#check my Ao3 if you’re not a coward

[eeveleon]

AND THATS RIGHT PALS. I WROTE IT!!!!!

[quintessenceofdust88]

perfect (it's not all it's cracked up to be)

Hello everyone! I promised you guys that the sequel for this prompt would be up by the weekend, right? Turns out I only sorta lied cause it's still Monday hehe. I hope you enjoy it!

You can read it on AO3 if you'd prefer! ❤️

When Tommy wakes up, it’s like his body is on fire and freezing at the same time; half of his body feels numb, and the other half is hurting like never before. Huh, maybe his father had a point and all queer freaks end up in hell. Then again, considering one of his last deeds on Earth was walking out on sunshine itself, maybe it’s not about his queerness after all; it’s about Tommy himself. 

He hears a heart monitor at his side, and that gives him pause; he doesn’t think the afterlife bothers with medical devices, so… So maybe he’s alive? If only opening his eyes didn’t feel like it would hurt so much, Tommy could try and find out (not that he knows what hell looks like; it could be like a hospital room, for all he knows). He tries it anyway, letting out a grunt as it, indeed, hurts like a bitch. 

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” A voice says to his right side, and yeah, now Tommy’s pretty sure he’s not in hell. Evan Buckley doesn’t belong in hell, not even as part of Tommy’s eternal torture. 

As his vision clears, Tommy sees Evan is on a chair by his side, and he looks… Rough. There’s stubble covering his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’s looking at Tommy with despair clearly written in his permanently wet eyes, as if he’s afraid Tommy will disappear if he looks away. And to Tommy, it’s still instinct to comfort Evan, to try and find something to say that’ll make him feel better.

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty. 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen the other guy, doc” He attempts to joke, and Evan’s scoff and the doctor’s exasperated look make it clear it wasn’t his best attempt. “So, let’s talk business, doc. Will I fly again?” Tommy asks, because that’s the question that matters the most. 

He realizes with a treacherous skip to his heart that Evan looks as interested in the answer as Tommy himself. During the whole time the doctor is talking to him about treatments and physical therapy and his perspective to get back to work, he stays by his side, nodding attentively at everything the doctor says (as if he’ll be involved in your treatment, a hopeful part of his brain that should have quieted down weeks ago supplies, and Tommy does his best not to listen to it, because it’ll hurt so bad when it’s not the case). 

When the doctor makes it clear that Tommy will not go back to the air for at least six months, Evan squeezes his hand and gives him a look of solidarity that goes a long way to make it not feel like the end of the world. And when the nurse comes to up Tommy’s dosage of morphine and redress his wounds, he doesn’t let go of his hand. Tommy wants to say something, anything, but he’s received a lot of information and the morphine running through his veins makes it difficult to put his thoughts into words. But he doesn’t want to fall asleep; he doesn’t want to let Evan go. 

“Sleep, Tommy” Evan tells him in a firm tone. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Then we’ll talk”

It sounds too good to be true; Tommy refuses to believe it. Evan would have every right to leave him to fend for himself; he wouldn’t blame him in the slightest. He closes his eyes, fully expecting to find an empty room when he wakes up.

But contrary to all expectations, when Tommy opens his eyes again, feeling slightly more like a person and less like a shapeless bruise, is to find Evan in the same chair, only with the black hoodie this time, and a cup of coffee in his hand. 

He’s impossibly handsome in black, Tommy thinks dazedly, taking advantage of the fact Evan’s looking down at his phone to take a good look at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Tommy wonders if he’s been home at all. 

His heart does another one of those treacherous leaps, and Tommy is having a hard time keeping the hope from bubbling in his chest. Because if this man saw Tommy at his worst, physically and (especially) emotionally, and was willing to stay this long by his side, who’s to say he won’t stay longer? He was willing to; Tommy was the one who fled, thinking it was about the excitement of a new relationship, but staying by his side after a helicopter crash is something entirely different. Who’s to say he won’t just… stay?

Tommy has to be brave; hell, he’s been brave before, on that glorious night where he took a leap of faith and placed a kiss to the man who had maimed his best friend for Tommy’s attention. Evan had been brave, if a little misguided, when he invited Tommy to move in with him. He owes him some bravery right now. If nothing else, he owes him some honesty after everything.

“You were right” He blurts out, and Evan looks up from his phone, staring at him with widened blue eyes. 

“H-hey, you’re up! Do… Do you need anything? I can call the nurse…” He trails off when Tommy’s hand, the one which is less covered in scrapes and bruises, reaches out to lightly touch his.

“I just need you to listen to me. You… you were right, Evan. I was a coward. I am a coward. I… I don’t know how to be loved. I never was” He admits it, and hates himself for choking up as he says it. This isn’t a pity party; he’s just stating a fact: the sky is blue, alcohol is flammable, Thomas Kinard was never loved. He hates how it makes Evan’s whole demeanor soften, because Tommy doesn’t deserve it. 

“Then let me love you” Evan whispers, taking Tommy’s hand in both of his. “Let me teach you how it feels. It’s… It’s not like I’m an expert at it, ok? I… I haven’t always been loved either. But… but I love you. You broke my fucking heart, Tommy, and I still love you. Do… do you love me?”

“With all of my heart” Tommy whispers back, and he can’t keep a tear from running down his face. Hell, he almost died, he’s allowed to be emotional. “T-that’s why I had to leave, Evan. If… If you didn’t love me back… If you found out I wasn’t perfect…”

“I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But guess what? I love you anyway, you idiot” He says, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead, another to the tip of his nose, and a very tender one to his lips. “You… You always wanted me to see you as perfect. You barely let me in all the time we were together. But I saw it anyway, Tommy, and I still wanted you. I still want you”

“I… I was so afraid of being hurt that I didn’t think I’d be hurting you” Tommy admits with a sigh. “A-actually I didn’t think you’d be hurt. I… I thought you’d be okay. I’m sorry, Evan”

“Well, I wasn’t okay. Just ask all of my friends and the thousand loaves of bread in their pantries” He says with a chuckle, and then looks Tommy deeply in the eyes. “Next time, talk to me instead of doing a dramatic exit. And don’t wait till you almost die to let me know where my Christmas presents are”

Tommy chuckles, and squeezes Evan’s hand. He wishes he could sit up and kiss him within an inch of his life, but it  sounds a little out of his physical abilities right now. He’ll content himself, with a peck on the lips before Evan sits back down, still holding Tommy’s hand in his. 

“I promise Christmas will be perfect” He says, and Evan shakes his head.

“I don’t need perfect, Tommy. I just need you”

–

And Christmas is not perfect. Tommy’s still mostly on bed rest and his leg’s still in a cast. Buck’s staying at his place for now to help him around, but they decided to leave any serious conversations about moving in to after New Year’s. They haven’t really decorated (Tommy was too depressed to bother, and Buck didn’t really have the time between his shifts and taking care of Tommy) and their plans for the day mostly consist in staying in bed and alternating between cheesy rom-coms and documentaries. 

It’s not perfect. They are not perfect. But they’re together, and Tommy finds himself thanking any deity out there for his accident. That it brought Evan back to him, and more importantly, him back to Evan. 

Buck’s wearing his new burgundy hoodie, and he gives Tommy the airplane model that he stubbornly kept in the hood of the Jeep all this time. They assemble it together, and it’s not the best, because Tommy’s hands are still a little sore and Buck’s not very good at the whole arts and crafts thing, but Tommy puts in his nightstand with adoration anyway. 

And if there’s no tree, no Christmas dinner, no cheesy sweaters, well. They can always make up for it next Christmas.

--

Tag list: (let me know if you’d like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if you'd rather only be tagged on Little Blobs' verse, also let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter  @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie  

[erisweekofficial]

Tonight we're highlighting @surielstea! They are an Eris x Reader creator with sooo many fics for you to enjoy!

All of them are so good, but we have a few to start you off with! The Best I Ever Had is our first choice and @surielstea talks more about her fic under the cut! 🔥

We also love love love Ballroom Secrets! It's got everything you'd want: Ballroom dancing, clandestine meet-ups, family angst, and Nesta being an A+ best friend💃

And if you want the latest and greatest! Please check out A Fatherly Fear! We love dad!Eris stories and this is no exception. 😭

Read on to learn more about @surielstea's favorite fan theory about Eris as well as what she's going to do to prevent Eris from reading allllll our fics about him.

What’s your favorite Eris fic that you’ve written and Why?

My favorite Eris fic that I’ve written has to be “The Best I Ever Had” It’s one of my longer fics and I can remember being so excited to write it when I got the request, and when I’m passionate on what I’m writing, I tend to get carried away. (Which explains why it’s nearly 8k words.) But it also all came really easy to me, and I believe that was the fic that pulled me out of a horrible writers block.

How do you decide what scenarios to write about for your Eris fics?

So most of my scenarios come from requests, whether it be detailed or not they’re always inspired by what’s in my inbox. But I like to keep to Eris’s playful yet arrogant attitude (and let’s be honest, awfully sexy), which is why most of my Eris fics take place in a ballroom or the bedroom.

What are some of your favorite fan theories about Eris?

One of my favorite fan theories (a smaller one) is that Eris has the ability to suck the warmth from a room the same way he can heighten the temperature. I love the idea of him being able to walk into a room full of his enemies and void it of its warmth, keeping it all to himself. I think it aligns perfectly with how, despite his appearance, he is often cold towards people he doesn’t trust.

What do you think is Eris's most defining moment in the series so far?

Eris’s most defining moment for me is 100% the talk between him and Cassian towards the end of ACOSF when Cassian tells him “I think you might even be a good male, you’re just too much of a coward to act like one.” And I just thought that sentence perfectly encapsulates who Eris is truly, because he is good, but he lives with a monster who most likely tortures him and his mother for sport, which means he cannot make any move aside from telling others on the outside how to destroy Beron

Quick, Eris is threatening to go on ao3/tumblr and read all these fics about him, how do you distract him?

I don’t distract him, I let him read all of it and then we can recreate his all favorites 😻🙏

Please give us a name for one of Eris's brothers

I believe that in some of my fics I have Kyden and possibly a Vaughn? Something victorian or fire-related, because you can’t have men in billowing white sleeves and not give them a vampiric name. But I’d say officially, I love the idea of having a Conleth Vanserra.

Please name one of Eris's hounds!

Ok. I’ve thought long and hard about this (probably too much tbh) and decided that the Shadow Hound that leads the pack is a female, and I see her name being something similarly related to fire, so for female I think Hestia, but alternately for male I think Haco as an old dogs name is adorable.

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Binder, Binder, On The Wall

ao3

so i dug this out of the drafts from like 2021 after watching s5 because i needed some silly spicynoodles after all of. that.

can be read as anytime around seasons 1 or 2

780 words

“Catch you at a bad time, noodle boy?” Red Son cackled, clearly revved up for a fight.

MK chanced a grimaced smile. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Well, now you know how I feel! Now, I’ll be taking that staff.”

“What, this?” MK asked, with a silent promise to himself that if he just pushed through the pain for now, he’d be fine. “I don’t think so!”

His promise didn’t seem to be working out, because as that hothead attacked him, MK’s own attacks were sluggish and uncoordinated. His body was aching in pain, and he needed to hurry up so he could get these bandages off and—

MK went flying, landing in a heap, though his staff was still safely in hand.

He didn’t get up.

He didn’t have the strength. Or the energy. Or the will.

“Get up and fight me you coward!” Red Son demanded.

MK just groaned, clutching his free hand to his ribs.

“Ugh, you peasant, I’ll just — okay, seriously, are you okay?”

MK glanced up, surprised to find genuine concern creasing his enemy’s brow.

“None of your business,” MK grumbled.

“Um, it is too my business if it keeps you from giving me your full attention in our battle!”

MK fanned himself with his shirt, sweat dripping down his body without care. 

“I can’t—” he wheezed slightly, “I can’t breathe.”

Red Son scrunched his face in that cute way he did when he was genuinely considering something. “Have you tried inhaling?”

