doorstep — something that can and does happen in real life. He is, at face value when we meet him, just some nobody. He knows nothing about himself other than he is not normal (something he gets a lot of shit for, if memory of Deadly Fortune serves). He’s told his mother is a prostitute (which I also think he gets shit for), and he has no way of refuting it. In short, feelings of abandonment and not belonging are common and it’s easy to attach them to Nero.

That said, there’s just something just... inherently tragic about a child growing up as an orphan in a place that worships his grandfather, and yet he has no idea.

I can’t imagine how absolutely scared out of his mind he had to be when his arm is injured and becomes the Devil Bringer. Like. There’s not even a dumbass Dante wacky woohoo-ing around town at this point to maybe answer some of his questions or at least tell him it’s okay. It’s just him and the creepy cult surrounding him that, quite frankly, probably wouldn’t mind making him a lab specimen at any given point. It’s hard not to feel at least a twinge of sympathy at that. Fortuna just feels oppressive to me, and.. yeah...

By comparison, Vergil and Dante did get a few years of happiness, before it all went to shit. They knew a mother and a father. Nero didn’t. And while he did have Kyrie’s family, who he seemed to care a lot about, it’s still not his family. He is still an outsider.

Dante and Vergil’s tragedy is both unknown and known to us. We know what happened the night Eva died, but we don’t know where Sparda went. We don’t know a whole lot about what happened in between then and the DMC3 mangas aside from a sprinkling of details here and there — we just know they made it. I’m not saying they didn’t have a struggle doing so, but it’s also easier to accept just at face value.

Nero, on the other hand: started life on an orphanage doorstep with no mother or father to speak of, ended up being a a glorified child soldier, and keeps getting lied to left and right — even by the people that are supposed to love him the most. We can piece together a story for Nero with little bits of information we get more than the twins, and it doesn’t make for a pretty picture. In short: we know more, but not everything, and it’s just enough to paint a depressing image for a really young Nero.

Dante and Vergil’s conflict is largely with each other and their differing morality and belief sets. Nero, however, has no real conflict aside with Dante at the start of DMC4 and Vergil at the end of DMC5, for obvious reasons. He just wants to be a part of something and be accepted. Have a family. He seems to want a lot of very traditional, simple things in his life.

Dante and Vergil themselves, just existing, make Nero more sympathetic as a character. It’s hard to relate to the twins as a whole because their conflict is so ridiculous by the end of DMC5. It gets to a point where you just want them to knock it the fuck off and get over themselves, no matter how much you like them, and focus on Nero. Be an uncle and father because he’s still young and he still needs them. Dante’s kept the secret for way too long and Vergil is just repeating the cycle of his father, and Nero just...doesn’t deserve that.

And finally, on that note of breaking the cycle: Vergil follows in the footsteps of Sparda, and ends up leaving his child — one he didn’t even know about or even consider he might have — practically for the wolves (The Order) and it goes about as well for Nero as you’d expect. However, Nero breaks that cycle. Despite everything he’s been through, and having to grow up fast just like the twins, Nero breaks the cycle of abandonment and shoulders the burden of 3 more orphans that he’s got no obligation toward so they don’t have to go through some of the same things he did. And so, in that way, he surpasses a father he’s never known at being a father. He even breaks the cycle of abandonment Dante has gone through, and stays in contact/looks up to him despite Dante’s arms length approach to Nero. And I think that speaks volumes about Nero’s character and really just increases that need to see him protected and loved.

[let-it-raines]

Rising from the Ashes (6/?)

Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: And now it’s time for everyone’s least favorite story :D I kid, but I know that some of you will be thinking it until I get finished with a certain plot line in here. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

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He wakes to a warm body wrapped around his.

A warm body and ice cold feet.

Emma.

When his eyes open, he can see her arms wrapped around his middle, the mess of her golden hair spread out over his body and down her back. He can see a few tangles in it from her not brushing it out before bed last night, and if he didn’t know that it would wake her up, he’d run his fingers through her hair to help untangle them. She really needs a brush, but he can usually accomplish a lot with his fingers.

In more ways than one.

That is absolutely the last thing he should be thinking about, even with Emma’s leg pressing down on his thigh, right near his groin. He’s got…on any other morning he’d nudge her awake, gently trail his fingers down her back like she enjoys and softly brush his lips across her face. When it comes to Emma, even though she can enjoy the roughness of love making on occasion, in the mornings, she needs gentle. She needs to be woken softly, whispered words in her ear and gentle pushes on her shoulders instead of blaring alarms and screaming children.

He knows that it’s been awhile since she’s been able to wake up like that. Ada had just started sleeping through the night when their world was flipped upside down.

It’s why he can’t move now. He can’t wake her. He doesn’t know the last time she got a full night’s sleep. She’s been restless, tossing and turning for most of the night, and when she’s not in bed, he knows she’s in Ada’s room pacing back and forth or sitting in the rocking chair while scrolling through her phone, gently singing to their little girl. He feels her get out of bed every time, the mattress lifting the slightest bit before the door squeaks open. He’s always a second too late to call out to her, but the alert goes off on his phone that there’s movement in the nursery and he can see Emma moving around even if Ada’s fast asleep.

He’s at a loss for words for what to do, for how to help. He knows that she thinks that’s he’s been closed off to her lately, and he has been, but she’s doing the exact same thing. He’d bet she doesn’t realize she’s doing it too. She’s not talking to him when he tries to talk to her. It’s almost like she’s cutting him off before he can do that to her. Actually, he knows that’s what she’s doing. He knows Emma, he knows how she works, and he knows that they haven’t been them for the past seven weeks.

There are glimpses of normalcy, moments where they’re laughing in the living room, his stomach hurting from the consistent movement, or when they’re reading to Ada either in the mornings or at night. Sometimes even when they’re trying to get Henry to do his homework or to comb his hair for school. That’s normal to him. That’s been his life for years, and even when he feels like pulling his hair out, that’s what he loves.

That’s who he loves.

But things will likely never go back to normal for them, and they’re going to have to create a new normal. And while he’s not necessarily happy about it for himself, he is for everyone else.

He’d be a horrible human being if he wasn’t.

And it’s why he lets Emma sleep even if she’s making his arm fall asleep, the sharp pinpricks moving across his skin. He’s uncomfortable, but she isn’t. That’s what’s important to him anyways.

Gently, he reaches over for his phone on the bedside table, turning off the alarm for seven he has on Saturdays and thumbing through his messages. They’d been up late last night trying to explain to Neal one final time why they weren’t okay having Henry on TV for the interview today, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to reply to any of his messages. They’d talked about it nearly every night since Neal apparently told Henry he could be on TV when Emma had taken them out to ice cream last week, and after they made the final decision, obviously Henry had been furious at he and Emma.

Frankly, it fucking sucked, but being a parent isn’t always fun. You have to break your kid’s heart a lot, but it’s because you’re trying to do what’s best for them.

Trying being the key word. Most of the time he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. A lot of the time it’s more terrifying with Henry because he’s older, he understands more, and he does have such a wide range of emotions already that it’s difficult to know how to nurture him the best way. Ada, despite the fact that she takes up far more of their time just by nature of being a baby, well, she’s much easier. She’s terrifying and small and he’s constantly worried about her wiggling out of his arms and falling to the floor, but they’re not currently having to teach her all of the rights and wrongs of the world as well as the fact that sometimes things are neither right nor wrong. Instead they’re in a gray area, and they have to make a judgmental call.

A hell of a lot of times, his judgment calls are not the best.

Right now parenting Henry is the hardest, if only because he now leads a life that’s complicated even for Killian and Emma to understand. A lot of kids grow up with a father and a step-father. He did, and he hated it. Mostly, though, he hated that his dad left and his step-father was an undeniable asshole to his mum before she died, but not every family is like that. He knows several that are great that way, better even than before, but none of them have ever been quite in the same scenario as they are.

There’s not exactly a support group for how to handle someone coming back from the dead.

He’s trying to make sure Henry isn’t screwed up for life because of this, trying to make it a good thing because it is a good thing. It’s simply difficult to try to balance the suddenness of a new (old) family member.

And as awful as it is, he’s simply thankful that his baby girl is never going to remember any of this. She won’t have to go through all of these changes with them. She’ll simply be.

Liam: Emailed you the plans for Christmas. Belle suggested we come see you guys this year instead of you all coming to see us.

Liam: Figured we’d stay in a hotel, though, since the guest room is taken.

Liam: How are things?

He pulls up his email, deleting the junk until he sees where Liam sent him a provisionary itinerary. His brother is the only man he knows who makes plans to make plans. Seriously, why the hell does he have suggested plane routes and dates as well as possible hotels in here? He could have just told Killian they were coming and booked the flights. And they could always spend the night on the pullout couch in his study, but he’s sure they’d rather have a private room and a comfortable bed if they’re staying for a week.

Killian: Yeah, it’s best that you guys come to us. I don’t think we’d make the flight with everything, especially not knowing how Ada will do on the plane. Hopefully we get back to London in the summer.

Killian: Things are okay. Not great, not awful. It’s definitely not the best time of my life, but I’m trying.

Killian: I wish you were here. I need someone to talk to in person, and Rob can only listen for so long before he drowns me out.

Liam: So when you say things are okay, you mean they’re not good?

Killian: Aye.

Liam: Have you talked to Emma?

