#but truly any alice can stare on and ask if hes Drunk

[phantombs]

"I wonder, are you looking at me right now?" he somberly mmyurs. It’s a bizarre greeting, surely, bordering finely that realm of brusque, but he little seems to care as he wanders with his incense, praying on his lonesome by the quiet or the road-- And, god, the whispers, these  tears, and-- "Do you hope to see my pains, then, I wonder? Hm. You’re nosy, you know."

@hotpreist, 🎁.

[wallwriterstuff]

Hi! Can I please request a Demetri x mate!human!fem!reader where she’s Bella’s younger sister, and when the Volturi come for Renesmee, the Cullens tell her to stay with Charlie, since they had a bunch of vampires with them plus the Volturi showing up, it’d be bad with a human in the mix. Being related to Bella (haha) she doesn’t listen, choosing to hide behind a tree to try to see how Bella and her family are (she was worried what the Volturi would do). I’m sure everyone would realize there’s a human there, and Aro sends Demetri to check it out, who finds Y/n, and quickly realizes she’s his mate. Ooo that would be nerve racking to Bella because she’d see Dem speed her younger sister over to where all the Volturi are. I’m sure she’d have to go back to Volterra with them, and she’d be a little freaked out. Awhhh it’d be so cute to see them bond, and on New Year’s, she wants to watch the ball drop (because it’s a tradition), and when it’s the New Year, she kisses Dem for the first time!

Little Red Riding Hood Part 1 ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Part 2: The Big Bad Wolf 

Part 3: What Soft Lips You Have 

Part 4: And They Lived Happily Ever After 

Warnings: None, just Aro being a manipulative little meanie 

Words: 4793

Summary: Against her sister’s advice, Y/N Swan sets off on a one woman mission to protect her family, unaware of the price she will have to pay to do so. 

One of the worst habits you had was wondering the house late at night when you shouldn’t be. It wasn’t your fault really, insomnia didn’t have an easy cure and your sleeping medication was…well, when you woke up in the morning you felt drunk, they weren’t really something you enjoyed using. It had been an innocent quest really, a simple mission – get a warm mug of milk to go back to bed with. If anything, you were perfectly in the right to go wandering your own home. It should have been safe, even at 3:24AM.

Riley Biers shouldn’t have been there.

But he was.

In your living room.

And so were you.

Until you weren’t.

Alice had seen it all in advance of course and whisked you out of that room so fast the venom hadn’t even had time to properly enter your system after Riley bit down. Charlie hadn’t even been woken from his slumber by the time you were whisked into the depths of the forest to a nice little clearing where you could scream to your hearts content and nobody would hear you. Carlisle had saved you that night, sucking the venom out as quickly as Riley had injected it. The night that had followed was a surreal, whistle stop tour of the vampire world and its laws, laws you were technically breaking since you knew about the Cullen’s now. Of course, that meant you knew about the newborn army to, but you decided to stay out of that one. Some things however…some things demanded your attention, and whether you were human or not you simply had to at least see your family would be okay.

After a whirlwind few months your sister was saved, married and knocked up. Come Christmas, your hybrid niece was looking to be nine years old and your father was suspicious but none the wiser to the world you knew all too much about. You had carefully hidden your bitemark with polo necks, a sudden and bizarre choice your father had commented on once but quickly dismissed after you spouted some fashion facts Alice had prepared you with – fashion and Charlie did not mix and he dropped that conversation faster than one might drop a saucepan on fire. Of course, Renesmee (who you had created a variety of nicknames for just to tease Bella because otherwise you…well you’d have to call her Renesmee, and that was just cruel) was unique in every way, and unique and unknown equated to threat and danger in many minds, many minds the Cullen’s had slowly swayed over the few weeks since Alice had informed them of their impending death sentence.

You hadn’t been allowed to visit since the nomads and covens had started arriving, and though you understood the reason it didn’t make it any easier to know your sister, your niece, your extended family, were all in danger and you weren’t getting to spend what might be their last moments with them. It was only made worse when Bella and Edward had brought your father tickets to go fishing out of state, and tried to do the same to you. You loved your TV shows, truly you did, so for them to somehow get you backstage passes for Supernatural of all things was…immense. What you hated the most was how tempted you were to go. Who would say no to a long stay in a five star hotel, all expenses paid for and any bills you accumulated paid for by a Cullen, bottomless credit card?

When Edward and Bella had dropped you at the airport, part of you really had been ready to say goodbye to them, but as you stood in line for the gate the heavy weight of guilt settled in your gut and wouldn’t stop squirming. You had to turn back, you had to go. Nobody knew when the Volturi were going to land exactly, but you knew the day, and with Charlie and Sue gone for their fishing trip you would have nobody to stop you doing the incredibly dumb thing you had set your heart on. The taxi fare home had been extortionate but you couldn’t exactly have called anyone for a lift could you? You called the hotel and told them you were cancelling your stay, having to push your backstage pass for the Supernatural set deep into the depths of your bag to manage the grief of missing that opportunity, but family came first.

A restless night’s sleep later and you were dressing for the snow. It had fell fast and thick since Christmas day, so you had to set out early if you were going to get anywhere fast. Bella was your sister and you loved one another dearly, so of course you had spoken all about the upcoming battle, her hopes and her fears, her plans.

“There’s a clearing to the North of the house, we’re hoping if we engage them there it’ll be far enough away from people to stop anyone else getting involved by accident.”

Clearing to the North of the Cullen residence, right. With your Grandfather’s old compass you had set out, bundled in your thickest woollen coat and decked out the whole nine yards with scarves and hats and gloves. The air was freezing, nipping harshly at your exposed skin till your ears and nose were tinged red. Sniffling, you trudged through the layers of snow, stumbling over your own feet once or twice in the hereditary Swan way before regaining your footing and ploughing on. The trees seemed never-ending, an identical blanket of white on each and every one that towered above you, encroaching from all sides and making you lose all sense of direction. If it wasn’t for the compass in your hand you could have easily gotten lost in the winter wonderland, but a break in the treeline finally made an appearance. Numb as your extremities were, you forced your tired body to cooperate and propelled yourself forward, stumbling towards a tree you might be able to see past.

The forest was eerily silent, not a single scuttling animal or twittering bird to be found today, and the clearing itself was so large and the covens spread so far apart you could barely see a thing either, not with your dull, human eyes. A swarm of black gave away the Volturi, the mismatch of beiges and neutral tones on the left letting you know your family had yet to be taken down. A sigh of relief escaped you and you clapped a hand over your mouth in alarm, heart skipping a beat in your chest. Vampires had extremely sensitive hearing, there was no way somebody hadn’t heard you, and if it wasn’t the sigh that gave you away then it would surely have been the sound of mitten slapping flesh. Pressing into the bark you peeked around the tree trunk, heart hammering in your chest now as you tried to establish what was happening. You couldn’t hear a thing, could barely see. Ness sat atop Jacob, his russet fur glinting in the bright white of the snow-covered landscape.

“It all looks so terribly interesting from this distance does it not?” the smooth voice was right by your ear, and you screamed louder than you ever had in your life. Whirling around you shrunk back from the vibrantly red eyes of an admittedly handsome man, his expression devoid of any emotion as he looked you over. He had boxed you in against the tree trunk, his cloak billowing about him, the shiny, golden ‘V’ hanging around his throat making your chest constrict. Volturi, he was a Volturi guard. With wide eyes you stood in a silent stare-off, unable to decipher the emotions flickering through his eyes as he stood a step toward you.

“Stay away from me!” you cried, cringing back into the bark behind you. His head tilted.

“You came to spy and did not expect there would be consequences?” he asked, not stopping till he was almost on top of you. Your breath hitched. He had the most gorgeous looking face but you could identify the features of a killer in it. The glowing red irises didn’t look at you with malice however, more…confusion. His sharp, pearl white teeth weren’t bared to take your throat out but carefully sealed away behind plush lips. You could almost believe he didn’t intend on hurting you if his hands weren’t still reaching for you.

“You’re here to butcher my family, I had to…” you trailed off, because in reality what could you do? What could you possible say to this vampire that wouldn’t make him laugh? You were human, you stood no chance. He had paused, waiting patiently for your answer, yet when you gave him none he proceeded to pick you up like you weighed next to nothing, your feet being whisked out of the numbing snow to dangle over his arm. His eyes never left yours.

“Hold tight little one.” He suggested, his voice devoid of any emotion. If there had been any part of him you might have been able to appeal to before it was gone now, hidden behind a stony exterior. The world blurred around you and the jarring movement thew you off balance as he set you on your feet again, your body tilting in a way it shouldn’t till he was forced to grab you and hold you steady. Nausea rose quickly in the back of your throat, the world still spinning and blurring your eyes. You could see the edges of black cloaks swirling in your vision as you fought back the urge to be sick. There was no way to hide your anxiety now, your heart hammering away for all to hear, your breathing too quick to be normal.

“You seem to have distressed our dear friends, Demetri.” The smooth voice was sickeningly sweet, entirely false to your ears. Trying to take a steadying breath, you forced yourself to look up at the three imposing figures before you. A giant stood behind them, two young twins to their right. The three were quite obvious to you form the stories you’d heard, and your shudder had nothing to do with the cold this time. Demetri, the man holding you, had yet to let go of your waist, and his hands felt strangely soothing, their firm grip something that felt grounding and reliable despite your terror in this moment.

“An intruder who has already seen too much, end her now as yet another of the Cullen’s mistakes.” The blonde sneered. You swallowed, mind spinning. You were dead either way, right?

“My niece is not a mistake.” You retorted. You were proud that your voice didn’t waver once, though the grip on your waist tightened slightly and you weren’t sure if it was to warn you or scold you. Caius hissed, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare.

“Your niece? May I, my dear?” Aro stood before you, taller than you had expected with hair almost as long as yours. You knew it wasn’t a request, but you found yourself desperate either way to avoid touching him and shrank back from his extended hand, straight into Demetri’s chest. His hand was hesitant, but it lifted from your waist to lightly skim down your arm, his lips close to your hairline as he whispered, “Do as you are told now, little one.”

He carefully extended your hand for you, noting the tremor in it once more as Aro’s eyes flickered between you. He removed your mitten with a flourish, your hand immediately clenching and unclenching at the sudden blast of arctic cold it had previously been shrouded from. Aro’s skin was somehow even colder and your shivering grew in intensity. Very vaguely, you could hear Bella shouting something, but the distance was so great and the clearing so vast it swallowed the sound. His eyes flickered over yours, completely pinning you to the spot, and then they looked past you to whatever was happening behind you. Demetri was blocking your view when you tried to see what Aro was seeing.

“Sweet Y/N, your bravery in coming here is applaudable. I can only hope our own dear ones are as dedicated to our family as you are to yours.” Aro sighed, a hint of melancholy in his voice. You flinched, knowing the next words from his mouth would most likely be spelling out your death sentence. The sound of the breeze was all that filled your ears for a moment, the anxiety and anticipation growing in your stomach making it difficult to hold onto the meagre breakfast you’d forced yourself to eat. It occurred to you in that moment that this would be your final moments with your family, your last chance to say goodbye, and they could hear it. Squaring your shoulders, you held your head high.

“I came because I love them, and I don’t regret that. You can’t destroy my family, their witnesses are proof of that. My niece was created out of love and the legacy of love they would leave behind will be far too great for you to overcome. So go ahead and do what you have to to me, if I can die with half their grace then I know I’ve done them proud.” You clenched your fists at your side, prepared for the bite that Aro would deliver, maybe Demetri. Caius looked most upset by your little speech, hissing quietly and looking prepared to spring towards you. More muffled noise from behind you let you know your family had heard, even if you couldn’t hear their goodbyes you felt them in your heart.

Aro’s head tilted slightly, his expression cold, and then his mouth opened slightly and he was leaning forward. You closed your eyes, flinching as you braced for the pain of a bite you knew well, but instead you felt cold air, and when your eyes snapped open you were shielded from Aro’s bite by a tall, lean body, one strong arm curled backward to keep you caged against his spine. Demetri.

“Master…please.” He extended his hand, ripping off his glove with his teeth as he went. Aro eagerly took his hand, probably as desperate as you were to know why one of his most treasured guard would so openly defy him. Some of the Volturi’s people were starting to whisper behind them but a lethal look (from the giant of a man you guessed was Felix from Bella’s stories) silenced them. His grip on your hip tightened for a moment, the silence deafening before Aro chuckled.

“Ahhh…così si forma un legame eterno.” he murmured. You scrunched your nose, having no idea what he meant since you didn’t speak Italian. When Demetri carefully moved aside, giving Aro as slim a chance to access you as he possibly could, and your heart twisted with gratitude that he would even bother to try. You swallowed, doing your best to keep your fear from your face.

“Aro.” Caius growled. Aro held his hand up, forcing his brother to heel even if he couldn’t placate him.

“You are intriguing, Y/N. The Volturi do not offer second chances, but for the sake of our dear Demetri we are willing to bend the rules just this once,” Aro smiled, a shark-like grin that made your stomach sink, “You have a choice before you. Your family are quite innocent in regards to the accusation against your niece, for that we will deliver no justice-“ there was some uncomfortable shuffling behind him Aro dutifully ignored, “-however you are a law broken, yet another example of the Cullen’s inability to guard our secret from humans. An example must be made, you must be dealt with appropriately. Either you turn here, now, or you come with us, and we turn you.”

It was a Hobson’s choice. What Aro was really asking was how dead did you want to be? Dead dead? Or undead dead? If you let Carlisle bite you now in the clearing there were so many unpredictable nomads around. Bite your wrist and it would take forever for the venom to reach your heart and really start the change, you would be tortured right in front of them, a punishment for them all no doubt. Bite your throat and blood would spill, blood so many of those nomads wouldn’t think twice about feeding from in any other situation. So, what did you do? Did you choose the option where you ended up far from home but safe? Or did you choose the option that did not guarantee your safety but did guarantee your family would suffer watching you suffer?

For the first time since you entered the snow you felt warm, warm with so many eyes on you. Swallowing thickly, you tried to will your mind to work faster to outwit the vampire before you. In the end, you could only think of a compromise.

“My father’s not home right now. If I chose to come with you, could I have time to pack some clothes?” your voice was slightly weak, your heart aching in your chest. Your father would never see you again, he’d have to believe you just ran off, that you were the same flighty woman your mother was. Bella might never get a chance to see you again either, an eternity of knowing you would never lose your sister, but that you would never be reunited. It was painful however you spun it. Aro’s smile only widened, knowing he had successfully backed you into a corner.

“But of course! Such a…noble, sacrifice, must be rewarded. You have earned that much my dear. Demetri will take you now.” Aro gave his tracker a nod and Demetri seemed to relax, swiftly turning on his heel to march you across the snow. His hand was gentle on your arm, but the speed he set almost had you running to keep up, like he was desperate to get you out of there lest Aro change his mind. As you were escorted out of the clearing, you dared a single glance back at Bella, her face the very picture of horror as Edward held her back. All you could manage was a weak smile as your sister disappeared from view for what was possible the last time.

Once you were far enough into the trees that the clearing was out of sight for you, Demetri suddenly came to a stop, exhaling sharply and dropping his hand from your arm. It ran through his hair but barely ruffled it. Whatever he was thinking, you weren’t about to be privy to it as he slung you across his back with ease. You gasped, clinging on tight.

“Hey! What are you doing!” you protested.

“Taking you to your home. You are slower than I am.” He retorted, his voice quiet and his grip on your thighs firm. You held on tight, heart rabbiting in your chest.

“You don’t even know where I live.” You squeaked. Demetri chuckled, the sound vibrating through your gut.

“No, but I know where the Cullen’s live, and I find it hard to believe that in all this snow you walked all the way here. Now hold on tight and try closing your eyes, it may help with the nausea, cara mia.” He gave you seconds at most to bury your face in his shoulder before he took off, maybe…or not? You weren’t really sure but you didn’t dare lift your head to look. He made sure his gait was smooth, every stride flawless so he didn’t so much as jostle you, and by the time he gently encouraged you to unwind your legs from his waist you were in front of the Cullen’s house. The only reminder you had ever ran anywhere with him at all was the windswept state of your hair – it was unfair his still looked perfect.

He had been right of course, you had driven to the Cullen’s today. It was hard to imagine him sitting beside you in your small car, his cloak about him and his outfit all…well, what even was he wearing? Why did that even matter when this Volturi guard was escorting you to pack things that would be your only reminder of home? Demetri was quiet, watching you carefully as you stared at your car. Nothing made sense. Why had Demetri saved you when he was the one who hauled you out in front of Aro? Why had it felt like he was protecting you? Why was everything so…comfortable? Being around him was like being in the company of an old friend, it was familiar and warm, inviting, the silences felt natural.

Demetri quietly called your name, his expression questioning, but you didn’t bother to give him an explanation, simply pulled out your car keys and got into the driver’s seat. The radio chased away the silence, your fingers clenched tight around the wheel as you tried to figure out what to pack.

“Where are we going?” you asked him finally. Demetri kept his eyes on the horizon.

“To our home, to Volterra. You will be joining us in Italy.” He answered. Italy? You didn’t know the first thing about Italian culture. What was the food like? The people? The language? You’d need to pack warmer clothes, and they didn’t accommodate turtle-necks – not that you needed to hide a bite from vampires. It wasn’t really until you pulled up in the driveway of your home that it really struck you, the weight of the deal you made hanging heavy on your shoulders as you idled in front of your childhood home. In your mind you could see yourself running up the drive, your suitcase abandoned for your father to pick up as he welcomed you to stay for the summer. Other winters where you had opted to spend Christmas with Charlie over Renée flashed through your mind next, dilapidated snowmen and strung up lights over the porch flashing bright. Tears stung your eyes.

“I’m never coming back here, am I?” you whispered. Demetri remained silent, and you were grateful for it. There was nothing he could say to make this better and you suspected he knew that. Furiously wiping at your eyes, you rummaged for your house keys and cleared your throat. “You should wait until I open the front door, it’ll look suspicious if you follow me in and any of the neighbours see.” You muttered, already climbing out of the car before he could argue. It was a slow walk up the drive, a walk where you desperately tried to imprint the bumps in the concrete, the muddy smells of the forest surrounding you, and the awful netting in the windows’ you father hadn’t changed since your mother moved on, into your memory.

The smell of stale beer from the cans in the recycling box beneath the sink hit your nose as the door opened, the familiar smells of Charlie’s aftershave and Sue’s perfume coming next. The house was cold, quiet, desolate even. Demetri was in front of you in the blink of an eye as you shut the door behind you, nobody would have seen him enter for sure. He glanced around himself, obviously curious at the choice in décor and the photographs along the walls – you couldn’t bear to look at them. With a soft sigh, you left him in the living room, knowing he would do what he liked anyway regardless as to whether or not you invited him upstairs.

The suitcase you had packed for your trip would need to be unpacked, some of your jumpers and long-sleeved shirts would not be needed in Italy after all. It would be hot, and heat was not a friend to wool. Your wardrobe doors flung open, you were contemplating what to put back when Demetri interrupted you.

“Vampires do not feel temperature the same way humans do. When you turn it will be no issue to wear jumpers, if they are what you prefer.” He said. Brows crinkling, you subconsciously lifted a hand to your throat.

“It’s not really a fashion choice,” you murmured, “But I guess I don’t need to really hide a bitemark from a bunch of vampires, do I?” Just like that the air changed; you no longer felt comfortable with Demetri, not when he was giving off such a sour energy. He radiated danger, anger. He took a breath to visibly compose himself, but his eyes were still darkened by anger, near black with the rage he radiated. The leather of his gloves squeaked as he clenched and unclenched his fists. You took a step back from him, biting down on your lower lip as your heart skittered.

“Show me,” he said, eyes blazing. You shook your head. “Show me.” He growled, stepping forward this time. Gulping, you reached up with a shaky hand to pull the turtle-neck down as far as you could, thankful the material stretched slightly. Demetri peered past the fabric to the silver crescent shapes of Riley’s teeth, emblazoned on your skin until Volturi venom decided to buff out that imperfection. He hissed quietly, his fingertips tracing the mark and sending shivers down your spine. He was freezing cold, cold as a corpse actually since that was technically what he was, so why did his fingers leave a blazing trail of fire across your skin?

“It’s just small, it’ll go away anyway if-“

“It will not, go away.” Demetri ground out, his eyes fixated on the scar. He looked genuinely disgusted and you couldn’t tell if it was at you or the bitemark, you couldn’t tell quite why it bothered you so much either. Why did you care so much that this upset Demetri?

“It won’t?” you asked weakly. He winced a bit, letting his hands drop and looking away. You counted ten whole seconds before he dared turn back to you.

“No, it will not. Venom is what will immortalise you, petrify your system, it has had a chance to do so to those cells it has touched already and they will be forever changed by it. My only hope is to bite down there, that by breaking the surface with my teeth it heals over with my venom.” He almost growled the word at you in his frustration and you swallowed, blinking in surprise.

“You’re going to be the one that turns me?” you questioned. Could he even do that? Did he have the self-control? You had thought Aro would do it if you were honest, though you couldn’t say you were over the moon to have that old coot’s teeth in your throat it was guaranteed to at least be safe. What right did Demetri have to steal your life? Why was he so angry over the thought of another vampire biting you? Had he claimed some weird sort of vampire dibs?

“Of course. The Volturi have laws they enforce but when it comes to affairs between mates, they leave well enough alone.” He informed you, head tilting. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Mates?” you whispered, mind reeling.

“You do not feel the pull?” he asked. He had yet to step back from you, unbearably close and yet somehow not close enough. For a moment you couldn’t say anything, simply trying to desperately scramble to think coherently enough to consider answering.

“I don’t…I barely know you, you can’t just…say that.” You stammered. Demetri very gently grasped your chin between his fingers, tilting your face upward so you were forced to maintain eye contact with him. You weren’t sure what he was searching for, if he found it or not, but he dropped your chin with a sigh.

“Pack, tesoro, we have little time.” He murmured. You were relieved when he stepped back – it gave you a chance to breathe.  Mate? Demetri thought you were his mate? You knew what that meant, Edward had explained to you what his connection with Bella was like after Riley had introduced you to his world, trying to help you understand how awful the months leading up to Bella’s running away to Italy had been for both of them. Is that why he had been so protective of you on the field? Is that why he was so furious another vampire had dared mark you? It crossed your mind then just how selfish your decision actually looked to the outside world. In your head, you had been saving your family from suffering, but to them it probably looked like you had chosen to run off with your mate because you didn’t trust they would take care of you. How were they ever going to forgive you for this?

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 5/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 5: I’m Standing on Your Porch Screaming Out

Killian had watched the woman throughout dinner, even when he tried to avoid her, his eyes were drawn to her, seeking her out as they ate quietly. Every so often she would smile in his direction and he felt his pulse race, internally cursing himself for such a reaction. He had no business looking at this woman any other way than an inconvenience who needed to leave as soon as possible. She would have to leave, it’s not like she was going to suddenly stay here with him. He was a man she knew nothing about and once she did, she would look at him with horror and disappointment.

He tucked the woman into bed, walking through the house to blow out the candles. He grabbed his bottle of rum and poured a hefty glass. Curling into his couch, he pulled the blankets around his legs for warmth and gulped at the warm liquid. Another perk about this woman leaving his cabin would be sleeping in his own bed again. His couch was definitely not built for comfort and he was sore all over from spending so many nights tossing and turning.

He hoped the rum would numb him enough to allow for his body to relax, but he was restless and full of strife as he drifted off to sleep.

“Will you always love me daddy?”

“That’s a silly question, Alice.” He tickled the small girl as he tucked her into bed. “I will always love you, my beautiful girl.”

“Because you’re my daddy?”

“Because you’re my world.” He mused, kissing the girl on the cheek.

“Even if he gets me?”

The room turned dark, a loud laugh filling the void. “Yes, Killian, even if I get her?”

Killian turned toward the door, the face of his enemy filling the space, his daughter held tightly in front of him.

“Don’t you love me daddy?”

“Baby yes. I will always love you.” He cried.

“Then why did you let him kill me, daddy.”

The room exploded around him, Alice’s face disappearing into the black.

“Alice, No, come back to me.”

“Killian, wake up.”

He sat up, drenched in sweat, his brain still swimming in alcohol and confusion, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he panted heavily. He looked up into sea green eyes. “What happened?”

“You were screaming.” She said softly, her body pressed against him.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” He rasped, trying not to fall into a trance by the close proximity of the woman currently staring down at him.

“It’s ok. Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Who’s Alice?”

He glared at her, his heart pounding. “What did you say?”

“You were screaming for Alice to come back.”

He shouldn’t have drunk so much alcohol last night. The dreams always invaded his sleep when he let down his guard, when he wasn’t strong enough to resist the pull to them. “She’s...she’s no one.”

“She didn’t seem like no one.” Her hands were lazily running up and down his arm causing electric sparks to radiate from his skin. He ran a hand over his face, trying to avoid her gaze. “Is she the one in the photo?”

“What photo?” he responded in a groggy haze.

Did she go through his things? “I’m sorry, I found it in the drawer.” She ducked her head, looking away from him.

Killian groaned, “You shouldn’t have…” He was yelling. He felt angry, like someone had encroached on his privacy. He wanted to lash out at the woman, send her away for even daring to ask him about Alice. But he knew he was being irrational; it wasn’t her fault that she saw a photo. It wasn’t her fault that she got trapped here with no memory of who she was. In fact, he envied that she didn’t know her past. He had wished it so many times to just wake up and no longer exist, or no longer realize that she had once existed.

The woman reeled away from him, scrambling to try and get up from the couch as she stumbled and cursed the pain that immediately hit her. “Stop.” He said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back to the couch. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She said with an angry pout.

“I just don’t like living in the past.” He sighed.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have imposed.” She seemed remorseful almost afraid of his reaction.

“It’s not your fault I bloody woke up screaming in my sleep.” He sat up from his spot on the couch, making room for the woman to relax against the back of the sofa. “Alice is…was my daughter.” He hadn’t spoken about her to anyone since the trial. It was almost cathartic saying her name out loud right now to this woman.

“Was? So, she’s…” She relaxed into the sofa, her body still pressing against his, and he ignored the burning starting to build in his stomach at the contact.

“Aye.” He nodded. “12 years ago.”

“I’m sorry. And the woman?”

He gulped. “Milah. My wife.”

“Where is she?”

“Also gone.” He said simply. “They died in an explosion; it was…” He stopped speaking, staring at the candle by the mantle, unable to continue.

“I’m so sorry.” Her hand slid to her mouth before coming back to rest against his. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye.”

“Is that why you live out here…alone?” She asked softly.

“Not entirely, but in a way, I suppose.”

“I’m truly sorry, that’s a terrible loss.” She stared at him, her eyes glassy and he wondered why she was affected by his story. She didn’t know him, shouldn’t care for him at all. Killian didn’t deserve her sympathy. He didn’t deserve anyone’s understanding.

“Hopefully, the storm lets up soon and I can take you back to town.” He deflected, rubbing his eyes to keep any emotion from bubbling over in front of her.

“No.” She stated loudly. “What if someone put me out here, what if they are waiting for me to show back up?”

“Ok Swan calm down. You’re right, once the roads are clear, I can go into town, see if anyone is looking for you. Scope it out.” He said quietly, touching her arm with his fingers. She turned toward him, gratitude in her eyes, and he smiled. It was the first genuine smile he had provided to another living soul in years. “We’ll get you home, love.”

“Right.” She whispered. “Home.” She was staring at his lips; he couldn’t rationalize it any other way. He needed her to leave, soon.

“You should sleep.” His voice was dark, soft enough that he barely recognized it. Between the alcohol and the unexpected sharing of trauma he wasn’t thinking straight. Was she leaning in toward him or did he lean toward her? He couldn’t feel his own body to know who moved first but he felt her lips on his before his brain caught up to him. They were soft yet bruising against his mouth, the glorious sound of her moan set his body on fire. His hands snaked into her hair, his thumb brushing against her neck when he felt her tongue press against his lips and his body melted into her. When he could no longer breathe he pulled back, their foreheads pressed together as he tried to catch his breath. “Apologizes.” He whispered. “I forgot myself.” He pulled away from her, her cheeks flush, eyes hazy as she stared at him.

“I’ll help you get back in bed.” He said softly, standing up and bending over to lift her into his arms. He walked her to the bed, setting her against the mattress and pulling the blankets over her. “Goodnight, Swan.” He said without looking back, shutting the door behind him, and reaching for the bottle of rum. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

She stared at the closed door, her hand rising to her lips, still swollen, and tingling from his kiss. She kissed him. What was she thinking? She didn’t do things like this.

Did she?

She groaned in frustration. She had no idea if she was this type of person or not. All she knew is that the man in the other room entranced her. There was something about him that called to her, that begged for her to want him. It was like everything in her body was drawn to him and it made no sense at all while also being extremely clear to her. She wanted him.

It was ridiculous.

Was he her type? She laughed to herself, was man-who-hides-out-in-the-forest-while-mourning-his-wife-and-daughter, a type?

She stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the warmth, the desire building in her body. Whoever she was, in her past, before she met this man who had taken such good care of her, whoever she was, she wasn’t that person right now. Right now, she was only Swan. His Swan.

Emma sat up in the bed, standing against the mattress and limping toward the door. She yanked it open, jumping slightly when she saw him standing on the other side, staring at her, desire burning in his eyes.

“Killian…” She could barely catch her breath. He cut her off, his lips crashing into hers. She moaned into his mouth, feeling his hands roaming her back, slipping underneath the hem of her shirt until flesh met flesh. He tasted of rum, his hair sticking up wildly like he had been nervously pulling at the tendrils before she opened the door.

“We shouldn’t…” He groaned against her neck, his tongue sliding hot and wet against her jaw. “You don’t even know…”

She pulled away from him, pressing her hand to his mouth. “Right now, I’m your Swan.” Desire flashed in his dark blue orbs. His mouth was on hers again, lifting her off her feet as he carried her toward the bed, dropping her on her rear onto the mattress. He stood between her open legs, his fingers working the buttons on her shirt as he shed it from her body. Her breasts bare in the moonlight beneath his touch.

She groaned deep and loud when his teeth raked against her nipple, his hands tight around her hips, fingers digging into her flesh. His mouth traced her skin, teeth clashing against her throat until she felt his breath hot against her ear. “You’re so beautiful.” She flushed, melting into his touch. He pushed her back further on the bed, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her pants, tugging them slowly down her body as he exposed her to him. He was gentle as he brushed his hands up her leg, cautious not to hurt her, but she wanted him, needed him closer, faster.

“Killian…” She pleaded softly and he smirked against her stomach, looking up at her with a sinful grin that stopped her heart. God this man would be the death of her.

His tongue swirled against her thigh, his lips puckering to kiss her flesh. She needed him higher, closer. Reaching down she fisted her hand in his hair and she heard him laugh. “Patience, love.”

“Fuck patience.” She said louder than she intended to which caused him to stop and look at her.

“Such language, Swan. Dirty girl.” His face should be illegal, she thought.

“I’ll show you dirty if you don’t put your mouth where I need you soon.” She warned and he dropped his head, pressing his tongue exactly where she needed him. “God, yes.” She groaned, lifting her shoulders off the mattress.

His tongue slid between her folds, her body shuddering against his touch. Whatever this was, whoever she was, in this moment she didn’t care. She just needed his touch, his tongue, all of him and she didn’t care who either of them were in this moment.

She felt his fingers slide inside of her, torturously slipping in and out of her as her body melded to his touch, driving her insane. She watched his dark hair bob below her stomach, and she gave in to him, turning her body over to him, letting him guide her where he wanted her to go until she let go completely, her body shuddering as she slipped into a torturous oblivion.