“Yes I’ve tried—oh god I think I understand why the internet told me this wasn’t smart now.”

Fuck. If his ribs weren’t already broken, they had to be close. His body hurt like hell, and as much as he hated the feeling, he had to take off the bandages he’d used to bind… when had he put them on, sometime yesterday afternoon? 

“What?” Red Son demanded, “what the hell did you even do to yourself?”

MK smiled up at him sheepishly. “Just some improper binding habits.” It wasn’t like he could afford a real one. And he couldn’t burden Pigsy with that either, that would be—

“I don’t… understand.”

Heat rushed to MK’s face. “Um. I’m… you don’t know what binding is?”

“It sounds like a nonsense human thing,” Red Son scoffed.

“Yes yes, nonsense human stuff,” MK agreed, shifting carefully on the ground. “Anyways, not that it’s not great beating you, but can we like… rain check?”

“Psh, beating me, you’re not even moving. Agree that I win today and I’ll be off.”

“But you don’t have my staff!” MK shot back with a smug grin.

“Oh, right.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“So… truce?” MK offered.

“Ugh, fine. But you won’t be so lucky next time, noodle boy!”

“See you tomorrow,” MK grumbled, half waving as Red vanished in a puff of fire.

Now to climb the set of stairs to his apartment — or, screw that. He gripped his staff, essentially pogoing up and right to the door.

As painful as it was, at least he was up.

He fumbled with the keys, collapsing onto his bed the moment he was inside. 

He pushed his shirt up, his arms feeling like limp noodles — heh, kind of ironic — and absolutely not having the energy to so much as twitch, let alone get these accursed bandages off.

Most of him would rather suffer the pain and just sleep. But he had a feeling that would only make things worse, and he was pretty sure he would break a rib or two if he kept these bandages on for much longer.

If only one of the 72 transformations included transgender.

But it was what it was. No matter how much it sucked.

Exhausted, he sluggishly removed his already sloppily applied bandages, able to breathe properly for the first time in 18 or more hours.

It didn’t take long for him to pass out, on top of the covers and halfway between mattress and floor. It didn’t matter too much to him. He just needed a really, really long nap.

------

He woke up sometime after midnight to go to the bathroom, trudging through the piles of clean and dirty laundry alike strewn on his floor. Every inch of his body ached like he’d been trapped under a mountain for 500 years.

Damn, that must have sucked.

As he made the trek back to his bed, he noticed, faintly outlined in the dark, something neatly folded on his pillow.

He turned on the lamp on his bedside table, now able to see a note written in an impossibly neat scribble placed atop a brand new binder.

You owe me a real fight. -R.S.

[jrob64]

Ghosted

Chapter 4 - Attacks

It appears I lied about this story being 4 chapters long, because the muse has spoken and now I have to write an epilogue too. So, I hope you enjoy this next-to-last chapter. And a reminder - don't read this just before going to sleep.

Many huge thanks to my beta @hookedmom and my artists @kmomof4 and @motherkatereloyshipper. You ladies are the best!

If you haven't checked out the great art and stories for this final @cssns event, you are missing out on greatness! They are all spectacular!

STORY SUMMARY: When Emma Swan’s ex-boyfriend dies, she’s haunted by his ghost. Her neighbor, Killian Jones, a ghost hunter who has a YouTube channel, realizes what’s happening and offers to help. However, there’s more at stake than simply helping the apparition move on. There’s also the matter of Killian telling Emma he’s in love with her. 

Rating: M (for intense scenes, language, and possible smut in the epilogue)

Words (Ch. 4): 9055

Previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he said next would inevitably change their relationship. He simply didn’t know if it would be for better or worse. Shifting on the couch so he could fully face her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

Her mouth dropped open and her brows shot up over wide eyes. Without taking her gaze from him, she slowly reached over to place the box of Cheez-its on the coffee table. She missed and the box fell, spilling crackers on the floor, but neither of them cared.

“Me?” she asked, her voice sounding as stunned as she looked. “You want to ask me out?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“But I…I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

“Is that all you want us to be?” he asked, beginning to feel a faint glimmer of hope.

“It was at first, when I was getting to know you, and obviously while I was dating Neal, but then…” Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as she pulled her feet out of his lap, placing them on the floor and sliding closer to him on the couch.

“Then…what, Emma?” he asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but one day, Neal followed me home from work and was hanging around outside my door. He kept calling to me, trying to persuade me to let him in. I was just getting ready to open the door to yell at him, when I heard you talking to him.”

She paused. “What did I say?” Killian encouraged.

“You told him that if he really cared about me, he would respect my wishes to be left alone.”

“I do remember that. He told me to fuck off and mind my own business.”

“But you didn’t, and it’s what you said next that made me…begin to think of you as something other than a friend.”

His eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I don’t recall what I said, Love.”

“You said that…that a woman like me is a precious gift who should be told how wonderful she is every day, who shouldn’t be stalked and treated like a piece of property. Neal said something stupid about how you would never have a chance with a woman like me, and you said…”

“If I was ever lucky enough to be with a woman like you, I would treasure every moment and never be foolish enough to let her go,” Killian finished. “I didn’t know you heard all of that.”

“I did and it started me thinking about how lucky someone would be if they were your girlfriend, and then…then I started thinking about how I wished that someone was…me.”

“That was months ago, Emma. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ever ask me out after I broke up with Neal?” she shot back.

He chuckled as he reached over to take her hand. “Point taken. Liam told me I was a coward for not asking you out. I denied it, but I guess he was right.”

“You told him about me?”

“I knew he could keep a secret since no one else can see him or hear him,” he grinned.

She studied their interlocked hands where they lay between them on the couch. “So…what happens now?” she asked.

“Now, since it appears you’re open to the idea, and if you accept, we go out on a date.” He expected - hoped - she would show excitement for his suggestion. He was disappointed when she simply began to chew on her lower lip and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Emma, what is it? Would you rather not…”

“No,” she interrupted quickly. “No, Killian, I want to go out with you, I really do. It’s just…this whole thing with Neal’s ghost…I kind of wish it was over before we start dating. I want us to be able to go out, have fun and enjoy ourselves without being paranoid about his spirit hanging around.”

Killian’s head dropped a bit, but then he nodded. “I understand. The problem is, we have no idea of knowing when he’s going to move on. It’s been six years and Liam is still here.”

Emma whipped around to face him, eyes huge. “You think Neal could haunt me for years?”

“Calm down, Swan,” he soothed. “Liam’s spirit stays because he isn’t unwanted and his reasons for staying aren’t nefarious, like Neal’s. I’m quite sure you won’t have to put up with him for an extended period of time. We have a plan that we think will work.”

“I’m sorry, Killian. I know this isn’t fair to you after I finally admitted I want to date you.”

Dropping her hand, he lifted his arm to put it around her shoulders. “Come here, Love,” he urged. She slid over to curl up against his side. “I’ve waited this long, I can keep waiting for however long it takes his ghost to leave. In the meantime, we can still spend time together.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “This is nice.” Her fingers found the charms on the necklace he always wore, while he caressed her shoulder and periodically pressed kisses to the crown of her head.

After several minutes of comfortable silence, she turned her face up to look at him, sliding her hand up to cup his cheek. As her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, her eyes met his.

Killian watched her lick her lips, her intentions clear. He dipped his head, stopping just short as he flicked his eyes up to hers. The look in her crystal green depths told him what he needed to know. Still, he allowed the final decision to be hers.

She closed the distance, kissing him hesitantly at first, then tilting her head to deepen it. Her fingers stroked through his hair as her tongue traced the seam of his mouth, then slipped inside.

On the rare occasions when Killian pressed a kiss to her forehead, cheek or hand, he had marveled at the softness of her skin. Now, feeling her lips against his, her tongue exploring his mouth, he was drowning in the emotions she was stirring up.

He pulled back slightly and she chased after his lips, then glanced up to meet his awed gaze. His hand cradled her cheek, running silky strands of her hair between his fingers and thumb. Seeming to read his thoughts, she smiled to reassure him that this was indeed happening. Then he was kissing her again, slow and unhurried with a tenderness that he hoped conveyed the depth of his feelings for her.

When they finally broke the kiss, she snuggled back into his side with a contented sigh. “You’re right, Killian. We don’t have to wait for Neal to move on. He shouldn’t be allowed to steal our time together, like he’s stolen my sleep and peace of mind. He has already cost me too much and I’m not going to let him cost me the chance of a relationship with you.”

“You truly want that, Swan?” Killian asked, a sense of wonder evident in his voice.

She looked up at him again. “Yes, I do,” she replied confidently.

He sat up straighter and twisted his body toward her, cradling her face between his hands. “Emma, I would consider it the greatest honor to be in a relationship with you. I meant every word of what I said to Cassidy in the hallway that day. Not a day will go by that I won’t treasure the time I get to spend with you, and I will make sure you know how very special you are.”

She blinked several times and smiled. “Good,” she whispered, before engaging him in another kiss.

After a few more kisses, they cuddled up on the couch and ended up falling asleep there. Killian woke up around 4 AM with neck pain caused by sleeping in an uncomfortable position, but realized Emma was still in his arms. Carefully, he maneuvered both of their bodies until they were lying down, his back against the back of the couch and Emma tucked up against him, so he was spooning her. He was relieved that she didn’t awake - just mumbled something that sounded a lot like his name. Smiling, he wrapped her securely in his arms and fell back to sleep, his nose buried in her sweet mane of hair.

*********

Emma awakened slowly, her senses becoming alert one at a time. The first thing she realized was how safe she felt, something that had been sorely missing for weeks. Her hands found strong forearms wrapped around her middle. They were holding her gently but securely, and while lately she would have instantly panicked, this morning she knew she had nothing to fear. Next, she felt soft puffs of air against the back of her neck, accompanied by muffled snores, making her let out a small giggle. She also detected a delightfully familiar scent of musky cologne and body wash.

Killian.

As she snuggled into his embrace, thoughts of what transpired hours before flooded her mind. She tried for months to bottle her feelings toward this man, knowing she was still dealing with the shit show from her last relationship and not wanting to ruin her friendship with Killian. However, after hearing what he said to Neal outside her apartment that day a while back, she couldn’t seem to repress the attraction she felt. Every time she was with him, it grew stronger, especially with all of the physical touches he shared in an attempt to calm and reassure her since Neal began haunting her.

Thinking of the kisses they shared last night filled her with warmth and brought a smile to her lips - the same lips that could still taste and feel his own on them. She had never kissed anyone who was so receptive and undemanding, yet all-consuming. His entire being surrounded her to the point that she never wanted that feeling to end. If she could spend the rest of her days kissing Killian Jones, she would die a very happy woman.

As these thoughts flooded her mind, Killian shifted behind her and she could feel his body’s instinctive reaction to holding her close. Then she heard his breathing pattern change as he uttered a low groan. Unwilling to have him wake up embarrassed, Emma swiftly loosened herself from his grip and sat up, then slid to her knees on the floor in front of the sofa.

Scooting closer to look into his handsome face, she caressed his cheek, quietly saying, “Good morning, Killian.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and watched in fascination as his eyes slowly blinked open, revealing his sapphire gaze. Her thumb brushed across his lips, conjuring a lazy smile from him.

He yawned widely and stretched both arms over his head, then wrapped them around her. “Good morning, Love,” he said, the sound of his voice both satin and gravel. She shivered involuntarily and he noticed. “Are you cold? I should have given you a blanket…”

“No, I’m not,” she assured him. “In fact, I woke up cozier than I can remember being for a very long time.”

“Mmm, so did I,” he said, yawning again before moving into a sitting position. “Would you like some coffee?”

“The elixir of the gods? Yes, please.”

He chuckled as he stood and walked toward the kitchen. Emma suppressed a chuckle of her own as she saw him trying to adjust himself surreptitiously.

She used the bathroom, then joined him in the kitchen. The coffee maker was already brewing and Killian was looking into the refrigerator. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He peered over his shoulder at her, overactive eyebrow arched. “Good morning to you, too! This is certainly a welcome way to treat the man who is going to fix you breakfast, Swan.”