Killian: She’s a little preoccupied with things.

Liam: Please tell me she hasn’t gone back to that bastard. I will fly to you guys right now if she has.

Killian: That’s her husband. Sort of. Technically ex. I’ve got no bloody clue anymore.

Liam: Please, you are more a husband to her than he ever was.

Killian: That’s also one of my best mates.

Liam: I know you think that, but he’s always been an asshole. Happy he’s alive and everything for your boy, but I never understood what the two of you saw in him.

Killian: Well, I’m thinking Emma and I didn’t see the same things.

Liam: At least you can joke about it.

He’s about to text Liam back that all he can really do to help him cope with things is make awful jokes about it all, but then Emma’s stirring on top of him, and he feels her lips press against his collarbone. His eyes immediately shut, the pleasure that spot brings to him immediately making his cock twitch, and it’s not long before she’s trailing her lips up his neck while her body moves further over his.

“Good morning,” she whispers against his jaw before pushing herself up and brushing her lips against the corner of his.

He shouldn’t tilt his head to move his lips completely over hers, but he does, capturing Emma’s mouth with his and hearing her make the smallest noise, something between a gasp and a moan. It’s exactly what has him rolling them over so that he’s caging her in while his hips press down on hers and his mouth expertly moves over hers so that he can feel the soft warmth of her lips and continuously make those sounds of hers escape her.

It’s been far too long since they’ve done this, far too long since he allowed himself to do this, and he’s somehow forgotten how intoxicating Emma is. How could he have forgotten? He should have never forgotten. She moves against him in a way that she knows he enjoys, just as he does with her. There’s a certain comfort in being with someone for so long, in knowing that they like having their upper lip teased, in knowing that they have a particularly sensitive spot just below the ear that makes them elicit every curse word known to man in what has to be the most sensual and attractive whisper that he’s ever heard, and in knowing that while you know exactly how to please each other, you can also make each other laugh in the middle of it all.

Emma’s hands move across his shoulders until they’re tracing down his back and finding their way under his shirt. Her skin is warm against his, almost like it’s burning, and as her nails trace his spine, moving closer to his ass, he has to take a moment to stop his lips from the way they’re gliding over Emma’s just so he can try to catch his breath.

He feels Emma nudge him, and he flips over onto his back, a pillow falling to the floor with the movement, but that’s absolutely the last thing on his mind as he watches Emma take off her t-shirt, the skin on her stomach and her breasts exposed to him. She’s so bloody beautiful, gorgeous really, and he can’t stop looking at her, running his tongue over his bottom lip while she tucks her hair behind her ears and flips it over her shoulders.

“You’re stunning, love,” he whispers, knowing that his voice is hoarse, that his words come out broken.

Blush rises to Emma’s cheeks as she straddles his lap, sitting right where he’s absolutely straining for her. “Thank you. I’m still worried about my stomach but – ”

“Hey,” he sighs, reaching up and cupping her cheek with one hand, bringing her down so he can softly brush his lips over hers while his thumb ghosts over a nipple, feeling it hardening the slightest bit, “that is not something you ever have to worry about, yeah? You have brought life into this world, twice, and I will never not think you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She nods before dipping her head and trailing her lips across his jaw, and he flips them over again, laughing at Emma’s squeal as he takes his shirt off so his skin can be connected to hers. It’s glorious feeling as her breasts brush against the hair on his chest, and he never wants it to stop, not when he’s so desperately clinging to her.

So it’s pretty much no surprise when their bedroom door swings open, and he immediately has to cover their bodies with the comforter, quickly handing Emma his shirt so she can put it on while under the covers.

“What are you guys doing?” Henry asks them, his hair sticking up in several directions as he stands in the doorway, still clad in his Ninja Turtle pajamas.

“Cuddling, buddy,” he lies, lifting the comforter and his body a bit so Emma can more easily get his shirt on, her curses only reaching his ears. “What are you doing awake?”

“I’m hungry.” “Fix yourself some cereal, kid,” Emma tells him, casually sitting up in bed and pulling her hair up, which hides the mussed hair but exposes the beard burn on her chin. “And what happened to knocking? Aren’t we supposed to be working on that?”

“Yeah, but it’s Saturday. We always have big breakfast on Saturday, and I’m hungry.” “This is true, love,” he tells Emma, taking several deep breaths to try to calm himself down. He’s going to need to take a cold shower to do that. His entire body is humming. “Henry, why don’t you go downstairs and watch some TV? I’m going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll come down and cook, okay?”

“Okay,” Henry grumbles, immediately turning around and walking out the door, slamming it closed.

“He’s in a mood,” Emma laughs, turning to him and moving to kiss him, her hand reaching down to grab his length from under his pajama pants, causing him to hiss in both pleasure and frustration at the heat of her touch on the hardness of his skin.

“W-what are you doing?”

“You’ve got to get the flag at full staff before you can salute it,” she teases, doubling her efforts, and he almost succumbs to her touch, but he can’t.

He knows that he could kiss her again, that he should kiss her again and let them fall into ecstasy like they have so many times before, but seeing Henry reminded him of Neal…and he just…he can’t. The guilt has been consuming him lately, and he simply can’t. Not right now.

He’s in love with a woman who should be in love with someone else, who should have never fallen in love with him in the first place, and it’s absolutely killing him.

-/-

-/-

“K-Killian, stop,” she giggles, twisting and turning in bed while he moves his fingers against her stomach. “You’re so dumb. Why do you do this?”

“Because you hate it.”

“Yeah – yes, I do. It’s literally the worst.” She turns on the bed, flopping her arms out over the mattress as she moves further away from him. “And you are far too old to be doing that.” “I am youthful,” he corrects, twisting on his side and wrapping his arms around his pillow. “I’ve got to be to keep up with you and Henry.”

“Oh God, I feel like I could be twenty-one and not be able to keep up with him.”

“Because you’re so much older than twenty-one.”

“I’m closer to thirty than to twenty-one.” He rolls his eyes. She’s twenty-seven. She’s not old, but she’s right. Henry is absolutely wild lately with how much energy he has. He wishes that he could bottle some of it up and keep it for himself. It would be like bottling magic.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning over to Emma and wrapping his arm around her waist so that he can tug her back toward him, feeling the litheness of her body near him driving him mad over and over again, “I’m going to ignore you complaining about your old age and just choose to enjoy this moment with my old woman.” “I am not afraid to hurt you.”

“I know, but you’re not going to.” “Try me.”

He has a retort on his tongue, something he knows will piss her off, but he chooses not to say it, dipping his head and quickly brushing his lips over hers until neither of them can breathe. He loves her so much, loves the way her lips feel against his, loves the way her body moves with his, but he mostly just loves her and the way they get on. It’s never been like this with anyone, and even though sometimes they argue over the dumbest things, sometimes not talking for the rest of the day unless they’re with Henry, he wouldn’t change anything about their lives.

He might like to change the fact that they’re staying in his small apartment until they decide on where to move, but other than that, he wouldn’t change anything right now.

The boxes everywhere might be driving him a bit crazy, but he knew asking Emma and Henry to move in with him would mean that his apartment would never be neat again. He doesn’t mind. Really, he likes the changes. He likes that his refrigerator is covered in pictures that Henry draws him at daycare. He likes the fact that there are colorful toys scattered all across his living room that seem to multiply whenever he picks one up. He likes the fact that on his book shelf, next to all of the Naval history and strategy books, there are Emma’s trashy romance novels that she stuffs in the back and Henry’s colorful children’s books that they get to read every day.

Mostly he likes that he wakes up with blonde hair in his face every morning and then a little later on, he gets to eat breakfast with the little lad that means the absolute world to him. There’s nothing quite like Henry getting excited over something small like Killian making his food look like it’s smiling.

“I am not going to try you because I know you can kick my ass if you really want to.”

“This is true, as we’ve established. What time is it?”

“Early. We could probably go back to sleep.”

“Or we could wait for Henry to wake up and let him cuddle with us while we watch Bubble Guppies.”

“Swan,” he gasps, throwing his hand over his heart, “Bubble Guppies in bed before eight in the morning. How scandalous.”

“Shut up.” She rolls over in bed until she’s standing on the hardwood floor, rummaging through the boxes until she finds a sweater and pulls it over her shoulders. “It is Saturday morning, and I have had my time with you. I want time with my baby.”

“Am I not your baby? Because that’s not what you were saying last night. Or this morning.”

“Oh my God,” she groans, climbing back up on the mattress and straddling his lap over the comforter while her hands cup his face, “you are so ridiculous, and I honestly think that you got into some of Henry’s sugary cereal with how cheeky you are this morning.”

“You said I can’t throw it away, so how else am I going to get rid of it, Swan?”

“If he didn’t love you so much and wasn’t four, I’m pretty sure he would riot knowing you took his cereal.”

He reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears, letting him see her eyes and the way amusement dances in them as her lips press together in a smile. “I would never eat his cereal. Henry may riot, but as we’ve established, his mum would kick my ass.”

“Exactly.” She slants her lips over his in a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, baby,” she drawls out, smattering kisses all over his face, “but I’m going to go check on my actual baby and bring him back in here. So go ahead and find the show.”

“Aye, will do, Captain.”