He slid up her body, peppering kisses to her flesh until he reached her mouth. “Are you quite alright, Swan?” He smirked as he reached her mouth.

“Better than alright.” She groaned, wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling his mouth hard against her as his erection pressed into her thigh. She canted her hips toward him, trying to get the contact she craved.

“Swan, I don’t think…”

She ignored his protest, reaching between them with her hand. She grasped him in her hand, sliding the tip against her center, eliciting a groan from his lips.

“Swan, I don’t have any protection out here…” He tried to protest again, and she bit his bottom lip with her teeth.

“Please…” She begged, knowing she was being reckless, she had no idea if she used birth control and if she had, she certainly was not using it now. It was not as if he had been with anyone, knowing he had been out here alone for years. It was careless, but she needed him, this, whatever it was.

His resolve crumbled, his kisses became more desperate, and she felt him press against her, slipping inside of her with a grunt. She was sure there had never been something as glorious as the feeling of him filling her as he thrust inside of her. His fingers threaded into her hair, his body rocking into her as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She watched him, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his mouth pinched in a line, his eyes staring directly into her.

She rocked her hips with his, the sound of their bodies slapping together only making her heart race faster. She could feel it building inside of her again, the crescendo causing her heart to soar until she saw stars behind her eyes, her body shivering as she fell over the edge with a scream. He tensed above her, pulling himself from her and grasping himself in hand until he spilled onto her stomach, grunting against her neck until he slowed his movements.

He fell over on his side, staring up at the ceiling. “Wow.” He said quietly. “I uh…I should…”

“You should stop talking.” She said with a laugh, reaching over to grab her discarded shirt to clean her stomach, tossing it onto the ground. “Can we just be here tonight? Whatever this is, can we just have this and go back to whatever we were in the morning?” She whispered against his arm, kissing his shoulder.

“As you wish.” He said quietly, rolling to his side and kissing her neck. “Get some sleep, Swan.”

She closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep to the sound of his breathing, the feel of his fingers tracing her skin, and the comfort of knowing he was beside her.

~*~

Killian woke to the feel of sunlight breaching though his eye lids. He peered through them, seeing the bright skies through the window. The storm had finally broken. He frowned, turning to his side to the blonde hair cascading across his chest and arm from the woman facing away from him on the pillow beside him. He hadn’t shared a bed with a woman in over a decade.

He shook his head, remembering the night they had shared, even through the haze of alcohol, he knew he should have stopped it from progressing to this. He had no right to this woman. For all he knew she was another man’s wife. Just another bad deed in Killian Jones’ long list of missteps in life.

He slid out of the bed, pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt and quietly tip toeing out of the room, he turned to look at the woman sleeping peaceful in his bed and his heart ached for a different lifetime. One where he was worthy of a woman like this majestic swan. But last night was a dream, a fantasy, a one-time thing that would dissolve the moment she remembered her identity or found out the kind of man she was staying with.

He closed the door behind him, finding his shoes and stepping outside to survey the damage the storm had left for them. The water was all around the small cabin, he was thankful for the sandbags he had placed that kept the water from invading his home. It would take days of sun for the water to retreat before he could venture into town to contact someone about the woman he had found. In the meantime, he needed to figure out how to exist with her, without her degrading any more of his emotional walls.

He stepped back in the house, surprised to see her leaning against the counter, eggs sizzling on the stove. He nodded in her direction when she looked up. “Storm passed sometime during the night. Flooding is pretty bad. I’m going to need to dig a trench today to allow some of it to filter away from the house.” He stomped his boots against the mat before entering the kitchen. Reaching into the cabinet he produced two plates and dug out forks to set the table.

He caught her glance from the corner of his eyes, a slight smile betraying him as his lips turned upward. Damn this woman. He was an ex-convict, murderer, a villain and here he was falling into a fictional domestic bliss with a woman he had barely known for longer than a week.

She scraped the eggs onto a plate and brought them to the table, limping into her chair.

“How’s your leg feeling today?”

She shrugged. “Better I suppose, really only hurts when I step down on it.”

“One would suggest you don’t do that then.” He teased, earning a grin that stopped his heart.

“Alright, Mr. Obvious.”

He jabbed his fork into his eggs, setting about focusing on the food in front of him instead of the woman sitting beside him. He didn’t need to live a fantasy, he needed to figure out how to get back to his reality.

“I was thinking I might sit on the porch with Jolly today. I missed the sunlight.” She said breathlessly, looking longingly at the window as the rays billowed into the small cabin.

Perhaps a few more days of pretending couldn’t hurt him. It was nice having someone else around to talk to, even if she did make him feel like he was on the verge of a heart attack at any moment. “I think Jolly would enjoy that.” The dog barked and Killian tossed him a spare piece of egg from his plate. “I think he’s a fan of the chef.” He joked, as the dog jumped around his legs.

“Happy to help out.” She was staring at him, he could see that from the corner of his eye, he didn’t dare meet her gaze, for fear of doing something ridiculously stupid like kissing her again.

“I should get to work outside.” He stood from the table, running water over his plate, and returning it to the sink. “There is a bench outside if you want to sit.” Their eyes met and something inside of him yearned for the peaceful feeling she provided by being here. It was warm and welcoming and perhaps he could pretend that it was something he deserved, for just a little while longer.

[the-demelza-robins]

american high school!jily (iv)

oh hey! it’s chapter four! you can also read it on ao3 :)

part three 

JAMES’S GLASSES GET IN THE WAY. Lily should’ve expected it, should’ve known that when he’d backed her against the door, when he’d leaned down slightly to kiss her again, his glasses would bump against her forehead. He’s kissing her and she’s laughing, and she should be embarrassed, but this is James Potter and his glasses got in the way and he’s laughing, too, and they’re a mess and Lily can’t really think about anything except that Gretchen Prewett must be onto something, because she’s never felt this comfortable kissing someone before.

“How blind are you?” she asks, voice more breathless than she thought it would be (he’s kissing her neck, now, which probably has something to do with it).

“I’m nearsighted,” he replies, lips against skin. “Can’t see things far away.”

“In that case, I’m taking your glasses off,” Lily decides, reaching for them. Eyes. Hazel. Up close.

“At least take me to dinner first.”

Lily doesn’t glorify that with a response. She can feel the time running out, sand through an hourglass; there’s only so much left before she’ll remember what he did to Sev and he’ll realize that the sweater she’s wearing belongs to Roger; before Sirius unlocks the bedroom door and Marlene wants to go home; before the sun rises and the whole night is reduced to a dreamy haze. She takes his glasses off and tosses them onto a nearby chair, and then she kisses him again.

She’s only kissed two people before: Sev, once, in eighth grade — it was wet and gross and quickly extinguished any remotely romantic feelings she’d had for him. Then, tonight, Roger.

And now, James. Her hands are in his hair and his are pressed against her waist, under Roger’s sweater but over her dress, and his hair is so soft and he’s doing things with his tongue and the fire she felt earlier in the night is nothing, nothing, compared to this.

Just like that, he steps back. Just like that, the sand in the hourglass runs out.

“Lily?”

She takes a breath, tries not to stare at his lips (swollen) or his hair (thoroughly, thoroughly mussed) as she pulls herself together. “Yes?”

“Are you and Roger —”

Everything comes crumbling down. Her and Roger. What was she doing here, with James, when she’d finally gotten Roger? So what if James is a better kisser, so what if the look he’d given her after she’d kissed him for the first time made her stomach tighten? Roger was the one she wanted; had always wanted.

“We’re not together, not —” she swallows that last word, that yet, down.

James steps back, runs a hand through his hair. Crosses his arms. Grimaces, slightly, at the ground. “Okay.”

The room spins in time with her heartbeat. “I don’t know what came over me, I just —”

“It’s my fault,” he says, voice quiet, controlled. “My fault. I knew you always liked him, hell, I even saw you kissing him a few hours ago —”

“It’s not your fault,” Lily says wildly, unsure of what she’s trying to accomplish. “But — we can be friends, right? I’d like to be friends.”

This time, he looks up at her, a more genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he couldn’t have actually liked me, Lily thinks, if he’s taking it this well. “Yeah. Friends.”

***

Lily wakes the next morning to a splitting headache and a text from Roger. It’s simple, straightforward (the text, not the headache): that was fun, we should do it again sometime, to which Lily responds, definitely.

Ignoring the guilt settling in her stomach — guilt for what happened with James, even though she hadn’t made any promises to Roger — she pops an Advil and resolves to keep her phone on silent for the rest of the day.

***

The Sideways Diner opens early on Sunday mornings, and it’s there that Lily finds herself a twenty minutes later, talking about the night before with the usual crowd. Alice blows bubblegum bubbles and refuses to eat anything, but still she orders a strawberry milkshake, if only to draw patterns in the whipped cream. Marlene, dressed preppily enough to go golfing, bears almost no resemblance to the tired, sad girl Lily had consoled last night; she smiles brightly, laughs, Sirius’s fever finally, finally broken. Dorcas, half-asleep, leans her head against Lily’s shoulder, legs dangling out into the aisle. Lily herself feels like she’s been ground through a trash compactor; though her headache has subsided somewhat, different moments from the night keep echoing through her head — Roger, smiling at her in the dimly lit kitchen, hand on her back as he’d kissed her; James, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else when he’d interrupted them; Marlene, soft, quiet, wrecked; James, again, and again, and again…

“James and I hooked up last night,” Lily blurts out, unable to stop herself. From the other side of the circular booth, Marlene’s mouth drops open, lip gloss framing a perfect O. Dorcas stirs against Lily’s shoulder, then sits up, forking some of Lily’s pancakes onto her own plate and grumbling.

Alice is the first to break the silence, raising her eyebrows. “Well?”

“What do you mean, ‘well?’” Lily asks, brow furrowing. “James. James Potter. The one I hate? I hooked up with him, and all you have to say is well?”

“I called it,” Marlene says, a hint of triumph in her voice as she sips her orange juice. “Literally right before it happened. I called it.”

“Was it good?” Alice pushes.

“We just — I mean, we just kissed,” Lily sputters, wondering how she’d managed to lose control of the conversation already.

Dorcas raises an eyebrow, then pokes Lily’s neck. “That hickey says otherwise.”

Marlene’s laughing now, and Alice joins in. “I thought you got with Roger.”

“That was earlier in the night, before…”

“Before you got mysteriously ‘locked’ in the master bedroom with your childhood enemy?” Marlene asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We were locked in!” Lily protests. “It’s an old house, and —”

“Oh, so you just had to make out to pass the time?”

“Well, I got pretty mad at him, and we were fighting, but then we realized we were stuck, and he seemed claustrophobic, so —”

“So you kissed him to make him feel better, obviously,” Alice jumps in, smirking. “It’s what any of us would’ve done. The most clear path forward.”

“I hate all of you,” Lily grumbles. “Besides, we agreed to be friends.”

“And what kind of friend would he be, Lily dear?” Alice asks, batting her eyelashes. “The one that leaves marks on your neck?”

Lily wonders, idly, if her friends will ever let this go.

***

On Friday, after a week of texting back and forth, Roger asks her out. They’ve just finished their last yearbook meeting, and as they walk down the empty hallway towards the parking lot, he says: “You going to the game tonight?”

“There’s a game?” Lily asks, though of course she knows what he’s talking about. She’s a bit too aware of the soccer team’s schedule, thanks to him.

He nods. “We’re playing Rosedale. You should come.”

Lily can’t help herself from blurting: “I should?”

He glances at her, expression hard to read. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to. It would be fun.”

Lily feels the vibrations of incoming text messages in her pocket; thinks of plans. Marlene’s plans, to go to the Dairy Queen and get drunk, maybe, or sleep over at someone’s house. Boring plans. Usual plans. The plans that will result in a few new Snap memories and inside jokes, but nothing more.

The possibility of the game stretches out before her, as long as the corridor they’re walking down. She could go to the game. Cheer Roger on. This thing — whatever they are — could actually go somewhere.

“What’s in it for me?” Lily teases, trying to tell her heart to stop beating so fast. Is he blushing? The fluorescent lights of the hallway, universally unflattering, make it hard to tell.

He forms his words carefully. “I don’t know. School spirit? Yearbook photos? Ice cream?”

Lily laughs. “Ice cream?”

“I mean, if you want, we could get some after.”

Lily’s practically beaming, and it’s so embarrassing, but she can’t stop herself. This is what she’s wanted. This is what she’s always wanted. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

***

The game starts at six, and it’s four thirty now. After Roger leaves for the soccer field, Lily calls Marlene, who screams in her ear and promises to meet her in the bleachers. Dorcas can’t come because she has a violin recital but she tells Lily, almost fondly, not to fuck it up.

“Love you too, Dorcas,” Lily says sweetly into the phone. Dorcas murmurs something similar — albeit in a much less friendly tone — and Lily wonders how she got such amazing friends. She’s about to find an empty classroom to do some work in when someone calls her name.

“Lily! Didn’t think I’d see you here on such a fine Friday evening.” James walks towards her, already in his soccer uniform.

Lily waves her ever-present yearbook camera. “I’m going to the game.”

His hand flutters over his heart, Northwood High’s colors — green and gold — splayed across his chest. “I’m shocked, Evans. Truly. What prompted such a dramatic change in behavior? Possession?” He squints at her. “Whoever’s inhabiting Lily’s body, riddle me this — what was her mother’s maiden name?”

“Lawrence. And I’m, um, meeting with friends. And taking photos.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. Some protective instinct, buried deep inside her, doesn’t want James Potter to be the first person outside of her friend group to find out about Roger — even if James had reverted back to his old self over the course of the week. It’s almost like Halloween night didn’t happen, and Lily is absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he never liked her, that the combination of leftover alcohol and claustrophobia was what drove him to say he wanted to kiss her, not some deep seeded longing.  

He runs a hand through his hair. “Keep the camera on me, ‘kay? I’m the star out there.”

“I’ll try,” Lily says drily. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the field right now?”

James shrugs. “I had to put my contacts in, and the locker room bathrooms were full.” He holds up his glasses, which he’d been carrying in his hand, and Lily’s struck by vivid memory: the way the glasses had dug into her forehead the first time he’d leaned down to kiss her; the way she’d tugged them off his face in a frenzy; the way his face, without them on, looked so vulnerable, even in the dark.

Just as Lily realizes she’s been staring for too long, James snaps his fingers. “Oh, I get it. This the part in the movie where the protagonist takes her glasses off, and the love interest realizes that she’s beautiful. I guess the genders are swapped for this one.”

Lily gapes at him.

“I mean, I thought you would’ve already realized how captivating my eyes are, Lily, but if this is what it takes —”

“Oh, shut up,” she snaps, color rising to her cheeks. She’s thoroughly humiliated, but she’ll be damned if she has to let him see that. “I’m meeting Roger after the game, okay?”

Now it’s his turn to stand stock-still, smug expression frozen on his face. He clears his throat. “Okay. Sorry. I was just joking, I mean —”

“No, I get it —”

“— knew we said we’d be friends, I was just teasing —”

“— it’s okay —”

“— crossed a line, and I’m sorry —”

“— you’re fine, James.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay. Well… I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

“Good luck,” Lily almost whispers.

She watches as he walks away.

***

Northwood crushes Rosedale, 5-0. Roger is a solid wall, not letting a single ball into the net, but, if Lily’s honest with herself, James is the one behind the team’s success. Again and again, he scores; the stands erupting into cheers, his teammates patting him hard on the back. Lily snaps picture after picture, and when it’s over she joins her classmates in flooding the field, a crush of bodies and cheering and exuberance under the rapidly approaching twilight. The team streams out of the locker rooms a few minutes later. Lily searches for Roger amongst the sea of green and gold sweatshirts, and before she can find him, she makes eye contact with James. He’s glowing — cheeks still flushed from the game, hair flattened by the shower, glasses back on. For a moment, Lily swears that the pure energy radiating from him, the unfiltered happiness, makes him seem like a little boy again.

That last thought abandons Lily’s head as soon as she spots Gretchen Prewett running towards him. He lifts her off her feet, spins; not a little boy anymore. Something settles deep in her gut, and she turns away, not sure why seeing James happy causes such discomfort.

“Lily?”

She blinks; while she’s been off in her own head, Roger’s walked over, and now he stands in front of her, grinning. “Great job out there,” she says, not quite knowing what to do with herself.

Is he blushing? He’s definitely blushing.. “Thanks. I, um — wanna get ice cream?”

“Definitely,” Lily says, confidence rising. He’s nervous, too.

“Cool. I just have to say goodbye to everyone, and then we can go.” He holds a hand out expectantly. She takes it, realizing too late that this means she’ll have to see James one more time.

They weave through the crowd, shouted congratulations and praise following them as they move closer to where the majority of the team stands. Lily knows that people can see her and Roger’s intertwined hands, and the thought sends a thrill through her. “Davies,” Preston Fawley, right midfielder, shouts. “We’re going to James’s — wanna join?”

Lily looks past Preston and sees James, arm slung around Gretchen’s waist, talking to Remus and Peter. “What do you think, Lily?” Roger asks, looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m not really in the mood right now, can we stick to ice cream?”

“C’mon, Evans, lighten up a little,” Preston says, a glint of something in his eye. Whatever it is, it makes Lily want to stay ten feet away from him for the rest of her life.

Roger shifts his weight, hand growing damp in hers. “It’s her call.”

“Girls,” Preston chuckles, shaking his head. Roger returns the gesture uneasily and tugs on Lily’s hand.

“We’re going. See you around, Preston.”

“See you soon,” the other boy responds, and then they’re walking across the field, towards the parking lot.

“Preston’s a dick,” Roger says.

“You could’ve at least stood up for me,” Lily responds, “I mean seriously, what was that? ‘Girls?’ Like I’m not right in front of him?”

“With Preston, it’s better to just back away slowly,” Roger replies, a hint of humor in his voice. “Everyone knows he’s like that.”

“And no one says anything?”

“Trust me, it’s best to just leave him alone.”

“And have him spew condescending, borderline sexist shit like that — ”

They’ve reached the parking lot; Roger stops abruptly in front of a white Toyota. “This is mine. I was thinking we could go to the Baskin Robbins?”

Lily takes a deep breath — perhaps the subject change is for the best, anyway. She needs to remind herself why she’s here. Not to change the soccer team’s team culture, but to go on a date with Roger Davies. Smart, handsome, and her crush since freshman year. She pastes a smile back onto her face with minimal effort. “That sounds great.”

He grins back, and they’re off.

***

Lily orders mint chip; Roger takes strawberry. He pays — Lily protests only a little bit — and they sit at an empty picnic table. After a few awkward moments, they find a conversational rhythm. Between licks of ice cream, Roger tells her that his parents are divorced; that he wants to be recruited but is having a hard time getting scouts interested; and, now, that he really, really hates James.

As Roger launches into the first of many anti-James anecdotes, Lily wonders if this is what she sounded like whenever she used to rant about the boy. Surely she wasn’t so bitter, was she?

“… kicked the ball right from under my feet, then laughed about it…”

“Yikes,” Lily responds, wondering when this line of conversation will end. She’s finished her ice cream, and is getting cold; mid November means relatively nice days and lukewarm nights. She shivers, then imagines sending an update to Marlene, Alice, and Dorcas: never imagined i’d spend my first date with roger gossiping about james, but here we are :/. Marlene, Lily thinks, would be sympathetic but suggest changing the subject. Alice would tell Lily to just date James instead — as if that would ever happen, Lily thinks. Dorcas, no doubt, would advise faking an emergency and leaving. Lily does none of those things: instead, she sits, letting both Roger’s words and the cool fall breeze wash over her. She’s not excited, but she’s not bored, either; she’s comfortable, almost sleepy, sitting here. In fact, she could just doze off —

The sound of Roger’s phone ringing interrupts his monologue. He picks it up, and his eyes widen; after a few hushed words, he hangs up, then looks up at Lily apologetically. “I need to go to James’s house. We’re doing team bonding or some shit.”

What?”

“Preston says I should come, and it’s important that I have a good relationship with everyone, even James, in case a scout asks them about me, and —”

“You can go, it’s fine,” Lily says, and she finds that it is, truly, fine. She’s had a nice night; not a great one, but maybe first dates aren’t all they’re cracked up to be (or maybe Roger isn’t all he’s cracked up to be, she thinks, before dismissing the thought guiltily). Roger takes her hand as they walk back towards the parking lot.

“I’ll drive you home before I head over.”

“It’s fine,” Lily responds, knowing that Marlene would be happy to pick her up, if only to get the first scoop on what happened. “You should go.”

He stands, looking vaguely pained as he considers her words. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Lily replies.

“Okay.”

For a second, they just stare at each other. “I had a lot of fun,” Lily offers.

Roger’s leaning in, so slowly that she can’t be sure that it’s actually happening. “Me too. We should do it again sometime.”

“Definitely.”

He kisses her softly, and then his phone is ringing again. “Shit.”

Lily blinks, caught in an odd feeling of unreality. “Okay. Go. I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“Right. Bye.”

He gets in his car and drives off, leaving Lily standing in the half-empty parking lot.

***

“Lily, can I ask you an honest question?”

Lily glances over at Marlene, who perches on the opposite end of the couch, mug of hot chocolate cradled in her hands. They’re watching Love, Rosie, Marlene’s favorite movie; two hours have passed since Lily’s date with Roger. “Sure, go ahead.”

Marlene inhales, as if about to jump off of some unseen cliff. “Do you even like Roger?”

For a second, Lily just stares at her friend, then: “What do you mean?”

Another careful breath. “Well, from what you told me about tonight, it didn’t really seem like you enjoyed hanging out with him. I could be wrong, of course. Please tell me if I’m wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Lily responds, testing the words out on her tongue. I don’t know if I like Roger. She can’t quite bring herself to say the words, to admit that defeat; doing so would abolish the one certainty that had lasted from freshman year to now. I don’t know Roger, she realizes. Roger is not who I thought he would be. “I liked sitting there. Listening to him talk. His life is interesting.”

“You find everyone’s life interesting.”

“I liked kissing him.”

“You’ll kiss a lot of people.”

“Why do you care so much, anyway?” Lily asks, suddenly defensive, defensive because  Marlene’s right; because Marlene knows her as well as Sev did; because life would be so, so much easier if she could bring herself to like the real Roger as much as she likes the Roger in her head.

“I don’t want you getting into your first relationship with the wrong person.”

“How do you know that he’s the wrong person?”

Marlene leans back, tilts her head back towards the screen. “I don’t. But I think that you do.”

Lily’s phone buzzes: a Snap from Roger, drunk already, Preston in the background. She sighs, turning back towards the TV. “I think you’re right.”

[imtryingmyfuckingbe]

And If This Is It

Third chapter in a short series.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Jess, Sam, Charlie, Cas, Gabriel, Jo, Jules (OC)

Trigger warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption; puking

I am the sole author and reserve the rights to my work. However, I am not the owner of Supernatural as a franchise, or the characters including, but not limited to: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, Jo, Jess, or Charlie.

CHAPTER THREE:

“Shots?!” Jules shouts over the deafening music.

He passes a tiny glass of clear alcohol to Y/N and Charlie. At this point, neither know if it’s tequila, gin, or vodka. At this point, neither truly care.

Carter’s, the hole-in-the-wall dive tucked between a pawn shop and convenience store, housed the trio every Wednesday night. When unable to convene outside of work any other time of the week, they at least have their sticky booth and cheap booze to fall back upon. If Y/N had half the mind to care, she could bet the shady owner had an unsavory side business that allowed for such decently priced alcohol. But she doesn’t have half the mind. The sharp air intoxicates her even before the first drink, drawing her attention elsewhere. Plus, Jules always arrives first to claim their usual seats, a round of drinks at the ready. Tonight, he focuses on shots.

They clink their glasses together, slam them on the grimy counter, and tip them back. Charlie cheers, her flushed cheeks pushed back in a sloppy, wide grin. Her laughter bellows into Y/N’s chest, forcing her to join in. The tribulations of the past seven days wash away with each new shot. Her mind only wanders as far as Jules across the table and Charlie next to her. Nothing mattered right now, not unrequited love or shitty jobs.

“So! So! Then I said, I said! I don’t care what those bitches think. I’m— I’m a good server, ya know? And I told James— “

“—Jason,” Jules supplies.

“—Yeah, that one. I told Jason to stick it!” Charlie slurs, recounting her meeting with their boss.

Y/N cocks her head at Charlie, who white knuckles the table to stay steady. “Did you really?” She speaks slowly, the words catching on her heavy tongue.

“No. But I thought it. So it counts.”

Jules and Y/N share a look. “Sure it does.”

Out of the three of them, Jules holds his liquor the best. He drinks anyone under the table, and still gets up for work without a grueling hangover. Y/N took Thursdays out of her availability because she doesn’t have his stamina. It took only two shifts filled with headaches and poor service for her to realize she cannot power through the dehydration and pain. Wednesday nights take it out of her, and the following morning includes a date with her toilet and a bottle of Pedialyte. Trying to keep up with Jules, which she foolishly does, is a signed, sealed, delivered death sentence.

She happily accepts it, for it means quality time with her friends.

“Listen, missy. You listen here! You don’t get to talk about— about thinking things and not saying them!” Charlie accuses. Y/N holds up a hand in protest. “No! I don’ wanna h-hear it.”

In just a few words, the thoughtless cocoon Y/N made shelter in crashes to the ground, bringing up debris and Dean’s face. His freckles. His lips. The things she wishes she could say— I love you, I want you, I need you— taunt her, dancing across her mind and scuffing up the floors. “Yeah? Well I don’t wanna talk about it!” She all but shouts.

Charlie huffs. “Fine.”

Jules says nothing, simply peering at his two best friends with mild concern in his glossed over eyes. Y/N avoids his gaze, instead choosing to watch the desolate street through the frosty glass. Charlie waves her hand to the waiter to call for another round.

With new shots in front of the respective drinkers, the tense silence dissipates quickly, easy conversation about what each other missed taking its place. Jules relays the details of his third date with Alice, a girl he served once. She left her number and on a whim he decided to text her. The thirty percent tip she left helped her case, too. The two get along great, from what he says. They share similar interests, including early morning trips to the gym and pretty much any physical activity. At the thought, Y/N shudders. She reserves her mornings for her bed and coffee.

As Jules carries on about the lovely Alice, Y/N finds herself thinking down a stark path. It travels away from Carter’s worn booths and blaring music, finding solace in scratching concrete and big hands. Some days, she truly wishes she could call Him her boyfriend. Some days, she only wishes to be near Him. Right now, it’s the latter. The too-loud conversations around her, the thick air, the heavy warmth in her belly; it makes breathing a chore.

Charlie grabs her wrist, pulling her over-worked thumb from her teeth. The crevice between her nail and skin bleeds. Out of her head now, she realizes her friends stare at her, conversation ceased. Jules’ eyes bore into hers, and she can feel Charlie staring at the side of her head.

She doesn’t have to ask what crosses their minds. Their faces paint light worry and their questions clearly. Y/N sighs, head dipping to focus on the empty glass before her. Neither of her friends say anything, allowing her to trudge through her hazy thoughts.

“I…” she starts, but shakes her head. Needing a something to center her, she throws back her head and swallows another shot. It burns, but it reminds her she is alive and well. Well enough, at least.

Charlie only knows what an inebriated Y/N shared once, and she assumes Charlie happily passed on the message. Even still, the words halt in her throat. Charlie interlocks their fingers, giving a squeeze. It’s okay, Y/N knows she wants to say. “I need some air.”

Not awaiting a response, she drops Charlie’s hand and alights from the booth. Concentrating on walking, Y/N works her way through the crowd to the door. The cooling air of the night caresses her cheeks, relieving some of the heat from her skin. The car-lined road before her, adorned by dim streetlights and neon store signs, appears in double. Cigarette smoke wafts to her nose.

She turns towards the scent. Sober Y/N would never smoke. The taste lingers on her tongue days after, plaguing anything she drinks or eats. However, Drunk Y/N, riddled with anxiety and one too many shots, craves it.

A woman clad in little clothing leans against the worn brick, cigarette balanced between her fore- and middle finger. Y/N stumbles the few feet to her, her body moving before her thoughts. The lady looks up. Her tired eyes trail over Y/N’s body, taking in the sight, ending at her face. Y/N tries to imagine how she looks.

“Can I bum a smoke?”

Wordless, the woman passes Y/N her pack of menthol and a lighter. Nodding in thanks, she lights the cigarette and draws a deep breath in. Sweet relief. She sighs contentedly, handing the pack and lighter back. In silence, Y/N joins the stranger in leaning against the wall. Drunken camaraderie over a bad habit makes the world feel smaller; friendlier.

Here she stands, a mess. And here some straggler stands, someone she’s never met, probably going through her own shit. People are small, in the grand scheme of things. The big picture. Everything feels silly, like a cosmic prank, wherein God will jump from the sky and yell, “Hahahah! Happiness is not a by product of existence, you simple minded fucks. I made you to suffer.”

She wouldn’t be surprised, not anymore. Some days, her heavy bones and even heavier head weigh her down so much, all she can do is suffer. Suffer through schooling; a dead end job; a wistful love; a bleak future. Perhaps God created her as suffering; not a person who could, but a person who is.

A long drag from the cigarette clears her mind. She reminds herself that her sidewalk existential philosophy is only wise by proxy of this night’s poison.

Flicking the cigarette, she nods her head in thanks. With a clearer head, the double vision subsides. Still, she sways as she walks back to the door of the bar. Bracing herself, she pushes it open. Music, this time a familiar song she can’t place, wraps its comforting fingers around her heart. This is where she is meant to be: sandwiched between the tacky wall and Charlie, sat across from Jules.

Charlie stands as Y/N comes into view, allowing her to take her seat once more. The conversation continues seamlessly, as if  Y/N never left. Jules and Charlie keep the side glances to minimum, instead focusing on another round— this time paired with glasses of water— and what Jules’ should do next with Alice. Deciding to solely focus on her friends before her, Y/N utilizes her remaining energy on keeping up with the conversation.

“I mean… she seems to like you a lot, dude. Who the hell… else would get up at five to go on hikes?” Y/N slurs, raising her voice.

“A crazy, person! She’s crazy.” Charlie whispers with a shake of her head.

Y/N laughs, downing another shot. “Yeah, well, either way, she likes it, ya’know? She likes it!”

They dissolve into a fit of body-rocking, soul-shaking laughter. As it peters out, the energy follows suit. Y/N hits a wall, her shoulders sagging with a sigh. “I’m— I’m gotta go, guys. My eyes are gonna fall out.”

“Wait! Just one more shot. C’mon, Y/N/N! One for the road,” implores Jules.

Ever the bad influence, Y/N agrees. In the back of her head, she hears her sober-self admonish her. She pushes it away while Jules waves his pointer finger for another round. Grace, the waitress, already has three ready. Used to their antics as their usual server, she also drops the bill.

Clink, slam, gulp.

Y/N slaps a twenty on the bill, knowing it covers her portion of drinks. Charlie scoots out of the booth again, staying standing to wrap Y/N in a bone-crushing hug. The scent of vodka and Daisy fills Y/N’s nose, covering every piece of her in Charlie. Jules envelopes her next. Her cheek rests against his chest, and he sets his chin on her head. They hold each other for a moment before pulling back.

Y/N leaves her friends to settle the rest of the bill. Escaping into the night, she embraces the cool air. However much she finds solace in Carter’s, the stuffy heat paired with the little room to move constricts her. Even on the now empty street, her chest refuses to loosen. The returned double vision surely doesn’t help.