“What are you making?” Emma inquired, feeling lighter than she had for as long as she could remember.

“Pancakes?”

“Do you have any bacon?.”

He reached back in the fridge and straightened up with a package of bacon in his hand. “I’ll accept a kiss as a thank you,” he grinned.

Humming happily, she moved closer, slid her hand up his arm and behind his neck, then leaned in to fulfill his request.

The conversation as he prepared breakfast and while they ate was lighthearted and animated, a far cry from the gloomy, depressing ones they had been having as of late. Emma helped clean up afterwards, then reluctantly told him she needed to go back to her apartment to take a shower and go to the grocery store.

“What time do you work today, Love?” Killian asked as he walked her to her door.

“Four to ten.”

He nodded. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

Turning to face him, she asked, “Are you still planning to, uh…to try to get into my nightmare?”

Unbeknownst to her, that comment had Killian fleetingly thinking about other things of Emma’s he would prefer to get into. “Aye,” he replied after a moment. “I’m hoping it works and this entire thing with Cassidy will be over tonight.”

“I hope so, too,” she exhaled. “God, I just really, really hope so.”

“I know,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

“Is Will going to be there tonight, too?”

“No, we’re not intending to have any equipment set up. I’ll bring the flux just in case, but we won’t be recording anything.”

She breathed in his comforting scent for several moments before pulling away to give him a brief kiss. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Have a good day, Swan.”

“You, too.”

With a small wave and a smile, she went into her apartment. As soon as she entered, she felt a sharp, cold pain through her chest, as if an icicle had been plunged through it. She gasped and staggered backwards, managing to regain her balance before she fell. Hanging onto the back of the recliner, she struggled to get her racing heart rate under control.

Once she could breathe again, her eyes darted around the living room, trying to figure out what caused the pain. Seeing nothing, but feeling a familiar aura, she whispered, “Neal?” The same sensation tore through her again, leaving little doubt it was his ghost causing it.

Pain gave way to anger. “You possessive asshole! Go to hell! I mean, literally, GO. TO. HELL! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Cold speared through her once more, driving her to her knees. She lay down and curled into a fetal position, whimpering, “Leave me alone. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

It took her several minutes to get herself under control enough to stand and make her way out the door on legs so wobbly they barely supported her. Reaching Killian’s door, she weakly pounded her fists against it. When he opened it, she stumbled in, collapsing into his arms.

“Emma? What happened?”

“N-Neal,” she choked out. “He…he attacked m-me.”

“What? How?”

“I…he…” Feeling her knees beginning to buckle, she grasped at his shoulders to remain upright.

Killian scooped her up and carried her to his couch, but instead of laying her down, he sat, cradling her against himself. He didn’t ask any more questions, simply held her until her trembling subsided, murmuring comforting words into her hair.

Finally, she took a calming breath. “When I went into my apartment, this icy, sharp…pain went through me. It took my breath away. There was nothing there, but I had that…that feeling of being watched. When I asked if it was Neal, I felt the pain again. I knew he was there, so I started yelling at him, telling him to leave me alone and to go to hell. It must have pissed him off, because the third time the cold cut through me, it was worse than ever.”

She felt Killian’s arms tighten around her and when he spoke, his voice was low and menacing. “Is he still there?”

“I…I don’t know. I got out of there as soon as I could.”

“Before I go over there to find out, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to relax in his arms. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”

“Take all the time you need, Love. I have all the time in the world.”

She hated feeling so weak, and hated Neal even more for making her feel that way. She desperately needed Killian’s plan to work, because she truly felt like she couldn’t take much more of this.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and looked Killian in the eye. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded vigorously. “Please just find out if that dickhead left my apartment.”

“As you wish,” he said, loosening his arms from around her so she could stand. “Let me go grab my EMF meter and thermometer.” He dashed back the hall to his office and returned momentarily with the necessary equipment in his hands. “Do you want to come with me?”

She considered for only a second. “Yeah. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of terrifying me to the point that I stay here cowering.”

Killian tilted his head and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “That’s my brave lass.” He stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning to lead the way out of his apartment.

She was getting ready to open her door, when he said, “Hang on a minute.” Setting the EMF meter on the floor, he switched it on, then hit the power button on the infrared thermometer as well. They both studied the readouts, determining there was no paranormal activity in the hallway.

“Ready?” he asked, collecting the instruments and standing up.

She nodded and turned the doorknob, but before she could enter, he stepped in front of her. “Let me go first, Swan. He might be ready to ambush you again.”

“Okay,” she gratefully conceded. She didn’t wish that pain on Killian, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to withstand it again.

He cautiously walked through the door, holding the thermometer out in front of him. The hum of the EMF meter was unchanging as he walked around the living room, through the kitchen, and down the hall. Emma stayed close behind him while he checked the bathroom and both bedrooms.

Finally, he let out a heavy breath, declaring, “He appears to be gone, Love. Nothing is registering out of the ordinary.” He switched off both devices and set them down on her bed. “But I can stay here with you if you want.”

Her automatic response would have been to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but she was severely spooked by what happened and didn’t want to be alone if Neal’s spirit returned. “I still need to take a shower, but if you really don’t mind, would you stay until I’m done?”

“Of course. I’ll be out in the living room, if you need me.”

Before he could collect his devices and leave her bedroom, she wrapped her arms around him. Immediately he enveloped her in his warmth and strength, which was exactly what she needed to calm her fearful thoughts. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing evenly, Killian’s masculine scent making her feel safe again.

Given a choice, she would have stayed in his arms for hours. Since that wasn’t possible, she loosened her embrace, running her hands up his solid chest. “Thank you, Killian.” Sighing, she added, “I seem to be saying that a lot these days.”

He smiled at her reassuringly. “I told you I’d be here for you anytime you need me. I’m glad you’ve taken me up on that offer and that I’ve been able to help.”

Pushing up to her tiptoes, she kissed him, then tried to give him a smile. “Make yourself at home while I shower. The TV remote should be on the couch. I don’t have much to offer by way of snacks and drinks, except water. Thus, the reason why I need to go to the grocery store.”

“I’ll be fine, Love. Don’t worry about me.” After kissing her once more, he left the bedroom.

Emma showered, letting the hot water run over her body for longer than usual. When she emerged to a steam-filled room, she dried her hair and body with her largest, fluffy towel, then wrapped it around herself, tucking it in at the top to hold it in place. Unable to see her reflection in the fogged mirror, she used a hand towel to wipe it off…and screamed.

Neal’s apparition was behind her.

For the second time in her life, Emma fainted.

*********

Killian was skimming through a novel he found on Emma’s coffee table when he heard her scream. Jumping to his feet, he tossed the book onto the sofa and ran toward the bathroom.

“Emma!” he shouted, knocking insistently on the door. “Are you okay? Can you let me in?”

When he received no answer, he tried the knob and, finding it unlocked, threw open the door. Emma was lying on the floor unconscious. He knelt down beside her, frantically calling her name.

He was reaching the point of pulling out his phone to call 9-1-1, when she groaned softly, struggling to open her eyes.

“Emma, Love, what happened?” Killian asked urgently.

Her hazy gaze finally fixed on him. “Neal,” she said simply, then started to sob.

“I’ve got you, Love,” he crooned. He moved to sit beside her, then gently lifted her head to cradle it in his lap. He stroked her cheeks until her sobs began to subside, as she gulped in mouthfuls of air.

He swept his eyes down her body to see if she had any injuries, noticing for the first time that she was covered with only a blue striped towel that barely reached the top of her thighs. At the moment, her modesty was the least of his concerns.

Peering down into her face, he felt tears prick his own eyes at seeing the despair on her beautiful features. She was calmer now, but clearly still very upset.

“Are you able to tell me what happened?” he asked again.

She raised a shaky hand to her forehead. With the blow she must have taken when she hit the floor, he was concerned she might have a concussion. He gently caressed her temples, smoothing her damp, tangled hair away from her face.

“I got out of the shower,” she said hoarsely. After clearing her throat, she tried again. “The mirror was all steamed up, so I…I wiped it with a towel. When I looked in it, N-N…” her voice caught and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

Killian caught it with his thumb, his heart going out to her. He knew why she was having so much trouble saying the name, and it made his blood boil. How could a man claim to love a woman, then put her through something like this? The answer, of course, was that Neal obviously didn’t love Emma and probably never did. He just wanted her as a possession and even death wasn’t going to stop him.

But Killian would.

Right then and there, he renewed his vow to make Neal Cassidy move on to his eternal punishment. He couldn’t bear to see Emma tormented any longer.

“You saw Neal again?”

She nodded. “He was behind me, staring right at me in the mirror.”

“That’s why you screamed,” Killian stated matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Did he do or say anything?”

“No, he just scared me and that’s why I fainted. God, what is wrong with me? I’ve never passed out in my entire life, and now I’ve done it twice.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Sweetheart. You have been exceptionally brave through this entire ordeal. What he’s been doing to you is enough to drive even the most valiant person to their knees.”

She muttered, “Or, in my case, flat on my back.” Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she requested, “Help me up, please.”

“Take it slow, Swan. If you hit your head on the floor when you fainted, it’s possible you could have a concussion.”

“I doubt it. I landed on this rug,” she said, gesturing to the plush blue rug on the floor. “Plus, I’ve had a couple of concussions, so I know how it feels to have one.”

“You’ve had more than one concussion?”

“When I was a bail bondsperson, I was always getting hurt…”

“You worked in bail bonds?” he questioned.

“Yeah, for about three years,” she explained.“I used to set honey traps quite often in the hotel bar where I work now. It got to the point where I knew how to make most of the mixed drinks just by watching the bartenders. After I nearly broke my ankle chasing down a skip one night, the manager of the bar offered me a job - said he was having trouble finding good help. It was an easy choice. With this job, I have regular hours, always know when I’m going to get my next paycheck, and don’t have frequent visits to the emergency room.”

He stood, extending his hand to gingerly pull her to her feet.

She looked down at herself. “I didn’t have time to get dressed. Stupid Neal, coming into the bathroom while I’m taking a shower. Even as a ghost, he’s a pervert.” Stepping in front of the sink, she started to raise her eyes to the mirror, but squeezed them closed instead. “Can you tell if he’s gone?”

“I don’t feel any cold spots. I can check with my equipment if it will set your mind at ease, but then, to set my mind at ease, I think we should go get you checked out.”

“Killian, I’m…”

“Please, Emma? If you do have a concussion, we’ll have to follow the protocol. If you don’t, at least we’ll have peace of mind.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Good,” he said with a soft, reassuring smile. “Will you be okay if I go back out to the living room to turn on my devices?”

“Yeah, I should be, but just hang on a minute until I get up enough nerve to look in the mirror. If he’s there, at least you’ll be here to catch me this time.”

He moved to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Ready when you are.”

Slowly, she let her eyes drift up until they locked on her reflection. “Wow.”

“Do you see him?” he asked, his grip on her tightening.

“No, but I do see a very handsome and charming man.”

He grinned at her, then sobered before asking, “How do you feel? Do you have a headache?”

“I have the beginning of one, so I agree that I should get checked out.”

He ran his hand over the back of her head, probing with his fingers. “It feels like you might have a bump. You ought to put some ice on it.”

“Yeah, probably.” Plucking at the towel wrapped around her body, she added, “But first, I need to get dressed.”

“I can’t say I dislike what you’re wearing,” Killian smirked.

“It’s a wonder the towel didn’t come off when I fell. Then you would have gotten a free show.”

He wiggled his eyebrows flirtateously. “Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Easy, Tiger. One step at a time,” she teased. “I think I’ll be alright getting dressed in my bedroom. If Neal decides to make an appearance there, hopefully I’ll pass out on the bed.”

“I honestly don’t think he will. He used a lot of energy this morning, and if his spirit works the way Liam’s does, he probably won’t return for quite a while.” He was glad to see her shoulders drop in relief. “While you dress, I’ll get you some ice from the kitchen freezer, then use the devices to check your apartment again, just to make sure.”