Emma practically jogs out of the room. While she’s gone, he laughs to himself, running his hand through his hair and over his beard until he’s getting out of bed and putting on some clothes for when Henry comes in. He’s probably already awake in his room which is still pretty much Killian’s study, usually waking up much earlier than he should, so he’s sure that Emma is trying to wrangle him into using the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He does the same, brushing his teeth while he tries to find Bubble Guppies on TV in hopes that he won’t have to find the DVD for it. Luckily, there’s a marathon of it on, and he lets the sounds fill the bedroom as he goes about his morning routine.

“Killy,” Henry shouts, bursting in the door with Emma trailing just behind him.

“Hey, buddy,” he laughs, leaning down and scooping Henry off of the ground and throwing him over his shoulder. He absolutely loves it every time Killian does it, especially because he can get him up higher than Emma can. “You want to do the airplane in a minute?”

“Yesss,” Henry giggles, squirming in his arms until Killian puts him down on the bed. He’s already jumping a bit on the mattress, his small legs giving him far too much momentum, and before Killian can even settle himself down onto the bed and get situated, Henry is jumping on him, his elbows jamming into Killian’s side. It takes everything in him not to mutter a curse with the pain. “Sorry,” Henry says bashfully, already backing up to where Emma is crawling under the covers.

“It’s okay,” he promises, laying down flat on his back. “But we have to remember to be patient, yeah? We don’t want to get hurt.”

Henry nods his head before Killian bends his legs and gets his feet situated. He’s getting too old to do this, even if he said he was youthful, but his limbs are a bit sore right now. He offered though, so he���s going to give Henry his plane ride. He settles onto Killian’s feet, and the moment he’s settled, Killian starts moving, making all of the right noises as Henry giggles and Emma adds in her own commentary. They’ve learned that Henry likes to make crash landings for the hell of it, so he makes sure he never goes to high, that Henry will always fall on the mattress, and sure enough, Henry keeps rolling over and dropping to the bed until his mum picks him up and puts him back on Killian’s feet.

When they’re finally finished, his thighs screaming at him, Henry settles down in between he and Emma so that he can finally watch TV. It’s much more peaceful this way, just the three of them getting caught up in the show while Henry asks them questions, trying to articulate things for words he doesn’t know yet, and then adding his own little adventures into the plot. Henry climbs over into his mother’s lap, something he usually do when they’re sitting together, and Killian wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulder, tugging her closer while his fingers toy with her hair.

He feels her lips brush against his cheek before she goes back to talking to Henry, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s ever felt this content.

-/-

-/-

“This is pretty cool, huh?” Neal asks him, nudging his shoulder into his as the news crew sets up their cameras and tries to find the right lighting while the two of them are finishing eating breakfast. Henry had been so relieved when he finally stumbled downstairs and started making his pancakes. He’s pretty sure that the lad would have eaten the batter if he could have. He’s outside with Emma now though, his stomach full of food. She’d taken him out when he kept getting caught distracting the men and women carrying equipment inside.

“Yeah, it is,” he admits even if he’s still a little annoyed over having strangers try to rearrange his carefully arranged living room. But if this is what Neal wants to do, he should do it. They haven’t exactly gotten a lot of time together with just the two of them, and it’s pretty much because Killian has been avoiding him. He’s pissed beyond belief at how Neal reacted to the news of he and Emma even though it’s almost been a month since then. He knew it would be difficult, but he didn’t expect any of that. He’s finding it hard to look at Neal with affection instead of annoyance, but he’s decided that his goal now is to find the friendship they once had despite everything. There’s really no reason why they shouldn’t be friends even with all of the complications. “You’re doing so well, and if this is what you want to do, I’m glad that you’re getting to do it.” “I mean, it’s weird. I never thought I’d be on TV, but I feel like it might help other people, you know? All of those coming home from war or whatever. Or even those being deployed. It shows that there’s hope even when things seem hopeless.” “Yeah,” Killian sighs, cringing a bit when one of the men tries to move the glass coffee table on his own, “it does. I’m sure it’ll help a lot of people. I hope it helps you to process things too. I know it took me a long time to fully feel at home again, and I was deployed for far less time.”

“Well, you always have been one who doesn’t like change. Remember when we were moving you out of that shitty apartment in DC, and you absolutely refused to get rid of the futon?”

“It was a good futon!” “It was a piece of junk, Jones. You just don’t like change. It’s why you’re still drinking rum.” “Yeah, well, it’s better than the disgusting whiskey you like. And you always liked the worst beers too.” “I liked what was cheap,” Neal laughs, his fingers adjusting the buttons on his uniform. “We’ll have to go out one night and get some of the good stuff.”

“I’d like that,” Killian answers honestly even if he hasn’t had much of a real desire to spend time with Neal alone. He should, he really should, but he doesn’t even know what they’d talk about now. He has to make the effort though. That’s his goal. They’re going to be friends again, get back to normal. That’s the word Emma keeps using. Normal. It’s what he keeps using too. “We’ll have to find a night, but I can show you this bar David and I go to sometimes when Emma and Mary Margaret want us out of the house. It’s a hole in the wall, but I kind of love it.”

“Alright, Sergeant Cassidy,” George Johansson begins, coming over to the table where he and Neal are sitting, “I’m ready to start as soon as you get your mic on.” “Perfect.” Neal nods his head before clapping his hand on Killian’s shoulder. “Can you go get Emma and Henry from outside? I know they’re not going to be in it, but I’d at least like for them to watch.”

“Of course.” He rises from his chair, straightening out his sweater and picking up the plates from the table and placing them in the sink before he makes his way outside.

Henry’s swinging on the swing set that he finally put together a few days ago. It’d been at two in the morning, but he’d finally gotten it put together enough so that he could have Henry help him put in the finishing touches. Emma’s sitting in the swing next to Henry, barely moving while she cradles a bundled-up Ada. Ada’s got on this little knitted hat with two fluff balls on top, and he’s weirdly obsessed with how it looks. Something about it makes him smile. It’s probably because of it reminds him so much of a beanie that Emma owns and is always wearing when it starts getting chilled outside.

“Neal’s about to start filming,” he says as he walks off the back porch and down the stairs toward them. “He said he wants you two to watch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, buddy. He does.”

Henry digs his heels into the ground, kicking up some dirt, before getting up and running inside with all of the speed that he can muster. Emma gets up more slowly, almost hesitantly, before walking over to him and past him, a timid smile stretched across her lips while she heads inside too. He follows and hopes to everything that this interview goes well so that they can get the media out of their home for good.

-/-

“So, oftentimes,” George begins, speaking to Neal while he, Emma, Henry, and Ada sit in the corner of the room on their misplaced couch, “when our brave men and women come home from war as heroes like yourself, their lives are different than when they left. Usually it’s small changes, but for you, they’ve been rather big.”

“Well, Instagram certainly wasn’t a thing before I left. And there weren’t quite so many frozen yogurt shops everywhere,” Neal laughs, his entire face lighting up with genuine amusement. “Also, can I talk about Netflix? It was around, but you had to rent the DVDs. God, that was awful compared to now.”

George chuckles, and Killian does too while Henry whispers about wanting to watch Netflix later. All of that is so true, particularly the frozen yogurt thing. He swears there really is a shop on every corner. “Well, yes, those are certainly differences, but I was thinking more about the fact that your son, who was less than a month old when you were deployed, is now eight years old and a thriving third grader? How is that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emma nudge Henry, a kind smile on her face that is far outshone by the one on Henry’s. He looks absolutely thrilled to mentioned by his father on TV. It’s probably an eight-year-old’s dream if he’s not allowed to be on TV himself.

“It’s certainly weird, if I’m honest. I only got to see my son a few times. I wasn’t even there when he was born because I was out of town for training, which was just horrible timing, but in the times I did see him, just…wow. I was so in love with that baby. And for a long time, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I used to imagine how he’d grow up, what he’d look like. Would he have my hair? Emma’s? I already knew he’d have my nose just from the beginning, but everything was such a mystery. And while I hate that I missed so much, that my wife had to raise him by herself, I’m just glad that I’m back now.”

“Speaking of your wife, we can’t imagine how she must feel about all of this.”

“Happy, I hope,” Neal laughs, flashing the camera his brightest smile again while Killian’s stomach rolls. Emma still hasn’t told him they’re not technically married anymore, and he’s not sure that Emma is ever going to tell him with the way she continually backs out of it. He doesn’t blame her. She’s already had to tell him so many awful things, and neither of them deserve to have to go through more. It’s got to happen at some point though just so everything can be out in the open. “She seems happy, at least. I think she’s probably a little sad I have some gray in me now, though. That wasn’t there before.”

“You’d think so, but I do have to ask you about something,” George continues while Neal crosses his legs and uncrosses them, seemingly unable to get comfortable. “Your family has always been private, has never been in the spotlight before, so it’s only since your homecoming that we’ve learned that your wife just had a baby with someone else. With one of your closest friends, actually if our research is any indication. How much of a shock was it to learn about that? You come home America’s hero, and your home is totally changed which is something much more common than most people realize.”

His stomach rolls again, the heavy lead that’s been present several times in the last two months making an appearance again. They keep getting hit out of left field by things they’re not expecting. His eyes find Emma’s, and even though she’s been so good at keeping this together lately, he can see her hands shaking, all of the guilt as obvious in her body as he’s ever seen it.

“Love,” he whispers, trying to contain himself from pulling the plug on the interview for this fucking question, “please take Henry and go into the other room. She nods her head, but they can’t move before Neal starts speaking.