“Walk,” she mumbles, commanding herself to just fucking go.

Normally, she would call a ride service right about now; or she’d stick around with Jules and Charlie to ride with them. But right now she needs the freedom of the seedy side streets and open sky above her. Four doors and a short roof would only further agitate her.

So, for the sake of her sanity, she makes her way down the street. Having walked these streets many times, Y/N’s feet carry her, rather than she commanding them. As she works her way towards the main road, the lights become brighter and cleaner; trash slowly dwindles in the gutters until they’re as clean as they can get in this part of the city.

At the intersection of Boulder and Hamilton, she stops. Going left would lead her home, a destination twenty minutes away. Going right would take her to Dean. Her body decides before her mind. Five minutes and a few turns, she stands on Dean’s stoop.

Her heavy fist raps against the wood while she leans her forehead against the cool service. Eyes closed, Y/N focuses on slowing her breathing. The edges of a panic attack creep into her mind. Why am I here? Why am I here? Why am I—

The door opens, taking from Y/N her support. Without it, she falls forward, preparing to meet the unfriendly catching of the floor. Instead, warm, bare arms wrap around her waist. “Y/N?” Dean asks in his deep, gruff tone.

God, I love your voice. The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it.

“Oh, do you, now?” Dean teases, righting her on her feet but keeping his hands on her shoulders.

Fuck.

“Shuddap,” she scolds.

“What are you doing here, Y/N/N?” He moves a hand from her shoulder to grasp her chin, pointing her face to look at him.

She leans into it. “Drunk.”

Dean chuckles, a warm sound that pushes any anxiety out of her mind. He has that way about him. “I can see that. Here, come inside so I can close the door.” She does as he asks, still leaning into his touch. He leads her to his couch, guiding her gently down onto the cushion. Resting on his knees in between her legs, he examines her face again.

She tries to look him in the eyes, she truly tries, but their overwhelming jade and the smell of his shampoo and his hands and that little grin and— and— and. The list goes on forever. In the dim room, lit by the outside lights and the paused TV, she wants to fall into him. Her fingers itch to grab his stupid stubbled cheeks and bring his stupid plump lips to her own. Her heart threatens to jump straight from her chest and into his hands. Her skin prickles where his forefinger and thumb hold her chin.

“Traitors,” she mumbles.

“Hm?”

Y/N shakes her head, causing Dean to release her chin. Dammit. “Nothing. I’m just— I’m so drunk, dude.”

He laughs again, sending a wave of peace over her body. “Yes, I know. Let’s get some water in you.”

Water sounds like a great idea, just the mention causes Y/N’s mouth to dry, readying for the coolness to coat her throat and fill her stomach. While Dean pours her a glass, she better settles against the sofa, shifting until her back rests against the arm and her legs splay out before her. The cold of the leather raises goosebumps, but it grounds her.

Dean returns with a stainless steel tumbler, placing it on the cushion by her hip. He lifts her legs and rests them upon his thighs as he too settles into the couch. Arm rested on the top of the couch and eyes caressing her flushed cheeks, he awaits for her to speak.

Every thought racing through her mind pleads to blurt out “I love you!” in some form or another. Taking a long, refreshing sip, she swallows the water and her heart. The hand gently kneading her calf provides almost enough courage to cast aside her inhibitions, but instead she listens to the voice in the back of her head. Why ruin something great? Why risk it?

Pussy, her warring side jabs.

Shaking her head, she removes her gaze from his and unto the television. “Die Hard?”

He waits a beat before he speaks, “Yes. How are you feeling?”

“Like there’s two John… John McClanes on the TV, which means two Hans Gru—bers, and I… I dunno if I can watch that.”

Glorious, golden, all-compassing laughter. “Well, I’m sure the McClanes will be fine; twice the firepower.”

Y/N can’t stop herself from returning to gazing at Dean. The lights from the kitchen silhouette his face, but she sees it, nonetheless. Knows it like its her own, for she sure has stared at him long enough. His seemingly perpetual little grin pushes his cheeks up the slightest bit. He looks so young.

With little thought or permission, she reaches a hand out to brush against his cheek. The barely present beard tickles her palm. Dean’s eyes flutter shut, and he nuzzles further into her hand. If only she could stay like this, legs across Dean’s, hand on his cheek, eyes closed.

“Dean…” she whispers, mostly for herself. Her heart will never get used to sitting so close to him, a beacon on her worst of days and a partner on her best.

“Hm?” he asks, still leaning into her touch.

It takes everything from her, her willpower, her bones, her chest, her lungs. She can’t stop herself for much longer, she knows. And, the thing is, her traitorous body doesn’t protest. Nothing in her says to stop; everything in her begs— no, screams at— her to grab him and hold him tight. To never let go.

As she leans forward, her left hand reaching for his other cheek, the tumbler clatters to the floor with an unforgiving clang. They both startle back, Y/N drawing her legs from his lap and Dean finally opening his eyes. The withering stare she casts at the stupid bottle should shatter it. Instead, it stays whole and mocking. She reaches down to right it, her knuckles white as she harshly slams it onto the floor.

The lights seem to bright, now. The throbbing in her head makes its presence better known, pulsing the picture of John McClane leaning over a sniper rifle. Bile rises in her throat.

“Fuck,” she barely gets out before bolting from her seat and running for the bathroom. Way to ruin the moment, you monkey.

Y/N grabs the edge of the toilet with one hand, gathering her hair into a mock ponytail with the other. At the sight of the bowl, her stomach instantly lurches. With the little she had to eat, mostly burning alcohol makes a return, accompanied by some nachos and fries.

A set of hands replace her’s in her hair, allowing her to better grasp the toilet. Dean settles behind her, bracing her sides with his thighs and whispering unintelligible comforting words in her ear. With his free hand he rubs her back, up and down her shoulder blades to her lower back.

No longer retching, she wipes her mouth toilet paper. Her body still shakes, skin clammy and hot. She crosses her arms over the seat, resting her forehead against her forearms. Dean continues to massage circles into her skin. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, to the bowl and to Dean.

He releases her hair, instead choosing to pull her from the toilet and into his chest. Together, limbs wrapped endlessly, Dean leans against the wall and she leans against Dean. “Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N/N. C’mon, you’ve seen me completely plastered.”

She tips her head to the side, resting it against his shoulder. “It’s gross. Not cute. At all.”

His chuckle rumbles against her back. “Nah, you’re always cute.” It’s barely a whisper, if she weren’t next to his mouth she’s sure she wouldn’t have heard it.

They sit in silence, breathing against each other. Y/N revels in the coolness of the ground and his arms around her waist.

“Why’d you drink so much, Y/N/N?”

Her sighs heaves her shoulders. “I dunno. Why do you drink, Dean?”

“Sometimes to forget things.” He keeps his voice level, but Y/N knows him well enough to see he worries for her. The implications of his statement do not go unnoticed.  

She shakes her head. “I just have a lot going on. Plus, it’s Wednesday. You know that’s my night with Jules and Charlie. We drink. It’s what we do.”

“Okay. Just checking. Let’s get you to bed, kid.”

[doctorgerth]

Resubmitting my ask - nsfw scenario with a jealous Marco and his Fem! crush- Marco and company are at a shady bar on an island, crush has been flirting heavily w/ another man... as they get up to leave, clearly to take things somewhere more private Marco has had enough and intervenes, playing it off as he’s being protective and she shouldn’t be wandering off with strangers. (Part 1/2)

(Part 2/2) They argue a bit, and when she won’t give in to his demand, he just picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder, marching her back to the ship where he promptly dumps her on deck. She then gives him the what-for “you’re not my dad and you’re not my man. You don’t get a say in who I decide to fuck, and if you’re so worked up about it, maybe you should have found your balls and fucked me yourself!” Before she can storm off, of course Marco grabs her, kisses her, and then nsfw 😉

Whew this was actually really fun to write! I don’t write a whole lot for Marco I feel like, and he might be a little ooc in this but oh well 😂😂 I tried my hardest at sexy Marco! I really hope you enjoy it, Alice! 💖

warnings: cursing, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, dom!Marco, jealous!Marco, foreplay, potentially ooc Marco content, sinful Marco content

Man Up (Marco)

Word Count: 3228

The bar was lively, perhaps a little too lively for Marco’s taste. He sipped lightly on his drink, visibly flinching at each exaggerated chuckle of (Name)’s that echoed throughout the entire bar. Normally, her laughter would make his heart flutter, a happiness filling his tummy as he swore he only wanted to hear her laughter forever. But here, under these circumstances, her sweet giggles were like nails on a chalkboard.

He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was watching her intensely. Eyeing every tuck of her hair, her every playful push on the strange man’s shoulder, the way he whispered in her ear causing her to smile brightly and laugh against his neck. It was sickening.

Marco could feel the tension in his fingers from grasping onto his glass so tightly; he had to continuously stop himself from shattering it to pieces. How could she be so shameless? Mindlessly flirting with an utter stranger? The guy was a total ass, holding her in his lap, arms secured around her waists with hands on her thighs, right where Marco’s should be.

He desperately wanted to steal her from the loser’s embrace, but Marco respected her above all else. He also knew better than to make a scene. She was a grown woman after all, and she surely wasn’t his woman. No matter how many times he’s imagined her to be. What right did he have to be so protective over her?

All sensible thoughts left his brain, however, as he noticed movement. The pair arose from their seats with the man placing his hand at the small of her back as he led her towards the door. Flashes of red seemed to cloud Marco’s mind as he hardly felt or realized how quickly he left his own seat to trail right behind them.

“50 beri says Marco makes a fool of himself and (Name) ends up hating his guts.” Haruta smiled devilishly at his friends.

“Oh yeah? 100 beri says Marco kicks the guy’s ass.” Vista waved the bill in his hand with a challenging and confident stare, “But you’re probably right. I don’t see (Name) liking him much afterwards either way it goes.”

“Not a chance.” Whitey Bay interjected, swigging her drink with a playful smirk, “You men don’t know anything. (Name) definitely has the hots for Marco and they’re totally about to smash. Right after Marco kicks the douche’s ass.”

Marco heard none of it as he could feel the steam pouring out of his ears as he sped walked towards the handsy couple. Without thinking, Marco reached out and snatched her hand, pulling her back into the bar by her wrist.

“Ouch, what the hell, Marco?!” (Name) stared up at him, face contorted with annoyance and confusion.

“Where do you think you’re going-yoi? You can’t just go off with strangers like this!”

“You can’t tell me what to do? You’re not my captain!” She was shooting daggers at him now, never ceasing in pulling away from him.

“I’m your commander and I think it’s best if you come back to our table where you’re safe, (Name)-yoi.” Marco tugged her back.

“Marco, seriously! Let go of me right now!”

“Hey man, just let the girl go! She doesn’t want to be with you obviously!” The man intervened as he stood before Marco. Though he wasn’t taller than Marco, his build was much thicker in contrast towards Marco’s slimmer frame.

“Oh, and you think she wants to be with you?”

“Considering she hasn’t kept her hands off of me all night and hasn’t paid a single bit of attention to you, I’d say there’s really no contest now is there?” A cocky smirk graced his lips as he placed a hand on Marco’s forearm, “Let the girl have some fun, old man. She needs to see what a real man can do to a woman like her.”

Marco was at a loss for words. Usually he’d have a quick quip ready for response, or simply ignore the asshole’s comment all together. But rage fueled his veins at hearing that boor talk so crudely about (Name). He didn’t even flinch in the slightest when his fist connected with the guy’s jaw.

As the man was attempting to recover, (Name) gasped and began screaming at Marco. He would hear none of it as he wasted no time in grabbing her, lifting her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and carrying her out of the bar. Her previous partner tried to reach for Marco, but Jozu and Vista quickly appeared and blocked the man’s attack.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, guy. Go find yourself another lady, that one’s taken.”

* * *

The walk to the ship was hazy. Marco had mixed feelings about everything as (Name) never ceased in her complaining, accentuating her defiance towards Marco’s suddenly brash actions with some light kicks and balled fists against his back.

What was he doing? Why was he even taking her to the ship? What was his plan?

He couldn’t answer any of these questions, and neither (Name) had any clue, even when Marco dropped her off in her cabin, slamming the door behind him with a swift kick.

“What the hell is wrong with you tonight!” She demanded answers as she wasn’t shy to get in his face.

“You can’t just go off with other men, (Name)-yoi! It’s not safe and we’re not here for you to sleep around with all the men in town!” His accusations were brutal and highly exaggerated, but the images of her all over another guy clouding his mind could hardly help in producing practical thoughts and responses.

“All the men in town? Are you even listening to yourself? It was one guy and he was actually very nice to me!” (Name) was very hurt to think her trusted friend would accuse her of such a thing. This was so unlike Marco, she had never seen him like this. He never acted this brash when Thatch would bring women to the ship.

“He was a total imbecile and you know it-yoi! You were just letting your lust get the best of you!”

“So what if I was? I’m a grown woman Marco!” (Name) shoved past him to reach for her doorknob, wanting to leave this annoying situation, but not before she had her last say so, “And last I checked, you’re not my dad and you’re not my man! You don’t get a say in who I decide to fuck, and if you’re so worked up about it, maybe you should have found your balls and fucked me yourself!”

Just as she tried to open the door, Marco slammed it shut again, this time with her body pinned against it. Her words were permissive enough for him to plaster his lips onto hers, dizzying both their minds as they couldn’t even attempt to make sense of the situation.

(Name) couldn’t even kiss back at first, though Marco tried desperately to elicit some kind of reaction out of her. Her eyes were wide open as all of her senses came alive and every bit of anger she was feeling only moments ago slowly dissipated. She could feel one of his hands roaming her body, gripping roughly at her waist while the other hand pinned both her wrists above her. His toned chest was flush against hers and having her commander randomly lusting after her was exciting to say the least, even if she was previously pissed at him. She was probably still pissed at him.

Either way, she couldn’t stop herself from melting under his touch. She knew Marco, though laid back as he usually was, had a bit of dominance in him that would show itself from time to time; particularly when giving orders and when he entertained his commander role. She just hadn’t expected him to use it on her in such intimate ways.

“Fuck you myself, huh? Is that really what you want, (Name)-yoi?” he whispered, looking down at her, searching for any kind of confirmation.

“I-I meant…”

“No, no, don’t act all shy now. You said it yourself and if you really want me to fuck you then that’s what I’m gonna do.” His fingers trailed down the side of her face, running down her lips and pulling her bottom lip down with them, “Now tell me again. What exactly is it that you desire-yoi?”

Seeing Marco like this, so possessive, so demanding, was truly intoxicating. And (Name) was well aware of how drunk off his touch she already was. She had imagined Marco in this way many a times, but having him actually here, staring down at her with those seductive eyes, made her feel utterly nervous and unprepared.

“You.” was all she could muster.

“Not good enough-yoi.” He tsked, pulling her body even closer to his, causing his lips to be just mere inches from her own, “Tell your commander what you want before I change my mind.”

They both knew there was no way in hell Marco could possibly change his mind right now. He was whipped for her after all, and though he was acting all domineering now, he had full intention of giving her whatever she wanted tonight regardless of anything else.  

Though flustered as she was, she gained the courage to look him right in the eyes, giving him a response he could never be prepared for, “Commander, I want you to fuck me.”

That was nearly enough to break Marco, but with a satisfied groan, he recovered by attacking her lips once again. Hands roamed each other’s bodies in desperation as they fumbled around towards the bed, removing any and all clothing in the process. It didn’t take long before they were both nude and intertwined on her bed.

The sensation of lips, tongues, and teeth against bare flesh, leaving markings that would be visible for days, fueled the desire between the two as they claimed one another in heated passions. Marco pulled away to creep two fingers towards her, trailing them around her plump, bruised lips, subtly begging for entrance. Her eyes fluttered as her mouth opened to invite them in, instantly suckling at his fingers while she watched him bite his lip.

As soon as he pulled away from her mouth, he traveled down south towards a different entrance. Curious digits circled around her throbbing cunt, toying shamelessly with her nub before plunging deep into her. Paired with her saliva, Marco’s fingers were soaked from her juices, making it all the more easy to slide in and out of her.

(Name)’s claws scratched against his scalp at the sensation. He was relentless already, pumping in and out with haste, diving in knuckle-deep each time he entered her. The way he curled his fingers with each exit had her back arching towards him, inspiring him to latch his hungry lips onto her perked nipple.

“Marco!” she cried out, instantly overwhelmed by his eagerness and the pleasure he was granting her body. Her head was spinning, body aflame as he continued fingering her and sucking at her breasts with total adoration. He only wanted to hear her like this for an eternity, so he was willing to do whatever to elicit those heavenly calls and praises from her over and over.

Marco was a selfless lover, so much so, that he didn’t stop finger fucking her until she wailed out repeatedly, body writhing as she came hard against his hand. Her body shook with indescribable pleasure and she whined at the over stimulation of his fingers sliding out of her. Marco smiled to himself, proud with his work on her, but he was far from done. Rubbing at his cock, he watched her heaving chest.

“Don’t give up on me yet-yoi. There’s still so much I wanna do to you.” Her heart flipped, near the verge of an attack at his devilish smile, “Don’t you still want your commander to fuck you?”

With a tired nod, (Name) spread her sensitive legs open for him. But Marco refused, instead flipping onto his back, “Guess you’ll have to work for it-yoi.”

(Name) pouted, “Haven’t I been good, commander?”

Marco stilled. He was cool with delivering the overly confident dirty talk, but every time she responded with that naughty intent, he had to stop himself from melting right then and there. Gaining his composure, he casually rested his arms behind his head, “We’ll see about that.”

Thrilled and slowly gaining all feeling in her body, (Name) crawled on top of Marco, straddling his left leg. She rested her sensitive pussy against his leg, coating his skin with her mess instantly. Desperate for friction, she rubbed herself against his leg.

He moaned lightly at the sensation, enjoying just how continuously needy she was for him. He bucked his hips in surprise when she grasped onto his cock with a firmness he didn’t quite expect. She began squeezing and pumping him, more than eager to give him a taste of his own medicine. A curious tongue circled his head while she continued rubbing him.

Marco’s head flew back against the headboard as she slowly started taking him into her mouth. The slick heat was mind-numbing and absolutely exhilarating. His toes curled with each swipe of her tongue, breath hitching in his throat and lower body tensing up as her mouth was already bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

As she began deepthroating him, he could no longer hold back his cries of pleasure, calling out her name in praises as his hand on the back of her head encouraged her movements. She was utterly pleased to have her commander as putty under hands, but she wasn’t fully content just yet.

Sucking hard on his head, she used both hands to twist and pump his member, the saliva and precum aiding in her jerking him off. Marco’s eyes were clenched tight as his grip on her hair tightened as well, as if he were holding on for dear life. Her hands and mouth were pure magic as they easily brought him to the edge within minutes; his seed spilling into her greedy mouth.

He was the one to breathe heavy now, eyeing her as she arose from her position on top of him. Licking her lips and gazing down at him with hungry eyes, she used the back of her wrist to wipe away the cum trickling down her chin, “Do I get my reward, commander?”

In any other instance, Marco would have to wait hours, if not the next day for another round. But the eagerness and stamina (Name) was eliciting from him was mind-boggling and inspiring. He didn’t think to question it as he swiftly swapped positions with her, slamming her down onto her back as he spread her legs open for him.

He entered her in one harsh thrust, hissing at the overstimulatoin on his sensitive cock, but tried to pay it no mind as he gritted his teeth and focused on the overwhelming pleasure that her tight cunt was offering him.

“Oh my god!” she cried out as her nails clamped down onto his body. The sensation of being filled up so fully and so quickly caused her to be a writhing mess instantly.

“This is what you wanted-yoi.” He panted, raising his torso and gripping at her ankles to spread her legs further, “So take it.”

(Name) cried out as Marco relentlessly fucked her over and over into the mattress, spreading and stretching her legs higher and further apart, sure to make them absolutely sore the next day. Her nails clawed at his tattooed chest, then eventually his back, leaving small wounds that he didn’t even flinch at as his pace never faltered.

The sloshing sound of Marco abusing her sex and the equal amounts of pleasurable moans from both lovers filled the room, instantly feeling as if they were the only people left in the world. But even the delicious tightness of (Name)’s pussy as he pounded into her wasn’t enough to make Marco forget why they were in this precarious position in the first place.

“Trying to fuck some stranger, huh? You really think that guy could make you whine with pleasure like this-yoi?” Marco whispered in her ear, pace now slow and deep. His hips slammed into her, jolting her body with each agonizingly slow thrust.

“N-no.” She whimpered as she clawed at his tattered skin, “Only you, Marco. Commander…”

She could practically feel the pleased smile on his face, “What was that-yoi? Tell me, who’s making you feel this good? Me or him?”

“You, commander! Only you can make me feel this good!” She wailed, pulling him into her body and gyrating her hips as she was desperate for release. His changes of pace and sultry voice was bringing her on the brink of ecstasy, she could feel it and she needed it, “Let me come, please!”

“Such a needy little thing. As you wish.” He grins, picking up his pace, once again drilling her into the mattress.

It didn’t take much longer until she came undone all over his cock, and he followed suit soon after, pulling out to release on her tits and stomach with a low call of her name. He collapsed beside her, nearly too tired to keep his eyes open any longer from cumming so hard twice in one night.

Yet he still arose from the bed and made his way out the door, entirely in the nude. Even in her state of exhaustion, she still had an anxious feeling in her stomach. How could he leave her just like that? And why the hell did he leave without his clothes?

All fears subsided as he returned however, a small wet rag in hand. He approached her body and began wiping away the mess he made on her, then the mess on himself before discarding it to the corner of her room. He began pulling on his shorts while (Name) watched him get dressed, not even bothering to get dressed herself. The gentle and casual Marco she was so familiar with had returned, making her feel all giddy inside.

“That was nice.” she stated, breaking the silence. Marco stilled, surprised by her statement. He didn’t look at her as he continued dressing himself.

“Yeah, it really was.” He reassured. Nice didn’t even begin to describe it for him, however. He was convinced no words ever could.

“You can stay, if you want. You don’t have to leave just yet…”

Marco turned and smiled at her, “As long as you’re okay with it-yoi.”

She smiled back, opening up her comforter as an invitation for him. Marco slid in with ease and it didn’t take long for (Name) to sling her arms around him in an embrace. He was cautious to return the affection, but decided to wrap an arm around her neck anyway. Though he was calm and confident during sex, he was a nervous mess to have her so close and intimate in this moment. Yet he’s wanted this for so long, so he decided not to waste a single moment. They could face the repercussions in the morning.

Just as sleep was about to claim him, (Name) broke the silence yet again, “Hey, Marco?”

“What is it-yoi?”

“I’m really glad you manned up.”

A low, tired chuckle reverberated in his chest as he squeezed her tighter into him, “Me too.”

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

Bonus:

Whitey Bay earned hella money from the bet and Marco wishes he could never be called Commander again since the crew heard e v e r y t h i n g and constantly teases him about it lmao ( he still likes to be called commander in bed tho 🤷🏼‍♀️ )

[unabletoforget]

I Miss My Lover Man

@pranking-masters

     Jillian sat with her knees pulled up to her chest in the corner of her ratty old couch, watching the smoke slowly rise from the half smoked cigarette between her fingers. She had smoked a few times here and there when she was younger but she had stopped when Harry was born, wanting to think of his health and be careful around him. But with Harry gone and most everyone she loved dead, why should she care for her health? She had picked the habit back up about a week after James and Lily died, having been too distraught up until then to even remember what a cigarette was. Remus tried to talk her out of it, to tell her that Lily had been so proud of her when she had quit. Her response, as she had so eloquently put it on that cold November day, was ‘Lily’s dead, it doesn’t matter anymore...nothing matters anymore.’

     She often wondered if that statement had been part of why Remus had left, wondered if he had gone away because he didn’t think he mattered to her at all anymore. It wasn’t that she stopped caring about Remus that day, it was the opposite in fact. She adored him so completely, he was all she had left, but it felt so much easier to cut herself off from the world that day. Lily died, James died, Peter died...and Sirius was to blame for it all. And not only had he betrayed their dearest friends, put their god son in danger, but he had killed all those muggles in the process. If he did it at all. No, he had to have done it. The Ministry had been so sure of it, especially Barty Crouch Sr. Well, then again, he wasn’t all there, was he?

     Barty Crouch Sr was a man hell bent on revenge, though she wasn’t quite sure what crime had been committed to make him so hell bent on such a mission. He was a wizard drunk on his power and authority in a time of extreme chaos. Hell, the man had even locked away his own son under the accusations of having been involved in the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom. God, that was an entire other can of worms she didn’t want to open. Alice and Frank were her friends, and even thinking about them or hearing their names made Jillian’s chest feel tighter. When they had been attacked she knew the world had truly fallen apart, since even the fall of Voldemort had not ended the pain to their people. Damn the LeStrange family. And to think, if her mother had gotten her way, she would have been married to Rabastan as soon as she graduated. Thank Merlin for her rebellious nature. But...it wasn’t that alone that saved her, was it? No, it had been Lily and James, it had been Peter and Remus. It had been...it had been Sirius.

     Jillian swallowed thickly and took another drag of her cigarette, a long one that lasted so long she was surprised the entire thing didn’t burn out. She held the smoke in her lungs for so long it made her chest burn, preferring the physical pain in her body over the pain in her heart and in her soul. She sniffled softly, another tear rolling down her cheek as she flicked the ashes off of her cigarette into the tray she had balancing on the arm of the sofa she sat on. “You were doing so well,” she heard from the corner of the room. Jillian tensed at the sound of the overly kind voice ringing in her ears. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t true, it was all in her head. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this anymore,” the voice said again, a flash of red hair catching Jillian’s attention. She turned her head to see Lily standing in the corner of the room, her arms behind her back as she leaned on the wall.

     “And you promised me you would be safe. Guess we’re both liars,” she said bitterly, watching as Lily sighed heavily and shook her head. Lily always accused Jillian of being the dramatic one, which was mostly true, especially when she and Sirius got together. But Lily was partial to her own form of dramatics as well, she just wasn’t as theatrical about it as Jillian and Sirius were, not even as much as James really. 

     “I didn’t do that on purpose. This, this you are doing on purpose,” Lily said, pushing herself off the wall and slowly walking over to the sofa before sitting on the other side, Jillian not hesitating to take notice of the fact that she didn’t feel the weight in the sofa cushions shift. “Jilly...you have to stop punishing yourself for what happened.”

     “I can’t,” Jillian responded quickly, not daring to look at Lily as she stared at the dwindling cigarette in her hand. “I should have been able to save you. To save James and Peter and Harry...to stop Sirius,” she choked out. “He was my responsibility, just like James was yours. I...I should have been there. It should have been me, not you.”

     “Jilly Bean…” Lily whispered softly before Jillian cut her off.

     “No! It's true. You were always more useful to the Order than I was. Your potions were stronger than mine, you were better with people than me, you were a better soldier than I was...you were smarter than me. And if I was smart like you, you would still be,” she said softly.

     “That isn’t how it works and you know it,” Lily said firmly, causing Jillian to glance over at her. She was exactly how she remembered her. A face full of freckles, hair as fiery as her heart and green eyes as piercing as a sword. She wouldn’t have it any other way. “Even if you had been there, you couldn’t have saved me. You couldn’t have saved James. And Peter, well I wasn’t there for that but if all those muggles didn’t stand a chance then neither did he, so don’t you go feeling responsible for his death either,” she chastised. 

     Jillian stiffened as Lily talked about Peter, his sweet face flashing behind her eyes as she slumped further into the couch. “And as for Harry...well it turns out he didn’t need saving,” Lily said. And even though Jillian wasn’t looking at her, she could hear the smile in her voice. “That little boy made it out of the impossible. And he is going to be the strongest of us all someday. And if you don’t quit smoking, if you don’t take care of yourself and get out of this hell hole for a little while, you won’t be there when he needs you. Because Jill, he will need you. He will need you to guide him and love him, to protect him and take care of him because his father and I can’t,” Lily reasoned. 

     Jillian shifted as if uncomfortable, like she was trying to curl in on herself to keep away from Lily because she thought touching her might make her vanish. “I miss you,” Jillian said softly, barely above a whisper. “I miss talking to you.”

     “We’re talking right now, Jilly,” Lily pointed out with a tilt of her head. 

     “You’re not real. You’re in my head...a figment inside my mind.”

     “Well, of course I am,” Lily said, her smile brightening a bit as she spoke, making Jillian turn her head in confusion. “But why should that mean it isn’t real anyway?”

     Jillian felt tears balancing on her lower lashes before shaking her head, laughing softly. “I hate you,” she said.

     “No you don’t,” Lily responded smoothly. Just like old times. 

     “No...I don’t,” Jillian agreed, leaning her head back on the couch as she watched Lily. “I still miss you though.”

     Lily smiled, knowingly almost, like how a mother would look at a child. “I miss you too.”

     Jillian watched Lily with an ache in her chest, wishing she could just reach out and grab her hand. Lily always had soft hands, she wasn’t sure why she remembered that. Maybe it was because it fit so well with her gentle nature. Just like how she remembered James always had the best hugs and Peter always had the biggest appetite. “Jilly,” Lily said, causing Jillian to look up from her hands to her face. “We aren’t all gone, you know.”

     Jillian sighed and nodded “I know. I don’t mean to push Remus away I just...it's so hard to be a person around him when I worry maybe he blames me too. Even if he did, he would be too kind to say it,” she pointed out.

     Lily shook her head “He doesn’t and you know it. You two need each other, you should call him,” she pointed out. Jillian nodded but didn’t say anything, almost ashamed to know that she was right. Remus wasn’t the only one at fault here, she was too. “And Sirius isn’t dead you know...he can still come home.”

     Jillian flinched at the sound of his name as something tickled her mind, her head shaking “He betrayed you.”

     Lily shook her head and sat up a little bit better “You’ve been in love with him since we were fifteen years old, you know there isn’t an evil bone in his body. It's just me and you here, you can be honest...do you really believe he did it?” she asked slowly.

     Jillian swallowed thickly as her mind fell back to every beautiful moment she had ever had with Sirius, every moment where he had ever made her feel loved and beautiful. Each kiss, every time they made love, the way he whispered in her ear, even down to the look in his eyes when they held each other at night. That man wasn’t evil, that man wasn’t heartless, that man wasn’t a murderer. That man would never betray his friends. Jillian’s lower lip trembled as she shook her head “N-No,” she admitted. “I-I think it just...it’s easier for me to blame him. To say he did it rather than to think he...to think he is suffering in there for no reason. To think you...whoever betrayed you will never be brought to justice.”

     “But do you still trust him?” Lily asked plainly.

     Jillian felt a sense in her stomach that told her the answer to that one clearly. “W-With my life.”

     “And do you still love him?”

     That one was easy. “Always.”

     Lily slowly smiled again and nodded once, standing up from the couch, as if she was going to leave. “Then stop smoking. Because when Sirius gets out of prison, and that stubborn ass will get out, he will need a healthy girlfriend to take care of him. One that will fight by his side to get my son back. It’s going to be a long road, you should travel it with him. I wouldn’t have traveled the road I went down without James. Don’t go down this one without Sirius. Or without Remus. Harry will need all of you.” Lily nodded her head once and turned as if she was walking away towards the hall, causing Jillian to sit up quickly and press her cigarette into the ashtray, moving it to sit on the coffee table. 

     “Lils!” she said hurriedly, standing up but not following her because it wouldn’t do any good. She watched Lily turn around, catching those green eyes again. “What if I’m wrong?” she asked. “What if I’m wrong and he did it and I love him still?”