With a grateful nod, she grabbed her clothes and left the bathroom. He went into the kitchen, pulled ice trays out of the freezer and wrapped several ice cubes in a small kitchen towel. Then he went to the living room to switch on the equipment, and just as he suspected, there was so indication Neal’s apparition was still there.

When Emma came out of her bedroom, dressed in jeans and a band T-shirt, carefully pulling a brush through her snarled hair, Killian told her he didn’t find anything.

“It didn’t feel like he was still here,” she responded, sitting down beside him. “Of course, I couldn’t sense him in the bathroom either, so going by my feelings isn’t very reliable.”

“I think he just showed up for a second to give you a good scare,” he said, handing her the towel containing the ice.

“Well, he succeeded,” she said, holding the ice against the bump he had found behind her left ear. “If his goal is to kill me, all he has to do is play that little trick a few more times. My heart won’t be able to take it…and neither will my head.”

“We’ll get him to move on before he can do that, Emma. I swear to you we will.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile. Then, letting out a sigh, she said, “I need to eat something before I get checked out. After that, I still have to shop for groceries.”

“Why don’t you come over to my place and I’ll make lunch for us, then I’ll drive you to the hospital. After that, you should probably come home and rest, given what you’ve been through this morning. You can always put in a grocery order to be delivered, instead of going to the store.”

  “I’ve never had groceries delivered. I always thought it was for shut-ins and hermits.”

Killian laughed. “Believe it or not, ordinary, everyday people are allowed to use that service, too. I’ve had them delivered several times when I have nothing in my fridge and I’m too exhausted to go shopping after traveling for a ghost hunting trip.”

“Alright, but you’ll have to show me how to do it.”

“That’s not a problem. Just bring your grocery list and I’ll help you after we get back.”

Once they ate, Killian drove her to the hospital emergency room, where the doctor gave her a test that screened for concussions, ordered a CAT scan and examined her carefully. Nothing indicated that she had a concussion, but he advised them to watch for symptoms that might appear in the following hours and days. After giving them a list of things to watch for, he told her to go to the hospital if any symptoms appeared, advised her to take Tylenol as needed for pain, and sent them on their way.

When they got back to Killian’s apartment, he helped Emma order her groceries and put them away once they arrived. They took a nap together on her couch, and after she convinced him she was fine, he saw her off to work.

Then he went back to his apartment to call Will and Belle, realizing he had yet to tell them about being pulled into Emma’s nightmare and the plan the two of them devised for that evening.

*********

“I’ve never heard of a person being able to enter someone else’s dream,” Belle commented, after hearing Killian’s narrative. “I’ll have to do some research to see if there are any records of that ever happening.”

“D’ya really think you’ll be able to do it again, Kil?” Will asked.

“I don’t know, but I truly hope it works. Neal is ramping up his attempts to affect her physical and mental health.” He went on to relate the events of the morning.

“Oh my goodness!” Belle exclaimed. “Is Emma okay?”

“I took her to the ER and the doctor said to monitor her for the next few days to make sure she doesn’t show any symptoms of a concussion. She had a bit of a headache, but after taking pain meds and resting, she was able to go to work this afternoon.”

“She’s one tough lass,” Will said.

“Yes, she is,” Belle agreed. “You have to admire someone who is being bombarded like that, but keeps going.”

“Do you want me to be there tonight and try to catch it on video?” Will asked.

“I told Emma you wouldn’t be there and we wouldn’t be recording.” Killian hesitated a moment before speaking again. “I want to make something very clear to both of you. I don’t want anything about me being able to get into her dreams to be included in the episode.”

“I have a feeling there’s a specific reason behind that request,” Belle said.

“I don’t want viewers to know about it because they might think I would be able to do that for other people,” Killian explained. “I think the only reason I was able to do it for Emma is that I have a…connection to her.”

“Are ya sayin’ ya had a literal connection to her, boss?” Will asked cheekily.

“Will!” Belle admonished.

“Sorry, Love,” Will apologized, “but that was just too good an opportunity to pass up!”

When Killian didn’t say anything right away, Belle tactfully asked, “What exactly do you mean by having a connection to her, Killian?”

He was quiet a moment longer, mulling over how to explain what happened between him and Emma last night. “I haven’t told you everything, yet,” he finally began. “When I got back to my apartment after Emma’s nightmare, I couldn’t sleep. She texted me and asked to come over. We talked and…”

“And ya finally admitted yer madly in love with her?” Will interjected.

“Not quite, but I did tell her I want to date her.”

“Oh, good!” Belle exclaimed. “How did she react?”

“She, uh, she said she would like to date me, too, but we both decided we need to get this whole thing with Neal over with first.”

“Then let’s hope tonight will be the end of it,” Belle said.

“Aye, that’s what we’re hoping. After seeing what he did to her today, I’m very much afraid he’s going to keep trying to inflict bodily harm on her. Even though you won’t be here tonight, Will, would you mind keeping your phone nearby, just in case I need you for any reason? ”

“You got it, Kil. You know I’m only ten minutes away, so if there’s anything you and Emma need, I’ll be there for both of ya.”

“Thanks, Will. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Belle asked.

“Pray that our plan works.”

*********

The closer the time came for Emma to get home from work, the more anxious Killian became. He was so antsy, he couldn’t sit still and found himself pacing around his apartment, continually checking his phone. When that didn’t make time pass more quickly, he busied himself trimming his beard, putting on sleepwear and brushing his teeth.

When Emma’s text telling him she was home finally came through, he grabbed the flux and was out of his apartment in a flash. He barely knocked once on her door, when it swung open. “Hey,” she breathed out, as though she had been holding her breath until he got there. Her hair was down and she was in her pajamas, too.

“Evening, Love,” he said, stepping inside and kissing her on the cheek. “How do you feel? How was work?”

“I feel fine. Work was pretty dead when I first got there, but it picked up this evening. I like it when it’s busy. Time seems to drag when it’s not. What have you been doing since I last saw you…” she glanced at the clock on her phone, “seven hours ago?”

He followed her to the sofa, sat down beside her and took her hand. “I called Belle and Will to tell them everything that happened last night and this morning. Then I caught up on answering questions people asked on my YouTube channel. Tried to watch the telly, but I couldn’t concentrate.”

“Thinking about what happened today?”

“Aye, and what might happen tonight.” After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Did you have any problems with a headache at work?”

“I took some medicine when I felt another one coming on, but that was six hours ago and it hasn’t come back.”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, lost in thought as they tangled and untangled their fingers.

“I think I’m gonna make some hot chocolate,” Emma finally said, standing to her feet. “Do you want some?”

“No, thanks, Love. I find it difficult to sleep if I eat or drink anything besides water before going to bed. I’ll help you make it, though.” He stood and followed her into the kitchen.

She got out the milk and a pan, while Killian followed her instructions to find the cocoa and sugar. “I know my cupboard is a mess. Don’t judge me,” she said, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “That’s why I only let you put stuff in the fridge when we put away the groceries today.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said, then barely caught a box of Pop-Tarts as they fell off the shelf. They both burst out laughing, which seemed to break the tension.

Once her cocoa was made, he grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and they went back into the living room. As she blew on her hot beverage and sipped it cautiously, he picked up the novel he’d seen earlier. “Are you reading this?”

She swallowed the mouthful she had just taken. “I’ve been trying, but with all this shit going on with Neal, I haven’t gotten very far.”

“Would you like me to read it aloud? It might be relaxing for both of us.”

“That would be really nice.”

“You have a bookmark in here. Do you want me to start from there?”

“Honestly, I can’t even remember what’s happened so far, so you can start at the beginning.”

He nodded and flipped through the pages, clearing his throat before beginning to read. By the time he got to the third chapter, Emma had drained her mug of cocoa and was leaning against his side, battling to stay awake.

Killian turned the page and yawned widely before beginning to read again. Emma sat up and put her hand over the page. “You can stop now, Killian. You sound tired and I can’t keep my eyes open. I think it’s time to go to bed.”

“Aye, Love. I think you’re right. I’ll take care of the dishes while you brush your teeth.” Putting the book down on the table, he picked up her mug and carried it into the kitchen.

When he was finished, he went to Emma’s bedroom, tapping on the open door to announce himself. She was sitting on the edge of the mattress, her arms wrapped around a pillow in her lap. She looked up at him, giving him a weak smile.

He sat down beside her, putting his arm around her. “I know we both want this to be over tonight, but please try not to set your hopes too high. It may take several tries, or it might not happen at all.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, “but after everything that happened this morning, I made up my mind that I’m done being scared. Now, I’m just pissed off, and I’m not gonna let him continue trying to control my life. If you’re able to break me out of that trance in my dream, I’m going to unleash on him.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and kissed her temple. “I will be very happy to see that happen, Swan.”

“It would be so nice to wake up in the morning knowing that I’ll never have to deal with that imbecile again.”

They got themselves settled under the covers, lying side by side and staring up at the ceiling, thoughts swirling.

“You never mentioned working in bail bonds before,” Killian said quietly. “What made you decide to do that?”

“I didn’t have many prospects after I graduated from high school. I had just aged out of the foster system and didn’t have any money to go to college or a trade school. I worked at Dunkin’ Donuts and this customer always came in during my shift. One day, she started asking me what I planned to do with my life, that I didn’t seem like the type to be satisfied with menial labor. When I explained my situation, she offered me a job at her bail bonds office. We realized pretty quickly that I had a knack for tracking people down, so she started taking me on stakeouts and showed me all the ropes. After working for her a year, I was going after skips on my own. Cleo was very proud of me.”

“I’m sure she was. Do you keep in touch with her?”

It took several moments for her to answer, and when she did, her voice was emotional. “She, uh…she died. A person she was chasing got aggressive and pushed her through a plate glass window. A shard punctured a main artery and she bled out before help could get there.”

His hand found hers. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Thanks. Her assistant and I kept the office going for a while longer, but when I was offered the position at the hotel, we closed it. Johanna was close to retirement age anyway.”

“Do you think you’ll keep bartending for a long time?”

“I don’t know. It pays the bills and the tips are great, but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

He turned his head to look at her. “If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

She licked her bottom lip, then pulled it between her teeth in contemplation. “I’d like to be a counselor, I think.”

“What kind of counselor?”

“For older foster kids who are getting ready to age out of the system. When I aged out, it was terrifying. I already had a job, so they just helped me find a place to live, and that was it. I was on my own.”

“You didn’t have any counseling at all?”

“Not at that time, but I have a friend who is a social worker and she said lately they’ve been hiring people to help phase foster kids into society when they age out.”

“I think you would be great at a job like that, Emma.”

She rolled her head and met his eyes. “Yeah, well, I would have to take college courses to do it and those aren’t in my budget right now, so who knows if it will ever happen?”

“There are grants and other types of financial aid available, and you could take courses part time while you continue to work. Perhaps you should look into it. It’s a noble dream and I’m sure with your drive and determination, you will make it happen.”

“Thank you, Killian. Maybe I will check into it,” she said, the last word cut short by a yawn.

“I think that’s our signal to go to sleep.”

“You, um, you have to be touching me to get into my dream, right?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the way it works. Do you…how do you…”

“When we’ve slept on the couch, it’s been nice having you spoon me,” she said, almost shyly.

“I’m fine with that, if you are.”

In response, she turned onto her left side and reached behind her to grasp his arm, pulling it around her waist. “Even if Neal’s stupid ghost doesn’t show up tonight, at least I’ll be able to sleep, knowing you’re here with me.”

“As long as you need me, I’ll always be by your side, Emma.”

“Mmm, good to know,” she murmured, burrowing backwards to get closer to him. “Goodnight, Killian.”

“Night, Love.”

*********

“No!”

Killian was jolted awake when he heard Emma’s cry. They were in nearly the same position in which they had fallen asleep. He tightened his grip around her waist, feeling his nerves beginning to amp up. Her body was making little jerking movements and she was breathing in short gasps, so he knew she was beginning to dream.