“Yeah,” Neal sighs, leaning back into the chair and crossing his leg one more time, “that was a bit rough for me. Even though you should imagine that life goes on without you, it’s a bit of a difficult thing to find out that it’s exactly what happens. I guess I had this hope that I could come home to what I remembered, but honestly, I’m just glad to be home at all. Emma is the love of my life without any doubt, and all I want is for her to be happy. I don’t think it would be right to try to blame her or shame her for moving on and finding happiness. I was dead for all that she knew, and I’m happy that she found someone to love her and to be there for her.”

“So you don’t have any comment on your marriage?”

“I think right now my focus and Emma’s focus have been on helping me readjust to life and our new normal. She’s been doing a lot to help me get to know my son, and that’s been the most important thing to me. I’m finally getting to be with my family again. It makes coming home all the much sweeter.”

He can’t look away from Emma’s face, can’t look away from the way large tears are rolling down her cheeks while she holds Ada into her chest, and he can’t look away from how absolutely distraught she looks right now. How can he have been so selfish to try to hold onto Emma, to try to act like his family is the one that’s been torn apart when he’s been the one who is tearing a family apart as well? He’s been terrified of losing her, and he’s not even sure he has any right to feeling that way when she has the chance to have her family again.

He can’t do this right now.

He can’t.

[winsister91]

Make Amends

Part Six - “I really need to kill something right now.”

This series is a sequel to Breaking A Promise

Summary: Y/N, and the boys respond to the Angel SOS. A connection to everything is finally uncovered

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, canon typical violence

Word Count: 2704

Series Masterlist Full Masterlist

~ Series and forever tags are open! ~

An SOS? Now? Like...really?

You bite your nails and stare out the Impala window while Dean drives with Cas shotgun. The angel was giving Dean directions on where to go, following the where the message originated from. You grit your teeth, knowing full well that the voice you heard, and the sudden announcement from Cas that there’d been another SOS couldn't be coincidence. Coupled with the fact that every turn of a corner in the car right now felt right to you, like you and Cas were honing in on the exact same thing. To say it was panicking you would be putting it lightly.

Left.

“Take the next left,” Cas instructed, to which Dean obeys.

Straight on.

“Keep going forward for now,” Cas continued.

Left again.

“Take this left.”

You slump in your seat. Each confirmation filling you with more with dread and worry.

“Y/N?” Sam asks next to you, “You okay? You look as pale as a ghost.”

You don't answer. You can’t find the words to reply with. You don’t want to lie anymore, but now was hardly the time to bare your soul. You were on a case so to speak. The only words that came to you were the ones that would help in this moment in time.

“Take the next right,” you and Cas state in unison.

Feeling like a deer in headlights, you feel all three sets of eyes on you for the second time tonight.

“They’re in there…” you mumble, gesturing to the multi-story car park coming up, and shrinking back into your seat.

“How do you know?” Sam asks, his eyes narrowed and mouth agape.

You shrug, shaking your head and rubbing your temple.

How does a human pick up Angel Radio SOS’? Like hell do I know…

As Dean soars the Impala up the winding road taking you higher and higher into the parking lot, you all keep your eyes peeled for any movement or clue as to where to go.

“There!” Cas yelled, pointing ahead.

With a ferocious tyre screech, Dean manoeuvres baby onto the correct floor. He hastily parks up, with no regard for any of the designated spaces, and you all pile out, guns and blades at the ready, well, almost.

You grab a box of bullets from the Impala’s hidden trunk, loading each into your revolver.

“Witch killing bullets?” Dean asks in bewilderment as you load, “Bit of a stab in the dark isn’t it?”

“Think of it as a safety blanket,” you mutter, clicking the ammunition chamber back into place, “Makes me feel better anyway…”

“Stay behind me Sweetheart,” Dean says quietly to you, face full of bravery and determination.

“Dean,” you hold his arm with one hand and spin your angel blade dexterously with the other , “Thanks but, I really need to kill something right now.”

He holds his hands up defensively as you walk past him, letting out an audible sigh of relief behind you when there was some distance.

You keep marching forward, the other three falling behind due to your pace. Your grip on your angel blade so tight it made your knuckles crack. Your feet are moving of their own accord, following the strange sonar signal in your mind. You can feel the cold sweat forming on your brow as you know you’re getting closer. Heart thudding. Breath fast. You were fucking terrified frankly. Intimidated and shaken up. You couldn’t wait to channel it all out into a kill.

Turning a corner, you find your target. In the distance, a female backing into a corner, and four figures closing in. Your steps become a sprint, aiming as the crow flies for the figure at the rear. You don’t care that your steps alert them all to your presence, it was too late, before the figure could turn around and reveal his grotesque, ugly ass demon face, your blade was in his heart.

“Hi there!” you announce cheerfully to the other witnesses, watching the light flicker from your victim, “Care for an introduction?”

As the others turn, you take note of them. Two more demons...and a man...

The demons charge for you, and the man takes cover behind a parked car. You focus on him, watching him, seeing what he does next. Sam and Dean run past you in a blur and battle with the other two monsters. Cas makes a beeline for the female angel. You still observe the man, stepping towards the car slowly with your blood soaked blade still firmly in hand.

He moves, standing and revealing himself from his hiding spot. His eyes flash purple and a ball of energy is shot from his hands in your direction.

Witch.

You dive away from his projectile, taking cover behind a car yourself. You grit your teeth as you feel the rough tarmac graze along your leg through your jeans.

Son of a bitch. You’re mine.

Switching to your pistol, you take a moment to internally praise yourself for being a clever cookie when you loaded it with the witch bullets earlier.

I knew it. I just ‘fucking’ knew it.

Peeking over the car’s hood, you watch for the man again. He’s still behind the car opposite, now trying pot shots at the boys.

Not on my watch.

Steadying yourself, you take aim and fire. Miss. He was just quick enough to duck and hide behind his cover. You snarl impatiently, firing again in frustration. You quickly turn to check on the boys. Dean looked monstrous, face scrunched up in so much anger as he battled one demon. Sam fights the other, his large frame towering over the short demon quite comically. You can’t make out what Cas is doing, he is with the other angel but they are hunched over, seemingly distraught.

You feel something bang into the car you hid behind, it’s so forceful it nudges back into you, snapping your patience.

Eyes squinted in concentration, you make a break for it. Staying low, you creep to the rear end of the car, waiting for a gap in the witch’s now hysterical firing. When an opportunity comes you run, tearing across to the other car and swinging around it. You fire again, albeit not putting your whole heart into the aiming of it. The bullet flies through his leg, emanating that horrific sound of tearing flesh that you’d come to know in this line of work. The man unleashes a blood curdling scream, clinging to his leg before you marched over, grabbing the scruff of his shirt and bashing him hard into the car he used for protection.

“Where is she?” you bark in his face, “Where’s Harper?”

He looks at you wide eyed, gasping for breath but he isn’t intimidated or scared. He actually begins to laugh, tears forming in his eyes.

“It’s you isn’t it?” he laughs in a tinny ugly voice, “It’s really you!”

“Aw,” you tilt your head and pout, “What do you know? I’m popular!”

“But…” he trails off, “What a waste. Firearms? Pretty pathetic really.”

“Yeah?,” you hold the gun to his head, “Let’s see how pathetic it is when your brains repaint this piece of shit car huh?”

“It won’t make any difference,” he laughs harder, “You can’t stop this. We’re unstoppable.”

“Pretty sure this thing will make you stop,” you tap the muzzle of your gun on his head like a reminder, “I’ll ask again. Where’s Harper?”

He bursts into hysterics, and your temper grows shorter.

“Harper…” he sighs shaking his head, “She’d turn in her grave if she could see you now. Such wasted potential…”

Turn in her grave?

“But…” you mumble, confusion taking over, “Then who are you working for?”

The man starts laughing again, louder and louder. You shout at him again but it’s useless, he isn’t letting anything up.

Fuck this.

You squeeze the trigger. Blood spatters your face as the man is suddenly silenced and collides with the ground.

“Y/N?” Dean appears at your side while you catch your breath, his knuckles coated in more blood than his blade.

“Hey,” you sigh, getting to your feet, “Are Sam and Cas….?”

You stop your question, seeing the other two are just fine, demons dead, angel saved.

“Ah,” you smile in relief, “Noone got dead, beautiful.”

You look down at the body of the man, clenching your teeth and fists.

“He was a witch,” Dean said quietly.

“Was,” you nod, folding your arms, “Hate to say I told you so.”

“So Harper’s-”

“Harper’s dead,” you interrupt him, squinting your eyes in thought, “So someone’s got to have taken up the mantle, but he wasn’t telling… What about the angel? She okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “She gave them a challenge, bought us enough time it seems.”

“Good,” you mumble, but still unable to take your eyes off the man’s body. This was a win, but you weren’t feeling it. You still felt just as clueless as before, at least you now had confirmation that witches were involved...just not Harper.

You crouch down, biting your thumbnail as your eyes scanned over him. Just like any other witch, appearance-wise, everything was normal. You open up his coat and start searching through the pockets.

“Y/N…” Dean sighs, shaking his head at you, “What exactly are you expecting to find?”

“The last thing I want to find…” you wince, fingers brushing against hard cold glass within one of the pockets. You clasp them around it, and bring the item to freedom. A vial. Full to the brim with a red blood-like substance.