     Lily smiled warmly, shaking her head as if she had said something silly. “I know you better than anyone. You wouldn’t love a monster. And you adore him. You’re not wrong. He didn’t do this to me. But he is the only person who can help you find whoever did. He needs you, and you need him.” And like that, Lily seemed to fade right in front of her eyes. Jillian felt an ache in her stomach as she whimpered, holding her stomach as she fell back onto the couch, curling her legs up underneath of her. She was crying too hard to hear the front door opening, and even if she had heard it, she didn’t think she would believe it was real at this point considering her dead best friend just came to give her relationship advice. 

     No, none of it mattered now. And as Jillian cried into the couch, her body trembling and her heart broken, she realized that at the end of it all nothing had changed. She was all alone. 

[thomaslightwoodenthusiast]

hey guys! i finally had the time to get this started. here was the first request:

an alice in wonderland au - malec edition

i tried my best, i was kinda young when i read the book so i don’t remember exactly what it was like but this is my attempt !!

requested by @tobeornottobetequila !

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec woke up feeling a little dazed, and with an absolutely thudding headache. He stretched his arm out with his eyes still shut, and accidentally slapped Magnus awake.

“What was that for??”

“Sorry. Stretching.”

Now, Alec usually had great vision. It was part and parcel of being a shadowhunter. But even after he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, it was clear that he was not in Magnus’s apartment. Or in the Institute. Or anywhere he recognised, for that matter. He shook Magnus -who had went back to sleep- to get his attention.

“Alright, stop messing. Where are we?”

“Huh? We’re in my apartment- oh.”

“You see it too?”

They shared a glance and looked around themselves. It was Magnus’s bed, sure, but it was in the middle of nowhere. There was insanely green grass, and the trees- such an odd shape. Alec could even make out a castle in the distance. “So it’s not my headache. Whatever the hell this is is real.”

The place looked like Faerie, but more in a Fairytale fantasy way- like the pair had been sent into a book.

“You know, this place gives me insane Alice in Wonderland vibes. I’m half expecting the Cheshire Cat to pop out of that tree.”

Alec looked extremely terrified. “Is that another of your cats?” he inquired.

Magnus half-laughed, half-sighed. “Remind me to never make a reference towards anything at all with you. Alice in Wonderland is a famous book, my love,” he said, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Things were going great right now- Alec had finally accepted himself and came out, and whilst the reaction wasn’t the best from everyone, he seemed happier. More free. More willing to love Magnus. Despite being in a completely foreign place with no idea how to leave, he didn’t quite want to. It was peaceful here.

“Do you think you can portal out?”

Magnus shrugged and waved his hands- with no avail. Not even any blue sparks came out of his hands.

“I’m afraid, only magic from this dimension works here.”

“This dimension.” Magnus repeated. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Why not?” The voice gained a face, to which Magnus’s eyes widened. “Holy fu-“

“Language!” Alec exclaimed, mock offended.

“Sorry darling. But I need to use it right now. WHY THE HELL IS THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER STANDING IN FRONT OF US?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHO THE GODDAMN FUCKING MAD HATTER IS!��

“Boys, boys. Calm it down. I’m simply here to tell you that you need to leave as soon as possible. People don’t like your kind here, and I can-“

Suddenly, Alec was angry. “Your kind?! Your kind as in ‘gays’? Well you listen to me, dude. We have every right to exist just like you straight people. There is nothing wrong with me not with my boyfriend and I love him so goddamn much that I’m ready to punch the absolute SHIT out of you if you say that-“

“As I was saying, your kind refers to the fact that you’re from another dimension. I was offering to help you both leave, before the Queen finds out you’re here. Also, where the hell did you get the assumption that I’m straight from? I mean, look at me.” The man gestured at himself, and Alec noticed that he shared a very similar taste in style with Magnus. Now he knew what Simon meant when he greeted Magnus as ‘the Mad Hatter’ all the time. He was still to figure out why Magnus called him ‘Edward’ though.

“Well, I’m sorry. Quite new to being out and happy, so I get defensive.”

“That’s totally understandable! Now, I suggest you two get ready and follow me,” the Mad Hatter said, ducking out of sight. This whole experience was so bizarre.

“That rant was really sexy, by the way.”

Alec flushed. “Shut up.”

“You make gay rights sound even sexier.”

“Why are rights sexy in the first place?”

Magnus rolled his eyes and got out of the bed. “You’re such a buzzkill,” he said, pouting.

➰➰➰➰➰

Alec’s mind wandered yet again to how odd everything was. Where was this place? What was it? Why was there an insane man leading them about?

“Alrighty boys! We’re here!” The ‘Mad Hatter’ gestured toward a portal- guess some things didn’t change. “One thing before you go. You have to take these,” he said, handing Alec a small cake-like item with an ‘eat me’ tag on it, and Magnus a small vial with ‘drink me’ inscribed on the lid. “We give them to everyone who unexpectedly turns up here before they return home.”

Magnus stares at his vial in wonder. “We really are living a fairytale right now,” he muttered, downing the stuff. Alec watched him nervously, swallowing the cake bite whole before he had a chance to taste it.

And of course he started choking.

Magnus slammed his back several times as his skin became increasingly more red from embarrassment. He then stopped, and they brushed themselves off. Magnus of course giggling silently to himself.

“I didn’t quite expect you two to be so desperate to take them- are you in such a rush to go home?” the strange man said, looking sad.

“Well, yes. Plus you did say that-“

“That the Queen would be angry if people not belonging to this dimension were here?” echoed a new voice. A female one.

Magnus spun around. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not you?!”

The Queen of Hearts raised an eyebrow. “Am I truly that bad?”

“You behead people.”

“She beheads people?!”

“Yes, Alec. It’s the- you know what, forget it. We’re in a fairytale, the book I said about. I don’t know what the hell happened or how drunk I got to be able to conjure this shit up. But what I do know is that this is the part where he,” Magnus said, gesturing at the Mad Hatter, “gets arrested, and so do we, and our heads get chopped off.”

Alec did not quite like the sound of that. As Magnus said, sure enough the Queen of Hearts ordered her guards to arrest the other man and take them as well for immediate beheading. “What did we do?” he asked in a small and vulnerable, panicked voice. Magnus’s heart broke that second; he sounded so scared. His Alec, his brave archer boy, made so small. All he wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it would be okay, but all he was capable of doing was brushing his hand against his.

“You trespassed. And this mad man here was helping you leave. He does this all the time- and gets away with it. Well not anymore, I say! Off with all your heads!”

Alec looked as if he was about to pass out.

➰➰➰➰➰

It took surprisingly less time to get to the castle than they thought it would. As soon as they’d arrived, all three had been sent to the dungeon quarters to prepare for execution, each in three separate cells as extra added torture for Magnus and Alec. They were also brought out with hoods over their heads, meaning they couldn’t even see each other.

“Down!” The Queen barked.

The executioners shoved the three down on their knees.

“Prepare!”

Their heads were pressed against the blocks.

“Anyone have any last words?”

“Damn. You know, I really thought they’d be using the guillotine by now. It would’ve been cooler. Imagine dying, going to hell because let’s face it heaven is definitely not for me, and the other ghosts being like ‘How did you die?’ And then you get to go ‘Guillotine’-“

“Shut up, please,” The Queen yelled. Alec laughed to himself; Magnus was never short of something quick witted to say.

“Ready?”

They were hushed, the axes lined up on their necks.

“Aim...”

They were lifted off. The pressure being removed felt odd. Then Alec began to feel sick again. Like he was going to collapse.

Magnus felt so too. Even though they couldn’t communicate properly he could almost feel it in his veins. For a moment, he thought they were both going to die, and silently hoped that they would before the axes met their necks again. It would be less painful that way.

The whoosh of air they felt against themselves as the axes were brought down with force was oddly calming. Even though they were one second away from-

➰➰➰➰➰

Magnus sat up, first of all aware that he couldn’t breathe. He choked on water, coughing endless streams of it up. Once he’d calmed down, he noticed that he was soaking. His hair was dripping in his face.

“Magnus! You’re okay, thank god-“

“Guys Alec isn’t moving-“

“What?” said Magnus. There were too many voices surrounding him. He looked up and was glad to see that the soft voice that first spoke to him was his little biscuit, Clary. He was on the ground in the middle of Central Park with a few other shadowhunters- Jace, Isabelle, and Simon too- and Alec was lying limp beside him. He was extremely pale, deathly so, and he could barely breathe. His chest rattled with each one he took.

“Magnus, what happened? How did you guys fall in there?” Clary asked, concerned.

“Clary, sweetheart, I appreciate your concern but one; I have no idea what just happened and two; Alec?”

He shifted himself over- he could barely move- and tried his magic. He ordered Jace and Isabelle back. The magic shocked Alec awake, but he was too weak to cough the water out himself. The next few seconds were terrifying- Alec spasming and freaking out, Isabelle loudly sobbing in fear, Clary getting worried, and Jace. Jace was silent, expressionless. He couldn’t quite believe it- in fact- he refused to. Alec couldn’t die. Not before him.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Magnus looked at Jace with a kind smile. “No one’s dying tonight. He’s going to be fine- I can remove the water. But he definitely needs to go to the Institute infirmary. And he needs strict bed rest.”

Seeing as he was unable to make a portal because of his weakened strength, he called Catarina to pick them up and take them to the Institute. On the ride there, he was able to talk to Clary.

“So what did actually happen?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “You guys must’ve went for a walk and fallen into the river. We got a fire message from a shadowhunter on patrol of the area saying they saw you drowning- he helped you both to stay afloat whilst help came. Then we arrived.”

Magnus considered asking if she knew how the hell they had even fallen in in the first place, but didn’t. He had too little energy. So was the whole Alice in Wonderland thing fake?

Later in the afternoon, Alec had been taken to the Institute to recover and get cleaned up. Magnus went back home, so that he could clean up too. The whole thing was mad. As he took off his coat, he felt something in his pocket.

A little vial.

The exact one that was in that ‘dream’.

He decided to keep it to show Alec and made his way to the Institute. Isabelle opened the door.

“Magnus! Hey! Alec is a lot better. He kept asking for you. He wants to show you something I think.”

Magnus held the conversation with his boyfriend’s little sister for a few moments before making his way to his room.

“Magnus?”

“I’m here.”

Alec was curled up in his bed. He looked exhausted and freezing. “I feel so cold. I had a hot shower to help but it hasn’t really.”

“It’s okay. Just let me hold you. Your sister said you wanted to show me something?”

Alec shuffled up so that he was sitting against the headboard. Magnus slid on beside him, putting an arm around him and letting his head fall on his shoulder. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Alec’s soft, dark hair. There had been a Herondale once, one that on first sight Magnus thought Alec resembled almost perfectly. The dark hair, stark against pale skin. The deep blue eyes, which held oceans of emotion behind them. And to be fair, Alec was a descendant of him. But after getting to know him, Magnus realised that Alec was not as like Will Herondale as he thought.

“This,” said Alec, snapping Magnus out of his daydream. It was a tag.

A tag that said ‘Eat Me’ on it.

Magnus wordlessly scrambled for his pocket and produced the vial.

“By the Angel. What does this mean? Where were we? What even happened? Were we actually almost killed? What about that other guy-“

“Alec, don’t worry yourself. Everything’s fine. I don’t know either. I don’t even know if we just hardcore dreamt that or if it actually happened. I mean, it’s not every day you just casually fall into a river. And you of all people- a shadowhunter nonetheless- shouldn’t be just falling in.”

Alec sighed. He shuffled back down on the bed and gave Magnus a look that meant he expected him to do so too. So he did. They still held each other tight. Alec took Magnus’s face gently in his hands, like he was precious porcelain. He kissed him, almost relieved that he could. The dream had been so real. His soft skin felt warm on his hands.

“Magnus?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m glad you didn’t get your head cut off.”

The two burst into fits of laughter. This was definitely going to be an inside joke now.

Then someone appeared in the doorway. It was Simon.

“Isabelle sent me here to make sure you guys were okay.”

“Oh, we’re fine. Thank you Edward.”

Simon winked- well, tried to- and left.

Alec turned back to Magnus.

“Where the hell do you get Edward from?!”

(here’s the first of the requests! number two is currently in the making and will be done soon)

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch XIII - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch 8 / ?? - In which a true apology is given

*** ARCHIVE WARNINGS VERY MUCH APPLY FOR THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE READ WITH DISCRETION.

The Darkness was roiling mad, a furious mass of thorns that exploded in his rib cage and up through his spine. It ripped threw his head, his shoulders tightening as it dug in like a macabre torture device of old. He kept trying to explain, trying to make it understand his reasoning, but it only howled like a wolf outside the sheep pen - 

YOU HAVE NO REASONING FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, YOU STUPID MAN! 

She had to be well in order to fight long enough to survive for Nil; to not just hang herself while the Dagger melted silver down her clavicle. 

DO YOU NOT REMEMBER OUR JOINING, OUR PACT? HOW TO ACT WITH FINESSE, TO BREAK SOMEONE WITHOUT EXERTING PRESSURE, OR HOW TO PUSH THEM OVER THE EDGE? 

Calling for Alice and asking her to go to Emma's aid was a good thing strategically, and her actually appearing like some sort of fogged looking glass apparition he summoned was a blessing

YOU COULD HAVE FOLLOWED MY SIMPLE PLAN FOR YOU TO PUSH HER WHILE SHE WAS BREAKING! 

The voice changed in timbre and tone as it sometimes did, easily digging its points home. Killian could practically see his father, drunk and dismissive, shouting at Liam and beating them both bloody under one of the massive pines. The memory of watching Liam with a broken jaw as he went into his first year in the junior naval recruits was the one it dug its claws into, the Darkness fueling old anger and shame. 

YOU SAW HER HIDE FROM YOU, YOU COULD HAVE EASILY WORKED YOUR WAY UNDER HER SKIN AND GOTTEN HER FOLLOWING YOU TO NIL. YOU COULD HAVE EVEN PRESSED FOR THE SHARD, IF SHE WAS TRULY AT HER WIT'S END - INSTEAD YOU TRIP OVER YOUR TONGUE LIKE A BOY! AN IMBECILE! 

It pressed him, but he was not weak. He could crush his father ten times over now if the bastard wasn't dead, and no one could get under his skin again. Certainly not some crying woman, especially the daughter of an enemy, and such a valuable card to hold in play if he wanted to be free. Maybe he had told Alice too much about his worries over Emma, while Robyn watched with bewildered dismay. Maybe he blurted how she was acting, and they thought that he was showing weakness or worry. Imagined of course, there was nothing - 

SHE BEWITCHES YOU INTO SYMPATHETIC STUPOR, SHE FILLS YOU WITH IDEAS OF REDEMPTION YOU DO NOT DESERVE, YOU ARE SO CLOSE TO YOUR REVENGE, OUR REVENGE, AND YOU FAIL ME. I MUST PUNISH YOU, I MUST HURT YOU. 

He braced himself; the pain of broken bones as he folded into himself was enough to make him wish for true death. 

I WISH YOU WERE DEAD, FREEING MYSELF FROM YOUR INEPTITUDE WOULD BE A BLESSING WELL MET WITH YOUR DEATH. 

They both knew it was fruitless, the idea impossible while the dagger was still broken. He would survive the pain, and the Darkness would greet him in its vengeance without fail. With eyes closed tightly, he braced himself for what was to come. 

Instead of pain, though, it cackled, and Killian felt more fear than before. 

Oh yes, feel that fear, Dearie. No more physical pain for today. You mentioned strategy - I have a strategic plan for you, regarding a fitting punishment; the sort worthy of this sort of betrayal. You've been misbehaving without consequences too long now, your leash forgotten. Do you remember when you failed to stop Snow Margueryte and her Charming? Do you remember how I tormented you for your failure? 

Killian shook his head in horror. Not that. 

Oh yes, that. It's time for your nightmare. I'll provide you mercy and heal you first… Be patient, for when I'm done we'll begin my favorite game with you. We haven't played in such a long time… 

His bones began to knit back together, cracking into place noisily and sloppily. Emma's voice suddenly echoed into his chamber, breaking through the Darkness' cackling. 

"Dark One!" She was blazing with rage and light magic, Killian barely able to stand upright at her advance. The Darkness felt licks of her fury strike, its yowls of pain as it hid itself away a bitter requiem of relief. 

Killian gritted his teeth as he adjusted his frame to lean against the wall, his body still healing slowly even as the Darkness exited. "Princess?" he rasped. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she shrieked; he thought she might move to strike him, to hear the venom with which she spat the question out. "You went through Ariel? Through Alice and Robyn? Through Eric and Marta? Did you think that I would not find out immediately or that they would not tell me of your attempt at deceit? What information did you hope you could squeeze from them while I was dealing with the consequences of my failures? You already know all of them, what could you possibly use against me now?"

He winced, and not all from pain. A vague guilt that had a name - remorse perhaps? 

“That wasn't the reason, I didn't - I wanted to -"

"I don't want anything to do with you. How many times do I have to -" Emma's magic hit him again, his corroded mind practically melting as her magic burnt the Darkness where it attempted to remain stuck to his bones. His knees wobbled. 

"Emma, I just need you to know -" 

Emma interrupted as he tried to take a breath, sweat beading on his forehead. "No. No, you don't need me to, you want me to. Big difference, buddy, and I have a choice in whether or not I listen. I don't want to listen."

His voice sounded small to his own ears. "I just want to know that you're okay."

Emma laughed, her eyes wild and teeth bared. "You know that I'm okay, that I am just dealing with a war, deaths, betrayals, figuring out who to trust and who isn't a monster. You've known I was alright since I left you, since I didn't come back - it's you who isn't alright. You’re scared. I don't blame you for it either; I can't imagine how it must feel to be unable to make your own choices, but I am not and cannot be your crutch. Find someone else."

Nodding, he scrubbed his face, and then carded his hand through his hair. "I thought - Never mind. Please just - You'll have to take care of yourself to survive. Keep yourself safe, and the shard; talk to Ursula and Ariel, alright? I was - I thought they might be concerned for you, and I am sorry for bothering them. And you. That's all. Nothing else."

Marta poked her head in, clearing her throat. "Uh, Killian. Ursula has a ship ready for you, and she's requested that you leave immediately. I've offered to go with you part of the way to make sure you don't do anything else untoward."

Emma snorted, spitefully. "Thanks Marta. Sorry you got the short straw."

Marta sighed. "Princess, do you need me to -" 

"I'm fine," Emma snapped. "Just about done here." Marta gave a nod, taking her leave. 

"I'm going to leave then," Killian said.

"Good. If we never meet again it will be too soon."

"If it means anything, I'm glad you are safe. I'm glad the shard is safe. I am glad you are with people who can help you, and who are… good at protecting you. I don't - you don't have to worry if they are trustworthy, and they won't fail you. Goodbye, Princess."

"Farewell, Dark One." 

He walked in a daze to the place where his ship waited, uncaring and unaware of the Selkies booing him, the food and trash thrown at him, of Ursula, Eric, Ariel, Alice, and Robyn watching his trek out of the caves with Emma. He stared, Eric and Ariel openly glaring, Robyn giving him the same squinted look of confusion that she had previously, and Alice too busy talking to Emma. 

To distract her from him. A dull heaviness pushed down on his shoulders, weight settling in his stomach. 

Marta was already waiting for him on the ship, a look of pity for him on her face. "Ready?" she inquired softly. He nodded, and they drew anchor. The ship moved through the calm water, everything quiet as they departed, including the voices that made up the Darkness. 

The portal out was a one way exit, the ship's wheel in his hands a steadying comfort. They caught the breeze, leaving the tranquility of the underwater oasis and sailing off the proverbial edge of Ursula's world to land in stormy waters. 

He had to blink a few times as a bright green bolt of blinding lightning cracked in the heavens. The storm was massive, and he followed its course along the horizon, seeing an armada skirting a hurricane before it hit something unseen, the clouds breaking apart. Killian ran to the stern, Marta joining him with a hand over her mouth. 

Ursula's caves flickered into view, appearing like a great bubble from the sea floor by some otherworldly force. As the caves crested the surface, the protective forces that had been shielding the caves broke with a resounding force, the huge crash as they struck the surface to sink again sending a shockwave through the water. Their ship pitched back and forth as they held steady to her moorings; the water had become a roiling mess of waves from the magic radiating off of the fleet in the distance. Green lightning struck the water all around it, and even from their distance Killian could see floating carcasses and the mass of birds seeking carrion, the water a sickly olive color. The storm began again, and Killian brought the spyglass in his pocket to his eye to examine the strangest fleet of mismatched ships Killian had ever seen, and tethered at its front was the cause of this destruction - King of the Merfolk, the previous King of the Sea: Ursula's brother, Triton. 

Shuddering in disbelief of the King's fate, even if deserved, Killian tried to map and count the plan of attack from their positions. Frigates, sloops, and even a few galleons were interspersed with metal rusting boats in styles Killian had never seen. The largest was something Elsa had called a barge, and it led the ships as the storm beat around them, the towering man with a large, dirty, grey beard at the lead. Focusing with a twist, he surveyed Triton further. The partial God was bruised and emaciated, held by a golden collar around his neck that linked to the barge with its towering blocks of rectangular metal boxes. Following the chain from the man’s collar to a raised dais that lay on a deck, Neal lounged nearby in a windowed observation level, looking bemused. Triton was under the control of the prince, his powers controlled by Nil's desire to possess Emma. 

But they would never, never get through to Ursula - 

Triton waved a large trident around, and the storm sparked with green and purple electricity. Ursula's secret realm lurched into view again as he spun the weapon with skill, before it sunk below in another huge crash. Their ship creaked ominously as the waves sent them flying. Triton bellowed loudly, making Marta whimper next to Killian. 

"We have to go back," Marta whispered, watching Killian close the spyglass. 

"Go back? For what, the pleasure of being ripped apart by Goblins and a demi-god? She doesn't want me there, what good -" 

Marta slapped him hard, changing from a highborn prim matron to the visage of a livid sorceress. 

"Stop thinking about yourself for one damned minute, you narcissistic clam! Even if that is the Darkness in you, recognize that this is bigger than you or your princess - my friend and my people are about to be slaughtered. I know what you did. I know how you exploded over that fleet like some sort of comet, and how you screamed the entire time begging for forgiveness. I was there in the water, before and after. I watched you kill those men, I saw them die; it took days to get the blood out of my pelt. Are you really going to let that happen again? Even if they aren't your people?"

Remembering the Darkness and its threat of reliving his worst nightmares, Killian paused. A spark lit his chest into a blaze. 

"If you wanted to die so badly, you could not have chosen a more reckless bastard willing to assist." He turned the ship, heading straight towards Triton and the Goblin fleet. 

What are you doing?! 

Killian felt the Darkness wake again, still weakened. Reading his thoughts, it quieted at the promise of a battle, the idea of any sort of confrontation too delicious to push back against. It acquiesced to his intended course, lending strength that made Killian grin ferally. 

They had just passed where the portal had spit them out when he heard the noise of another ship close by, only slightly behind. It caught up with them in an instant, and he had to blink; the silhouette was so familiar, the way it glided through the water as if it flew, almost like the Jewel but not quite - 

The thought was obliterated as Emma came into view on the deck, her hair whipping around her scowling face. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  "Get her out of here. This place is about to be a war zone if they manage to pit Ursula against Triton," Marta yelled at Emma's vessel, pointing to where Triton moved the water in huge eddies, the sea opening up and closing. 

Ariel yelled back, obviously frustrated and pointing at Emma. "We told her that, she -" 

"This is what Emma wants to do! We need to help Ursula, and we need to help your father, so why are you so oblivious you twit?" Alice marched toward Ariel, pointing, no longer soft spoken. 

"Of course I want to save my father, but how the hell is she going to help when she isn't even in her right mind!" Ariel spat, before regret played across her features. "Emma, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that in the way -" 

Alice and Robin cut off Ariel, though their words were lost to a forceful gust of wind. Alice looked livid, gesturing at Ariel to the point that Eric had stepped in and tried to separate them. Emma looked frozen in place, opening her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and retreated. Killian caught her eye, but she just looked through him, and instead jumped when thunder boomed over their heads.

Wind ripped at their own sails, Marta running to the front of the ship as Killian raced toward the back, glancing over to see Emma's sleeker vessel roll in the waves. The storm itself seemed concentrated around them suddenly, growing in ferocity. Massive waves, fueled by Triton’s powers, drew up shipwrecks that crashed into their vessels, jostling the princess and sending Eric to the wheel to frantically steer. Ariel was red with rage, screaming at Alice and Eric, while Emma tried to get their attention. 

Killian yelled at them to stop, but they only pointed their shouts at him, rain now pouring down on them like the sky had opened. 

Emma let out a scream of frustration, and Killian could see it before it happened, moving with a rope in his hand as he threw back the last of the vial in his pocket, jumping into the water only moments after Emma lost her balance and flew over the side. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  "Stop fighting, it's making the storm - " Emma shouted, but it was drowned out over the roar of waves, the downpour, and the brawl. A wave tore at her, and she was thrown roughly to the deck, her hand catching a rope for support. The wind whipped the rigging skyward, her cuff falling away as she flew off the planks and into the ocean. 

The water hit her full on, taking her breath away. She scrambled for the cuff, realizing too late it was lost in the sea. The dark water was freezing, crushing her in the indeterminate up and down. In a panicked moment she tried to summon the cuff, and when her magic simply sputtered, she tried to conjure air. No bubbles formed around her, her magic strained or weakened by Nil's influence on the sea. Fighting against the current left the air in her lungs burning, but she could not give in. A life of no more sky was how all of her nightmares seemed to end: here in the silence of drowning, in a life with Nil, or surrounded by darkness that was too alive. What would her mother say? Her father? With their fiercest faces on, speaking of honor and hard won peace - 

"We never give up in this family, Emma. We always find another. Good always wins."

Now she wanted desperately to ask at what cost? At what cost did good win, when this was good? Good should not be having to struggle, banished from a realm for no more reason than hatred, locked away forever or until you could be of use, punishments that were cruel and unusual - that wasn't good winning. 

That cost didn't need to be paid when there were so many other paths available. If only they had sought wisdom, if they had reached out and tried to see what might be good for all… Emma wished that she could have helped them do better, that maybe if she wasn't drowning, if they weren't imprisoned, if the weight of what they built hadn't come crashing down, they all could have changed things. 

Her eyes blurred and bright spots burst in her vision. Blackness closed in, her magic dampened, embracing the beginning of the end, until a hand grabbed her own. It pulled hard, tearing through the water. A blue light came from somewhere in the dark, but when she reached for it Emma felt her legs touch a tail, hand tingling from shock. There was no way it was him; Ariel was right that she had lost her mind, this was just some strange vision before she would wake in her bed. Arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her upwards, trying to beat the water that leaked into her mouth and nose, and there were his eyes, like he actually - 

Landing on hard wood with a thud, she could dimly hear voices of concern, but mostly she could see a soaking wet Killian looking down at her in fear. Emma coughed, choking on water as he watched her, breathing in harshly himself and falling back to his elbows. Too weak to move away from him and much weaker still to try to ask why, she stared at him in angry confusion. 

"You really need to stop drowning around me," he said in explanation, wiping wet hair away from his face, as if it meant nothing. "It's a terrible way to go, and I have made it abundantly clear that I will not let you."

Emma couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her at the absolute absurdity of everything, the hurt in her chest from the lack of oxygen, and how much hatred she wanted to feel even though she could not summon it. 

"I'll try and keep that in mind. Thank you," Emma whispered with as much annoyance as she could muster. Killian cracked a cheeky grin, and Emma felt the urge to punch him rise. 

"Emma, I'm so sorry. We realized that you were gone after he was jumping off the other side after you - " Alice rapidly began, before crushing Emma in a hug. The rest of her friends gathered, the storm calming around them on both ships. 

There was a loud splintering crack as more of Ursula's realm was pulled from hiding. Goblins threw ropes at the caves, climbing like spiders into the network of tunnels as Selkies launched their own bare defenses until they were dragged out in nets. 

A massive tentacle broke from the water, smacking hard against Triton as Ursula pushed free into the onslaught. Ariel gasped, and Marta began frantically pacing the deck. 

"What do we do?" Marta asked. Everyone turned towards Killian, who looked at his feet. 

"Don't look at me," he snapped, pointing to Emma. "The princess here does a far better job at improvisation methods. Ask her, she's your leader."

Emma blinked, staring at Killian with a suspicious glare. She thought for a moment, pushing past everything that had happened, her fears evaporating as she moved into planning. 

"We help Ursula, and we help the Selkies. Eric will pilot to Ursula, while some of us take the other ship and destroy what we can of Nil’s armada." She spoke calmly, delegating tasks quickly and methodically cycling through what they would need. "Ursula needs more time to try and get her denizens all out, so we need to make any sort of distraction we can. We can draw them away or at least split their forces if he knows I'm here."

"That is a terrible - " Ariel began, but Emma stopped her with a harsh tone. 

"If you have nothing better to offer, Ariel, I don't want to hear it."

Ariel managed to look shocked, before swallowing with a nod. "Let's free my father."

They split as a group, Emma giving Marta a solemn nod when they turned away to head towards Nil, Eric steering their ship straight into the formation. Killian forced his way between two ships in the rear, blending in easily, using their mix of styles to his advantage. It wasn't until the the first ship lay silent and burning that any attack looked like it was taking place. At least he could do this; maybe they could do this and for once take a victory. 

Marta steered hard into a barely held together wooden sloop. Alice and Robyn wreaked chaos with strange smoke bombs detonated by arrows while Killian lit sails on fire, the Goblins seemingly not understanding why liberally leaving petrol around could be a problem. The armada's wooden ships burned hot in the water, making the storm even eerier, green lightning mixed with the bright reds of the flames creating barriers for any course direction. It was clear that the Goblins were not familiar with any Naval strategy, and Emma felt a small surge of hope. Eric had a steady hand as he watched Ariel create portals, shutting them around longer vessels when they were halfway through with screeching crunches. 

The Goblin fleet took notice, but Nil made no move for Emma as their ship took fire. Eric and Ariel disappeared onto a steel boat with a claw like contraption while Emma tried to magic herself onto another ship’s deck without success. Her hands trembled, sparks finally lighting and sending her sprawling on a shiny silver floor surrounded by huge containers stacked on each other. A Goblin stared at her in confusion before she lunged, plunging her sword into its chest out of instinct. The Goblin fell with a thud, and Emma began to run. These ships were long and easy to cross. Her mind was made up to get to Nil before he could get to the Selkies. 

Killian appeared in the middle of the last surviving holdout of metal barges, pursued as he jumped across a row of metal containers above Emma while she herded a group into the space below. The Goblins above carelessly knocked containers down in a tumble, burying her pursuers. Emma met his eyes briefly, giving him a nod.

They continued through the maze of metal on opposite sides of each other, flowing into an easy strategy together that made her angrier still at Nil - angry that she could possibly consider working again with the Dark One. It was too simple to fall back into their unfriendly truce. The thought had barely crossed her mind when the wood under her feet splintered and bowed, her feet slipping as the barge tipped forward, barreling towards the sea floor. The impact of the hull against the rocky ground sent her flying, the noise alone reverberating through her teeth like she was shattering as the rocks came towards her at frightening speed. 