He only had to wait a few minutes until he felt the same slight shock he had the night before. Then he was in the same dream world and Emma was in front of him, facing the other direction. He heard the chanting from Neal and was sure these were the whispers Emma said she kept hearing in her nightmares.

Without hesitation, Killian rushed around to face her and could see she was already in a trance. He took her by the shoulders and began to shake her. “Emma! Wake up!”, he shouted, but his actions had no effect on her whatsoever.

He looked behind himself to see Neal moving rapidly in their direction, screaming, “She’s MINE! She will never be yours! I came so close to killing her! Next time, I will succeed!”

The way Neal was swooping in, Killian knew he was coming for him and, even though it was a dream, he didn’t want to take the chance of being torn away from Emma. His mind raced desperately, trying to figure out a way to break through to her. Then Liam’s words came to him.

  Perhaps you could try a true love’s kiss.

Turning back to Emma, he pulled her closer and leaned in to kiss her. The moment their lips touched, a burst of what he could only call magic passed over them. Emma’s eyes popped open as she gasped, “Killian!” Then she looked over his shoulder and a gamut of emotions played over her face - surprise, fear and finally, anger.

Killian turned to see Neal’s spirit with a look of unadulterated fury on his face. Killian was between Emma and Neal, but she stepped around him and got in Neal’s face, her arms waving wildly to emphasize her words.

“You fucking bastard! I am not yours! I do not want to die and spend eternity with you! That would be literal hell for me! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Neal began rapidly circling them, apparently attempting to create a vortex to pull her toward him. She thrust her fist into the air, her hair whipping around her face, which wore a look of furious determination. “GO. TO. HELL!” she screamed.

Suddenly, they heard a deafening roar that was so loud, Killian clamped both hands over his ears. Squinting in the direction of the sound, he saw a chasm starting to open, its yawning opening belching out black, sulphurous smoke.

From the midst of the smoke, a gigantic beast with huge, curved horns and fire shooting out of its eye sockets emerged. Its mouth was wide open as it emitted another eardrum piercing roar. Other screeching figures, with flaming tongues, swirled around the beast’s massive legs.

Killian stood rooted to the spot, but he felt no fear. He knew these monsters weren’t a threat to himself or Emma. They were here for one reason - to drag Neal to his eternal punishment.

Neal must have realized it, too, because he stopped spinning around them and tried to flee in the opposite direction from the chasm. It was no use, though. The screeching figures descended on him, swiping at him with their razor sharp claws, as the beast stomped closer.

Emma and Killian wrapped their arms around each other, watching the scene in fascinated horror. He heard her attempting to say something to him. “What?” he shouted.

She moved closer and yelled into his ear, “Is that a Hell beast?”

He nodded furiously. “I think so.”

Neal’s screams were so loud, they could hear them over the continuous roaring. “EMMA! HELP ME! DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME! EMMA, NO!”

The beast grabbed his shoulders with its sharp talons. Neal clawed frantically at the air, his face a mask of complete terror. The screeching figures began wrapping around his legs, squeezing tightly and viciously biting at them.

Neal twisted around until he was facing the monster, and obviously immediately regretted that action. The beast’s mouth opened even wider, and for a split second, Killian thought it was going to bite Neal’s head off. Instead, it spat noxious fumes into his face, causing him to retch violently.

His body continued convulsing as the hell beast threw him down and turned to head back toward the chasm. The other beings unwrapped themselves to follow their master. Emma turned to look at Killian, a look of disbelief on her face. “Aren’t they taking him?” she asked.

He was opening his mouth to answer, when suddenly Neal’s piercing scream once again rang out. Emma and Killian turned to see fiery, barbed whips flying out of the black hole, wrapping around Neal’s body and extremities. He was dragged backwards, his hands scrabbling futilely at the ground, his face disfigured with panic and pain.

“EMS! EMMA, PLEASE! NOOOOO! HELP ME, EM…”

Emma buried her face in Killian’s chest as Neal’s words were cut off, having been pulled into the gaping, hellish abyss. The roaring sound intensified as if the demons themselves were screeching out their glee over claiming another soul. Then, with a whoosh, the chasm slammed shut and there was silence.

Emma sat up in bed with a gasp, Killian right beside her. She turned to him with eyes the size of saucers. “Oh my gosh! Was that real?! Were you there? Did you see…”

“Aye, Love,” Killian said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. His heart was racing so fast, he could barely get the words out.

“Do…do you think it’s over? Is he gone for good?”

“I would bet money that he met his eternal demise and will no longer be haunting you.”

“Even though it happened in a dream?”

Killian mulled it over. “I think…” he began, considering how to explain it. “Your nightmares were Neal’s way of manipulating you. I don’t think you were dreaming the conventional way. My theory is that he was creating the nightmares and pulling you into them. That’s how he could put you in a trance and make you feel like you were tied and gagged.”

She was looking at him quizzically, clearly trying to comprehend what he was saying.

He took her hands and continued. “Since it wasn’t a conventional dream, but one of his making, I’m pretty sure that what took place actually did happen. I’ll continue to monitor your apartment for a few days, but I honestly think he’ll never bother you again.”

Emma stared at him for several long beats, then collapsed against him, her body shaking with sobs. He held her, stroking her hair and whispering reassurances, wondering if her outpouring of emotion was out of relief or a reaction to the horrors she just witnessed.

Finally, her weeping ceased, her body slowly relaxing against him. He thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, when he heard her whisper something. Bending his head to hear her better, he asked, “What did you say, Love?”

“How did you do it? How did you get to me and break me out of the trance?”

His hand automatically reached up to scratch nervously behind his ear. “I was able to get into your dream immediately and I saw you standing there, just like last time. Neal was coming and I knew he was going to try to separate us.”

He paused, and when he didn’t continue, she leaned back to look up into his face. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get you to wake up. Then I…I thought of something Liam suggested.”

“What was it?”

“I told him about being in your dream, seeing you catatonic and not being able to break you out of it. He said, uh…he said I should try…true love’s kiss.”

He studied her reaction. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “You…you kissed me?”

More nervous scratching. “Aye.”

“And it worked?”

He dipped his head in a nod. “Aye.”

“You woke me up with a true love’s kiss? But that…that means you…” Her words trailed off and she stared at him, her breathing quick and shallow.

“That means…I love you,” he said quietly.

“But doesn’t it…” she began, then changed directions. “In fairy tales, for a true love’s kiss to work, both people have to love the other person, don’t they?”

He looked up through his lashes at her. “Aye,” he stated simply.

Her head bent forward, but he could still see her eyes darting around, as if to seek an answer amongst the bed sheets. “I…I’ve never had any luck with love. Every time I was close to falling for a guy, something happened. Neal was the only one I ever…”

It was as if she was talking to herself, reciting a monologue to try to make sense of her feelings. Killian remained quiet, allowing her to work through it without interruption.

She stopped talking and her body became completely still. Minutes stretched on, and he was beginning to wonder if he had declared too much, too soon.

Suddenly, her head whipped up and she looked at him, dumbfounded. “With you, it’s different. I feel different. I trust you. I feel safe and protected when I’m with you. I can talk to you about anything and you listen. I look forward to seeing you every day, and these last few weeks, all I want is to be with you. I know you’ll take care of me and I want to take care of you. Is that…is that what love is?”

He reached up, tenderly running his fingers along her cheek. “Aye, Love. I think that’s exactly what it is.”

“That’s why it worked, then. Because I love you, Killian.”

A slow smile spread across his face before he dipped his head and captured her lips, sealing their declarations with another true love’s kiss.

*********

Thank you all for your response to this story! I hope it's been the perfect mix of scary and sweet.

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[vids-rdr2-artblog]

Saving Mary-Beth

I wanted to write a little fic where Kieran shows off that he’s not really a coward and saves Mary-Beth after she’s been kidnapped. I might write a second part that’s just pure fluff. 

Pairing: Kieran and Mary-Beth

Trigger Warnings: Violence against women, Murder, Abuse, Time period sexism. 

(Please do not read if you are sensitive on these topics!)

7,203 words

Thank you @glenechoslasher for beta reading for me <3

Read it on AO3

***

Mary-Beth ventured into Rhodes with Mr. Pearson, having volunteered for the task for many different reasons—she loved to check and see if there were new books or authors listed in the newspaper and to simply get away from Miss Grimshaw. There was this relief that prickled the back of her neck when she knew that the woman wasn’t right there, breathing down her neck in the back of the wagon, and there was a sense of freedom seeing the open roads rather than their crowded camp. 

Pearson talked the entire way, so Mary-Beth didn’t bring a book, as much as she’d rather drown herself in words rather than his nonsense. This man probably had his lungs stored in his stomach or had a second pair because Mary swore she never saw him take a breath between his sentences. But she listened to him anyway, glad the trip between Rhodes and Clemens Points wasn’t long. 

“I’m glad you like to listen to me, Miss Mary!” Pearson said, sounding genuinely excited, which did make her feel good in some way, “Sometimes the others don’t like to listen to my stories, but you’re a good girl, Mary-Beth. When people say someone doesn’t have a mean bone in their body, you’re who I think of. I should take you on trips more often!” He laughed.

Mary-Beth became flustered and nodded, not wanting to say anything to bring down the mood of the jovial man, “Of course, Pearson. I think I read something in a book once about a brave navy man who sorta reminds me of you.”

Pearson perked up. “Oh? What book?”

Mary-Beth thought of a quick lie, a finger to her chin, “I don’t remember because it was so long ago, but if I find or remember it, I’ll tell you immediately!”

“Thanks, Mary. I’m not sure if I’d read it or not, but it’s great to see when great men are recognized.”

Pearson’s smile grew as he flicked the reins of the horse a bit more vigorously, and eventually, they reached Rhodes. It was sometime around 1pm, not too early and not too late into the afternoon. Thanks to Arthur being deputized here in Rhodes, she didn’t fear the lawmen as much as she did in Valentine and didn’t worry that they would be watching her every move. The folks here were a lot calmer and some of the women actually waved to her as she passed by. Welcoming, really. But man did she hope that the people of Rhodes didn’t think that she and Pearson were man and wife. A feller could get the wrong idea seeing them arriving on the cart together. She supposed however that if they had to hide their identities that way, then she would have to go through it even if she didn’t like it. Though her inner reader was curious and she had wondered how a romance between a couple with the likeness of them would interact. The girl did have a wild imagination, after all. 

Pearson parked the wagon next to the general store and the two climbed down, meeting at the back of the wagon. It seemed that they came at the right time because the train had just reached the station, its whistle blowing in the air. The man put his hands on his back and stretched his body, Mary hearing a few pops as she did so. He whistled at the store, “I’d love to have one of these puppies sometime. I think it would be exciting to run a shop like this!” he said excitedly before turning toward their empty wagon. He took out pieces of parchment from his pocket and handed one to her but kept the other for himself. “Alright then, I’ll have you get the stuff that we need from the general store and then I’ll go over to the butcher for some real meat. Arthur’s been good at gettin’ money for us, but he ruins a lot of the meat he brings to us, skinnin’ them himself…Plus I want something other than venison once in a while…” He grumbled mostly to himself then resumed, “You got all that?”

Mary-Beth nodded excitedly and held the note to her chest, “I got it, Pearson. When I’m done, I’m going to go find the newspaper boy, OK? I want to see if there’s been any new releases or authors.”

“Sure, sure.” Pearson nodded then took money from his pocket, “Here’s the money from the box. Buy ONLY what’s on the list or else Dutch will have our heads. You shouldn’t have to pay the men to put everything in the wagon, so let me know if they try to trick you.” He pointed a finger. “I’ll meet you back in an hour, Mary-Beth. An hour.”

“An hour, yes. Will do, Pearson.” Mary-Beth smiled and glanced over the list. Most of what he had put was canned vegetables and fruits, bread, and luxuries such as tea, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco. She was surprised to not see ammo on the list but some of the other gang members probably took care of that separately from a simple grocery trip. 