“Dean…” you murmur, holding the bottle up to him.

“God dammit…” he winces at the sight, “Are you okay?”

You look again at the bottle. Old hungers and temptations tickle at your soul, like the bottle is trying to coax you. Just one more time, one more sip.

Not in a million years.

“Yeah,” you nod confidently, “Yeah, I’m good.”

You both head over to Sam, Cas and the other angel. The angels were hugging tightly, the female spouting a million thank yous.

“I- I didn’t think anyone was going to come,” she sobbed happily, “Thank you Castiel, to all of you.”

The angel turns and smiles at you all, her long auburn hair shining in the car park’s lights. Sam smiles back and Dean nods. You don’t react, too busy lost in your thoughts as you wiped the blood off your angel blade with the end of your shirt.

“It’s okay Kyrina,” Cas assures her, “Just go somewhere safe and lay low.”

“Yes,” the female angel smiles and holds Cas’ hand, “I truly believe our Father watches over you Castiel.”

“Would you mind telling the big guy to give us humans a look too?” you scoff, folding your arms.

Kyrina doesn’t respond to your question, but tilts her head at you in curiosity.

“You…” she mumbles, taking a step closer.

You narrow your eyes as she keeps coming with slow footsteps, her eyes were wide and her head slightly tilted in curiosity. As the distance closed she reached an arm out to touch you.

“Yeah aren’t I just great,” you smile and nod, stepping back and holding your hands up like a barrier, “And that’s all you need to know okay?”

She doesn’t stop, seemingly quite taken by you.

“Hey back off!” Dean steps in between you and her and she finally stops.

“I just…” she mumbles, “I sensed-”

“Find somewhere and lay low,” Cas repeats to her with more urgency, “Please.”

“Okay…” she nods, “Thank you all, again. Please let me know if you ever need assistance.”

With the sound of flapping wings, Kyrina was gone.

“Why she didn’t just do that in the first place to get away from the creeps beats me,” you titter, shaking your head and shoving your hand in your pocket, “Did she tell you anything?”

“Not much,” Cas sighed, “Kyrina was just going about her day, on business for heaven when she was attacked. She doesn’t know why.”

“Figures,” you groan, “I think it’s safe to say that these guys are the ones stealing angel grace though right?”

Everyone nods in agreement.

“Why though?” Sam asks, “I mean...what do demons want with angel grace?”

“Demons and witches,” you correct him, “Check this.”

You hold up the bottle of blood and Sam’s body stiffens at the sight.

“What is that?” Cas asks.

“This, Castiel,” you look at the bottle in your hand again, clenching your jaw for a moment, “is the freaking rat piss that Harper brewed and fucked me up with.”

You toss the bottle over to the angel, which he catches with ease.

“So she’s still alive?” Sam mumbles, looking at you with worry.

“See, dead witch guy said Harper would turn in her grave if she could see me now,” you continue, shaking your head with a hint of sass, “That implies to me, the bitch still be dead.”

“So someone is continuing her work…” Sam replies, he eyes squinting in thought, “But who?”

“Beats me,” you shrug, “Maybe she was tied into other covens or something? I don’t know, I was only ever locked up in that one room, didn’t exactly take note of their other dealings.”

“Whoever it is,” Dean speaks up impatiently, “We find em, gank em, and end all this bullcrap.”

“I know why they’re after angel grace,” Cas mutters, staring intently at the small vial.

“Are we sharing?” you ask, hand on hip.

“This...potion,” Cas continues, eyes focused on the blood concoction swirling in it’s container, “There’s demon blood in there…”

“We already know tha-” Dean scoffs

“And angel grace,” Cas interrupts him and finishes.

It clicks, Cas’ words flicking on a switch in your mind.

The headaches, voices, freaky ass faces on demons...what if it’s their real faces?

“Angel grace!?” Dean shouts and looks at you.

“Not a lot,” Cas affirms, still looking closely at the vial, “One full angel grace would make about ten or so of these.”

Only ten? I’ve had a hella lot more than that in my time…

“If there’s been so many angel radio SOS’ recently,” Sam thinks aloud, “Then they must be making a lot more of this stuff.”

“All the more reason to get on this quickly and finish it right Y/N?” Dean says valiantly, “Y/N?”

You’d dropped to your knees.

“She…” you say distantly, voicing your internal thoughts, “She wasn’t just trying to create stronger witches...she wanted to make hybrids. Some sick as shit combination of, blood witch and angel…”

“Y/N?” Dean repeats, crouching to your level, “What are you saying?”

With a deep breath, you look up at Cas and ask, “When you sense me Cas...what do you sense?”

He doesn’t answer, shuffling on his feet uncomfortably.

“Y/N, what are you saying?” Sam asks you gently, “Talk to us.”

You’re back on your feet, running for Castiel and grabbing him by the hem of his coat, “WHAT DO YOU SENSE!?”

The angel looks shaken, his sharp blue eyes staring widely into yours.

“S-something I’ve never sensed before,” he stutters.

You let him go, burning tears collecting in your eye sockets as guilt pangs at your conscious. It wasn’t Cas’ fault, you could have easily got him to check you out before but you refused because you were scared. Now it had come to this, and you’d dragged everyone along for the ride.

“Sorry…” you gasp, looking up to the ceiling and squeezing your eyes tight with a deep breath, “Just do your thing Cas… check me out. Tell me what the fuck is happening to me?”

The Winchester brothers watch on as Cas obliges, placing his hand on your forehead. You look at Dean, his face looked worn from confusion and his eyes full of worry and pain as he looked back at you.

With a brief flash of blue in his eyes, Cas’ inspection is complete and he gives his verdict.

“Y/N…” he starts, a look of bewilderment on his face that you’d never seen before, “You...you’re DNA...seems to have changed.”

“Changed how?” Dean asks defensively, stepping to your side and gripping your hand tight.

“She…” Cas hesitates, “Y/N is part angel.”

Tags! Forever Posse: @sofreddie @chelsea074298 @ria132love @untitled39887 @chicagolove88 @akshi8278 @sis-tafics @younoeatcheeseyounobefat @mandilion76 @teamfreewill92 @supernaturalmagicfolk @emoryhemsworth @musicistobeheard-blog @pheonyxstorm @mrswhozeewhatsis @turnttover @itspronouncedsatanbitch @the--real-wombat  @xagateophobiax @samisimportant @jensen-gal @castiel11235 @waiting-to-find-myshadows  @19agbrown  @mogaruke @nyxveracity  @cole-winchester 

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Make Amends Squad: @rosethesupernaturalhunter @shayla-markele @justballoonfishthings @iamcraving  @disneychic8

[determined-multimuse]

👨‍👩‍👧-Aaron you say

Ah, yes, her ex-mistake. Folding her arms across her torso, Kaya sharply exhales. 

“…so you wanna know about my ex, huh?” Like many of the things and people in here life… where to start is always the question. Frankly, she’d rather avoid talking about him every chance she gets. But the inbox has to be appeased, and it’s not like Frisk is around at the moment anyway…

Kaya huffs, her arms folding tighter as her glare grows sharper from the ugly, distasteful memories coming back to her again, as they always do.

“…Okay, sit down and shut up, it’s a long-ass story, and I’m only gonna tell it once.”

“It all started with a stupid teenager doing stupid teenage things because her parents were terrible at their jobs and knew nothing about having a disabled kid,” she starts with a slight sneer. 

“I came out of my mom’s snatch kicking and screaming, and stayed kicking and screaming for years. Then, around elementary school, they introduced ABA therapy. I was emotionally and mentally abused all through elementary and middle school, and became a terrified, depressed shell of a kid who would do, say, and repress anything I had to just to make my parents happy. So they wouldn’t yell at me or grab me or take away something vital to my mental health.”

“Then high school came around, I’d just hit puberty, and I decided I’d had enough to being bullied by my own parents, my teachers, and the other students, and I became an A-grade bitch to everyone. Just to try to give myself control and empowerment in my life, I went from one extreme to another. I was a dumb, emotionally repressed teenager who jumped back to being a rebel, so I did a lot of shitty things. I had anger issues, was violent, and hung out with a lot of bad kids. I didn’t bully anyone, really, but I got into a lot of fights and only barely avoided getting arrested from vandalism and underage drinking a lot. Smoke weed a lot too. I was a rotten kid, but… honestly, it felt better than letting people grab my hands, shake me, yell at me and push my around… I was 14 and stupid, sue me.”

“Yeah, I make it sound like Aaron was one of the bad ones, but he was actually one of the only decent kids in high school at the time. He came from a pretty well-off family and kinda took pity on me. He wasn’t scared of me like some of the other kids, but he didn’t really pick a fight with me either. He was a good kid at the time, or at least that was the impression I got as a dumb, naive fourteen-year-old. He was nice to me, gave me rides home when I felt scared to call my parents, hung out with me, got me out of weed, booze and crime, talked to me, listened… He was good to me. Not sure whether that was genuine and he turned into an asshole or if he was always an ass trying to get into my pants, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a dick now.”