The same black blur as before pushed her into swirling water. The force of the whirlpool crushed them both, but her hand crushed his even harder while he pulled upward. Water resettled again as they gasped for air together at the surface, Killian’s hair sticking flat against his face. The water was full of debris and flame, smoke making it impossible to see much of anything. Ships ground together all around them as he helped her cling to a chunk of wood. It was in both of their best interests for her to be alive and uninjured, but here he was playing some sort of savior that went far beyond the bounds of their truce. He was behind her, at her side, or in sync with her step, both of them working together with an ease as if they were partners, and yet that’s not what they were. It made her angry, furious even, even in the midst of battle. 

"Killian, what - " But before she could finish, she was forced to push him frantically out of the way as a huge chunk of a rock formation fell, the resulting force smacking them together. "Look out, go!" 

More rocks fell around them and cut through the smoke, Ursula's lair appearing again to all as its protective shields flickered to a shuddering halt, the walls looming over them as it hurtled downwards again towards the sea floor. One of the main chambers swallowed them as the lair descended, pushing water aside as it split around them, crystals raining down in sparkling pieces. Caught in the push back of the water, they were pulled with the mass of rock as it fell away and began settling into the bottom of the sea. The force of the ensuing wave, however, pushed them back up and over the surface, Emma's back smacking against what was once the cave floor. The two pieces were still crumbling, but now sat horizontally in the water to create an invisible shoreline made of stone. Emma had little time to acknowledge where she landed, the wind escaping her lungs when she tried to shriek and shield her body from another round of the boulders. Killian pulled her into a roll, ending up above her breathing heavily. 

"G'off - " Emma let out a panted breath from under him, weakly protesting at his weight. "Catch your breath, and g'off!"

Killian rolled off of her onto his back, letting out puffs of air as he did. 

"Sorry," he rasped, and finally pushed his hair out of his face with a wet slap. Emma let out a laugh, regretting it instantly as she coughed. 

"S'alright." Propping herself upright on her elbows, she quickly glanced around the cave fragment where they had washed up, now its own small island in the turmoiled sea. Standing and peering around the cracked rock, her breath caught again. 

Ursula's realm was broken into pieces around the remaining ships, cracked and jagged mountains of what was once the cave jutting out of the water. The piece they were sequestered on was at the outer edge, so obscured by smoke that they could not see Ursula at all until Triton's first blow landed and swept the billowing clouds away. 

The brother and sister stood in the water in front of Nil's barge, both of them colossal and struggling against each other’s strength as Ursula's tentacles wrapped around the trident. Nets were thrown towards what was left of the caves, dragging selkies into a cargo hold, the water carrying sounds of distress to her ears. Emma slipped through the crack, running towards the water, but there he was in her peripheral, because of course he was. Of course he would stalk her even in the middle of a battle - 

"Don't you dare tell me not to do this, not to do something - " Emma hissed, putting more distance between them. He stood slightly in front of her, but made no move to stop her. 

"I wasn't going to," Killian replied with a sideways glance, following slightly behind when she pushed past. "Do you have a plan?" he asked when they got closer, nets hauling in screaming women and seals. 

"Get the Selkies out and turn Nil's focus fully on me so that Ursula can free Triton. Nil doesn't care about his people or how many die; he will only notice if a new plaything is put in front of him. I don't know how much time Ursula needs, but that's my last resort plan."

"I have a plan, and it should buy you time if you - " 

"Trust you again?" She whirled on her heel back towards him. "That's below even my last resort plan. I will never - " 

"I've betrayed you, and I understand that you owe me nothing, Em - Princess, but I swear to you now that I give you my fealty. I swear on Milah, Liam, and Elsa that I will be your ally, and help you in this war. Take a leap of faith here, please, I promise you that - " She turned away. Killian tried to follow, but she held up a hand. 

"Shut the hell up, Killian. Just stop. Please." Her voice wavered slightly, and he halted behind her. Seeing him look actually admonished, actually concerned as he pushed wet hair away from his face, Emma lowered herself into the water. 

"Fair enough." He whispered.

"By the way," her shoulders tightened, though she didn’t bother to glance at him, "if you're really sorry, truly apologetic even in some part of you that can still muster that emotion, a true apology would be changed behavior. Which is why if I am faced with you and Nil as my options, I will take this dagger shard to the bottom of the sea. I’d rather die than pick either of you."

"I am - " 

"I don't care, Killian. Thank you for your help here, and thank you for saving my life. It does not change anything."

Emma propelled herself forward into one of the nets, leaving him behind again. It dragged her and several frightened Selkies up over a deck, depositing them into some sort of holding cage. Emma moved quickly, cutting through the ropes with a knife that Ursula had given her. Handing it off to a nymph, Emma lifted herself from the floor with discarded netting, looking around to see what all was taking place.

Emma spotted Ariel in a corner, waving for her attention and pointing to a wall with a circling finger. She could make a portal; good - a quiet and easy way to get the Selkies to safety. Emma motioned to the groups of Selkies netted on deck, prioritizing those who were held down by Goblins or in view of the archers taking aim near the King's raised area. The first two attempts were straightforward, no Goblins milling around to stop them. The third was more harrowing, almost cut short by a Goblin's shrieking. Killian snapped its neck from behind as Emma braced herself for discovery, her eyes widening further when he ducked down and helped her cut through a heavy cord that bound the Selkies. They split apart again, the last groups too close to the front and at risk of being directly under a rain of archers. There was a shadowy section of boxes that she could dip behind for cover, but without the archers’ eyes distracted, it would be impossible to get to. Killian signaled from a corner, ducking behind a tarp when a patrol went by. 

Emma stayed still in the hold, pleading with her eyes, trying to tell him that she needed only a little time. He gave her a slight downcast smile, almost a grimace but not quite, and sprung from hiding. Slashing and hacking at a set of Goblins to provide a distraction as she ran to cut the last nets, he made his way toward the front of the huge metal ship until Nil bellowed. Nil pointed one of his gnarled fingers at Killian, eyes widening in recognition as his face turned from anger, to a smile. He laughed, opening his hands and spreading his arms as if presented with an old friend. 

Watching with a sick feeling churning in her gut, she saw Killian bow lowly. To her great horror, his wide, crooked, grin was once again back. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The bow he gave was met by several Goblins overtaking him, beating him as they placed shackles on his arms and legs. They weighed heavily, burning against his skin. Iron. Of course it was iron; it was earth, after all. Goblins were right behind Dwarves with their affinity for earth magic, able to bend iron with ease. 

Nil walked towards him wearing a fur cape draped over his shoulders that sparkled in the dim light. Killian could see that it was a poorly crafted blend of Merscale, Selkie pelts, and varying Ansapi skins. Even despite Nil’s garish and disgusting costuming, Killian saw the faintest glimpse of Milah in the man's unsure eyes. Then, the Goblin smiled broadly, and any trace of her was wiped away. 

"You made it!" Nil bellowed, seemingly overjoyed as his guard looked on in confusion, ignoring the lifeless bodies that lay around the ship and its strange cargo pillars, marking Killian’s path. 

Killian struggled slightly, testing his bonds as they seared the flesh. "Certainly did," he hissed. 

"Where is my Queen? My radiant bride-to-be and future submitting wife?" Nil practically sang. Killian could see his mouth was wet, the too long tongue in his mouth slick with salivation. 

Killian suppressed the disgust that threatened to spill over at the prince’s language. 

The Darkness caressed his bones, tickling gently under his skin. 

Tell him. Do it. End this. 

Killian set his jaw, thinking of Emma's hand on the barrier she had created in the woods, the way her brows had pinched and lips had turned down. She had trusted him briefly, even going so far to say that he had good inside of him when she first forgave him, and to say she wished him peace when she left. 

There had been a moment when she hesitated before going into the portal, thought about looking back at him, and he had hated her for almost forgiving him again. He had hated her for so much more than her slender shoulders had ever had to bear, blamed her for so much; he’d even told her in no uncertain terms that she should suffer as Milah had. And still, she was here, looking at him with those eyes that he couldn't escape. 

No no no, you listen to me, only to me. I am your master, you are my hound to beat when it fails to bring me my kills! No, NOW LISTEN, LISTEN. END THIS. 

He couldn't stop thinking of the anger and relief when she spoke his name again upon seeing him before Ursula, the way she had dismissed him instead of making him grovel like she should have, demanding her pound of flesh for what he had put her through. The way she was glancing at him now with apprehension and fear. 

She is a weakling, full of uncontrolled emotions and too much trust that has led to her ruin. Go on, stop stalling! Hurry, hurry now, we can get the shard and - 

And giving her to Nil would end with nothing more than misery for not only her, but anyone who stood in the Goblins’ way - Royals and Fae like Marta, or the numerous scattered Fae that refused a crown once before - 

“Well?” Nil asked, laughing raucously.

Well? Give him the princess, you blithering simpleton - 

Killian cleared his throat, preparing himself. "She's dead."

What!? 

"I must have misheard you, Dark One," Nil chuckled dangerously. "Say again?" 

Yes, say AGAIN? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? END THIS. 

The Darkness tried to force its words onto his tongue, but he would not let her forgiveness by dismissal be in vain. 

ENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHISENDTHIS END THIS, GIVE HER UP 

"She's dead; she ran from me weeks ago. I found her body in a ravine, the shard dissolved to ash. I will never be freed." He spoke as bitterly as he could, channeling the hatred easily. 

"What?" the Goblin Prince screamed, enraged. "She is strong willed and has a bite to match that delectable bark, so she cannot be dead. She is like my own stolen mother, and destined for her blood to strengthen the throne. No, she cannot be dead."

You won't buy her time with this, you fool! This is inevitable, she is his and will be his like your whore was his father's. You must get the shard - 

"I assure you, she is. Even in death, she made it difficult. The ravine was deep and absolutely bloody terrible to climb into. I can't imagine falling down it was anything even she could have survived."

You will suffer for this. 

"Good," Killian whispered, mostly to himself. Emma looked at him from the remains of the net, where the Selkies were now freed from their confines. She motioned for him to stop, but he shook his head, wet strands of the shaggy mess sticking to his forehead. The Goblin Prince paced, before taking deep breaths and turning again to face Killian. 

"Then why have you come here, slaughtered my fleet, and created chaos? I've heard about your glory under my father. Did you really come here empty handed to tell me you're untethered?" Nil attempted to sound amused, but the desperate edge was heavy in his tone. There was no control there, just an angry brat brashly striking out at everyone. 

Killian put on a pedantic smile, causing Nil to immediately start shifting in his place like a child. "Why wouldn't I? I only create chaos, and with no master that means I can strike against you too. Your damnable father may not be here, but I can still hurt you," he drawled, a bit of The Darkness in his voice for finesse. 

What are you doing, what ARE YOU DOING? 

"Then you're useless to me. It's lucky I don't believe you." Nil smiled with a menacing edge. "We'll just leave you here for safekeeping until I can verify this unfortunate and convenient tragedy. My betrothed is a beautiful specimen and so strong, it's hard to believe she isn't ferreted away somewhere. Her tenacity knows no bounds, yet again like my beloved Mother. I love that fighting spirit, she will make a strong future king, as it is written." Walking to a large flat piece of iron and picking it up from the floor, the sheet rolled like paper in his glowing hands until it crafted into a large curved spike.  

There was a sharp pain in his chest as the U bend of the makeshift iron anchor broke through the skin of his back, cracking ribs. Killian groaned, falling back, but Nil was there, standing on top of the iron contraption and pushing it deeper. Pushing the other side of heavy iron through his ribcage, Killian felt the air escape his lungs in a choking rasp, forcing him to double over, while Nil gave him a hard push into the sea. 

You've killed us both you fool. I hope you're happy. 

"We don't die. I'm content to lie at the bottom of the sea if that means another does not have the same fate as Milah. I meant what I said."

You will know true agony for this. Your insolence has been a problem, but this? This you will suffer for; this you will know true pain for. 

"Aye, I'm sure of it. For now, enjoy the water for the both of us."

The dark pressure seemed endless, and the pain was constant, but it cleared his thoughts. Killian of the Blackwater, left to sit in the blackest depths forevermore. The Darkness writhed and cajoled and raged, but nothing it did could disturb his peace, the idea of penance weighing heavier than the cold, deep nothingness. 

He wondered if this was what Liam felt. The thought didn't hurt him this time. 

The anchor dragged along the sand at the bottom, drawing another sound that escaped in bubbles. More pain burned through him as his lungs filled with water. Stars lit behind his eyes, bright pops of color flashing in time with the stabs of pain. Hours passed like this, his thoughts just as full with briny water as he tried not to think about how long this torture would continue. A firework lit in his mind as the anchor hit a rock, sending reverberating shocks through his body. He wished vainly for the darkness to take him instead of the bursts of brightness. 

But no, the light would not go away. It became a pinpoint, then a glow that was warmer and more comforting than anything he thought he would know, growing to spread through him. He cracked open his eyes to see what he thought was a fierce angel, or quite possibly a nymph or siren, who swam before him encased in bright sunshine shimmers of light with a halo around her head and wearing Emma’s face. 

There was no mockery, for which he thanked the heavens; she simply lifted him, felt the iron, and dropped him suddenly. Tentacles wrapped around the thickest bend of the molded metal, wood crashing around them as the strange suction cup dotted arms yanked. Then, the weight in his chest loosened and he was flying, finally free. It was too much; he flew too high and too fast, falling just as quickly, his eyes shut tightly. 

He fell on something hard, forcing him to cough up water as he raised himself on his side. Soft hands pushed hair out of his face, and something warm crashed into him against where the iron had been. He groaned as whatever it was that had settled against him. A person? When he let out a breath, the person - yes, it was definitely a person - began hitting him.

They stopped suddenly, and after no other smacks came for several moments he opened his eyes to see Emma staring back at him with worry, concern, and anger filling her own gaze. 

"You fucking idiot!" she screamed. "You -" 

"You know that I can't die, right? I'm a survivor.” 

"You still… Even if… If you had been hurt, hurt worse than this I mean, I… Why did you do that? I had a plan, and you - you bought us so much more time, I should have let you - I should have trusted - We couldn't have done this without you, I just…" Emma swiped at her eyes. "Why would you, you absolute…" 

Trying to sit up and practically toppling them both, he groused wryly at her noise of concern. "Maybe I just needed reminding that I could be on the hero's side, or maybe I knew you would never let me get off that easy and without yelling at me, you stubborn - " 

Emma hit him lightly again, her voice laced with strained amusement and lessening terror. "Don't move. Just stop, don't move, you arrogant ass."

"Princess, you deprive me of a dashing rescue, and then add insult to injury - "

"Emma. Please, I…" She straightened her shoulders and began to laugh, his grin at her not helping. Her voice cracked when she tried to start talking, and though she cleared her throat, she could not hide the tremble. "I think, Emma is just fine. Or I quite liked when you called me Swan." 

"Hey, hey now," he soothed, and when he laid a hand on her cheek she turned her face into his palm, holding her own hand against his. Emma couldn't hold back a shaky breath as a few tears escaped, and he pulled her tightly to him. "Hey. Don't cry. I'm the one who was gravely injured. It was about time you saved me from almost drowning, even though I technically cannot. We'll count it as one to three, with me in the lead. You can't steal that too, Swan." 

Her hiccupping laugh and weak wristed smack made him snort. The wound in his back closed, the Darkness ever keeping him alive, even as it still stopped short of his hand. Finally, Killian allowed himself to look around. They were on an old style ship, a light fleet frigate possibly, with no one else in sight. It felt vaguely familiar, but so did simply being at sea. Emma shuddered against him, cold and most likely exhausted as he pressed her for details. 

"What happened to Nil's armada?" 

"Your claim that I was dead caused the Goblin Prince to throw a full-on tantrum, leaving his own ship by portal. The mages he left in charge couldn't control Triton when whittled down in numbers. By the time Nil came back with his father, Triton was free, Ursula was laying waste to anything with Goblins on board, and the Selkies were free and trying to heal their wounded while regrouping. Ursula threw us on this ship after we looked for you, and the two of them destroyed Nil’s entire armada. Nil escaped through a portal at the last second, though. I watched through your telescope." Emma blushed lightly, pulling away from him. "Ursula said this ship will mean something to you, but I don't recognize it other than it being the one we used today. It's sort of a hodge-podge of Mer-craftsmanship; a frigate, speed sloop, galleon, and tall ship all crammed together. The base and bunks seem to be mostly the galleon? It's that ship Eric pulled out of the water before -"

"Liam's ship," he breathed. "My ship."

"I thought yours was The Jewel of the Realm? This one says something about being Jolly." She pointed over the edge, and he joined her to peer over. In sloppy carved graffiti, some sea dwelling mer-miscreant had replaced the clean script of the Fae Navy with 'The Jolly Roger'. 

Killian couldn't find it in himself to be angry, instead laughing as he crossed to the stern, feeling the same breeze that his brother and he had felt, the sea immediately calming him. Emma had only made this all the better, expending any magic she hadn't used drying their supplies and the ship's hold. Once waterlogged books filled with his brother's notes were crisp and clean, and a patina worn sextant looked almost like new on a pristine desk. Opening a trunk, he found naval uniforms pressed for a day's work, closing the lid after running his fingers over the brass buttons and fringed epaulets on the shoulders. 

Then there were the other ships, the pieces of other wrecks merged to what was his, that made up the crooked interior, filled with casks and casks of glorious rum. 

He created a small fire in the tiny galley, heating it with the butter they had left, still in Ingrid's strange plastic pastel container, before joining Emma on the deck with two cups as she arranged blankets. 

"How's your hand?" Emma asked, watching him settle. 

He gave a shrug, trying to mask the fire coursing through his bent fingers. "S'fine." 

He took a heavy swig, the rum doing nothing to help the pain in his hand. Emma rolled her eyes and crawled beside him, taking his cold palm in hers. "Which means 'it hurts' in High Killian. You're truly a terrible liar."

"The Goblin believed me when I told them you were dead." 

"Barely, and I mean, case and point." Emma smirked, her magic glowing softly. 

Killian barked out a laugh, and her magic spread, his hand stopping its searing throbs. He sighed in relief, and picked up a steaming mug. 

"Any idea where we're off to?" he asked. Emma sighed wearily. 

"I haven't had much more that a moment while you looked around yourself, but I believe we’re in this general vicinity." She spread out a large map that he had not noticed, unrolling it and pinning it down with a few stones she must have found in Liam's collection. Amethyst and a chunk of bismuth glittered at each corner. Emma pointed with the ends of a navigational compass to a location in the blue defined area she had made a circle around. "The stars aren't great right now, but I remember them well enough to find the cardinal points. There was a current map where I found this, and based on the stars and our speed, I think this is our trajectory if we're seeking the closest shore to land on." She tapped a small speck on the map with the compass, some unmarked island. 

Killian raised an eyebrow, remarkably impressed. "You know marine navigation?" 

Emma shrugged, with a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Even a proper noblewoman needs hobbies."

"I'm beginning to believe that you aren't the most proper of noblewomen, Swan."

"My reputation is ruined, you'll have to seek out other debutantes to fill your season."

He was caught off guard by her quip, and laughed in surprise, her giggling joining his. He brushed a finger over one of her lines on the map. "This is going to take some time, if you're right. Have you been at sea for any length of time?" 

Emma shook her head, and sighed. "No. The sea wasn't a place for a princess." Her tone was sour, and she looked at him with the glint of irritation he'd begun to notice was present when she spoke about the ridiculous notions of the royals. 

"Well, now it seems it is." He gave her a wink, and her cheeks flushed a deep red, the rum seemingly warming her further. "We'll be in close quarters, especially with what a mess of mismatched parts below deck is. Stay off my toes, and we'll be fine."

Looking at him with a cocked head and an amused expression, she gave a mock salute while imitating his accent. "Aye aye, Captain, sir."

He grimaced, and downed his rum. The Darkness had quieted again, probably due to her close proximity and how her magic seemed to target it lately. 

Emma took another large swig of rum, her skin heating with a visible flush. Killian grinned at her, taking the mug down to pour more for them. When he handed it to her, she took another swig, seeming to savor the burn in her throat and warmth in her belly. Giggling, she let herself fall back onto the blankets they had laid across the deck. 

"The last time I was this drunk was when I kissed you," she laughed, rolling onto her side clumsily to look at him. "After we escaped Pann."

"You were much more drunk then," he laughed back before realization dawned on him. "Wait, you remember that?"

"Yeah, and you lying about it." Her grin was playful, and she laid her head down to hide half her face in the blankets. Killian felt his ears heat, and tried not to choke on anymore of the rum. "Why did you, anyway?"

"I didn't - it was obvious you were out of sorts, just…"

"Knackered? Foxed? Three shades to the wind?" Emma giggled, and when he didn't return the laugh she reached for him. "I didn't mean to upset you, I definitely shouldn't have done that. I mean, I don't regret it, because it was nice and you have nice lips and a nice face, and - " She rambled, and his eyebrow raised. She let out a groan and covered her mouth. 

"A drunken mind speaks a sober - " he chuckled awkwardly, Emma reaching to push him softly before he could finish the proverb. There was a part of him that felt strange, full of pride, while all at once wistful. 

"Shut up," she whined, her blush making her eyes more green. "We will never speak of this again."

"Not a word from my nice lips about it again, I swear it." Miming zipping his lips, Emma groaned once more, falling back into the blankets again while laughing. Her laughter, being out at sea, the rum - it was heady when mixed with the thought of the way she had felt. There was no way he could admit anything more than that to himself, let alone Emma. 

Later he checked her coordinates against the constellations, both of them looking at the stars and looking over the map by candlelight. Emma fell asleep as he began to work in silence and he coaxed her to take a pillow to lay her head on, the quiet snoring lasting for a few hours. 

She tossed and turned under the blanket, briefly scaring him with the suddenness of her flailing. 

"Emma? Are you alright?" 

"Don't touch me, please don't touch - " she startled awake, throwing her body away from his own. With hazy eyes filled with tears, Emma scrunched into her frame just as he saw her do within Ursula's realm, magic leaving her in waves. "Nil, no, please don't - "

The first few bursts of magic caught him off guard, hitting him squarely in the chest. The third he tried to roll away from as it hit his hip, the movement fully pulling her from the night terror. 

Her breathing was rapid and unsteady, as she murmured an apology, fingers twisting her hair. 

She looked exhausted, and Killian wondered again when the last time she had gotten proper rest was. Approaching carefully, he wrapped her in the blanket she had thrown off, helping her to stand. 

"Go sleep in the bunk. It will be more comfortable for you," Killian whispered, and Emma let him tuck a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, his skin meeting the softness of her cheek. He nodded to the hatch, helping her down the ladder until she closed the latch behind her. Sitting down on the deck to look over the maps again, he attempted to rub out the twinge in his chest that had begun to ache from where her magic had dealt its blows. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The dress for the evening of this ball is beautiful, and fits her like a glove as she twirls for her father. He's happier than she has seen him in a long time, eyes crinkled at the corners, watching her like she is the most important thing in the world as she shows him the intricate crystal work that glitters in the light. 

Her mother hugs her from behind, a rare warm gesture rather than the iciness that Emma is used to in their relationship, decorum and etiquette frowning on displays of affection. The green velvet of her mother's gown smells like moss, pine, sweet grass, and fresh snow as her mother rests her head on Emma's shoulder. 

Her father twirled her again, and they're at the ball. As unsure as she is what this party commemorates, the food and drink do not disappoint, nor does the selection of dance partners. A warm set of hands covers her eyes, and she can feel the press of a person against her back but it isn't unwelcome at all. Instead she feels the roughness of his palms, stubble against her neck, warm breath in her ear, and Killian’s voice. 

"I have a surprise for you, darling," he whispers, and Emma feels her stomach flip like it had once with Graham. To her surprise, she feels trust and a sense of peace that he is with her here, and grins at his gift. The music goes silent in the ballroom, along with the guests, as if a great breath has snuffed everything out. "No peeking now…" Killian’s hands fall away and she screws her eyes tightly shut. 

A finger traces her exposed spine, and she giggles, the nail sharp against her skin while feathers soften its trail. Although not completely unpleasant, it feels off the longer and further it goes, and she shivers as she leans away from the touch. The person behind her wraps their arms around her tightly, making it impossible to move while trailing their nails down her exposed skin. Emma struggles, and she feels a sickeningly familiar giggle rumble through the chest against her back. 

This wasn't Killian any longer. She keeps her eyes shut, trying to wish away the sour smelling breath against the junction of her throat. 

"Open your eyes, my beautiful wife, my queen to rival all queens. Open your eyes and behold my gift to you," Nil hisses, dragging his tongue along her shoulder blade. 

Despite trying to clench her eyes shut with everything in her power, they are forced open to the light of the ballroom, twinkling lights that briefly blind then illuminate the bodies on the patterned floor. Crimson puddles lay around the courtiers as they themselves laid too still, livery soaking up the blood. Emma lets out a cry, running and slipping in the pools, her skirts and slippers filling with wet warmth, the taste of copper on her tongue. 

Her parents slumped in their thrones, eyes and mouths open too wide, and Emma hears herself now as she chokes out moans, her voice too small but so loud in the silence that permeates in the absence of life. From behind her father's throne, Killian appears, his hands and face drenched in the same red that blooms from her parents necks while he wipes his sword on his waistcoat. 

His face contorts in a sinister grin that only widens when he catches her horrified gaze, his eyes flickering to the floor. His eyes that are terribly, and awfully sad. 

Emma turns back to Nil, his smile akin to Killian’s own, the dagger in his grip as Killian takes a place slightly behind him like a prostrate lap dog. Emma shakes her head, falling to her knees. 

"Do you not like my gift, my radiant queen? I wanted something that left an impression as your last sight before the Darkness of your new life begins." Nil cocks his head, moving to her to lift her chin. Emma feels tears stream down her cheeks. "You will learn to love the Darkness, just as you will learn to love me, and love what I have done for you. Come, wife. Come."

The ballroom disappears around her as the world goes black, the floor falling away to leave her tumbling into the abyss. She lands on a soft surface, hands scrambling to feel around and escape. Her arms tangle in silken sheets as pillows, down, and bedding seemed to hold her, realizing she's landed in a bed that is not her own. The bedding fabric tightens around her wrists and ankles, forcing her body into a prone position, forcing her into a vulnerable position, even as she struggles in the dark. A rustling catches her attention, her body tense as she tries to place where the noise came from. She could see nothing in the gloom, no matter how much she tried. Nil's voice slithered through the murk. 

"You're home now, my magnificent queen. Home and safely held, to get you acclimated to life here, to the absence of light." The sound of fabric falling to the ground came from her left, followed by dragging footsteps echoing across the space, Emma's breath coming in panicked gasps. 

She feels the creak of the bed near her feet, a knee against her calf as a feathered hand slid up her thigh. Emma pleads for him to stop, desperately trying to get away from his touch. 

Nil's voice is silky against her hip. "You'll get used to this too, not that I mind. Fighting makes a better future king."

Screams ripped from her throat and he pulled away, hissing at the noise. "Dark One! Hold her mouth silent!"

Killian appears through the darkness, leaning over her as she begs and pleads for this to stop. His eyes glow blue, and they are still so sad as his hand covers her mouth, muffling her voice. He looks close to tears, like he's breaking himself, his hand trembling against her lips while he tries to comfort her even as Nil returns to her thigh.

"Emma, I'm so sorry, Emma, shhhhh, please." The room grows brighter, his eyes are brighter and he is clenching his jaw in fury. Emma can feel the light coming back, but Nil's hands press on, too close to where they should never be, and her begging gets louder along with Killian’s voice right above her, "Emma, are you alright?" 

And no, she isn't, but the room is gone and he's saved her, eyes blue in her blurry vision - 

Waking up in terror after the rum had worn off, Emma had hoped for more sleep, but even the alcohol was unable to combat her nightmare on the deck. The dream continued to plague her, pieces of it making her breath catch until it fades. Killian was in her dreams more frequently since his return, both ambivalent and malicious in each turn. Killian had helped her down into those chambers, and although she still was slightly hazy, it was a welcome change. 

It was odd to be in the room of a person that had changed into a stranger inside his own skin, the remaining discarded bits of what was a life scattered in disarray. Lighting a candle, she looked at the open trunk and the uniform placed reverently over a desk chair, letting her fingers run along the buttons and brush the fringe of the epaulets. The books she had pulled earlier were still out, and she opened dog eared pages, surprised by the different sets of handwriting in the margins.

Sturdy, block text that reminded her of laws and bills that her parents had to sign underlined passages, while a flowery script poked fun at those footnotes. The flowery text seemed to enjoy more poetry and philosophy, which the block text had teased heavily. Based on what she knew, Liam and Killian respectively were the authors, Killian’s text much more chaotic and flamboyant. Another hand's script had joined later, letters beautiful and words softly pushed together. It wrote love notes in the corners, or bracketed passages, occasionally a watercolor picture left tucked neatly in the pages where they wrote paragraphs. Milah, Emma assumed. 

Killian had once painted, she discovered after finding a ribbon bound stack of his work. Pictures of Milah were his main focus, then the water, landscapes, and animals. His work was humorous and surreal on occasion too, and Emma wondered what that man had been like, before everything happened. He had been different then, and it made her feel anxious and vulnerable to wonder if that man was still buried somewhere within the tortured soul she now kept company with. 

Stripping to her shift to combat the last of summer's heat, she laid down on the bunk, surprised at the luxurious nature of the bedding. Here in the cabin, she could better hear the water, waves rocking the ship. Later, she heard his footfalls, opening her eyes briefly as he whispered that she was alright, stroking her hair gently. 

Emma could feel the remnants of the dream, the same as before and the same that had haunted her since she had found herself in Ursula's domain. He kept on with his soothing until the tension in her shoulders fell away, the traced patterns against her scalp in sync with the waves. The ghost of the old Killian still remained, she mused smiling sleepily, the one she could trust. She fell immediately back to sleep, resting for the first time in weeks and dreaming of home. 

[emospritelet]

“God, I hate doing Secret Santa!” - KoL

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18]

AO3 link

Belle stared at the rippling surface of what was left of her gin and tonic, a pleasant buzz from the two she had already drunk flowing through her.  Across from her, Astrid and Dorothy were chatting about some film that had recently started airing, and which Belle hadn’t seen.  Alice had gone to the bar for the next round, with Zelena and Mary Margaret offering to help her carry the drinks.

The photo shoot hadn’t been the humiliating spectacle she had been dreading; the photographers had been extremely professional, and had made her feel wholly at ease.  Besides, the pose she had chosen had been sensual rather than smutty, she felt.  Time and the finished product would tell, but she felt a lot happier about the whole process now that it was over.  The girls had all agreed to go to the Rabbit Hole afterwards, and while a night out with Zelena wasn’t one she would have chosen, the woman had been reasonably pleasant.  All in all, the day could have been worse.

Gold was still keeping her at arm’s length, and she hadn’t been able to work out why.  Things had been strained ever since she had woken up in his bed, so perhaps it was simply that.  Perhaps that was too much of an invasion of his privacy.  She supposed she could understand that, although it hurt that he didn’t feel he could talk to her about it.  She had kept their interactions professional after that first meeting in the corridor; she figured he would come to her in his own time.  It was frustrating, but she certainly wasn’t about to force herself on the poor man any more than she already had.

“Here you go,” Mary Margaret set another drink in front of her, and slid into her seat.  “Too bad Ruby had to work.  It’s so rare that we all get a night off.”

“Gets even rarer around Christmas,” said Astrid.  “Glinda already put up the shift rota for next month, did you guys see?”

“She doesn’t mind if we swap shifts around as long as there’s enough cover,” said Zelena.  “Same with you assistants, I’m sure.”

“I could really do with taking New Year off,” said Mary Margaret.  “But I don’t mind working Christmas, if someone wants to swap.”