Taking the list to the man behind the counter, “Hello, I have a pretty big order to put in, can I get some men to help load some crates and put them on my wagon?” “Sure can.” The clerk pushed the catalog to her and she pointed out everything she needed and read off the number that was on the list. Reading it to him also gave her the comfort that she wouldn’t be scammed because she was a woman. Most men assumed that women couldn’t read, so she made sure to show that she could. “When do you think you could take it out to the wagon?”

The man answered as he rang her up on the cash register, “Oh, you’ll be able to load it immediately. We’re actually well-staffed, and my young men will be able to help ya. Maybe about fifteen minutes.” He smiled and told her the amount she needed to pay. 

Mary counted the bills and handed them to the man. She double checked the change before pocketing it. There would always be a side of her that believed anyone was capable of scamming her only because she was the type of person to do the scamming herself. She leaned against the counter with her hands, “It’s the wagon parked out next to the store. My companion is over at the butcher’s and he might come back in time to help out too. Do you need me to wait here, or could I go on another quick errand?”

“My boys will start putting your order together now and start loading on yer wagon. They’re fine boys too, I ain’t never had to swat them once. So you can stay and watch or come back when we’re done.”

Mary-Beth smiled and nodded, pushing off the counter, “Thanks sir, I won’t be too long. I just want to grab a newspaper. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Oh, the boy likes to move around town, but I think I spotted him toward the saloon, if you know where that is.”

“Uh huh, I do sir. Thank you!” Mary-Beth pocketed everything and left the general store. After taking a quick glance over to the butcher’s and seeing that Pearson was still busy haggling with the butcher, Mary-Beth headed toward the saloon with a chipper smile on her face, comfortable walking around the town by herself since it didn’t feel dangerous at all. 

As she headed up the road and toward the saloon, she kept her ears open for a newspaper boy, announcing the next paper but heard nothing. Maybe he sold out that day…Damn…Maybe the saloon had a copy that she could borrow for a couple of minutes.

Mary-Beth placed her hand on the door to the building but it didn’t budge. Damnit. Locked. Were they closed or was she just at the wrong entrance?

Making her way along the side of the saloon, she kept her eyes on the windows, trying to spot anyone inside. There wasn’t, and from the little that she saw of the bar, she noticed that even the bartender was out. It was strange to see the saloon closed at such a weird hour of the day, but maybe all towns acted differently than each other, and maybe not everyone here was a stupid drunk. 

Mary-Beth came around the back end of the saloon and just as she did, she heard voices. She instantly hid along the edge of the house. Two Irish-speaking men had a man wearing an apron held against the wall, a gun at his abdomen. Down at their feet was the body of a younger man. Dead. Mary-Beth looked behind her and realized that she had been so busy looking into the windows that she hadn’t noticed the blood trail right under her shoes. She had walked into a murder scene in the making. 

Mary-Beth’s instincts told her to flee. Just seconds after she saw the scene, she turned to leave, her jaw clenched shut. But someone was there now. She met the stale breath and before her stood a man. Then, there was a blinding pain above her left eye, right on her temple, his arm casting a shadow over her. Blood poured out from the gash on her head immediately. She hadn’t been knocked out immediately, but she fell back enough that the men behind the saloon noticed and dropped the man in the apron. She tried to crawl away but there was pressure in her lower back as her attacker pressed his heel and spur there. “What do we have here?” The one who had held a gun to the man in the apron approached, using the butt of his gun to lift Mary-Beth’s chin, causing a searing pain slice through her forehead. He swatted her hand away when she instinctively went to touch it. She could barely think of words to say.

“A witness. I saw her peeking around the corner at the two of you.”

“Tsk. Tsk. I hate to kill such a pretty thing, but I did tell the dead feller over there that there would be no witnesses. I’d be a bad man if I didn’t keep my promises.”

Mary-Beth flinched when his thumb pulled back the hammer of his cattleman, cocking it. 

The third man pulled his shoulder back enough that he stopped the man from shooting Mary-Beth. It took the woman a few seconds to realize that her brains hadn’t been splattered along the ground and that she was alive. 

“Wait a second there, I think I recognized her. I think I saw this woman in that livestock town with that shitty Arthur Morgan once. She might be a part of the Van Der Linde gang.”

Mary-Beth’s blood ran cold. Were these Irishmen O’Driscolls? She was in trouble…

The man with a gun whistled and looked down at Mary-Beth with hungry eyes. “Well, will ya lookie here. A simple armed robbery is turning into a gang heist. I won’t even ask you if you’re a part of the gang. If you are, then they’ll come save you. If you aren’t or if they’re dumb enough to save such an insignificant whore like yourself, then we’ll just kill ya. We won’t be wasting any of our supplies because we won’t feed ya. How does that sound, bitch?” He didn’t wait for an answer, not that she would have answered him in the first place, “Tie her up.”

“No—!” But before Mary-Beth could scream, her attacker kneeled right on her back where her lungs were, knocking the air from them. He shoved a nasty-tasting cloth in her mouth before tying her up with a lasso, pulling her arms behind her back. 

The O’Driscoll, with the gun, holstered it before he kneeled in front of her, sticking his finger into her blood, making the pain in her head significantly worse. She didn’t know what he was using her blood for but he kept pressing his thumb in the same spot before he finished whatever he was doing. “Take her to the horses, use the train to not be seen. And you…” He turned to the man with the apron, pointing his gun at him now, “Not another word of what happened here, yeah? We know where you work and where you live, so even if you blab about what happened here after we’ve left, we’ll come back and kill your family then force feed you their guts. Got that?” 

The man in the apron nodded, quickly disappearing inside, glad that his life had been spared, even if it cost this woman he didn’t know.

The last thing Mary-Beth remembered was being carried by the two men, one at her legs and one at her shoulders. With the throbbing headache she had, she was hardly able to squirm, and unable to scream. They carried her across the train and to their horses hidden on the other side. 

Who would save Mary-Beth?

Pearson returned the wagon and didn’t find Mary-Beth there. It wasn’t strange, considering she said he was going to track down the paperboy. Plus, it hadn’t been an hour exactly. So, he placed the carefully packaged meats and placed them on a crate that had already been loaded by the shop. He saw the boys bringing out a few more crates. 

One greeted him with a smile, “There’s just four more inside, sir.”

“Bring 'em’ out here and leave them on the stairs. I can get the rest of it from here.” Pearson took out two dollars from his own pocket and gave them each one for their hard work. They thanked him before bringing the rest of the gang’s provisions out and setting them at the top of the chairs. Pearson expected Mary-Beth to be back by the time he loaded up the last of the crates and strapped them down, but she wasn’t. 

She’s probably just talking to a local. She’s a good, chatty girl. We can’t go anywhere with the train being there anyway.

And so Pearson waited. And waited. The longer he waited, however, the worse he began to feel, especially when he heard the whistle of the train before it slowly left the station. There wasn’t quite anything right about this. Mary-Beth wouldn’t have told him one thing and then done another. Something must be wrong. 

“Mary-Beth?” he asked and looked down the alleyways around the general store and even the buildings surrounding it. Nothing. Wait, she did talk to the general store man, maybe he knows something. So, Pearson stepped into the building and walked straight up to the man, “Excuse me sir, my womanly…companion came up to you earlier to pay for the stuff that’s in the wagon next to your store. I can’t seem to find her though, did you happen to see where she went?”

The clerk cocked his head. “Oh yes, I did. She was looking for the newspaper, so I pointed her in the direction of the saloon.”

“Okay, thanks, sir.”

“No problem, thank you for your purchase, and have a good day.”

“You too.”

If Mary-Beth went to the saloon for a drink then it would make sense as to why she hadn’t returned yet. If she were a man. Mary-Beth was so…feminine and it didn’t seem to be like her to wander off for a beer or two. If it had been Karen with him instead, then there would be no doubt about it that she went out for drinks, but Mary-Beth didn’t do that sort of thing. Not to his knowledge, at least. 

Pearson made a quick trip to the saloon. He wasn’t sure if it had been busy beforehand but there were a couple men who looked more sober than the bartender themselves, so they must have just gotten there. 

“S’cuse me, you see a woman around here?” Pearson approached the bar and tried to ignore the hungry look in the men’s eyes when he said the word woman. 

The bartender looked drunk and dissociated from his job as he cleaned an already cleaned glass, only smudging it more. There was a nasty bruise on his eye, leading down to his jaw. Pearson wondered what happened to him. He probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place and just searched around the place himself. He only didn’t want to seem like a creep or worse, a thief. 

“Nope. Not around here.” 

“Alright, thank you kindly,” Pearson said without revealing much more to the conversation so the men who were drinking didn’t get any funny ideas. 

Pearson snuck around the side of the saloon before his stomach dropped. There on the ground was a drop of blood, leading to around the back of the saloon, accompanied by larger dried splotches of blood. His immediate thought was of Mary-Beth. Oh god, she’s dead! Mary-Beth is dead and I let her die! However, when he looked closer at the blood, he noticed that it wasn’t fresh and more dried up. He wasn’t an expert at human blood, but after skinning dead animals for as long as he had…He could tell when blood was new and old. It couldn’t have been more than an hour. This wasn’t Mary-Beth’s blood. However, it didn’t mean that there couldn’t be anything waiting for him around the corner. 

Following the blood, he stepped around the corner and found a mutilated body. 

There was a young man. Probably late teens or early twenties. Probably around the same age of the men who helped load his cart. His eyes were gone and lacerations around his body explained the blood that soaked the ground. It already had a decomposing smell of it, tangling with the smell of vomit and alcohol. While he didn’t like murder like this—it was overkill—he was secretly glad that he didn’t encounter the body of Mary-Beth torn to shreds. 

Pearson stepped closer and noticed a piece of wood with a knife in it laid out on the palm of the dead man’s hand. The closer he got, the more he realized that there was blood on the wood too, but it was fresher, drawn out methodically on the wood. He had to kneel to read the blood writings, which sent a chill down his spine. 

AM

DVL

3 DAY

COLM

And then there was a drawn picture of a location with a noose on it. 

There, lying next to the dead man’s hand was a cut lock of Mary-Beth’s hair and a torn piece of cloth that matched the same color and texture of the dress she had been wearing. The blood on the board was Mary-Beth’s. It was fresher compared to the dead male’s, making the man want to vomit.

Pearson’s mouth dried when he concluded what had happened. The O’Driscolls had kidnapped Mary-Beth and left a message for Dutch and Arthur about where to meet them. The O’Drisicolls had them by the balls and were steering them in the direction that they wanted them to go. 

Pearson tore the knife from the board and hid it on his belt, unsure if it was what ended this man’s life or was just left to accentuate their message. After hiding the lock of hair and cloth that would link Mary to this man, he grabbed the wood and rushed away from the scene as fast as possible, not wanting to be caught. Good thing the time meant that most men were working, though he wondered if they had gone at a different time if this would have even happened at all. Mary-Beth would be back at camp with her nose buried in one of her books. 

As much as he wanted to go to the sheriff, he knew he couldn’t. It involved his gang and the O’Driscolls! That wasn’t a good combination. 

Getting back to his wagon as fast as he could, Pearson raced back to his camp, constantly looking over his shoulder, not wanting to be ambushed on the way back, or followed back to camp. At some point along the ride, he considered abandoning the wagon and riding the horse back to camp, but he would still risk being followed and at the additional loss of money and supplies. 

“Who’s there?” Came John’s rough voice when he came close enough.

“It’s Pearson!” Pearson raced on by, doing his best to not tip the wagon by how fast he was rolling into camp. The horses whined the whole way, having been spent racing back to the camp, sweating and desperate for water. When they came to a halt, the young O’Driscoll approached to untether them. Seeing Kieran made Pearson’s blood boil and face turn red, but it hadn’t been Kieran’s fault this happened, just the gang he used to run with so he did his best to not direct his anger toward him.