“I fell hard for the guy, being the idiot teenager I was. I was convinced that he was an angel there to save me from my shit-hole situation. Needless to say, we… did the deed. A LOT, actually. And finally, of course, we conceived Frisk when I was 15, had them when I was 16. Of course my parents weren’t happy, but that worked out for me because I hated them at the time. Was under the mindset if they hated it, I was doing something right. But even my grandmother, who was the only other decent person in my life, was voicing concerns about how fast I was jumping into things. And… like a dumbass, I ignored her. I was…”

Her glare finally falters and her face falls. As dumb as she always remembers she was in hindsight, she could never deny that she really did love the guy back in the day. At the time, he’d saved her, as far as she was concerned…

“I was in love… I… really thought he was my soulmate. So… I moved in with him after Frisk was born, and at first, everything was just great. I just stayed home with Frisk while he went to work, and we got married a week after I turned 18. But… once we made it legal and I was actually tied to him, things… started changing.”

“He never wanted to actually take care of Frisk. They were like a cute commodity to him; he never wanted to feed them, change their diapers, put them down for their nap, or look after them after daycare, it was ALWAYS on ME. Which I mean, fine, I didn’t wanna work and was controlling and protective over Frisk. But he never picked up the slack at home, he just went out to work, went drinking with his work buddies, and came home with dinner eventually.”

“And it just… got worse. No matter how stressed or sick I was, he’d never pick up the slack. He just enjoyed the perks and fun parts of fatherhood without trying to put in any actual work. Which I always justified with him being the breadwinner and being tired all the time. But when we learned Frisk was autistic when they were three…”

“He completely. Fucking. Abandoned them. All of a fucking SUDDEN, he had zero patience for just about anything Frisk ever did. Completely ignored them, got impatient with them whenever they started stimming–which, you know, I got onto him about. We fought a lot, and Frisk would always start crying because he’d convinced them our marriage problems were THEIR fault! Because I wasn’t going to let him snap at Frisk over shit they couldn’t help as a fucking four year old!”

“He deteriorated over two years’ time since we found out Frisk was autistic; he did his best to be good to me despite his mental shit, but he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Frisk. He was a pathetic shitstain of a human being. He started coming home late, getting drunk, we fought just about every goddamn day, and he kept getting onto Frisk, trying to make them be like me. ‘Your mom was like you and she learned how to be normal, why the fuck can’t you listen and learn to be normal–’ Like, asshole, do you even know me?! Since when have I ever been normal?! All that shit he sold me about accepting me as I was turned out to be bullshit.”

“I tried so hard to make it work, I tried to patch things up between me, Aaron and Frisk for years… I’d always been able to wrangle him in whenever he started yelling at Frisk, help them sort things out, and most of the time, he’d apologize… but the second he actually put his hands on them - grabbing their hands to make them stop stimming when they were crying, hard enough to bruise them, just after they turned five - I shut the whole thing down right then and there. I knew where this was gonna go and I wasn’t gonna see it through with Frisk. I wasn’t gonna let Frisk go through a worse version of what I went through.”

“In hindsight… I should have shut everything down when he started neglecting them. That’s just as much abuse as putting your hands on a kid is… but I was delusional. I was selfish… and wanted to make my relationship with the man he used to be work. But no matter how much I may have still loved him… I wasn’t gonna let him put his hands on my child a second time. Yeah, we fought physically and we damn near killed each other… pretty sure I scarred Frisk with that, but… ya know. I won, and now that prick knows better than to show his face around me or Frisk ever again.”

“There’s… a lot I should have done differently back then; a lot I should have done for Frisk’s sake. I know I wasn’t the best parent in the world for them at the time. I put my relationship before their wellbeing at the time, even if I didn’t realize it, and to be honest… I’ll be ashamed of myself for that ‘til the day I die. It shouldn’t have had to escalate to physical violence for me to wake the fuck up and get Frisk and me out of there, but it did…”

“So… it’s just me and Frisk now, and even though I had to step up and find work out of nowhere, start being the breadwinner AND the child rearer while still having shit support from my ‘told-you-so’ing family… we’re better off without that asshole in our lives. I know there are a lot of people who… might be better for Frisk, as a parent, but… I still wanna do the best I can for them and their future little sibling now that I know better.”

“And if that prick shows up again, this baby’s gonna have to deal for five seconds so I can suplex the dickweed. Not that he really would, he already only begrudgingly pays child support, but… ya know. Always good to be prepared. So yeah. I hate my ex’s fucking guts and I was an idiot for ever marrying him.”

“The end. Any questions?”

[miraculouspaon]

A Wolf By The Ear

Chapter One

AO3

Disclaimer: this is all @gabriel-fucking-agreste‘s fault

Prologue

Nathalie Sancoeur had never wanted a soulmate. Unlike everyone else she’d ever known, she didn’t grow up eagerly awaiting the day she looked in the mirror and found the signature of her One True Love looking back at her. Hell, Nathalie didn’t even like the idea of soulmates. Her parents had been soulmates, after all, and it hadn't seemed to have done their brief marriage any favors. Soulmates were a lazy answer to a difficult question, and Nathalie had never been one for the easy or lazy approach. Besides, they were an answer to a question Nathalie had no interest in asking. Nathalie had seen far too many people put their lives on hold, waiting for something that statistically was unlikely to ever appear. Waiting to be told how to live their lives. Nathalie had no intention of ever letting anyone, or anything, tell her how to live her life.

Nathalie was twenty-five, the first night she didn't check for a mark. The idea came to her out of the blue. She’d never wanted a soulmate, but she’d always checked anyway. The idea of not checking was absurd. When Nathalie went to bed that night, the skin between her shoulderblades totally unexamined, it felt like a dangerous, reckless decision. But it also felt liberating. Nathalie slept like a baby that night. She raced to the mirror and checked the next morning, then felt embarrassed at herself when she saw her blank skin in the mirror like always. She resumed checking for the next three nights, then skipped again. That time she managed to go a whole week without checking.

After that, she never looked again.

Chapter One

Nathalie was two hours deep into arranging the schedules for each and every model for the next quarter, completely in the zone and totally unaware of the world outside of her task, when she suddenly realized she could hear breathing behind her. She whirled her chair around quickly, and looked up into the deep blue eyes of the man who’d spent the last year terrorizing her city.

“Miss Sancoeur,” Hawkmoth said, with an exaggerated graciousness. “I believe you and I have something to discuss.”

Nathalie’s eyes flashed towards her desk phone, then back up at the villain. He followed the line of her gaze and smirked. “I think we both know that won’t work,” he said, his voice amused but almost chiding as well. Like he was disappointed in her. The nerve of him.

In the space of Nathalie’s hesitation, Hawkmoth offered her his hand. “May I?” Because she couldn’t think of anything else to do, Nathalie accepted his help and got to her feet.

As she rose, the office faded around her. Before she had time to react, she was in a large, empty room. There was only one window, far too high to reach, and no exits that she could see. As she looked around her, she realized that above her head were swarms of small white butterflies.

“You tricked me,” Nathalie said, not bothering to mask her annoyance.

“As though it matters?” Hawkmoth replied. “I would have taken you here either way. We can hardly have a free discussion at your place of work.”

“What on earth could you possibly have to discuss with me?” Nathalie asked.

The villain raised an eyebrow. “You don't think we have anything to discuss?”

“Oh, there's plenty to discuss, if you’re open to suggestions. We could discuss your reign of terror, or your repeated insistence on putting the people of this city in danger-”

“Nobody’s been hurt,” Hawkmoth interrupted defensively. “And nobody’s going to be hurt. If I acquired the Ladybug Miraculous, you have my word I'd undo all the damage I've caused, just as she would.”

Good Lord, Nathalie thought. He actually cares what I think of him. Somehow, that thought was far more terrifying than her kidnapping.

“Nobody’s been physically hurt, perhaps,” Nathalie replied, not giving any ground. “But not all wounds are physical. You can't honestly think turning people into villains against their will has no effect whatsoever?”

Hawkmoth let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re getting off-topic,” he said, annoyed. “You know what I brought you here to discuss.”

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Nathalie replied, deadpan.

“You-” he chuckled. “You really are heartless, aren't you? That should make this impossible, and yet… perhaps it makes a twisted kind of sense. It's certainly refreshing, I must admit, after dealing with so many heightened emotions day in and day out, to be in the presence of a woman such as yourself.” He took a step closer, and Nathalie’s cool, steady heartbeat quickened, just a bit. Hawkmoth smiled.

“Tell me why I'm here,” Nathalie demanded, stepping back.

Hawkmoth shrugged. “I hadn't pegged you for the type to play coy, but if you insist. You're here because your signature appeared on my skin last week. Quite a shock, I assure you, though I imagine yours was far greater. Waking up to find the name of Paris’ most feared supervillain in over half a century scrawled across your back.” He closed the distance between them and looked down at her. “You simply must tell me every single thing that went through your mind in that moment, Nathalie,” he said.

Nathalie’s veins ran ice cold. For a moment, she couldn't think at all, and then her brain went into overdrive. Focus, figure this out, you can use this to your advantage, it's your life if you don't.

“You're taking an awful risk,” Nathalie said, as calmly as if the matter were wholly academic. “What if it was your real name that appeared? Then I'd know who you were. I could have you arrested, defeated. I'd be a hero.”

Hawkmoth shook his head. “I checked,” he said, and Nathalie’s cheeks turned slightly pink as she wondered what on earth that could mean. “Not like that,” he added, amused at her embarrassment. “I was in your presence earlier this week, and I detected nothing of note in your emotions towards me. You did not read my civilian name on your skin, of that I am sure.”