“I don’t mind covering,” said Belle.  “I could use the money, and it’s not like I have anything better planned.”

Mary Margaret beamed at her, and nodded.

“No date for New Year?” asked Astrid, and Belle pulled a face.

“Other than the disaster of a blind date Ruby sent me on?” she asked.  “I haven’t dated anyone since Will.  That must be - oh, I don’t know.  A year, at least.”

“Bad breakup?” asked Dorothy, and Belle shook her head.

“No, he was great,” she insisted.  “We were friends before we started seeing each other, and we’re still friends now.”

“But it didn’t work out?” asked Astrid sympathetically, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“Not in that way,” she said.  “We thought maybe we could be more than friends, but when it came to it, the physical side of things just felt - weird.  Like kissing my brother would feel, if I had one.”

“That sucks,” said Astrid, wrinkling her nose.  “Did you keep in touch?”

“Kind of,” said Belle.  “He went travelling after college - sometimes I get an email out of the blue, but I haven’t seen him since we graduated.  Last I heard he was teaching English in Laos, or something.”

“Storybrooke’s not exactly overflowing with potential partners if you’re into guys,” said Alice, slumping in her chair next to Dorothy.  “That coma patient’s probably the best catch out there right now.”

“Alice!”

“I’m not even joking,” she said, swinging a boot up onto her knee.  “When the poor guy wakes up he’ll probably find a bunch of people’s phone numbers in his pockets.”

The others chuckled, but Belle noticed that Mary Margaret was blushing even as she smiled.

“What about you guys?” she asked.  “Anything fun planned for New Year?”

“Party at Granny’s,” said Mary Margaret.  “There’s one every year, it’s so much fun.  You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Maybe next year,” said Belle, taking a slurp of her drink.  “Someone’s got to work, right?”

“Well, I’m certainly going,” said Zelena.  “The calendar will be out by then, and I may as well make the most of it.”

“Make the most of it how?” asked Alice, reaching for her drink.  “From what you said the pose didn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“Well, perhaps not,” said Zelena, with a smirk.  “But it may have whetted the appetite of - someone - don’t you think?”

“Oh for God’s sake!” sighed Dorothy.  “Zelena, would you let it go?  Dr Gold is never gonna ask you out!  Not ever!”

“Did he tell you that?” snapped Zelena.

“No, but—”

“Well then!”

Dorothy rolled her eyes.

“Look, if you want to continue throwing yourself at him and creeping him out, be my guest,” she said.  “But you’re wasting your time.  He doesn’t date.”

“Well, that’s just because he’s so busy.”

“No, I mean he doesn’t date,” she said patiently.  “Not ever.  He told me so.”

“Oh.”  Zelena pursed her lips, and picked up her drink.  “Well.  I always did relish a challenge.”

The others groaned, and Belle shared a glance of despair with Mary Margaret before turning back to her drink.  She chewed her lip as the others started talking about their plans for Christmas again.  If Gold didn’t date, then pining after him made her as ridiculous as Zelena.  Was that why he had pulled away?  Had she been too obvious, too desperate?  The thought made her cringe.  Perhaps she should concentrate on building the friendship they had been developing, and try to forget her attraction to him.  Perhaps that could be enough.

x

Her head was aching a little the next day; Mary Margaret was surprisingly enthusiastic once she had downed a few vodka tonics, and had insisted on doing shots.  Belle was thankful she had limited her intake to one round; footage of the resulting table-top rendition of I Will Survive was already being shared on Facebook, and she was pleased it only featured Dorothy, Mary Margaret and Alice.

The hospital was relatively quiet; the last of the flu patients were being discharged, and the staff took the opportunity to take a breath and do a deep clean of the wards under the watchful eye of Nurse South.  Belle went through her mobile library, collecting the books that had been read and left in the wards and reading a story to the few children that were in hospital.  She then read to old Mr Prentice, a chapter or two of Lord of the Rings as he lay in bed with his eyes closed, his beard twitching.  She thought he had drifted into sleep, but when she finished her chapter and closed the book he opened his eyes and smiled at her, reaching out to pat her hand.

“Thank you, Miss French,” he said.  “My eyes get worse every day, and your voice is so lovely, it’s like being carried off by angels to a land of dreams.”

“I’m not sure an attack by orcs is all that pleasant a dream,” she teased.

He chuckled, a low deep noise that became a cough, and she helped him to sit up and poured him some water.

“The doctors say you can go home tomorrow,” she said.  “Do you have someone to help you?”

“Yes, yes, the sisters from the convent come in every day,” he said.  “I won’t be alone for Christmas.  What about you?”

Belle paused, setting down the water jug.

“Well, it’ll just be me and my Dad, I guess,” she said.  “Maybe a couple of parties with the girls.  It’ll be nice.  Quiet.”

“Friendship is as important as family,” he said.  “For those of us with no family, even more so, I suppose.”

His words made her think of Gold, alone in his big house for the holidays, and Belle chewed her lip.

“Did you ever have family?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Too busy,” he said.  “Too wrapped up in my own world, in teaching the children of others.  Oh, I wouldn’t say I regret it, but it’s made me realise the importance of other relationships.  Good friends are essential.  Cherish the ones you have.”

Belle nodded, smiling a little as she thought of the friendships she had made since coming to Storybrooke, and how they were all developing into close, meaningful ties with people she truly cared about.  All except one.  Her friendship with Gold had stalled, and she wanted to give it a push, to get it moving again.  Her thoughts drifted back to the picture in his drawer, the well-thumbed glass and the gilt frame, the young boy with his dark eyes and dimpled smile.  Perhaps family would provide the route to friendship.  Perhaps he would talk about his son.

x

She got her chance the very next day after her shift at the hospital.  Jefferson had invited her to his daughter’s tea party, which he assured her would be promptly followed by wine and adult interaction once the children started doing their own thing.  Belle went along after her shift with Alice in tow, to shake hands with Mr White, Grace’s toy rabbit, and be served finger sandwiches and tea and little cupcakes.  Dr Gold accepted a cup with a bow and a grave word of thanks, which made Grace giggle, and Dr Whale was already trying to flirt with two of the nurses.  There were other children there too, Grace’s friends from school.  They soon lost interest in sitting quietly and drinking tea, and headed out to the garden for a snowball fight.

The adults were left in peace to chat, and Jefferson put on some music and opened some wine.  Belle took her glass out to the back porch, away from the bustle of the lounge.  She found Gold standing there and sipping at his own, a tiny smile on his face as he watched the children chase one another, kicking up clouds of white powder and squealing with excitement.  The air was cold, and she shivered a little.

“I’m not sure if it’s more peaceful out here or in there,” she remarked, and Gold turned his head to face her, a brief smile making his mouth twitch.

“Well, it’s certainly colder,” he said, taking a drink.

The weather.  We’re discussing the weather.  Better than an awkward silence, I suppose.

“At least we get a white Christmas,” she said brightly, and he sighed.

“With all the broken bones and injuries that implies,” he said.  “Whale and I have a bet each year whether amateur ice skating will bring in more patients than food poisoning.  This year I’m going with the ice skating.”

“Are you working on Christmas Day?” she asked, and he took a swallow of wine.

“I am.  You?”

“Oh - New Year,” she said.  “I swapped with Mary Margaret.”

Gold nodded, looking away again.

“I notice that those with families tend to want Christmas off work, and those with social lives tend to want New Year,” he said dryly.  “Of course, for those of us with neither, it hardly matters.”

Belle smiled, and took a deep breath, hand tightening on her wine glass as she looked at him.

“Tell me about your son,” she said gently, and Gold whipped his head around to face her, his expression suddenly, unexpectedly blank.

“What?” he whispered, and she put her head to the side.

“The picture in your nightstand?” she prompted.  “It’s your son, right?”

He was staring at her, and it was making her feel nervous, her heart starting to thump painfully in her chest.  Gold licked his lips.

“You went through my things?” he asked, his voice low and even, and she blinked.

“What?” she said, her voice wobbling a little.  “No!  No, it wasn’t that!  I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just - I was looking for a Kleenex, and I went in your drawer, and - and I saw the photo, that’s all.  I wasn’t snooping, I promise.”

He was still staring at her, and it felt as though something had crawled into her chest, a hard ball of nerves pricking at her lungs.  Eventually Gold blinked, and it was as though a spell was broken, and she could breathe again.

“Excuse me,” he said quietly.  “I have to - I have - I have things to do…”

He was gone so quickly it was like magic, and she was left in the cold, trying to catch her breath, and wondering what the hell she had done wrong.

x

Dr Gold was contemplating when it was that his life had started to spiral out of control, and after some consideration over the whisky he was nursing, he decided that he could narrow it down to one day in early November when he had been introduced to Belle French.  Up to that point he had enjoyed decades of - well, if not happiness, at least a sort of calm acceptance of his lot.  He had a worthwhile vocation that he enjoyed and that he was extremely good at, one busy enough to leave him little time to contemplate the emptiness of his life outside work.  He had just enough social interaction with the few people he could stand that he had never considered himself to be lonely, and he enjoyed shutting himself away in his too-big house with his books and his wine and his music.  It had all seemed perfectly acceptable.  Until she came along.

He curled his lip a little, taking a sip of the whisky as he leaned forward on the bar.  It had been two weeks since Grace’s tea party, and was now well into December.  The town was covered in coloured lights and brimming over with what felt like forced festive cheer, and it made him want to growl at people.  Drinking alone at Granny’s perhaps wasn’t the most productive use of his time, but it had been a long day and he figured he deserved a whisky.  For some reason he hadn’t wanted to go home and drink one alone in his study as he usually would, and he had been mulling over that strange fact ever since he had arrived and taken a seat at the bar.  He was sure there was a reasonable explanation for it, but his brain kept circling back to Belle.  For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, the house had felt empty since she had gone, the tick of the clocks too loud, the kitchen too quiet.  Gold took another sip of his whisky.  Perhaps he should get a cat.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the ache in them.  He should never have let Belle stay in his home; things had been awkward ever since she had left, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it, or indeed whether she had even noticed.  Her asking about Neal had thrown him, and he was aware that he had been accusatory, dismissive, almost rude.  But Belle still smiled at him and greeted him warmly, despite him appearing to lose the ability to speak in her presence.  Despite him saying the wrong thing whenever he did manage to find words.

He took another drink, feeling despondent, and the door opened behind him with a blast of cold air.  Gold scowled, glancing to the side as a familiar figure slid onto the stool next to him.

“Hey,” said Dorothy, draping an arm around his shoulders.  “Thought I’d make your Yuletide a little more gay.  You want another drink?”

Gold held up his glass just as Ruby came out of the kitchen.  She stared at Dorothy, blushed, and turned her attention to him with a wide smile.

“Same again,” he said.

“I’ll pay,” announced Dorothy.  “Can I get a rum and coke and a plate of cheese fries?”

“Sure!” said Ruby, a little too brightly, and almost ran back into the kitchen.  Gold shook his head.

“So,” said Dorothy, and he was amused to see that her cheeks were tinged pink.  “You all ready for Christmas?”

“Given that it’s a day like any other, I expect so,” he said, in a very dry tone.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna sit at home alone crying into your whisky,” she said reprovingly.

“Certainly not,” he said.  “I’ll have a perfectly pleasant day by myself, as always.”

Dorothy grunted, as though she didn’t believe him, but just then Ruby came back out, and made their drinks.  Her fingers brushed Dorothy’s as she handed it over, and the two of them jumped as though they’d been electrocuted.  The rum and coke swayed alarmingly, and Gold reached out to steady it, shooting Dorothy an amused look.

“Sorry!” said Ruby, wincing, and ran off again.

Gold turned his attention to his whisky, allowing Dorothy to regain her own composure.

“So,” she said, still blushing.  “You get your Secret Santa present picked out?”

Gold groaned, letting his head droop.

“God, I hate doing Secret Santa!” he grumbled, and Dorothy gave him a sympathetic look, patting his shoulder.

“Don’t stress too much about it,” she said.  “You don’t have to buy from the heart, it’s a work thing.  Just think about what the person’s interests are.  Or booze is usually a safe bet.  Whose name did you get, anyway?”

“Zelena,” he said flatly, and she slumped on her stool.

“Oh.”

“Exactly,” he growled.  “What the hell am I supposed to give her?  I know her, she’ll find out it was me, and anything I buy she’s gonna misinterpret as some sort of come-on.”

“Well, that’s true.”  She seemed to deflate a little, then brightened.  “A restraining order?”

Gold barked a laugh.  “Don’t tempt me.”

“No, I’m serious!” she insisted.  “I can get Mulan to print one off at the station.  We could add some tinsel, make it a festive fuck-you!”

Gold sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Who did you get, anyway?” he asked.

She drew out a small slip of paper from her pocket, waving it enticingly.

“I got Belle,” she said.  “Want to swap?”

Gold sighed again.

“I don’t think so,” he said.  “I think - I think I’ve screwed things up with her.  Not exactly a surprise, but there we go.”

“How so?”

Gold grimaced, turning back to his whisky.

“She - she tried to reach out,” he said heavily.  “And I did what I always do.  I pushed her away.”

“Wow,” remarked Dorothy.  “If I’d known all it took was a couple of drinks to get you self-aware, I’d have gotten you hammered the day I got here.”

He pulled a face at her, and she put an arm around him, squeezing him.

“Can you fix it?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he sighed.  “Maybe not, I don’t know.”

“Do you want to fix it?”

“Yes,” he said decidedly.  “I want - I want us to be friends.”

“Well, that’s a good start,” she said.

“I just don’t know how,” he added.  “Whenever I want to talk to her, something goes wrong in my brain and I say something ludicrously stupid.  Or offensive.  Or both.”

“Oh, man,” sighed Dorothy.  “That’s just being in love.  Trust me.”

“I’m not in love!” he snapped.  “I’m just - I don’t want to hurt her.  I want us to get along.  That’s all.”

She was eyeing him with an expression of supreme disbelief, but to her credit she said nothing.

“Okay.”  She reached for her drink.  “Why don’t you start with an apology?  Maybe some flowers or something?”

“Right,” he said.  “Yes.  I could do that.”

“Good,” she said.  “So that’s your task for tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed.  “Right.”

“Now you want to make me responsible for Zelena’s Secret Santa present, or what?”

Gold grinned, and fished in his pocket for the slip of paper.

“She’s all yours.”

[lassluna]

Let the Stars Remind You (12/?)

“It’s ok Papa, you don’t have to worry. We can trust her, she’s just like me,” She says holding his hand. “She can hear the stars. She’s just like me.” she repeats, a look of wonder on her face, pure belief in what she’s saying. Killian looks down at her. His little girl, his Starfish, and isn’t sure. He still isn’t sure if rescuing Emma Swan is the best thing he’s ever done, or their undoing.

AN: So sorry for the delay, but well This chapter was intense to write, and I wanted to finish writing my Secret Santa Gift before I finished this chapter. Here comes the moment some of you have been waiting for/dreading for a bit. Enjoy

 FF Ao3

He doesn’t move when the knock occurs, he’s stuck in a sort of disbelieving daze. There were no bells or alarms of anyway. He’d fixed the traps. Everything should be as it should be.

No one should be at his door.

This can’t be happening.

When it happens a second time he finally believes it. He finally knows that this happy existence they’ve been living is about to come tumbling down.

He has only one chance at preserving the last bit he had. He turns to Emma who looks lost and confused at the door and looks at him.

“Emma, go upstairs, get Alice and run. Get out of here and run.” He declares sharply.

“Killian, I did that already, I’m not doing that again.” She insists firmly. “Whatever it is we can handle it.”

He shakes his head. “We can’t, and you know it. If it’s Eloise on the other side of the door we can’t and you know why.”

She starts to argue, starts to say anything but Killian can’t let her. He hears the third knock and knows there won’t be a forth. He knows from years under her thumb, knows the rage she gets into when kept waiting.

He can’t let anything more happen. Killian stalks up to Emma and kisses her, he kisses her like his life depended on it, his hand in her hair, other palm on her cheek, like this might be the last. He wants her to know everything.

I trust you. Because he does. In his heart he knows she would never do anything to endanger Alice. Eloise was conniving. She was manipulative, whatever Emma did it wasn’t her fault.

“I’m not letting her take away Alice or you. I’m not losing another person I love to her evil. Get Alice and go.” He declares.

Emma wants to say something, she wants to deny her tears but she doesn’t she just levels him a look, a “we are not finished” look and rushes upstairs.

No sooner that Emma disappears from view does he hear the lock on the door unclick and the door slam open. The force of it makes him stumble.

She’s standing there in her same dark robes, her hair far longer and more intricate than before, an associate stands beside her, but her face is shrouded.

“Hello Killian, it’s been a while.” He voice sends shivers down his spine as she stares him down. She looks at him like he is nothing, and for a split second he believes it.

But when that second ends he’s off looking for the firearm under the sink. A blast from her associate forces him away from the cabinet, his hands stinging. He can hear Eloise chuckle and for once it’s not in his head.

“That’s not how you greet the mother of your child is it?” She asks in a smug voice. “We never did talk about my position on firearms in the house.” She says sarcastically. She says it like this is her home, like she has a say in anything.

“Mother is a strong word isn’t it?” He shoots back. “I prefer egg donor.” She is no mother

Eloise frowns. “Considering you’re the one who abandoned me, who knocked me up and then ran, just like your father I recall.” It’s a familiar jab.

“At least I know my father.” And a familiar response, it feels like circling the same drain again. Rounding the drain lower and lower until he’s in the sewers right along with her.

“It’s early, I take it my daughter is asleep?” She asks. He nods. She strolls over to the table as if she lives here, as if she’s welcomed here. “Then let’s chat shall we?” She asks. “After all we have so much to catch up on.”

He doesn’t move, he can’t; he can’t just sit there like they’re friends, like they’re anything. He doesn’t want to keep circling, he wants to run. He wants to scream he wants her out.

“Sit down Killian before my sister makes you.” She warns. Killian sits, glaring at the woman, an innocent he knows, warped by Eloise and her twisted games.

“Did you think your higher calling was this?” He asks. “Kidnapping children from their beds? When she told you that you had a destiny to complete did you believe it would look like this?” He asks. He shakes his head. “She said the same trash to me, soulmates, destiny, fate love. Everyword that comes out of her mouth is-“ He feels tightness on his throat as he’s pulled into a chair, limbs working without permission.

He sits.

Eloise waves her hand and two mugs of warm tea sits in front of them. “Like old times sake.” She adds. Her dismissal of his words not lost on him, however he can see the anger growing in her eyes.

He doesn’t touch the tea. They never sat around drinking tea, when they were together it was rum and vodka painting things that didn’t make sense, talking about how bad the world was. When they were at her cult she mostly left him alone, held secret meetings with her ‘sisters’.

There was nothing as homey as drinking tea; in fact Killian doesn’t even think she likes tea.

              “You were hard to find.” She notes, sipping the warm beverage. He moves his jaw, feeling the ability to speak return to him.

“That was the plan.” He said simply.

“If you wanted to disappear you could have Killian, I know how hard it’s been for you since we broke up, but you shouldn’t have taken my daughter.” She continues. “You know how I tried to help you.”

He shook his head. More games.

“Alice is nothing of yours. And you’ve done everything but help me.”

“I remind you of who you are, is there something wrong with that?” She asks innocently. “Remind you how your father was a drunk and abandoned you, how Liam struggled to care for you how your always just a burden to them.”

Killian rolls his eyes.

“This isn’t going to work anymore I’ve moved on, let all of that stuff go.” He has, truly.

“How you failed to protect Milah, and then became the very thing you both hated. Liam wrote you off, you are all alone.” He smirks.

“And you’re a cultist who thinks she can change the world. So what you know a few tricks, we both know that whatever power this is, it isn’t yours.” She frowns. “You don’t want Alice, you want her power, you want to steal this special thing from her and I won’t let you.” He insists.

“You think you have a choice?” Eloise asks.

“Absolutely.”

Eloise leans back in her chair and Killian gets a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Gretel? Have you found them?” Eloise calls, not breaking eye contact.

“Of course Mother!” A voice calls pleasantly.

His heart sinks and he feels any sense of hope he had in any of this fade away.

Eloise snaps her fingers and another woman appears one he recognized. She has Alice by the hair, and Emma by the arm. Her lips are moving but sound isn’t coming out and she looks upset.

She looks furious.

Gretel looks back at Eloise, like a dog looks at their master for attention or validation. Eloise gives her neither as she snaps her fingers; sound returns to both their throats, starting with Alice crying out for him, screaming.

“Let her go!” He roars getting up from his seat. Gretel does as she’s told and Alice flings herself into his arms, shivering with tears running down her face.

Emma doesn’t say anything; she just turns around and punches Gretel in the face.

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on her!” She shouts as the other blonde stumbles backwards.

“Oh Emma, you did such a good job.” Eloise praises standing up and stepping forward to greet her. Emma shrugs off her affection.

“I did nothing, do you hear me? Nothing. I brought you your flower and that was it.” She says firmly. Maybe too firmly.

“You’ve returned to me what once was lost.” Eloise praises, looking quite pleased with herself; She’s staring him dead in the eye as he embraces his daughter. “We could never have found my precious daughter without your help.”

Emma shakes her head. “That’s a lie!” She yells. She pushes Eloise’s affection off again.

Eloise turns, advancing closer to Alice. Killian moves; turning her around so he remains between her and Alice.

“Stay away from her.”

“She’s my daughter. Alice come on I’m here now, Mother will dry your tears.” Alice shakes her head into his leg. “Alice. Come here right now.” She orders.

“No!” Alice bites back. It catches Eloise off guard.

“Alice I am your mother. I understand you are confused, but there is no need to be disrespectful.”

Emma scoffs loudly and rolls her eyes.

“Alice. You and I are the same; you know that, you know that you are not like your father. I can teach you about your gifts, we are a family.” Eloise insists. “Killian has been lying to you, he took you from he, he had no right to leave with you. He’s confused you. Let me explain my child.” Killian holds his ground, determined not to let her even touch his daughter.

“Papa is my family, Emma is my family, you aren’t” Alice says sharply. “Papa loved me before I was special. You only want me for the Stars.” He sees Alice glare at her, calm sweeping over her face. “I think you should go now.” She utters.  Killian feels the energy around her small body, sees it gathering in her hands.

“Oh my sweet child.” Eloise hums and then without warning he feels incredible pain in his chest, making him cry out.

“Killian!” He hears Emma yell but he can’t see her, his eyes are fixated by Eloise and the hand sticking out of his chest. He can’t seem to breath as pain explodes in his chest. A hand wasn’t supposed to be in his chest.

“Your love for your father has always been your weakness my child, but I can show you true strength, I can teach you my child, first lesson is that love, any kind of love, is weakness.”

“Papa!” Alice cries out. “No! Please! Papa!” Alice wails.

His chest tightens and he feels her pull and he’s certain he’s going to be sick, or pass out, maybe both.

“You’re wrong Gothel.” Emma states. “Love isn’t weakness.”

Eloise pulls at his chest over and over again, but it seems she can’t get her hand out. “What did you do?” She growls.

“Love is strength!” Emma responds and he feels a ripple over the room, knocking the wind clear out of him, sending him tumbling to his knees. Eloise is clutching her hand and screaming.

“Get them! Get them!”

Gretel and the shrouded witch instantly advance on Emma and Alice. Alice is shaking and whatever hold she had on her powers seems to have slipped away and Emma, well something is flickering in her hand, as if she was carrying light itself.

He tries to go to them but the moment he gets back on his feet he feels something cold entrapping him. Solid ice appears around his feet.

He looks up and sees Gretel advancing with blades that look like…Jolly ranchers? He remembers the despicable stuff Alice loved on Halloween.

Emma blasts blindly at her with her light, but its sloppy as the more experienced person advances. It’s a losing battle he knows it.

“Get her out of here!” He shouts over them. “Do you hear me? Get her out!” If they can get away, far away, they can find help, they can be safe.

Emma shakes her head. “I can’t.” Emma insists. He has no doubt that whatever powers Emma has, she has as much control over them as Alice does, perhaps less. She wouldn’t have been on her way into Eloise’s cult if she had any understanding of her powers. Eloise preyed on fear, and just watching Emma try to fight, he could see in in gallons.

“Papa please!” Alice begs.

Because why else would Eloise have any interest in Emma otherwise?

Gretel slashes and catches Emma on the wrist making her hiss, they were getting backed in. He hears Gretel hiss something, but he can’t hear it as Eloise yells at the pain in her hand. Pain caused by the incredible light emulating from his chest.

Suddenly his odd dream makes a whole lot of sense.

“Go!” He yells once more. “I’ll find you, I promise, just take her and run.” He urges. “She can’t hurt me, I’ll be ok, just run.”

Emma shakes her head, another firm ‘I can’t.’ on her lips. But Alice, Alice can.

She grabs onto Emma’s leg and in a mass of sparkles and smoke, they are gone.

Eloise screams in anger at that, demanding that the two of her associates find them. Considering the expression on Gretel’s face, he assumes it’s unlikely. She paces like a mad woman in front of him as he’s completely trapped by the ice.

“You’ll never find them.” He assures them, pulling at the ice at his feet. “You lost.” No matter what happens to him knowing they were safe would make him survive it.

It was a mistake to antagonize her like that, as Eloise advanced her eyes narrowing like a snake’s.

“We’ll see about that Jones.” She hisses.

And then everything goes dark.

//

              He wakes in complete pitch black darkness. At first he isn’t even sure if he’s awake.

But the ground feels like dirt and he smells smoke and leaves. He doesn’t think it’s a dream. He scrambles onto his feet slowly, unsure of the dimensions of the space he’s in. The last thing he needs is to jerk up and give himself a concussion.

Killian is able to rise to his full height and he finds himself unrestrained. just lost.

He needs to get out of here. He thinks as the darkness begins to get more unsettling by the second.

He moves forward slowly, raising his hands and trying to find something, anything. He feels cell doors in front of him, cold and sturdy against his weight as he begins to shake them. Eventually he realizes he’s in some kind of cell in a dungeon of a tunnel.

It’s a start.

Just when he begins his work on making a mental map of the small enclosure, brilliant light creaks through the dark. He averts his eyes covering them from the onslaught of brightness.

“Oh good your awake.” Says a familiar voice; he curls away from the light, deeper into the cell. He blinks away the pain trying to use the opportunity to gather what kind of prison she was keeping him in. “You’ve been out quite a while.” She muses. “I brought you some things.”

He doesn’t want anything from her.

“Some food, water even a bit of rum.” She adds with a smirk. “We want to make sure you’re comfortable.” A basket is pushed through the bars at his feet. It looks like a gift basket rather than food given to a prisoner.

“Why not just kill me Eloise?” He demands.

“It’s Gothel now.”

“Eloise. You know I’ll never go along with this, with any of this. You know I’ll continue to fight you until the day I die. You will not be getting my daughter.”

She smirks.

“You’ve been asleep for a good while Jones. Did you really think a mere child could evade my sisters?” She asks. His expression drops slightly.

Is it possible? He wonders. Of course it’s possible but not likely, they’d been prepared for this, practicing for this situation. Alice knew what she was supposed to do, she knew exactly how to evade Eloise’s grasp.

But they never planned for Emma. While he trusts her, they never planned for her; they never told her anything about their escape plans. Maybe that was a fatal mistake.

“Would you like to see for yourself?” Eloise asks.

Without waiting for a reply, Eloise waves her hand and a window appears on the opposite cell wall. He goes towards it, seeing the usual circle of wooden houses, the largest being her own.

There was a commotion going on in front of her house, a blonde woman was trying to drag a child into the house.

No.

“We offered to leave her alone if she so desired.”

The child was struggling, her blonde hair shining like sunshine in the distance as she pulled and yelled. He couldn’t hear the words.

It’s not possible.

“It’ll be alright Killian.” She assured him. “A little alone time with mother will fix her right up.”

Tagging.

@hollyethecurious​ @therookshiningthrough @branlovestowrite​ @celestial-fire-writer  ​ @winterbaby89​​​ @kmomof4​​

[chloes-yellow-cup]

One Million Kisses

Mitchsen inspired by this Anon sent to @chloebeale​ and requested by @shaneythealphawolf​ - boy, that’s a mouthful.

Fluff. Pure. Fluff. 

Words: 4444ish

AO3     FFN

My other works.

It was a Friday night and the Bellas were drunk.

Aubrey had surprised them by showing up that afternoon, taking a rare weekend away from the Lodge, and the girls were celebrating having their ex-captain under the roof again.

Stacie paused on the way to the door, having to leave early for a date. “I wish I’d have known you were coming, Bree. I’d have moved dinner, but it’s too late now.”  She sighed, frowning.

“Sorry, Stace.” Aubrey got up from where she’d been sitting between Chloe and Cynthia Rose and hugged her. “It was a spur of the moment decision when I realized we were only half booked this weekend. The guys can handle it without me. They hope.” She grinned slyly.

“S’ok. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll all do lunch?” Stacie took a step back toward the entryway.

“Of course! I’m here for the weekend.” Aubrey smiled at her. “Have a good time tonight, you look very nice.”

“Eh.” Stacie shrugged. “I helped Ron study and he insisted on taking me to dinner when he passed his test.” She turned to open the door and looked back over her shoulder. “He’s nagged me for the past month until I finally gave in.” With a final look at Aubrey and a wave at the rest of them, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

“I’m ordering pizza; you change your favorite in the last few years, Aubrey?” Beca looked up from her phone where she was sitting cross legged where the two halves of the sectional met.

“Ooh, did they get anything new?” Aubrey walked back to the couch and waved to Cynthia Rose to scoot over before she dropped next to Beca, leaning over to look at her phone.

“I mean, maybe?” Beca looked at her out of the corner of her eye but tilted her phone so it was easier for Aubrey to see.

Aubrey gasped, “They added a dessert menu!?”

Beca smiled and obediently clicked the link as Aubrey pressed closer.

~

They’d started drinking as soon as the pizza got there and it was after midnight when most of them called it quits and headed upstairs one at a time. Except Amy. She had “gone out for a smoothie” hours ago and Beca didn’t expect her back until breakfast.

Soon only Chloe, Beca and Aubrey were left sprawled across the sectional, talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

“Wait.” Beca giggled, reaching over to grab Aubrey’s knee, squeezing when she overbalanced and almost fell off the couch. “Wait. You’re telling me you have actual traps around the property?” Aubrey nodded at her solemnly. “They’re literally nets.” Another nod. “Covered in leaves?” A third nod. “For bears that can sometimes wander in?”

Aubrey shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“And they hoist unsuspecting people into the air?” Beca laughed again. “Did they have those before or after you showed up?”

“I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it would intimidate me.” Aubrey sniffed.

Chloe laughed. “You mean incriminate you?”

Aubrey blinked slowly. “Yes. Thank you, Chloe.” She held her poise for a few seconds before she burst out laughing, joining an already giggling Beca. “Amy’s Aussie Surprises have gotten way stronger since I’ve been gone.” She looked down in her cup. “Oh. I’m out.”

“I got it.” Beca stood up, wobbled for a few seconds as both Aubrey and Chloe’s hands reached out to steady her. “IgotitIgotitIgotit!” She stopped swaying and reached for Aubrey’s cup. “See?” She walked into the kitchen in that precise manner only the truly drunk who are trying to hide it can perfect.

Aubrey watched her until she was out of sight, a small smile on her lips before she turned back to Chloe. “Think she’ll drop it?”