Pearson rushed directly toward Dutch’s tent, catching everyone’s attention from the fast pace he clearly wasn’t used to doing. Dutch sat in the chair outside his tent, a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. Arthur was thankfully in camp, just in his own tent.

“Dutch! Arthur! We have a BIG issue right now!” 

Arthur perked up upon hearing his name and slowly sauntered his way over to Pearson and Dutch, his hands on his belt, “Oh yeah? What’s that? You eat all our groceries on the way back from Rhodes?”

“Now is not the time for jokes Arthur.” Pearson took the wood out, some of the blood smeared on his fingers but thankfully not enough to make the writing illegible. He also took the knife from his belt loop. Dutch and Arthur stared at the knife, intrigued, Arthur, stood up a bit straighter when he saw how serious Pearson was acting. It was unusual for him. 

“Well, then spit it out already!” Arthur tore the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. “What the hell happened?”

Since he had stopped running, there was an unsettled feeling in Pearson’s stomach. He felt like he was about to throw up. 

“Dutch…Arthur…Mary-Beth was taken by the O’Driscolls… They left us this note with her blood.” 

The moment O’Driscolls was brought up, Dutch’s face became red. “WHAT?! What did you see, Pearson?!”

“NUTHIN!” Pearson gasped, “She wandered off when I was at the butcher’s and they kidnapped her when she was behind the saloon. There was also a dead body behind there. The bartender had this ugly bruise on his face, so I have a feeling he saw something, but if we try to talk to him, it might link the gang to the O’Driscolls,” he explained, the words flying out of his mouth, “They left this with Colom’s name and a lock of Mary-Beth’s hair. They’ve got her fer sure now….” He handed the wood over. Arthur leaned over Dutch’s shoulder to read what the blood was, his eyebrows furrowing. 

By then the rest of the gang were gathering around, particularly the girls. Tilly held a hand over her mouth, “Mary-Beth…She was taken? Oh, Pearson…” Tears were in her eyes. 

Pearson could hardly look at them all, all their faces that of a grieving person in mourning. He felt a lot of shame for letting this happen to such a vulnerable woman. But Mary-Beth wasn’t dead, or at least he hoped that she wasn’t. He couldn’t live with the thought of getting an innocent woman killed. 

Kieran found himself on the edge of the conversation, but not close enough to hear the conversation. He had been so busy taking the horses off the wagon that he nearly missed it entirely. He brought each horse to the water trough, which they drank greedily before he joined the congregating crowd. What’s going on here? He wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut when the eyes of this gang had fallen on him. Had he done something wrong?

Well, if they were staring at him, then it had something to do with the…

“O’Driscoll, what did you do?!” Karen abruptly snapped at Kieran. Everyone seemed shocked at her outburst, seeing how kindly she treated Kieran at camp. There weren’t any tears in her eyes, but her face was worse than a raging bull’s. 

“W-What do you mean?” Kieran asked, stuttering but not showing any lack of confidence. He kept his composure. “I ain’t done nothin’ other than take care of the damn horses lately,” he added defensively. 

“Your O’Driscolls KIDNAPPED MARY-BETH!”

Usually, Kieran would have fought them on this. Would have yelled that he wasn’t an O’Driscoll! But ‘Mary-Beth’ and ‘kidnapped’ mentioned in the same sentence was something he didn’t like to hear. He couldn’t argue with them this time. 

“They took Mary-Beth…?” he gasped and looked over toward Arthur, “We have to go save her! They’ll do awful things to her.”

Arthur squinted his eyes at the man as if observing them for anything suspicious, and Kieran hated the feeling that it left in his stomach. “You mean you had nothing to do with this?”

“Of course not!” Kieran spat out, flaring at Arthur’s accusatory tone, “I like Mary-Beth and I hate the O’Driscolls. You should know that by now 'cause I tell it to you every day!” He hissed. “We can’t spend time here, just wasting, we have to go and track her…Who knows what they will do to her.”

“Leave that to me,” Charles said, ready to jump on his horse that second.

“Wait just a minute!” Arthur said, holding his hand out, stopping everyone from doing anything stupid, “There’s a date written here, and they’re goin’ to expect us to meet them there at that time, or else. Charles, you can go, but you have to be extra careful. One wrong move on ANY of us is goin’ to end Mary-Beth’s life.” He pointed his finger at everyone as he spoke to them.

From the looks of the entire camp right now, everyone was willing to pick up their guns right now and hunt down their sick rivals. Some like Grimshaw and Lenny already had their guns out and ready. 

“And the note was addressed to only Dutch and me. We’ll have to be the ones to go. If they see more than us, it won’t be pretty for us and Mary-Beth.”

“But you’re gonna be outnumbered by those idiots…” Bill argued, his hands clutching at his sides, not because he particularly liked Mary-Beth but because he hated how the O’Driscolls could easily try to blackmail them. “You never know how many people they’re gonna bring, Arthur. You need more than two men…”

“If they lay a hand on Mary-Beth, I’ll fucking tear their balls off…” Sadie gritted her teeth. Not another woman whose life was on the line thanks to this gang…

“If you should take anyone extra, then it should be me,” Kieran volunteered, stepping forward. “I don’t think they would be intimidated if they saw me.”

Bill laughed. “Yeah! Might be able to trade him for the girl. Take him with ya.” He shoved Kieran forward by his shoulder. 

“Not a bad idea.” Arthur rubbed his chin.

If it came to that, then so be it, Kieran thought to himself. Mary-Beth had been the first one in the gang to be kind to him, to show Kieran the proper respect he deserved as a person by giving him that small glass of water. It had meant so much to him. There was no way in hell he would allow people like the O’Driscolls to hurt someone as gentle as her. If it meant that he had to trade his life for her, then maybe he could do something good and prove himself, even if he didn’t make it out alive.

“Oh, Mary-Beth…Please be okay…” Tilly kept a hand to her mouth, then spoke softly to Kieran, “Please get her back for us.”

Kieran spoke softly to her, “I promise that we’ll get her back, Tilly. Arthur and I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to her, we promise…”

“You better.”

Mary-Beth tried to imagine herself in a whole new world, completely separate from the reality of hell she was currently facing. She was a princess and her prince charming sat across from her on the blanket, feeding her strawberries and telling her how much he would marry her and care for her. The bitter yet sweet taste in her tongue was imaginary but it was helping her free herself from the flames threatening to engulf her. She dissociated, forgetting anything that the O’Driscoll men did to her the moment they happened. 

She didn’t know when her own gang planned to get her, if they were even coming for her at all. Her hands were tied behind her back, connected to her ankles, making it impossible for her to move unless she twisted her body around, and even then it was far too painful for her to do that. She would be too exhausted before she could break the ropes.

If Mary-Beth had been listening, she would know that she had two days before the O’Driscolls were going to lay her out for bait, two days before she would learn if she lived or died. The gang planned to use her as bait, to lure the two strongest members of the Van Der Linde gang. 

One of the O’Driscolls approached her. She saw his boots right in front of her face and smelled the shit he had stepped in earlier. Her nose wrinkled and she refused to meet his eyes. “Oh, what a squirmin’ bitch ya are,” he laughed and spat on her face, making Mary-Beth flinch and swallowing a whimper climbing its way up her throat. She was surprised that he didn’t kick her before he stormed off, laughing and drinking with his friends—having an early celebration of the fall of the Van Der Linde gang.

Just remember your prince charming. Hell, you’d accept Sean as your prince charming at this point, she spoke mostly to herself, in her head and attempted to put herself back into the world of the last book she had read, imagining herself as the main character and Kieran as her prince charming. 

Wait.

Kieran…?

Why did she think of Kieran?

Sure, the two had been flirty with each other before, but she had never seen him in such a romantic light, or even imagined…kissing him…

But the memory soothed the aching in her heart, so her mind played the same scene over and over again as the days passed.

Kieran and Mary were in the meadows, sitting on a blanket softer than anything she had ever felt before. Wait, was it a cloud? There was a whole buffet of food laid out in front of her, and no matter how many bites she took, it never emptied. Behind them were two horses grazing and snoozing together. And whenever she looked at Kieran’s face, she felt the happiest she had ever been in a long time… 

Sometimes her brain had convinced herself this was reality. She wanted it to be. 

Mary-Beth was half asleep when a man grabbed her arm and cut the bindings, made her legs release, making them cramp, and her muscles scream in pain. Her hands were still tied as he pulled her to her feet, yelling at her as her legs wobbled and she would have buckled had the men not held her up. 

“Where…Where…” she mumbled before she was interrupted. 

“Shut up, you bitch.” 

A cloth was shoved into her mouth, forcing her to be quiet. 

“Put the woman on the back of the horse.”

Mary-Beth’s stomach lurched as she was lifted by her waist. She grunted as she was laid on the back of a chestnut colored horse, her stomach feeling the pressure as she was laid on her stomach. Never in all her life had she been hogtied and put on the back of the horse. She whined but shut up quickly to avoid them yelling at her any further. 

A man climbed on the back of the horse, kicking its sides with sharp spurs that were close to her face. Mary-Beth, with her eyes constantly on the ground, couldn’t tell where they were going. All she could do was count the seconds. It took them approximately seventeen minutes to pull to a full stop, the men whispering around her. 

“Quick, get the girl ready. They could be watching us and pop out at any moment.”

Mary-Beth saw the shoes of one of the O’Driscolls before they lifted her up. Instead of taking her off the horse, they shifted her into the saddle. All she could do was watch in horror as the men threw a rope over the branch of the tree they were under, a noose hanging at the end of it. She began to strain and pull on the restraints on her wrists but someone held her still as another pair of hands grabbed the noose and pulled it over her head. She felt tears as the noose pressed against her throat, tightening enough that it wouldn’t slide off her and only tighten when she fell off the side of the horse. They were going to hang her. Holy shit, they were going to fucking hang her! After that, she fell absolutely still, no matter how badly her body screamed at her to move.

“Two hours…If they’re not here in two hours just slap the horse and let it run.” Mary-Beth couldn’t see them, but an O’Driscoll stood behind her, a hand on the rear of the horse, who luckily remained calm for now. She relied on that calmness. But the woman wondered if the horse would feel her anxiety and become agitated before running off.

“Then leave her body. Maybe they’ll come back later and find her hanging and learn their lesson…We don’t spare the innocent.”

Please, Arthur. Sean. Charles. Kieran. She whispered the names like they were saints, praying they would come to rescue her. 

Time passed, but Mary-Beth wasn’t counting this time. Every second felt like an agonizing hour.

“How long has it been?”

“About an hour…”

And so they waited even longer. Mary-Beth’s thighs were aching from how tight she was squeezing on the horse’s saddle. 

An arrow sliced through the air, hitting the man behind Mary-Beth. The action was so abrupt that there was a moment of stunned silence. The horse shifted but luckily didn’t run off. Mary-Beth looked up, seeing the trees across the horizon, but saw no one in sight. Were her saviors still out there? “They’re he—” Another arrow whizzed through the air, shooting the man in front of her. 

“DAMNIT!” Mary-Beth looked in horror as one of the O’Driscolls raised a gun in the air. No, no, no!  Mary-Beth cried out in her mind, screaming and crying, wishing she could keep the horse in place. 

A gun fired, and then hellfire began. At first, it was arrows, and then it was gunshots.

Mary-Beth stared in terror as the horse’s ears flicked back. It freaked out before running forward, Mary-Beth hardly able to stop the rope from tightening around her neck. Just as the horse ran out from under her legs, arms wrapped around her body, desperately holding her around the waist and legs in a way to keep herself up. 

Even as the gunshots were heavy in the air, Mary-Beth was able to stare down at the person holding her. It was Kieran. KIERAN More tears formed in her eyes as she saw the man struggling to keep her up, to keep her from hanging right there. 

“SHOOT THE ROPE, SHOOT THE ROPE!” Kieran called out. 

Mary-Beth did her best to sit as still as possible, but everything was aching and she could hardly keep herself up as her body was crumbling quickly and she was hardly able to control what limb twitched. A choked cry escaped her throat and tears were impossible to hold back. 