Nathalie tried to remember everyone she’d been in contact with in the past week, but quickly realized the number was far too high to be of any use. Damned Fashion Week.

“Very well,” she said cooly. “You caught me, I haven't read your real name on my back. I was frightened at first, of course, when I read the name ‘Hawkmoth’, but after a few days I must confess the idea began to have a certain odd allure to it, despite-”

“You're lying,” Hawkmoth interrupted, suddenly angry. “Why?”

Nathalie raised an eyebrow. She had the best poker face of anyone she’d ever met, and a poker face wasn't much use if it broke every time one was accused of bluffing. “Excuse me?” she asked, sounding ever so slightly offended.

“You can't lie to me, Nathalie,” Hawkmoth told her. “I can detect deception as easily as any other emotion. It doesn't matter how well you conceal your true feelings from everyone else in the world. I'll always know.”

“Fine,” Nathalie said, thinking fast. “I was simply telling you what I thought you wanted to hear.”

“Why?”

“Because you're terrifying,” she said, her vocie dripping sarcasm, “why else?” Hawkmoth seemed to appreciate her attitude at least, even if he could tell it was masking some degree of true fear.

“Well, now you know better,” he said. “Tell me how you really felt.”

Damn.

“I'd rather not discuss it.”

Hawkmoth grinned. “I suppose you think you're in a position to… to…” he frowned. “You're still hiding something,” he said. “What?”

God fucking damn it.

“Tell me now,” he said, as he held an open palm out and summoned one of the dozens of white butterflies to it, “or I’ll-”

“I didn't,” Nathalie said in a rush, hating herself for not being able to think of a way out of this.

“Didn't what?”

“Didn't read your name on my back.”

“That's impossible,” Hawkmoth said, and now he was starting to get really worked up. “The marks always appear in sync.”

“I didn't say it wasn't there,” Nathalie said. “I said I didn't read it. I didn't check.”

And there it was. There was no unsaying it, no saving herself now.

For a good ten seconds, Hawkmoth was speechless. “Everybody checks,” he finally said. “Every day. Nobody even thinks about it. It's just part of a routine. Brush your teeth, get undressed, check for a mark, go to bed. That's what people do.”

“I don't. I can't say I have much esteem for the whole thing, frankly.” Nathalie could see on his face, the moment Hawkmoth realized just how big a mistake he’d made. Her final desperate hope, that he wouldn't put it together, was extinguished.

“You’ll check now, I suppose,” he said matter-of-factly.

“It certainly seems like the sensible thing to do,” Nathalie agreed.

“And you'll read my name. And if it's my civilian name, you'll call the police.”

Nathalie folded her arms across her chest. “Can you think of a compelling reason why I shouldn't?”

Hawkmoth considered this silently for a moment, his fingers curling nervously around his cane. “Then I suppose I have no compelling reason to allow you to leave,” he finally said. It was better than Nathalie had feared-she’d rather be a prisoner than dead, after all-but Nathalie’s heart sank in her chest all the same. Had he felt it? And if so, had it meant anything to him?

“Unless,” Hawkmoth added, “you'd allow me to check for myself. If it's my villain name, there shouldn't be any problem.”

Well. That was interesting. If that wasn't a situation Nathalie could take advantage of, what was?

Silently, Nathalie began to shrug off her blazer. She folded it neatly, then bent down gracefully and placed it on the floor. The location would have driven her mad if the room hadn't been completely devoid of anywhere else to put the damn thing. As she straightened back up, she was pleased to see her actions were having their desired effect.

Still not speaking, Nathalie crossed her arms, grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and began to pull up.

“That’s not-if you're not comfortable, you don't need to-”

Freezing in place, her midriff already bared, Nathalie raised an eyebrow. “Can it be the supervillain is a gentleman?” she asked wryly.

“I don't want to impose upon you any more than necessary,” Hawkmoth replied, steadying his voice.

“Well, it’s necessary. This turtleneck is too tight and too high to simply pull the collar down. If you're going to check, it has to come off.” Nathalie pulled the shirt over her head. It came off with some difficulty, pulling out large amounts of static-filled hair from her bun, sending several bobby pins clattering to the floor. The noise echoed loudly in the large, empty room. Nathalie didn't bother to fold the shirt. She simply pulled it off her arms and let it fall. She looked Hawkmoth dead in the eyes.

“Well?”

Hawkmoth looked Nathalie up and down, not bothering to hide that he was doing it, and not bothering to hide the fact that he liked what he saw. He walked towards her, not saying a word, not breaking eye contact. He brushed against her as he walked around to her back, and Nathalie shivered at the slight breeze against her bare torso.

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment, and Nathalie knew. She could feel her window of freedom closing rapidly as he took a breath. “It's my civ-”

Nathalie jabbed her elbow up as quickly and as powerfully as she could, right at the villain’s larynx. Then, while he was still recovering, she whirled around and grabbed the Miraculous off his chest.

Or, well, that was the plan, anyway. As it turned out, the villain had the same superhuman reflexes as his heroic counterparts. He easily caught Nathalie’s elbow, then grabbed her other one and pinned them together behind her back. Nathalie briefly considered attempting to stamp her foot down on his, but she suspected none of her self-defense training from college would be of any use against the man. Besides, she was already feeling embarrassed enough.

“My, my,” Hawkmoth said softly, leaning in so he was right next to her ear, “you are the hero type after all. It seems I don't know you nearly as well as I thought. I'd assumed you were far too practical for heroics.”

“There is nothing impractical,” Nathalie said defensively, doing her best not to struggle, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her helplessness, “about wanting to defeat you. Do you have any idea how many meetings I've had to reschedule this year thanks to your nonsense? You have been extremely inconvenient for me.”

For some reason, this seemed to amuse him greatly. “Is that so?” he asked. “My apologies.”

“Unless your apologies can magically turn into a door that leads me out of this nightmare, they're quite useless to me.”

Hawkmoth released her, and Nathalie quickly stepped away from him before turning around. He looked torn, but resolute. “I can't let you leave,” he repeated.

“If you try to keep me here,” she said, her voice level, “I will make your life a living hell, soulmate or no. In fact, I find myself wondering if being your soulmate will actually make it easier to torment you. That was certainly the case for my parents.”

“If I let you leave you'll make my life a living hell anyway,” Hawkmoth replied. “Trust me. I would not fare well in maximum security prison.” He shrugged. “So since it seems I am damned either way, I may as well pick the hell that comes with the pleasure of your company.”

They were at an impasse, it was as simple as that. Right now, Hawkmoth had all the power. And power was what drove him more than anything, Nathalie suspected. She couldn't imagine him giving it up for anything.

And yet… he had approached her. Well, he'd kidnapped her, which Nathalie supposed was what passed for romance among supervillains. He wasn't indifferent to the name written across his back. It meant something to him that it was there, though Heaven knew what, exactly.

Nathalie sighed, removed her glasses, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I won't look,” she muttered.

“What?”

“You heard me. Let me go and I won't check. I'll be sure nobody else sees it, too.” She put her glasses back on and looked at the villain, her gaze steady.

Hawkmoth blinked, speechless. “How can I trust you?” he asked.

“You seemed awfully sure of your ability to detect lies earlier,” Nathalie pointed out. “If I find out that was an act, I shall be extremely put out with myself.”

“Your offer is sincere at the moment, I’ll grant,” Hawkmoth said. “But how can I trust that curiosity won't overwhelm you later?”

Nathalie kept her gaze cool. “I haven't looked in over ten years,” she said, and his eyes widened in shock. “Believe me, if anyone can resist that kind of temptation, it's me.”

“I see,” Hawkmoth replied. He considered her offer. “I would be at your mercy.”

“That seems fair, considering I'm currently at yours.”

“I don't like letting others have power over me.”

“Not ever?” Nathalie asked. “That's a shame. I suppose we're not so compatible after all.” Was that a blush? It was impossible to tell, with that ridiculous head covering of his.

“I can sense emotions from anywhere in the city,” he warned. “I will continue to keep an eye on yours. If I get even the slightest indication that you're becoming tempted, or that you're changing your mind, you'll be back here in the blink of an eye.”

Nathalie shrugged, doing her best to seem unaffected by this threat. “Then I won't change it,” she replied.

Hawkmoth nodded. “In that case, I accept your generous offer. I shall escort you… would you prefer to go home, or back to work?”

Nathalie tried not to visibly exhale in relief, even though she knew he could detect it anyway. “Back to work?” she repeated sardonically. “You’d like me to reappear in the middle of Agreste Manor, in front of my boss and his son, out of thin air, disheveled and shirtless? In the company of the city’s most feared supervillain in over half a century?” Her voice got sarcastic at the end, as she threw his self-description back at him. “I'll pass.”

Again he seemed amused. “Well, I would certainly hate to embarrass you in front of your boss,” he said. “Your apartment it is.” He held out a gloved hand, and after a mere half-second of hesitation Nathalie placed hers gently within it. The room about them faded, and Nathalie was back in her apartment. Her bedroom, specifically.

“Rather presumptuous of you,” Nathalie commented, looking at her immaculately made bed. Hawkmoth grinned.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, disappearing into her bathroom, then emerging a few seconds later holding her giant oval mirror in one hand as though it weighed nothing, “I think I’ll take this with me. Just to make it easier on you, to resist temptation.”