Chloe shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

~

An hour later Chloe called it a night. She locked up the house and then came back to hug them both. Beca and Aubrey were sitting with Beca’s laptop across their legs as Beca played some of her new mixes. “Don’t stay up too much longer. We’ll plan a brunch in the morning!” She bounced in place “I’m so glad you’re here, Bree!” She kissed the top of Aubrey’s head.

“Me too. I really missed you guys. There is no one fun at the Lodge.” Aubrey pouted.

Beca looked up, confused. “But, you’re at the Lodge.”

“You’ve never called me fun, Beca.” Aubrey shoulder bumped her.

“Well I’m a dick and no one should listen to me.” Beca nodded once, as if that settled the matter, and took another sip from her cup. “You’re fun, Bree.”

“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t listen to you?” Aubrey leaned back against the couch.

“Yeah but…” Beca’s eyebrows knitted together. There was a trap here, she just knew it.

“So I can’t listen to you tell me I’m fun.” Aubrey watched her over the rim of her cup, her eyes twinkling. She’d missed this kind of banter much more than she realized.

“But I…” Beca’s free hand came up and pulled at the air. “I mean…”

“I’m just doing what you asked.” Aubrey shrugged.

“Aha!” Beca pointed at her. “But I said you shouldn’t listen to me, so that probably includes me telling you not to listen to me!” Beca waved her cup in the air, almost spilling it all over them.

Chloe left them then, smiling as her best friends dissolved in laughter, leaning on each other for support.

~

“Dude, no. You’re gonna break your neck.” Beca giggled. “Then all the girls would be mad at me that I let you break your neck.” She pushed Aubrey’s arm. “You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“But Becaaaaaaaa. I never get to relax at the Lodge.” Aubrey whined. “It’s all stuffy corporate guys who hit on me all the time.” She made a ‘yuck’ face that caused Beca to giggle again. “Most of them have horrible breath.” She shuddered. “It reminds me of Alice and her egg breath.”

Beca straightened. “No, we only call her That Whore Alice™ in this house, now.” She grabbed Aubrey by the shoulders and pulled her close, saying sincerely, “She was horrible and should be stopped.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Aubrey trailed off, trying to remember what she was talking about earlier. She stared into Beca’s eyes as her brain spun aimlessly. ‘They really are a unique deep blue, I’ve never seen anyone else who had eyes that color.’

“Bree?” Beca tiled her head. “You ok?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah I’m… what were we doing again?” Aubrey looked around. They’d moved from the living room into the first floor study and were currently standing in an open corner.

“You… uh.” Beca looked down at the carpet and frowned. “We were… Dude. I forgot.”

Aubrey’s tongue stuck out from the corner of her mouth while she thought. “Oh!” It rushed back to her and she stood up straight. “Handstand!”

“Right!” Beca smiled brightly then let it slip. “Why again?”

“Because it’s fun. Stacie always told me that’s why she did them. Cause they were fun!” Aubrey sighed. “I miss fun.”

“Stacie does them cause she can also do a mid-air split and it causes people on the quad to walk into trees. Or each other. The security guards. A rose bush. The coffee cart once.” Beca ticked them off on her fingers. “So her motivations are suspectible.” She blinked. “Wait. What did I just say?”

Aubrey giggled. “Try it again.” She watched as Beca’s brows knit in concentration and her fingers itched to smooth it out.

“Suspectiable.” Beca stuck her tongue out. “Supectial… Fuck! Why are words hard?” She closed her eyes. “SUSPECT!” Aubrey bit her lips to keep from laughing. “But, no. Bree. Dude.” She grabbed Aubrey’s hand and squeezed. “If you hurt yourself, the rest of them will hurt me.” Her face fell. “And I’m small. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

“I won’t let them.” Aubrey said with conviction. “It’ll be fine. Stacie’s showed me how before, it’s just been long time.”  

The two of them had moved into the study because it was carpeted and Aubrey had decided maybe a corner would be better as it gave her another surface to balance against. If she needed, which she totally didn’t.

“Here, hold my drink.” Aubrey thrust her solo cup into Beca’s hand.

“Dude. Two things. One, no good has ever come from someone saying that sentence.” Aubrey waved her hand dismissively. “And two, this is totally empty.” Beca turned and set it on the desk. “OK, if you’re going to do this, let’s get it over with.” She stepped forward and held her hands up and at the ready.

“What’re you doing?” Aubrey eyed her narrowly.

“Catching you?” Beca’s hands opened and closed.

“Oh.” Aubrey giggled again. She decided not to mention the fact that Beca’s hands were on level with Aubrey’s chest and for a minute she’d thought Beca was about to grope her. “That’s, uh. Nice of you.”  She frowned for a minute. “Now, how did she say to start out again…” Aubrey exhaled, “Shit.”

“Dude.” Beca whispered. “You said a bad word.”

“I curse, Beca. I’m not a complete prude. It’s just more impactful when it’s used properly.” Aubrey absently placed her hand over Beca’s mouth. “Shh, I’m trying to remember how to do this.” She ignored Beca’s eyes which had crossed trying to glare down at the offending appendage. “Right… I just…” She gestured with her other hand absently. “And then I just…” She raked her teeth over her upper lip. “Right,” she said again partially to convince herself. “OK. I got this.”

After tucking her shirt into her jeans, Aubrey leaned over and got into a sprinters stance, facing the wall. “Careful, this may take a couple tries.”

Beca stood to the side, but her hands were ready. “I gotchu, Bree.” She muttered a soft, “Please don’t break your neck.” She watched as Aubrey flailed out with one leg. “Um.” Aubrey flailed again. “What…” Both of Aubrey’s legs suddenly kicked out and Beca ducked wildly back even though she was not in any danger of getting kicked. “Dude!”

“I need to do the kick to get my legs up.” Aubrey turned her head to look at Beca almost upside down. “I know I can do this! I’ve done it before!”

“But like, were you drunk at the time?” Beca asked reasonably, though she really wanted to laugh again. “Cause I’m pretty sure you’re drunk right now.” She watched as Aubrey gave a few more uncoordinated attempts. “Wait, wait. Hold on. Don’t like, kick me in the face. I like my teeth.” Beca eased forward. “How about I help, for this first one?” After a moment, she reached down and looped her arms around Aubrey’s knees, also facing the wall. She tried not to think about how close she was to Aubrey’s ass, though since it was right there, it was extremely distracting.

“How is this going to help?” Aubrey’s face was turning red, either from being upside down, the exertion, or anger. Knowing Aubrey, it was likely all three.

“You’re gonna do your kick flail thing, and I’m going to hoist up your legs and throw you at the wall.” Beca paused. “Well, now that I’ve said that out loud, that sounds dangerous.” She giggled. “Or awesome.”

Aubrey said eagerly, “Let’s try it.”

“Do the count thing. I think it’ll help.” Beca grinned. “Is it on three, or after three?”

“Oh my god, shut up and let’s do this before my head pops off.” Aubrey took a deep breath. “One, two, three…”

Aubrey’s legs kicked up and Beca took their weight in her arms and pulled upward. Shifting her grip to grab Aubrey’s knees and push, she miscalculated and Aubrey’s feet thumped back to the floor. “Aw shit! I’m sorry! Maybe this was a lame idea.”

“No, no! That will actually work!” Aubrey jumped upright and hugged Beca. “Let’s do that again!” She dropped back down almost before Beca had registered the embrace.

It took several tries and a kick to Beca’s shoulder, but they finally got Bree up into a curved handstand against the wall. Beca clapped. “That’s what I call teamwork, baby!”

Aubrey huffed out a breath and drew in another one. “We’re aca-mazing!” She looked up at her awkwardly and smiled. “Thanks for the help, Beca.”

“You’d have gotten there, but this way you get to the good stuff quicker.” Beca settled down cross legged in front of her. “How does it look?”

“You guys totally need to repaint this ceiling.” Aubrey told her seriously.

“Only you would spend all this time getting into a handstand and then critique the décor.” Beca poked her in the stomach.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Aubrey wobbled and steadied again.

“Or what?” Beca poked her again and Aubrey jumped. “Wait, are you ticklish?!”

“No!” Aubrey knew she’d said it too fast the second it was out of her mouth. “Beca… don’t…”

Beca rose to her knees. “Oh no, I have you at my mercy right now. I’d be silly to not take advantage of it.” Her fingers trailed experimentally up Aubrey’s side, grinning manically as Aubrey yelped.

Aubrey’s voice shook with laughter and strain. “Beca, I’m warning you…”

“Worth it.” Beca flexed her fingers. “It’ll so be worth it.” She cackled as she launched a full scale tickle attack on the upside down woman.

“No! ARGH!” Aubrey twisted her body though there was nowhere to go. “Wait, Beca, no, I’m…” But her warning came too late and she arched away from the wall, knocking Beca to the ground underneath her.

“Oof!” The air was expelled from two sets of lungs.

The room was quiet for a minute, then twin giggles filled the air.

“I told you to watch it!” Aubrey squirmed around until her face was above Beca’s.

“I couldn’t help it.” Beca laughed and looped her arms around Aubrey and hugged her. “There was this irresistible force telling me to do it. I was powerless.” She shrugged.

“Mmhmm.” Aubrey was still out of breath, giggling. “Whatever. Once I recover from almost dying, I’m going to get you back for that.”

Beca’s eyes went mock-wide. “Ooh.” She giggled again. “I’m soooo scared.”

Aubrey smiled at her, teeth bared. It was a smile that had made many of her employees squirm in their chairs as she prepared to reprimand them. “You should be.”

Beca burst out laughing again, shaking Aubrey who was still resting full body against her. Aubrey chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to join in though Beca’s glee was infectious. But her lips twitched in a grin as Beca stopped abruptly. “Oh.” She snickered. “You’re serious.” A giggle jostled them both. “I’m sorry I knocked you down, Bree.” There was absolutely no sincerity in her voice.

Aubrey rolled her eyes and slid off to her left, more along Beca’s side and hopefully not crushing her ribs. She rested her head on Beca’s shoulder, still trying to catch her breath, and unconsciously snuggled in, tangling their legs together. “I’m glad you stayed up with me, Becs.”  Her right hand smoothed its way down Beca’s stomach and across her side, squeezing gently.

What she’d meant to say was ‘I’ve really missed all of you.’ What she ended up saying was “I’ve really missed you.”

“Me too. With the staying up, and the… missing. Stuff.” Beca gently rubbed circles on Aubrey’s back. “Bree?”

“Hmm?” Her nose ran along the underside of Beca’s jaw, breathing in her perfume. It smelled like home.

“Don’t you like Stacie?” She didn’t mean to say that, but she’d gotten lost in thinking about how good it felt to have Aubrey resting on her, all soft curves and warmth.

Aubrey lifted her shoulders, saying quietly. “She likes me.” It made her a bit sad, though she had never led Stacie on. She’d always been friendly with the taller brunette, cared for her a lot, but as nothing more than a friend.  “But I like someone else.” Her heart began thumping and she hoped Beca couldn’t feel it.

Beca, out of nowhere, felt her inner badass step smoothly into place. “I’ll give you a kiss if you tell me who you like.” But then her badass stepped away into the night like a fucking ninja and she was left on her own once again. ‘That bitch.’ She started giggling again at her own thoughts, the alcohol still in her system still making everything much funnier than it should.

Aubrey pushed up to look at her. “One kiss?” Beca nodded. “That’s super cheap for a secret like that, Beca.” She sniffed and shook her head. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Fiiiiinnnne.” Beca rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you twoooo kisses.”

“Big spender.” Aubrey widened her eyes playfully. “Don’t empty your bank account just for lil’ ole me.” It was Aubrey’s turn to giggle. She’d missed this; the laughter and silliness, just having a good time with her friends. Coming home had been exactly what she’d needed to recharge.

“Ok ok. Five. FIVE kisses, Aubrey.” Beca’s eyes were so close, so earnest. “That’s got to be worth something.” Her right hand began to lightly comb through Aubrey’s hair, twisting locks slowly around her fingers.

“Oh, it is. But it’s still not enough for that secret.” Aubrey shrugged, wiggling to get more comfortable. Her hand traced its way up Beca’s arm until it played with the neckline of her shirt. “You’ll have to do much better than that, Becs.”

This continued for several more minutes, Beca gradually jumping her increases up by tens, then twenties, but Aubrey didn’t budge. Both of them were giggling helplessly against each other, out of breath and trying to be quiet all at the same time.

Finally, Beca yelled. “Ok! FINE!” She took a deep breath. “I will give you one meeeeeeeeeeeeellion kisses to find out who you like.”

Aubrey gasped. “You saw ‘Austin Powers’?!” She giggled, trying to imagine how that must have gone.

“Jesse made me for that movication thingie we do once a month.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t the worst thing he’s made me watch.” She bounced them a little. “So?”

Aubrey looked back down at her, lost for a second in midnight blue. “What?”

“My offer?” Beca’s eyes traced Aubrey’s face. “Of one meee- no, I can’t do it again.” She shook her head. “One million kisses for you to tell me who you like.”

“OH! Right.” Aubrey considered, weighing her options. “That’s a lot, you know.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re good for it?”

“Pssh, of course I am.” Beca giggled. “I’m rich in kisses, Bree. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Well, I think maybe… You drive a hard bargain, Mitchell, but you have yourself a deal.” Aubrey smiled at her, giggling at the look of triumph spreading over Beca’s face.

Beca cheered and kissed Aubrey on the nose. “One!”

“Oooh, someone’s eager to pay off their debt.” Aubrey ignored the flutter in her chest and the pull in her stomach as Beca’s eyes began to sparkle.

“What can I say, I believe in paying my dues.” Beca stretched and kissed Aubrey’s right eyebrow. “Two.” Her left. “Three.”  Each kiss tickled, causing Aubrey to giggle, which caused Beca to giggle, but she continued with no particular plan on where to settle next.

Both eyelids – “Four, five.”

Each check – “Six, seven.”

Aubrey’s chin – “Eight.”

Then Beca ducked her head and placed a soft kiss on Aubrey’s pulse point, which had begun to flutter wildly. Both women paused, their breath catching briefly before they giggled once more, this time more out of shy quasi-embarrassment than anything else. “Nine.” But this time it was Aubrey who said it, her voice soft with a hint of wonder.

Beca continued, and while they still giggled, they were tapering off, a longer pause between them as her lips began to linger. Beca’s nose nudged Aubrey to turn first one way and then the other, placing soft kisses on either side of her neck. “Eleven, twelve.”

She reached up with her left hand and tilted Aubrey’s head a little more, placing a new kiss behind her ear. She whispered softly, feeling Aubrey’s heart racing against her own until they found themselves in sync. “Thirteen.”  She trailed her lips down the column of Aubrey’s throat, breath warm, and felt Aubrey shiver. Fourteen was open mouthed and at the edge of Aubrey’s shirt, against her collarbone.

They were silent now, only the sound of their breathing disturbing the quiet of the house.

She tilted Aubrey’s head the other way again, their noses brushing together. Fifteen – the other collarbone – and sixteen – behind the other ear, were placed quickly, before she brought Aubrey around to face her directly again.

Beca placed kisses at each corner of her mouth before brushing her lips against Aubrey’s. They were soft, gentle as Aubrey pressed a bit closer, a half whimper buried in her throat. Beca pulled back, tried a new angle, sliding across them again. She pulled away, eyes closing, before pressing close, lingering and chaste despite the lightning running up her spine.

After several, long and powerful heartbeats, Aubrey parted her lips, feeling Beca sigh softly before slipping her tongue past them. The first tentative touch against her own made Aubrey’s toes curl and she fisted her hands in Beca’s shirt, trying to pull them closer together.

They spent several minutes trading increasingly deeper kisses, soft whimpers and moans as their bodies shifted, each sensation new and almost overwhelming. But also familiar and comforting, keeping them both grounded together as Beca’s hands pushed their way under Aubrey’s shirt and pressed against her back.

Finally, driven by the need for more air than the miniscule sips they’d take before slanting their lips together again, they parted, foreheads resting as they panted.

Suddenly Beca giggled, breaking the comfortable silence between them and Aubrey quirked a brow in question.

“Uhhhhhh.” Beca giggled again. “I think I lost count?”

Aubrey felt her lips part in a grin. “Guess we’ll just have to start over until you can count one meeeeeeellion kisses.”

“And then you’ll tell me who you like?” Beca stroked a finger across the ridges of Aubrey’s spine.

Aubrey nodded solemnly. “A deal is a deal.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes, losing track of time before Aubrey blurted, “Oh!” and started to giggle again. “Uh, just so you’re aware. If you figure out before you’ve made full payment, you should know there’s no refunds.”

“What!? That’s like. Highway robbery!” Beca’s voice was outraged even though they were both giggling again.

“Nope.” Aubrey took on a superior air. “Not my fault you didn’t ask the terms before you agreed to our negotiations.”

Beca rolled her eyes. “You and your lawyerese!” More giggles slipped free from them both.

Aubrey shrugged. “Sorry. It’s also not my fault you didn’t read the fine print.”

“There was fine print!? My mother would be so ashamed. She prides herself on making sure she knows all the ins and outs of a deal.”

Both of them paused at Beca’s choice of words before they both decided to ignore the slight innuendo.

Aubrey cleared her throat. “I believe we were back at 1?”

But before she even finished speaking, Beca’s lips had captured hers, hungry and wanting. Urging gently with her own, she pulled Aubrey’s tongue into her mouth, encouraging her to take control of the kiss. They lost themselves in it, hands pulling and tugging, thighs pressing and parting as they let this new layer of their relationship settle over them.

Aubrey broke away, her heart hammering – or maybe it was Beca’s – needing the brief pause before they took things even further, knowing they shouldn’t without a serious talk. But that was for another day. She cleared her throat. “The, uh… the fine print also says that was all one kiss because your lips touched me the entire time.”

Beca gave one last giggle. “Well, if that’s what the fine print says...”

“Definitely.”

“Then this could take a really long time.” Her voice warned teasingly even as her eyes held promise.

Aubrey’s voice was soft. “Sounds perfect to me.”

~

The next morning Chloe came downstairs and, out of habit, looked into the room to the right. She paused as she saw a pile of blankets that she was sure hadn’t been there the day before. She walked in and stopped, her heart melting a little at the sight.

Aubrey was cuddled on top of Beca, her face pressed into the brunette’s neck, and it looked like Beca’s arms were wrapped around her, based on the outline under the blanket. Both of them had contented smiles on their faces. She smiled once more before leaving the room.

She walked into the kitchen, pausing again as she saw Stacie sitting at the center island drinking coffee. “You’re up first?” She tried to keep it light, knowing how Stacie felt about Aubrey. She got a glass from the cupboard, filled it from the tap and took a drink.

“I got home somewhat early for me last night.” Stacie’s voice sounded normal and Chloe relaxed a bit. “The light in the study was on and I found those two passed out and snoring.” Chloe chuckled. “So I covered them with a blanket and went to bed.”

But now there was something in her tone that made Chloe set down her glass and wrap her arms around Stacie from behind. “You ok?” She rested her cheek against the top of her head.

Stacie thought for a moment, rolling the question in her mind. It was one she’d been thinking on and off since she’d gotten home and why she hadn’t really slept at all. “Well. If she chooses anyone but me, I’m ok with it being Beca.” It was an answer she knew that she’d eventually believe, even if she wasn’t really sure about it this second.

Chloe kissed her on the temple, “Come back upstairs and snuggle with me? It’s still early; I just forgot to fill up my water bottle before bed or I’d still be snoozing.”

“Sure, Chlo.” Stacie turned in the circle of Chloe’s arms. “And thanks.” She wrapped her long arms around Chloe and hugged her back.

“Always.” She waited while Stacie ran water into her mug and placed it in the sink for later.

The two of them headed back upstairs where Chloe played big spoon, to sleep for another hour or so before the rest of the Bellas woke them back up for brunch.

As Stacie cuddled back into her, holding onto the arm Chloe had put around her waist, Chloe knew that, with time, Stacie’s heart would heal. Maybe, eventually, Stacie would even let her help.

Chloe was willing to wait however long that took.

A/N:  My Bechloe heart isn’t sure about my first stand-alone Mitchsen, and my Stechlobree soul is not much better, but we all hope you liked it.

Updated 6/12/20 to include the last 2 lines - my Chacie nod was way too subtle and while I updated it on AO3 ages ago, apparently I didn’t do that here.

[bughead-ficz]

Lights Down Low (Bughead One Shot)

Anonymous:  I was wondering if you could write a cute bughead fic inspired by the song "Lights down low" - MAX? 💗

Summary: Betty shows up at Jughead’s trailer with a tear stained face, and Jughead shows her that all they need is each other. Based on the song ‘Lights Down Low’ by MAX. 

WARNING: Contains light smut ;)

☾ ☾ ☾

Heaven only knows where you've been But I don't really need to know

"Are you okay?" He asks her as she stands in his doorway. Her eyes are red and she's much paler than usual. The faded bags under her eyes seem to growl at the light radiating from Jughead's living room. "Where've you been?"

Betty takes a deep breath and leaps forward, engulfing Jughead in a tight hug. Surprised, he jolts back a bit but automatically wraps his arms securely around her. He rubs her back protectively as he feels her body shake against his. It's like he can sense her silent tears falling onto his jumper whilst her neck buries into his neck.

"Wanna talk about it?" Jughead whispers into her hair. This receives a shake of Betty's head, letting him know now isn't the time.

"Can I stay with you tonight? I don't want to be alone right now." Betty questions carefully as she pulls away, avoiding eye contact like she's scared he'll say no. Instead, she feels Jughead's hand on her face, tilting it towards him.

"Betts," he swipes his thumb gently under her eye, wiping away the fallen tears. "You know you're always welcome here."

I know where you're gonna go On my heart, where you're resting your head

Betty's head is resting on Jughead's bare chest as they lay in his bed. One of his arms is wrapped around her shoulders, his fingers tracing circles on her back. Her fingers are intertwined with his other hand, and she can feel his chest rise and fall when he breathes.

Jughead wears a single pair of pyjama pants, and Betty wears one of his t-shirts. One of her legs is draped over his, the soft cotton stroking her bare skin. They both feel so at peace, Betty seems to have forgotten why she was even upset.

And you just look so beautiful It's like you were an angel

Every time Jughead sees her, he thinks she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He is so in love with her. But right now, something about her is heavenly. As he stares down at her face, he focuses on everything about her.

Betty's face isn't as pale anymore, the fair skin glows softly in the light. Her green eyes pierce everything around her, small emeralds shining iridescently. As her tongue darts out, it partially licks her bottom lip and leaves a trail of shine which compliments the pinky-tones. He wants to kiss them so badly.

Can I stop the flow of time? Can I swim in your divine? 'Cause I don't think I'd ever leave this place

"I love you." Jughead hears her whisper and his heart skips a beat. They've said this multiple times to each other before, but that doesn't stop the smile creeping onto his face. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to hearing those words come from Betty's mouth.

For most of his life, Jughead doubted he was ever worth loving. His mother left with his sister when he was fairly young, and his dad's been a drunk for as long as he can remember. Jug always knew, deep down, that he was loved by his family. After all, they were his blood and he was theirs. But that didn't mean he ever felt like it.

The first time he can ever remember truly feeling loved was with Betty. And it wasn't even the first time she told him she loved him. It was when he was arrested by Sherriff Keller.

Betty had been there for him, and believed him. She believed he couldn't have killed Jason, she was there for him. True, he didn't kill Jason. But others wouldn't have put it past him, just because of how he looked and dressed. Betty was different. Betty believed in him. Betty loved him. Betty loves him. And he loves her.

Oh, turn the lights turn the lights down low Yeah, now I'm feeling you breathing slow 'Cause, baby, we're just reckless kids Trying to find an island in the flood Oh, turn the lights, turn the lights down low, oh

They cuddle in the almost-dark. The only light source comes from the light in the living room as it seeps through the crack in Jughead's bedroom door. It's silent, except for their calmed breathing. The pair are relaxed into each other. They're a perfect fit, like two sides of an Oreo, or a delicately harmonised song lyric.

Jughead's beanie is long discarded and he feels Betty reaching up and playing with his hair. Her fingers work magic and he closes his eyes to relax into them. Everything around the pair seems corrupted and toxic, like the murder of Jason, and suicide of Mr Blossom. But Betty and Jughead... they're right. They're the goodness of Riverdale.

Under heavy skies in the rain You're dancing in your bare feet Just like we're in a movie Grab my hand and we're chasing the train I catch you looking back at me Running through a cloud of steam

At some point, Jughead falls asleep. He dreams of Betty.

"Come on, Juggie!" She giggles, holding her arms out to him, her white dress swishing around in an empty train station. "Dance with me!"

The sky pours with tears of joy and he grabs her hands. She spins around as he chuckles, quickly pulling her against his chest. They sway for a while, sharing kisses and embarrassing childhood stories.

Suddenly, a train zooms past them and Betty gasps in joy.

"Come on!" She calls as she begins to run after it, dragging the boy behind her. They run through a cloud of steam and she looks back at Jughead. She has this amazing smile plastered on her face, and all Jughead can focus on is the way her eyes light up as she looks back at him.

Can I stop the flow of time? Can I swim in your divine? 'Cause I don't think I'd ever leave this place

Jughead is so happy he actually wakes up. Any other time, he'd be disappointed from waking up from such a perfect dream. But this time, reality is better than anything he's ever dreamt.

Betty is now laid on her side, facing away from him. Her hair is splayed out onto the pillow, and the excess material of Jughead's shirt is ruffled up, exposing her tanned thighs and pink lacy underwear (certainly unapproved by Alice Cooper).

Oh, turn the lights turn the lights down low Yeah, now I'm feeling you breathing slow, oh 'Cause, baby, we're just reckless kids Trying to find an island in the flood Oh, turn the lights, turn the lights down low

Jughead rolls towards Betty and wraps his arm around her side. He loves holding her like this because it reassures him that she's safe and protected by him from all the bad things that threaten them. He'll always protect her no matter what.

Accidentally, this wakes her up. Betty lets out a small moan and slowly opens her eyes. Rolling to face Jughead, he lets out a sigh.

"Sorry," he quietly whispers, even though they're the only ones there. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay," Betty grins at his adorableness. "Your dad back yet?"

"No." Jughead replies, smiling at Betty's growing frown. "It's okay. He's probably crashing at one of the Serpents' places."

Betty nods then sits up with a yawn, checking her phone. That's when he sees them again. That damn lacy pink underwear. They expose the bottom parts of her cheeks, gripping them perfectly. She looks so sexy right now and he quickly kicks off his pyjama bottoms.

And I will give you everything baby But can you feel this energy? Take it You can have the best of me baby And I will give you anything Can you feel this energy? Take it You can have the best of me baby

"It's 6:30AM. I don't think I can go back to sleep." Betty turns back after putting down her phone to see Jughead's eyes filled with lust.

"Me neither," he smirks a cheeky grin and moves to hover above her, his hand darting underneath his shirt that she's wearing. "You look so good in my clothes."

Biting her lip and staring deeply into his eyes, Betty's hands intertwine with Jughead's as he pins hers gently to the mattress.

"Wouldn't I look better out of them?" She whispers innocently, then sits up and pulls Jughead's shirt slowly over her head.

Without a bra, her chest is exposed to Jughead's lingering stare as he hungrily soaks in her breasts. He stares at her like she's the only girl in the world, and to him, she is. He makes her feel special when he looks at her like this, and she also feels vulnerable but safe at the same time, which Jughead loves. He loves to be in control. He loves showing her how special she is.

Next, he tears his stare away from her breasts and leans his head down to attach his lips onto hers. Passion and fire lights up the room like a thousand stars.

"Fuck, Betts." Jughead whispers as he pulls back, placing his hands tentatively on her face. Betty grabs his hand and slowly brings it onto her body, tracing her skin, till it reaches her underwear. She hooks his fingers underneath the lace and sits up so her mouth is next to his ear.

"Make love to me, Juggie." She whispers, sending him over the edge of control.

And make love to her he does, till her vision is blurry and all she can make out are the shadows on his face and the dim lights surrounding them.

[floggingink]

Riverdale, “Chapter Fifteen: Nighthawks”

“DEATH DINER”??????

“Damn good coffee”: you know what I’ve never stopped and considered? how lovely the interior of Pop’s is. the ceiling tiles are styled with gentle Titanic fresco flower wreaths. those hanging lamps? Restaurant: Impossible wishes. the classic black-and-white floor, the framed art on the walls? he has neon letters saying “DINER” inside the diner. just to be fancy, be pretty! there’s a table by the far wall that appears to be stacked only with translucent glass flower vases, or bongs! Pop’s is a classy joint, and Pop is there 24 hours a day, dressed impeccably, like the ancient Greek god of caffeine, whipped cream topping

also he named it and insists on calling it not a diner but a “Chock’lit Shoppe,” because he is an angel

please contrast with Archie Andrews, who cannot use the toaster

Archie > Dawson: I like that he leaves Fred to pretty much clean up the mess, his well-meaning unhelpful morning thus encapsulating much of his Archibaldness

Sheriff Keller, actively avoiding Archie’s earnestness, left the job of calling Archie back to his deputy. what was the message I assume Archie hung up before he could hear? that they KNOW NOTHING?

“side exit”? what side exit?

Fifth period is AP English: “To quote that New Yorker cartoon…” Veronica and Jughead, Veronica and Jughead. Veronica also has an A in English. she reads Oscar Wilde, you know? she and Jughead get partnered together to do a report on Truman Capote, their teacher cannily scheduling them to present on the last day as the final flourish, two of her best students. except then Jughead got transferred. she got drunk that weekend

that cartoon is also from like 1993 so it must be one of those vintage bon mots Veronica drops

Hiram, buff!

Veronica is very snotty with him. it’s her prerogative, but dangerous, no?

Betty’s top knot, Veronica’s blue velvet coat

“Wait, I’m sorry, am I hearing acceptance?” Betty is a NATURAL EXECUTIVE CHEERLEADER

wait, has Jughead not been transferred yet? isn’t this a table outside Riverdale High? how is Jughead there?

Archie’s hand-made wanted poster is preposterously ineffectual and a thousand times more adorable and tragic for being so. Archie wants to help and get things happening SO MUCH that, even though all he knows about are the green eyes, he drew a picture of just a white dude in a cut-out ski mask. he went to Staples to make copies! he’s begging someone to tell him something

also how depressing a walk was it for Archie and Jughead to go to the sheriff’s office together

honestly WHAT PERSONAL INFORMATION did Fred have in his wallet besides the address on his driver’s license? which may have been revoked from his mystery DUI for all we know

“a 53 in Greendale” means a garrotting

FP...looks rough

his charges: arson, destruction of evidence, making a false confession, obstruction of justice, and something that amounts to failure to properly dispose of a human body. to be sure, FP did some crimes, so he could do some times. I hear you. however 20 years, from my years of expertise gleaned from watching Law & Order, seems more appropriate for having, say, throttled a grandma

Jughead, presumably using a key, the first almost-casualty of Archie KEEPING HIMSELF AWAKE for like the seventh night in a row

Sixth period is Intro to Film: “You’re the one who looks like a dream warrior from Nightmare on Elm Street 3.” niche, Jug

if his case goes to trial—for what?? he did all that shit! is he going to plead not guilty for something? make your case at sentencing, dude!

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Jughead needs a hug, Archie. get over there. get over there with your big shoulders

Betty’s gray sweater with the lace Peter Pan collar and her pink almost-pencil skirt is unacceptably good

Veronica also has a vanity mirror table, but just with three white honkin’ mirrors set in a semicircle

the female gaze: Archie feels comfortable opening the door without a shirt on? of course he does. what if it had been the killer? then the killer would have truly known what he was up against

Summer + Blair = Veronica: can you believe it’s the second episode of the second season and until now no in-universe character has suggested plonking Archie down in front of A COUNSELOR OF SOME SORT

Mayor McCoy’s bodycon dresses are always slinky yet pragmatic and she always looks great

she JUST SLIGHTLY flicks her eyes down Jughead, whom she’s heartily sick of

Jughead starts to stammer, his physiological reaction when pitching ideas to beautiful women in power

why is the mayor “all for” closing Pop’s? to put it all behind Riverdale as quickly as possible?

Jughead doubts it: is Jughead being a little hard on his dad’s public defender? they’re shockingly overworked and underpaid

“YOU REMEMBER THIS MOMENT”

Betty’s face: hooooooo, what? oh god

Gay.: Midge Klump’s immaculate leather jacket is from H&M and is gay. her incredible mussy, shaggy lesbian haircut is gay, her watercolor blouse is soft femme, and the way she tosses herself against the locker is just very gay

“the Klumpster”

anything, any scenario, and I mean ANYTHING that means I can both look at Reggie AND hear about jingle-jangle has my full-throttled unambiguous endorsement. Reggie sells jingle-jangle? OF COURSE HE DOES!!!!! remember in the pilot when he asked Archie what kind of performance-enhancing drugs he was taking? WE WERE ROBBED OF AN ENTIRE SEASON OF REGGIE POTENTIALLY SELLING JINGLE-JANGLE

“What’s on your mind, Andrews? Girl trouble? Scabies? Why’re you seeking guidance from Ms. Burble?”

“You look like my nuts after football practice.” PLEASE go after Jughead again!!!!!!!

jingle-jangle is apparently like a miraculous All-Purpose Lysol drug that keeps you awake, keeps you focused, and gives you a hard-on

Reggie slaps Archie’s ass when he walks away, because of course he does

Betty would be the one to say something like “We can’t let the terrorists win” when talking about something like a diner closing

Veronica was rich: Serendipity 3 is on East 60th Street and is the home of the Golden Opulence Sundae, which you must order two days in advance. it is covered in Amedei Porcelana syrup, dessert caviar, and edible gold leaf, and costs $1,000. this is why Marie Antoinette was beheaded and I want one

little Betty did ballet and ice skating

ah, retro Betty, settled on the wrong boy

Betty met Kevin for the first time at Pop’s!

GOOD JUGHEAD KISSING GOOD HAIR JUGHEAD GOOD

Hiram brought Veronica yellow roses, for friendship

Betty and Kevin seeing the Hiram Lodge of myth for the first time, Kevin privately surprised at how much of a snack he is

I’ve forgotten why Hiram was in prison. what is Veronica’s ur-beef with him again? that he bought the drive-in land? oh and Ethel’s dad almost killed himself I guess

Serpent Daddy’s real gang name is Tall Boy, so I will continue to call him Serpent Daddy

he is tolerantly amused at Jughead’s suggestion that they just break FP out of jail

a “snake handler” is someone who is independently invested in the wellbeing of the Serpents and fixes their problems. is Betty a snake handler? discuss

Cheryl and Josie have a metallic choker apiece

Cheryl calls Betty and Veronica “Humpty and Dumpty,” because she has released her past

“But, really, Veronica, were they ever yours?” Cheryl did sort of sign them over under emotional duress, would be a questionable transfer in court, say

“The answer is a double-cherry-on-top no.”

What damn high school in America: a long-faced, kinda fly-looking jock to Archie’s immediate right stares at him during the zoom-in after Weatherbee’s announcement about Ms. Grundy, because his whole class knows they were FUCKING

there needs to be a game of Secrets and Sin toward the end of each season, just so the regular kids at Riverdale can get fully briefed on this one handful of kids’ operatic problems

Mr. Andrews felt no emotion at hearing that Ms. Grundy was killed, he is humoring his son

Penny Peabody is GREAT. I love her voice, her bangs, her filing system, her diminutive Serpent tattoo, and her 80’s bad bitch shoulder pads

time served, that’s what I’m talking about!!!

she also kind of looks like she wants to take a bite out of Jughead

Alice is still very COOL towards Archie. why doesn’t she like Archie? because she delights in not liking anyone. it’s okay

“Fine. I’ll reach out to my ghoulish friend.”

also part of Betty’s pink & gray outfit is a pair of sky-blue Chucks

Alice had to say “You’ll love this,” otherwise Veronica’s rage at hearing “anonymous buyer” would have not been self-aware enough for this show

there’s that gold octopus I liked

Veronica just kept that letter in her purse in case she got worked up!!!

oof I like her sort of 40’s naval-inspired skirt

HERMIONE IS STONE-COLD

Cheryl gets one of the most fantastic lines outside of Clue: “Hobo. Bride of hobo. Welcome to Thistlehouse. Mother’s in the conservatory.”

that blouse? that blouse, Cheryl? yes, Cheryl

the conservatory is apparently the greenhouse from Practical Magic, the greatest cinematic house of all time

Best costume bit: PENELOPE IN A TURBAN

and like a white lace nightie and kimono? yes, Penelope

I’m sitting here trying to see what they’re doing at the table and it looks like Penelope is just stirring tea like a Disney witch, surrounded by long-stemmed candles (lit), stoppered vials, some sort of decorative toucan, and tiny cauldrons full of herbs

Cheryl does have a point in that she like, was living with a killer

of course Penelope wants to watch FP get electrocuted, because she is a Stephen King villain

“If they weren’t literally an orphan and a widow, I would do it.” luckily Jughead you have the best girlfriend ever

MISSED YOU, OVER-ENTHUSIASTIC CORONER

Archie unknowingly paying Reggie back for the black eye? he should’ve just covered with that

okay but Reggie knows what he’s doing so all this indignity on his part is a bit misguided

I like that the only person so far truly feeling in their gut that these two crimes are connected is the town doofus, and he is right

“ChugMo”???

Pop should NOT be walking around saying “I thought I’d be doing this until the day I die”

I FUCKING LOVE Betty’s not even “positive attitude” or “determination,” it’s like a physiological inability to accept defeat. I think the last time she accepted defeat was when Cheryl told her she wasn’t making the cheerleading squad

Cheryl in a Gil Elvgren lingerie set checking herself out in a compact mirror is...powerful

her locker emanates a red light, like the Moulin Rouge?

she has a photograph, I think, of herself

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: Betty first closes the door very loudly on purpose

Cheryl’s expression at Betty’s threat is everyone’s expression

my knee-jerk superego wanted to be like, Is this kind of harsh, Betty? but like...this is Betty. or this is Riverdale Betty. she’s chaotic good and this is what she needs to achieve her goals. that she does it in a pink cardigan says really everything you need to know. like Archie fucking up trying to make toast for his dad

she’s also kind of tall and has her mother’s left eyebrow, which is cute

Gay?!: Cheryl regroups with commendable speed, respecting who won this round, definite admiration for the game

HOW INTERESTING IS JUGHEAD AND VERONICA

this must be after Betty told Jughead that Cheryl was going to testify, so Jughead was like, THANK GOD, WHO IS BETTY, and felt so much love that he had to go make someone else feel better, because Jughead is a sweetheart

Jughead eats: he takes one of the individually boxed cupcakes presumably left for Veronica by Hiram

“He made an effort.” did he, Jug? he wanted to get on your good side to get your read on a murder. because he knew what you needed to see. oh, Jug. oh, Jughead

“I’m not going to presume what lies in your father’s heart.” JUUUUUGGGGGGGG

Jughead still says his dad is going away for 20 years so maybe this is before Betty talked to him and he’s just being nice!!!!!!!! or he’s not getting his hopes up. let me have this

“Thank you, Jughead. Sorry I broke into your dad’s trailer.”

I REALLY didn’t think Ms. Grundy’s ex was real. but she did have a gun! I don’t know, Christ, I don’t know anymore

Cheryl’s a psychopath: I like the implied scene where Cheryl went home and was like, Mother, I’m testifying for FP Jones, and Penelope was like, You’re doing what? and Cheryl was like, SILENTLY AND WITH MY BLESSING MOTHER

FP sitting there with his mouth opening is everyone

his court-appointed attorney doesn’t understand how this is happening but he’ll take it

“FP’s guilt has been blown out of proportion to satiate what my father’s suicide denied us.”

Cheryl’s sheaths: wait, it’s THIS dress! this dress, Cheryl!!!!!

Cheryl’s pins: Jughead gave her her spider pin back???? to say thank you!!!!

okay what is like the DA’s story here, that FP OUT OF NOWHERE, or for money no one can prove he ever received, did a shit load of dirty work for Clifford Blossom? there were NO extenuating circumstances? like, that’s okay with you?

okay, oh Jesus, Betty raises The Eyebrow at Cheryl on the stand, which I don’t even think was part of the deal!, but Cheryl IMMEDIATELY perjures herself, even though it’s not actually a lie because it’s what actually happened but she doesn’t know that, to get the result Betty wants

Betty is in a textured pink sweater now (with a Peter Pan collar) and Jughead is back in that heavy green knit from the third episode holy moly!!!!!!!

“Is that extenuating enough? Say when.”

Cheryl’s cut-out blousey dress is like Velma Kelly murderess chic, murder me Cheryl

Jughead pulled his hat off, he was so flipping relieved

honestly when he hugged his dad it was so pure, sad, and good, it was so good

Jughead’s fucking long fucking arms can never just hug someone, they like wrap around you and reposition again and again to find the perfect sweet spot

the incredible costume change into the retro waiter stuff

“You’re a fiend, mother.”

does Veronica give them the wrong milkshakes or did they decide to swap? Questions

Cheryl is back in her red velvet leg warmer and red sling-backs

Fwoopy hair is the best hair: JOSIE’S BRAID?

Betty took a page out of Toby Zeigler’s book and just announced that the Pussycats had already accepted the gig

the 2001 Josie and the Pussycats movie was a masterpiece: Valerie has “a norovirus,” so Cheryl gets to sing (like Josie is a Vixen now) “Milkshake” on top of the roof, which Pop’s is probably not insured for

MELODY GETS A LINE

Archie VERY BRAVELY showed up to Pop’s again out of support for Betty and Veronica

Hermione’s shimmery blouse

Hiram is just so handsome. SO handsome, soap opera handsome

Serpent Daddy and another long-haired hooligan and a third fairly chiseled young man enter to show that the Serpents support their local businesses

Every triangle has three corners, every triangle has three sides: what’s up with the finger on Betty’s chin!!!! is he slowing her down??? is it a bossy thing??? what’s up!!! what’s up Jug!!!!!

they disgust Cheryl

“Honor your promise to me.”

Alice is thrilled Pop’s is such a thriving hive of degeneracy

Certified pedigree: “Yeah, no, I fucking bought it.”

OF COURSE HERMIONE WAS COVERING FOR THAT SHIT

Please protect Betty: I like how everyone is like, Betty, you did it. you did all this. this is what did you, thank you. thank you for being the one who did this

the Blossom corpse: “I have a present for you.” they watch the snuff film

Cheryl’s hair: Cheryl’s top knot!

Andre is tasty but we all know Smithers is dead

Jughead went home early to make some sandwiches, which is #lifegoals, but FP really should know better by now how NOT to get Jughead to do something. it’s not by being cryptic. you have to say right-out, “She’s done X, son. She will steal your skin. She stole that woman’s skin.”

Mädchen Amick, MÄDCHEN AMICK: “You do know several drug deals went down here tonight.”

Alice is so vicious with Betty, Alice is gold

Dilton Doiley is a canonically great dancer: PSYCHO DILTON IS BACK BABY!

Archie with a gun is single-handedly the most dangerous idea anyone has ever had. I’m already in mourning for the innocent person he’s going to shoot

apparently one ingests jingle-jangle through a Pixy Stix

I hope the staging of this scene is a callback to the incomparable opening of Zodiac

These students are legally children: OKAY WHY WERE THESE CHILDREN BLOWN AWAY THOUGH

God bless Moose: RIP you bicurious boy!!!!!!!

I officially have zero theories as to what is going on, I am back to being Archie

NEXT WEEK: “THE BLOODLETTING”??????????

[serpent-jugheadjones]

Dog Days - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Doctor!Reader

Description: Even in the darkest of times Y/N doesn’t leave Jughead’s thoughts.

Warnings: Fred’s current situation in the season finale. Spoiler alert if you haven’t watched season 2 trailers yet.

Word count: 2556

A/N: TONIGHT IS THE NIGHT! Since it’s past midnight Eastern Time Are you excited for season 2 premiere? I’m freaking out!!!! Can’t wait to see Jug on a motorcycle... So much good content to write out of :D Not sure if I’m gonna write another part for this one, but if you guys want it let me know.

An exceedingly bright light and super loud tumbling noise wakes up Jughead. He quickly sits up on the bed and realizes what a terrible idea that was as the room is now turning. The blinding light turns out to be regular morning sunlight coming from the trailer window, and the deafening buzzing noise, just his breathing echoing in his ear. “So this is what a hangover feels like.”, he whines, brushing his finger on his aching tembles, noticing the glass of water and ibuprofen on the bedside table. Jug swallows the pills and H2O all in one sip. Reliving a thirst he wasn’t aware of, until the liquid touched his chapped lips. He stays under the covers, waiting for the medicine to kick in. “I don’t remember coming home last night...” Last thing he does is being undoubtedly envious of the Serpent hitting on the girl with him. “Y/N!”, Juggie exclaims. He looks around for her. She’s nowhere in sight, but he finds a note next to the transparent, now empty glass. Only then does Jughead realize he’s not on his dad’s trailer. The bed with only one pillow reassures him they didn’t sleep together. That makes him both relieved he didn’t cheat on Betty and sad he didn’t give in to his transcendent cravings.

The still dizzy boy grabs his phone to check the time: 6:05 am. He can barely make it out, as his green-bluish eyes have not properly adapted to the light yet. With promises to keep to his best friend and girlfriend, he has to head out, not even having much time to explore the place as he wishes, had he not been in a hurry. Jug grabs his prized jacket, immediately noticing Y/N’s trailer isn’t much different from his dad’s. Maybe a tiny bit messier as she has clothes on top of the flat screen (a bra he didn’t try too hard not to stare at), cartons of Chinese take out on the coffee table with chopsticks dropped on the ground and plies of medicine books stacked at the kitchen counter, some with bookmarks sticking out, others open with yellow highlighter on important sentences. The girl’s a doctor. She, unlike his father, has a good excuse for the chaos.

The second Jug steps out, he hears the familiar roar of Alice Cooper’s car parking in front of FP’s trailer. “Crap. That’s all I needed...”, he whispers, rolling his eyes. With quick fingers, he folds his newest clothing item inside out to conceal the unmistakable embroidery. That’s not because he’s ashamed, of course, but simply due to the fact it’d be too much to deal with at once. Jughead breathes in, preparing for what’s inevitable to come. He lazily heads to his trailer, climbing down Y/N’s porch steps, only a couple away from his. The hangover boy wonders if they were actually lost the previous night or if he unconsciously really wanted to be with the charm-filled girl. Anyways, these thoughts can’t take him away neither from Alice’s terrible presence only a few feet distant, nor Betty’s embarrassingly leaving the car. He unlocks the door with a little difficulty, missing the keyhole the first time. Jug had to avoid eye contact with Alice, knowing how furious she must be, but now he’s unable to ignore the disapproving and confused look on Betty’s face as they enter his home. That makes his skin boil, reddening his cheeks. 

“What the hell, Jughead?”, the resentful girl furiously blurts out. “Wow. Don’t shout.”, he requests, wincing at her words. “Why?”, she asks, smelling something unusual on him as she walks closer. “Are you drunk?”, Betty whisper-shouts reprovingly, as her mom still hasn’t drove off. “That I was last night. Now I’m hangover.” Jughead carefully sets the Serpents jacket on the coat hanger and begins his search for coffee powder in the kitchen cabinets. “Who are you?”, Betty pleads. “No, Elisabeth. Who are YOU?” He uses her full name for the first time and points at her, then proceeds to heating up water and grabbing two mugs. “First the jacket, now drinking. I don’t even recognize you, Juggie. You’re changing.” The hurt blonde tries to hide how insulted she feels. She stands closer to him. But he’s evasive, still occupied with preparing his drink. “Maybe I’m finally being myself. Maybe sweet ol’Jug was just an act.” He knows it’s not the case, but at the same time he doesn’t see it as a change, more like evolution, improvement, growth. Jughead fills two cups with boiling water, and watches as the water turns dark brown in contact with the powder. He hands Betty the weak coffee, though she probably needed a chamomile tea instead of cafeine, while sipping from his stronger one.

They sit in quietude for a few minutes, not even looking at each other, only at the mugs. No words are exchanged but much is being said. “Who’s trailer did you leave?” Betty breaks the silence, surprisingly not sounding angry. “Someone I just met.” He tries to leave Y/N out of it. “Why were you there?” The concern is visible on her lightly red eyes. “We were at the Wyrm. I was wasted and she...” He’s interrupted by a tear sliding down Bet’s jaw. Jughead stands up and warps his arms tightly around the desolate girl. They’re unhappy and mad at each other but he still cares for her and seeing her cry breaks his heart. “Nothing happened.”, he speaks behind his breath, assuring her that would be the last thing he’d do while with her. The blonde River Vixen, who once had the heart eyes, raises her now sorrowful face to be able to see his expression. “But you wanted to.”, she recons, foolishly hoping he’ll deny it. Jug doesn’t reply, for he can’t lie to her. “I can’t do this, Juggie.” She backs away and wipes her tears. “It’s them or me.”, Betty ultimates, begging with her eyes for him to answer. “I can’t...” Jug truly enjoyed his time with her and will forever remember her with fondness, but she’s not the one he wants to spend his life with and the boy is aware deep down she knows they weren’t meant to be. 

Betty walks away, heartbroken and disappointed. Nonetheless, her head is held high. Jughead watches from the foggy trailer window her figure fading. Before she left, he was sure that was the right decision; now, a tiny hint of doubt troubles him. Be that as it may, the further away the cheerleader goes, the more he can breathe. Jug sees his path change and he’s not scared of the consequences. That’s what he wants. In the long run, it’s better they end now than drag a doomed relationship any further.

Jughead feels the air getting denser as he enters the hospital with Archie’s varsity bag, asking for Fred’s room, However, being an unofficial ex-adopted son doesn’t count as immediate family and they won’t give him any information. “Jughead!” He turns around, recognizing the voice calling him. “Mrs. Andrews... Sorry. I don’t know how to call you.” Not loo long ago, that’s how he would’ve called her. Since their divorce, he has no idea what her bachelor last name is. “Don’t worry about it”, she appeases him, handing her ID to the receptionist. At the corner of his eye, he sees ‘Andrews’ on it. They finally let them in as she clears his entrance with some law talk that Jug doesn’t fully understand. 

They walk the cold scary-white corridors faster than usual. “Archie called and said they were in trouble, so I came straight here. Do you know anything?”, the distressed woman asks. “Fred was shot at Pop’s yesterday morning. The doctors got the bullet out but he hasn’t woken up yet. At least not since I left last night.” Jughead tries his best to be both helpful and sympathetic, but he can’t even trick himself that rationality wins over emotion. Fred’s room is just ahead of them. “It’s best if you wait for Archie here.”, the woman with the bright ginger hair says, in the nicest way she can, shoving her devastation inside. Jug relates to her in a less intense way. That’s how he feels about Betty. He doesn’t want to be married to her but he’d be shattered if anything happened to her. 

The beanie-clad boy sits in the corridor, knee balancing up and down nervously, when the familiar Y/H/C hair is spotted walking out of a room down the hall. He’s just about to stand up and chase her when Archie leaves his father’s room. Jughead can’t leave his friend on a time like this, no matter how much he desired to speak with the girl. Upon seeing the torment and lack of sleep on Arch’s face, all he can do is be there for him. They don’t talk. The look on both their faces speaks more than words could.

Archie cleans up at the residents bathroom, changing the bloody clothes, but the stains from his cast and the desperation to have his dad back are still present. The nurses told them when they left Mr. Andrew’s room they could use one of the on-call rooms to sleep. The ginger boy takes the top bunk while Jug just sits on the bottom one. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jughead is aware his friend will shut off, but he has to convey his concern. Knowing that’s too much for one soul alone to bear. “Rather talk about anything else.”, Arch pleads, wishing just for now he can pretend nothing happened. “Betty broke up with me.” Jug couldn’t find anything else to say. He’s not hurt by the fact, rather relieved. “What? Why?” The red-haired football player is taken aback, grabbing the bunk bed and bending to look down at Jughead. “Because I took a Serpents jacket...”, he answers looking dead on Archie’s eyes, hoping there isn’t disappointment on them. “Scratch that, I’d rather not talk at all.” The sleepy boy rests his head on the pillow, closing his eyelids. If this were a regular day he’d be lecturing Juggie, but, giving the circumstances, Arch doesn’t have the strength to.

Not long goes by before Jug can hear Archie’s habitual snores. He’s comforted to know his friend is no longer in pain, now that dreams are distracting him from the tragedy. Certain that Arch will be down for a long time, Jughead leaves the room, telling himself it’s because he doesn’t want to wake the boy up. Truth is he can’t get out of his mind that, somewhere in there, Y/N is walking around. He has much to tell her. The small coffee truck is the first place Juggie goes to, but the only luck he has is a cheap but good cup of the strong hot liquid. She’s not in Fred’s room either when he takes a turn staying by his bedside so that Mary could have a bathroom break. The raven-haired boy gives up wandering the hospital in hopes to find Y/N and sits on a gurney outside the on-call room Archie is sleeping in. “Do you ever take off that hat?”, says the one person he wants to see and she hops on the stretcher next to him. “Should I?”, Jug asks running down his fingers nervously on the locks of hair slipping out the back of his neck. “Definitely not. It suits you.” Y/N smirks and offers him her bag of chips. Jughead eats, trying to figure out what to say. Before, he knew he wanted to talk to her more than anything else, but now he’s speechless, nervous but overjoyed to be next to her again. He never really felt this way about Betty. They knew each other all their lives. Y/N is a mystery he desperately wants to solve.  “I need cafeine. Care to join me?” She jumps off the bed and Jug follows suit.

Y/N shivers as they walk out in the cold winter air of Riverdale. Jughead takes off his jeans jacket and places it on her shoulders, as she’s only wearing scrubs. Either way, he has an extra plaid shirt tied around his hip. “Thanks.” She pushes her arms out the sleeves and holds the hem tight on her finger nails. “What is Fred Andrews to you?”, Y/N asks as they reach the coffee truck. “I hope I’m not overstepping, it’s just that you’ve been here a lot more than anyone else.”, she quickly adds, since Jug is silent for a little longer than she’s comfortable with. “No, it’s fine. I’m trying to figure out the answer.” They head to one of the plastic tables around the vehicle. Y/N takes the lid off her cup and blows the steam away from her face. Jug almost loses focus. “It’s more complicated than I anticipated. He’s my best friend’s dad. He took me in when I didn’t have anywhere to go, even though he has financial problems. Fred was my dad’s best friend once, before my father went on a downward spiral. All I know is that I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”, Jughead shares, a single tear escaping his watery eyes. However hard it is to talk about this, opening up to her isn’t. A very moved Y/N reaches for his hand across the table. “We’re doing everything we can to get him back.”, she reassures him. He feels the warmth from her fingers against his skin. Jughead craves for more than that.

Jug stands up, still holding onto her hand. She replicates his action, standing inches from his body. He can see her breath create clouds in the air as she breathes faster. Jughead glances between her beautiful Y/E/C eyes and her much desired lips. He’s never been more sure of something he wants. Y/N leans in slightly, raising her chin to angle with his, parting her lips and sighing quietly. The raven-haired boy places his free hand on her neck, able to feel her getting goose bumps. Both want this moment to last an eternity as the anticipation feels downright  fantastic. She bites her inner lip and that drives him to the edge. He finally closes the distance between them with a soft, quick kiss. The young doctor exhales in satisfaction, for she was just as desperate as him for it. Y/N pulls Jug nearer to her body, kissing him once more, deeper and more passionately. In that moment, time slows down for them and breathing doesn’t feel as important as being in contact. There is only the two of them. As if no fathers killed their sons, no fathers were wrongfully arrested for murder, no fathers were shot in front of their sons, no father’s gang sold drugs on the south side's streets. Riverdale is just a regular small town, where falling in love is the most dangerous thing that can happen.  

[aliddellmimsy]

caught in a bad dream // closed

wake me up won’t you wake me up? caught in a bad dream caught in a bad dream

Days when she could watch a clock hit 00:00 were some of Alice’s favorites. The zero hour, that one second of the day when everything starts from the beginning – how could you not love it? It was the hour set for new adventures. Tonight, of course, she’d been watching the clock, and he’d been watching her. 

They’d met not long in to Alice’s involvement with Harlan Albus and Wonderland. And while the older boy kept far away from the drug the rest of the group took, he was a part of their little group nonetheless. They’d sit around getting high, or getting drunk, and reveling in their own perfect versions of the world. He was tall, nearly too heads taller than the blonde, would often be nursing a whiskey bottle while the rest of them were taking Wonderland, and there was something just a little bit off about him that naturally peaked Alice’s curiosity.

Maiden Hatchell.

She hadn’t known his history, hadn’t known how he got involved with all of them, hadn’t known why so many people referred to him as mad. He was generally standoffish and brooding in that way only tortured teenage boys could be, and Alice wanted to get to know everything she could about the mystery that was Maiden Hatchell.

She’d confronted him, unapologetically, the day she noticed how in a room full of people, his eyes began to rarely stray from her.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” she’d asked, marching up to him and standing as tall as she could.

He’d answered with a lazy shrug. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

It was the first real conversation the two of them had had, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As much as Maiden watched Alice, she began watching him too. Everyone else thought he was mad, and yes, maybe he was, but Alice knew that behind that madness was brilliance. Maybe that was why they became so close so quickly. People never truly were what they appeared to be on the surface, and the more Alice got to know about Maiden, the more she wanted to keep him. He became her guiding light, the person who stopped her from crossing over the edge when she was too high to stop herself.

Not unlike tonight.

Tonight, Alice was wasted. She’d taken too many different drugs. She knew Maiden hated when she was like this, but he never said anything about it, never judged the girl for her issues when he had his own. Just watched her, making sure she was safe. Making sure that on nights like tonight, when the numbers on the clock stared back at her through a drug induced haze, that she would make it home safe.

Alice’s bedroom was on the second floor, tucked into the back corner of the Liddell house with a rather convenient trellis positioned just close enough to her window’s edge that she could use it to quietly sneak out in the middle of the night. And on most nights, she also used it to sneak back in. Tonight, however, as she and Maiden stood on the sidewalk outside that house, clocks across London now reading four o’clock, Alice was not confident she’d make it back inside. Of course, she had to get back in. Her parents didn’t know the nighttime goings on of their daughter’s life, and Alice preferred it stay that way.

Looking to Maiden, Alice knew she didn’t even have to ask for his help. He was practically holding her upright now as it were. And that was what he did. He helped her. Had walked her home plenty of nights, and they always parted ways as soon as Alice scaled the wall below her room. But not tonight.

Tonight, there was a planter at the front door that housed a spare key, and Maiden helped Alice in through the side door and upstairs to her room. The blonde crawled in to bed without bothering to change out of the summer dress she was wearing. The soft blue fabric pooled around her, and her eyes flitted shut of their own sleepy accord. Maiden’s light footprints headed toward her window were the only sound Alice could make out, and all she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave.

“Stay.”

Alice wasn’t sure he’d heard the barely a whisper of a word, was almost positive that he didn’t – until she felt the bed behind her shift with what could only be Maiden’s weight. The boy gently brushed a few errant curls from Alice’s forehead before curling up behind her. One lanky yet lean – Alice hadn’t noticed how fit he’d been before – arm wrapped around her waist, and Maiden laced his fingers between hers. A soft, contented sigh slipped between Alice’s lips, and in that position she fell asleep.

***

When Alice wakes, she doesn’t expect to be alone. Bright blue irises stare into the darkness, and as soon as the blonde sits up, everything rushes back to her. Everything.

Several emotions catch in her chest and within seconds Alice is pulling herself from bed and digging through the back of her dorm room closet. She tosses shoes and clothing aside until she finds the shoe box that is hidden there. Inside is a necklace she no longer wears, several crumpled pieces of paper, a small plastic container with only two small pills left inside, an old picture of the blonde as a small girl with her father, a pressed and dried daisy, and a sandwich bag filled with several tea bags. Without thinking, Alice slips one from the bag, shoves the box back where it had been before, and swiftly and quietly exits her room.

She’d snuck into the school’s kitchen a couple of times before. It was the only reason she knew she’d be able to. Besides, now was not the time for any microwaved water nonsense. Now was the time for properly heated water for good and proper tea. Nights like these required some of her favorite tea she’d stashed away in case she couldn’t find any in America. The last time she was home, she’d managed to get away from her parents long enough to stop by her favorite tea shop and stock up on as much as she could.

Days and nights like these, tea was almost better than Wonderland. Almost. But despite this tea being her favorite, it wasn’t the one she really wanted. It wasn’t Maiden’s special tea. The tea he always brought for her after a bad day or a bad high. Especially after a bad high. She never found out what it was or where Maiden found it, but it was always one of the best things to help Alice calm down. Looking back, maybe it wasn’t exactly the tea that helped. Maybe it was him. It was always him.

Water comes to a boil, and Alice’s hands are shaking as she stops the fire on the stove. She hasn’t stopped shaking since she woke up, memories she’d been trying so hard to forget flooding back to her, and so many feelings with them. When she lifts the pot from the stove, the tremors are so bad a bit of water splashes over the edge, and Alice is luckily quick enough to save her foot from a potential burn. Pouring the water into her teacup would be near impossible if this persisted, and dammit why wasn’t there a kettle when you needed one?

They’d been quite a pair, the two of them. Alice and Maiden. Both very different from each other, but different from everyone else as well. It was maybe why they’d been so drawn to each other. Alice had never speculated about that, not after she knew that she loved him. And love him she did. It didn’t take the girl long to fall head over heels, for she loved that he cared about her and about what happened to her. So many times she’d wanted to ask him why. Why her? Why did he want to protect her? Why did he trust her? Why did he love her back? He was usually so standoffish, so careful, such an enigma. She supposed he always had been, even to the end.

There’s more water on the counter than in the teacup – certainly not enough to even attempt to brew a proper cup – and something in Alice snaps. In a flash, she throws the cup in an action against the tightness that’s creeping in to her chest and the memories that are bringing it. Porcelain and water is sent flying as the object breaks against a wall.

Alice can’t help the sobs as they come, the emotions she’d been suppressing for so long flooding to the surface. One hand reaches behind her to wrap around the lip of the kitchen counter and steady herself, but her arm isn’t enough to hold her up, and Alice sinks to the floor. She hasn’t cried over him yet, not really. The blonde had spent the better part of a year pushing thoughts of him to the back of her mind, focusing on anything else, letting Wonderland take her away from her reality. She’d kept the memories hidden and the ghost of love buried. But memories and ghosts slip through the cracks of carefully laid walls.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there, in the middle of the kitchen floor, tears running down her cheeks. Eventually there are no more tears to be cried (at least for tonight), and Alice takes a few deep, labored breaths to calm herself. Delicate fingers, shaking now for a different reason, wipe the moisture away from her face. Remnants of mascara that didn’t come off when she’d washed her face smear across porcelain skin, tinged red with emotion. When she can find the strength to stand, she’ll need to clean the shattered tea cup.

If only she could do the same with her heart.