“Have you seen my hairstyle?” Nathalie asked, her voice ice cold. “You think something that flawless just happens organically?”

“Do your hair in front of another mirror,” he replied, unfazed. “I’d simply prefer it if you didn’t have one right where you exit the shower every morning, when all it would take is a split-second of weakness to check. I think that’s reasonable.”

Nathalie let out a sharp laugh. “Yes, out of all the adjectives in the world to choose from, ‘reasonable’ certainly fits you best.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, take it. You’ve already got my shirt, my favorite blazer, and at least five bobby pins. With the mirror, all you need are a few grainy photographs taken without my knowledge and you’ve got all the items necessary for a shrine.”

Hawkmoth grinned. There was something truly infuriating about how he kept doing that. “I’ll return the blazer,” he promised. “Tonight, if you like. We should discuss this further. Leave your window open if you’re open to it, and I’ll take it as an invitation.” He bowed, and was gone.

Nathalie counted to ten in her head; when the villain didn’t reappear, she finally let herself sink onto her bed, her knees buckling slightly as she did so.

The identity of the man terrorizing her city on a near-daily basis was written on her back. It gave her a power over him-or might have, except it terrified him and that made him more dangerous to her than he was to anybody else in the city. Nathalie couldn’t even begin to let herself consider the implications of why his name had appeared on her back, of all places-she just wanted to get out of this, with some semblance of a normal life intact at the end of it. But for now she was locked in a holding pattern with a supervillain torn between wanting her and wanting her silenced. Normal might as well have been on the moon for how far away it was right now.

Fuck.

[italicwatches]

[Legacy content] My Hero Academia - Episode 08

You know, I’m not so much mad that there was no sandwich bread in the house this morning. I’m mad that the mini donuts I had to get at the gas station instead for breakfast were so fucking shitty. …Anyways, it’s My Hero Academia, episode 08! Here we GO!

-We see, that scene we’ve seen so many times before. That time in the forest, between Katsuki and Izuku…And then…The Detroit SMASH, the one where Izuku tanked his opponent’s attack, to throw his teammate an opportunity to claim the victory. And Katsuki seeing, up close, what Izuku’s power, what taking that fire, did to his body. And then, seeing those eyes…That damned determination in the face of everything…

-As Izuku’s body shuts down…Katsuki’s brain basically cracks like a fuckin’ egg.

-Opening!

-And the hero team is declared victorious…As Izuku passes out, and Ochaco is fighting to keep lunch inside of her. (Also to Tenya’s credit, he breaks character immediately to help her out. You’re a good man, Tenya.) And everyone in the monitoring room is just staring, really seeing what this kind of thing means. The kind of stakes of even something like this…Izuku has to be carried out of there by robots. While Katsuki…Katsuki is really not taking things well. But it turns out I gave him far, far too much credit.

-See, I thought he was freaking out at the extent of Izuku’s injuries. I thought he was seeing the kind of injury that came out of his effort to be the big scary bully, and had his eyes opened to how he can’t fuck around like that anymore. A crisis of conscience as his heart grew three sizes that day. Hahaha nooooooo. This fucko just is freaking out because little Deku won through his head. And then as he’s in total freakout mode…That’s when All Might tries to calm him down, telling him to come back and see the results. Whether you win or lose, seeing what you can do to improve is an important part of life.

-Episode 08! Bakugo’s Start Line.

-And it’s in the monitoring room…Where All Might declares Tenya the MVP of the match! Who can tell him why he made this decision, hmm?

-It’s…Skimpy-outfit-girl, who figures it out. Tenya adjusted his plans actively and on the fly based on the actual goal he was given(that is, “protect the bomb”), doing his best to achieve his actual goal. He also took into context his opponents’ abilities, doing his best within time and circumstances to tilt the playing field in his favor by removing the miscellaneous debris that Ochaco could have used with her powers.

-Contrast Katsuki, who actively pursued Izuku over a personal grudge, using unwise and massively destructive techniques for the context…And then Izuku, while he did better, still ended up having to use an incredibly rash and unwise plan that left him completely out of commission. And then Ochaco let her guard down in the thick of things, and also made use of strategies that, quite frankly, only worked because it was an exercise. Her wild strategy to get to the bomb only worked because her goal was only to touch the bomb. Had she needed to, say, solve a puzzle to defuse it, she’d have been screwed.

-Tenya’s only mistake, in sharp contrast, was playing within the context of the training exercise’s fiction, as opposed to operating around the strictest, most game-like interpretation of the rules. …God DAMN, she caught everything. Meet Yaoyorozu Momo, one of four students who got in on recommendations alone…

-And now it’s time for the next groups to go at it! Keep in mind the specifics from this first exercise, whether you are in the field or monitoring from here. And so it’s Team B up on the hero side, and Team I on the villain side…Team I, which includes…

-Ah.

-An invisible girl.

-Who cannot make her clothes invisible.

-Well then.

-And it’s up! Bat-guy Shoji Mezo, with his arm wing things, starts by gathering extra data…And pins them both on the fourth floor. So his comrade, an ice man, steps up and starts to just freeze the building out…Where he’s able to lock down both villains, then just walk on in! It’s a bit of an overkill technique…But it also works. Especially because he undoes it as fast as it happened, melting all the ice and turning the place into a sauna. He’s Todoroki Shoto, one of the other four to get in on recommendation.

-So that was one quick match, as it’s soon review time…And Katsuki is losing his cool bit by bit.

-Then it’s the third match, where we see some of the odd tricks of Team J’s duo…When our bird man and frog girl of Team H go right in…And otherwise, it’s general quick flashes of power. These range from some of the classics like super strength or electricity, to odd things like a girl who can plug into the surface of the building and pull sounds…

-And when it’s all done, the tests are done, with only Izuku injured out of the lot. Which All Might is quite happy about, as now he has to go check up on the student and pass the results on to him. He shall see you all soon, children! And then he’s off in a flash…Already trying to figure out how he can help Katsuki from going over the edge…

-And then he’s got to race into the staff elevator, where he locks himself in just in time for his powers to fail. Fuuuuck…

-Commercial break!

-And we’re back! Recovery Girl is tearing into No Might for how this kid has been in here like three times in the first week…His body literally cannot take her healing powers this much. She had to just rapidly get him through the worst of it, and now he has to heal the rest by staying here overnight on an IV. Also, she knows the nature of One For All, as well as No Might and Izuku’s secrets. And thinks they’re both being utterly ridiculous. Because where she stands, of course, she doesn’t do the whole “acting like a symbol” thing. She tries to fix problems. That’s what she’s done ever since she was a plucky young thing back in the day. And if you’re going to be a symbol…You got to know what it means to guide this kid, to make him grow into someone great…Because in the way he’s going, he’s going to be a mess of scar tissue and pain meds before he’s old enough to drink.

-And eventually, Izuku comes to…And realizes it’s well in the evening by this point, as Recovery Girl decides he’s well enough to at least get home. Go home, rest in your own bed, and be back here first thing in the morning, young man.

-So Izuku heads back to the classroom to get his things, already expecting a talking-to from any number of teachers…But instead he finds like half the class has been there waiting for him, and they think he did awesome! You’re fuckin’ cool as hell, man! We get names, but I’m not keeping most of them in my head. I’m not not.

-And then Ochaco gets back and she sees the poor injured Izuku and you poor thing! But there’s only one thing that Izuku wants to know. Where’s Katsuki? He…Just went home a few minutes ago, as soon as he heard they were letting you out…

-So Izuku bolts, catching up to Katsuki out in front of the main campus…And Izuku…Reveals the nature of his Quirk. It was given to him by someone else. A hero saw what he did that day, with the slime thing that nearly killed them both…And chose Izuku to inherit power. He spent the entire last school year training his ass off just to be able to handle it…And he still barely can even survive using it. Everything that happened to day, was because he didn’t want to rely on that power he got from someone else, this power that tore his arm apart…

-But Katsuki doesn’t believe a word. He thinks Izuku is just fucking with him, that he’s been messing with him…And all Katsuki can think, is his fury. His rage, at having gone from the big fish in a small pond, to being in the fucking ocean, where the whales swim in the deep…And with tears in his eyes, with his rage turned inward more than anything else, Katsuki swears he’ll rise to the top again. He’ll be number one when they leave. He’ll, fucking, beat, you!

-And that’s when All Might finds the two of them. And he takes up Katsuki, and reminds him of something. To be proud of yourself, is a fine thing. But you must not let it blind you, or let it cause you pain when you are still young and inexpe—

-Katsuki demands he let the fuck go, now. Because he’s not interested in a lecture. He’s going to be somebody. He’s going to push himself, he’s going to be stronger than even YOU, and he doesn’t need your damn lectures to make that happen! All Might, too shocked to properly respond, can only let the kid go…

-As everyone’s watching…And Ochaco is continuing to get fired up about fated battles between men. She really does wanna just see Izuku get all sweaty and shirtless, doesn’t she.

-Credits!

-Aftercredits! A few days later, they’d all find out, just how terrifying and cunning villains can be…As in a bar, back in the Now, a few villains are talking about the fact that All Might’s in town, now a teacher at UA…

…Fuckin’ hell, Katsuki. You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Anyways, we’ll see how his ego keeps getting him in trouble next time, in episode NINE of My Hero Academia! Wait for it!