An O’Driscoll stormed up to the two of them, his gun raised, ready to shoot Kieran between the eyes. Right as he pulled the hammer back on his revolver, there was a rifle shot, and blood splattered on Kieran’s face and on Mary-Beth’s dress. Then there was a second shot, and the rope around Mary-Beth’s throat became very loose. Mary-Beth fell on top of Kieran, taking the two of them to the ground. Kieran was on his feet a second later and grabbed Mary-beth by the shoulders. Even though she would have not wanted to be dragged anymore, there was a mutual and silent agreement that safety was more important as Kieran dragged Mary-Beth into the forest and brush, hiding them from the gunfight. Kieran sat back on the ground and pulled Mary-Beth flush against his chest. As quietly as he could, he took the cloth from her mouth and fumbled with his knife, cutting the bindings from her wrists, freeing her completely.

Mary-Beth’s mouth was open, tears in her eyes when she realized it ached more to shut her mouth from how long the cloth was stuck in her mouth. Kieran was about to pull away from the woman, to give her space, but Mary-Beth grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her body—feeling safe and protected like in the dreams she had hidden in the past few days. She closed her eyes and cried silent tears. 

Kieran hesitated but could tell that she just needed to be held for now. He kept her close to his chest as the gunshots thinned and the voices of the small group of O’Driscolls died out completely. They were all dead. But he remained quiet until he knew for sure that it was safe to come out.

“Mary-Beth? Kieran?” Came Arthur’s voice. 

Mary-Beth couldn’t speak. 

“We’re in here—!” Kieran stuttered and pulled himself and Mary-Beth up, taking the two of them out of the brush. 

When Mary-Beth saw Arthur, she practically fell into the arms of the man. “Oh Arthur…! You call came for me!” she sobbed.

Arthur awkwardly wrapped his arms around Mary-Beth. “Course we did. You’re a part of the family. We wouldn’t have left that to ya, all alone.”

“Are they all dead?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

Arthur nodded. “Dutch has one of them tied up right now and is talking to them. Otherwise, yeah. They’re all dead. Are you okay?” He asked as he pulled her back, looking her up and down, seeing the bruises and tatters on her. “Oh, Mary-Beth…You need to get back to camp. You think you can take her, Kieran? I’m gonna stay back and help Dutch get information out of this damn maggot.”

“Yes, please, I want to go back now. Is Pearson OK?” Mary-Beth asked.

“Don’t worry, Mary-Beth, he’s alright. Just get her to camp, Kieran.” Arthur walked away.

Kieran nodded and put his hand on Mary-Beth’s elbow, guiding her all the way to Branwen. When they were at the horse, he gently touched her arm. “Mary-Beth, I am SO sorry fer what happened to ya. Are ya okay?”

“I…I think so. I just want to get back to camp.” She approached Branwen from the side and turned her back to the horse, facing Kieran. “Can you help me onto the horse, please?” she asked, her arms slightly raised. “Everything hurts too much.”

“I sure can…” Kieran nodded and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her onto the back of his horse, feeling even more guilty as she winced in pain. The last thing he wanted was to cause her even more pain. After that, he climbed into the saddle in front of her, then raced off back to camp. His heart pounded with the leftover adrenaline from the gunfight, but it soared higher when Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around his waist and she leaned her cheek against his back. She…Wanted comfort from him? Him, of all people? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was glad that she could trust him.

Kieran knew that there would be a group gathering when they returned to camp, so he made sure to approach quietly and calmly, hitching his horse at one of their posts. He got down and held his arms out naturally to take Mary-Beth off the horse. By the time he turned around, he saw the group gathering—just as he thought. 

“Oh, Mary-Beth!” Tilly cried out and ran before anyone else could. She ran to her best friend and hugged her, keeping her close. Mary-Beth broke down into tears as she hugged Tilly back. Kieran backed off and gave the woman some space, his hand on Branwen’s neck. However, he watched from afar. He watched as Mary-Beth was given new clothes, and how John gave her his tent so she could have privacy for a while. Karen, Grimshaw, and Tilly came in and out of the tent often, checking in on Mary-Beth. Sometimes he heard her crying, and it broke his heart. 

Sometime later in the evening, when it was darker than it was light, Kieran approached the flap of the tent and whispered, “Mary-Beth, is it okay if I came in?” he asked and waited for her answer. 

There was a small sniffle. “Oh, yeah, it’s okay…”

Kieran came in, carrying a tin plate of stew. “Have ya ate yet?” he asked. 

Mary-Beth sat on John’s cot, wearing one of her other outfits. The old clothes had been burned as no one, especially her, would want to attempt to stitch such clothing back together.

“Oh, no…I ain’t…I just haven’t had the appetite for it, but I probably should soon.”

“I got something for ya. Eat what you feel like ya can.” Kieran came in and moved across the tent and sat down next to her with the stew, handing it to her. Mary-Beth smiled fondly and sipped some of the broth. At least her stomach could handle that. 

“Mary-Beth…Yer awfully brave. Most don’t have the confidence when in the presence of an O’Driscoll.”

“Oh Kieran…” she whispered, “It was awful. I thought I was going to die…I thought they were gonna hang me. Had you not caught me, who knows whether I would have suffocated or if the rope would have snapped my neck right away. I wasn’t ready to die.”

“I’m glad I was there, Mary-Beth. I don’t know how you survived that…” Kieran’s hand touched hers, but then he hesitated. She noticed and immediately brought his hand back when he tried to take it away. 

“I just…I just imagined myself inside one of my books. I guess escapin’ into my own head was something that helped me…” Mary-Beth admitted Kieran, squeezing his hand. “It kept me alive until you saved me, Kieran. You’re a real hero. Thank you so much…” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held the man, who she sort of related to in some way now. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Kieran that she imagined that he was her imaginary hero. She didn’t have to though—Kieran was her real hero now. 

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Various, online chatter; that’s enough internet for today

For the prompt: How hot is Jared? Twitter's best explainers

Forgive me any formatting sins -- I aimed for clarity over authenticity, but who knows if tumblr will oblige on that front.

“How’s the internet doing?” Dave asks.

“Well,” Andreas says. “It’s — technically good news, but in a way you probably don’t want to hear the details of?”

“That sounds ominous,” Dave says.

“Do you know what shipping means?” Andreas asks. “Not the—“

“You know, you’re right,” Dave says, literally backing into his office. “I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t think so,” Andreas says, saluting Dave with his coffee, then goes to check out what’s happening on twitter. He thinks he’s had more than enough of AO3 for the foreseeable future.

~

On Twitter:

I’ve decided to block everyone who says something shitty about Bryce Marcus or Jared Matheson in the next while and I think my hockey twitter experience is going to greatly improve as a result

This is absolute genius I’m doing it

WAIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON?

HOLY SHIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON

OH MY GOD THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Damn now we know he’s going to stay beautiful.

So does Bryce clearly. Lock that upppp.

HOW COME THERE ISN’T A WHOLE JARED MATHESON FANDOM.

Nevermind fam just found out there is in fact a fandom and they are losing their dang MINDS right now.

~

A selection of tweets liked by Bryce Marcus’ lurking account:

Look if I landed Jared Matheson I too would tattoo his signature on my chest.

I would tattoo his PICTURE.

How is it that Bryce Marcus is a multi-millionaire who routinely is in the top twenty in scoring and clearly takes care of his appearance and dresses better than 95% of hockey players, and yet I’m still like ‘nice work landing that husband, bro’.

You know that if Marcus and Matheson could reproduce they would have the most beautiful children 

Sweet mitts too

Every single picture or video I’ve managed to find of Bryce Marcus and Jared Matheson in the same place Jared is like 😐 and Bryce is like 😍  how did we just figure this out now

I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST REALLY HAPPY TO BE IN VANCOUVER 😭

~

“Babe,” Jared says. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Bryce says. “I’m not doing anything. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jared groans, slinging an arm over Bryce’s hip as he buries his face in Bryce’s good shoulder. Bryce’s hand comes up to absently pet his hair, and Jared falls back asleep that way, Bryce’s fingers carding through his hair as he scrolls through god knows what with his other hand.

~

On AO3:

Tags: Bryce Marcus Matheson/Jared Marcus Matheson/Julius Halla, I was really tempted to put Julius Halla Matheson but I think that’s enough chaos for right now, this is how I’m coping as a Hallason shipper, with OT3s, and threesomes, au just in that erin matheson doesn’t exist, sry erin it’s not personal

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, no plot just vibes, soft shit, I literally just got here but, Bryce Marcus is a bottom you cowards,

Archive Warnings: Underage

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, Rafael Sanchez, Just like the regular level of underage jared was when he met bryce nothing sketchy, or sketchier than reality lol, meet cute, my hc of how they met,

~

“If this is about Jared I’m hanging up on you,” Stephen says as he picks up his phone.

“You knew, didn’t you!” Beth says.

Stephen hangs up the phone, and puts it back on the table, face down.

It, of course, immediately vibrates. Gabe looks at it, then at Stephen.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen says.

Gabe continues to blink mildly as it goes to voicemail, then starts to vibrate again.

“You talk to her then,” Stephen says.

“Hi Beth,” Gabe says. “How are you? Yes, I did know who my linemate was married to. No, I didn’t think to tell you. Well, because I’m not sure how it’s relevant to you, Elisabeth.”

Stephen smirks at Gabe as his face grows continually wearier. His fault for not just hanging up — it may be mercenary, but it means Stephen doesn’t have to listen to whatever Beth’s telling Gabe.

“Let me give you Stephen,” Gabe says.

Sometimes Stephen forgets that Gabe has spent a little too much time around him for his own good.

‘Fuck you’, Stephen mouths, but Gabe just smiles and continues to hold his phone out.

~

On tumblr:

The Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson tag has doubled in the last 36 hours. You guys okay?

Can’t sleep gotta write fic.

I think I speak for all of us when I say, from the bottom of my heart: no.

But like in a good way!

Where my Julius/Jared shippers at? How y’all doing?

Well we found out Jared Matheson is actually gay and married to a man literally from the lips of Julius Halla…in the context of telling us he’s married to a completely different dude and also now I’m legitimately worried about their friendship since he just outed his bestie so idk you tell me.

This.

Do we change it to ‘Jared Marcus Matheson/Bryce Marcus Matheson’ or Jared Matheson/Bryce Marcus’ or is it chaos or —

The AO3 tag wranglers have been by and they’ll all redirect to ‘Jared Matheson’ and ‘Bryce Marcus’ so don’t worry.

But why isn’t it redirecting to ‘Marcus Matheson’?

Show us the papers and we’ll do it. Legal name change documentation please.

You have all been shoving these definition of Average Dude hockey players in my face all ‘look at this beautiful man’ and none of you showed me Jared Matheson, Actually Beautiful Man? What is the MATTER with you people.

You have been in the wrong corner of hockey fandom trust me. his beauty was Known

east coast bias even in hockey rpf smh

Want some fic recs?      OBVIOUSLY.

Hey remember a few years back when we all made fun of Bryce Marcus for not knowing his own initials judging by that JBM necklace? Wikipedia says Jared’s middle name is Bradley

JARED’S MIDDLE NAME IS BRADLEY!!!!!!!

I would like to submit a formal apology to Bryce Marcus who a) can spell b) is the most romantic man alive and c) has clearly been TRYING to get caught this whole time.

[kn-1013]

Exploratory Surgery #3 - Orange Crush & Ne-Hi Soda

AKA how many Nicole Dollanganger references can I make in a single fanfiction. The answer is a lot.

Summary: Travis goes over his view of Sal and his crush on him. Word Count: 1815 Rating: T Pairing: Sal/Travis Warnings: References to child/domestic abuse, internalized homophobia and religious themes

A/N: The first one I've actually titled, lol. Makes some mild references to my other fic, "Death Lingering", up on AO3. Not needed to read this, but explains some stuff.

======== Hell has a name – Chapel Hill.

An arid wasteland of unheard prayers and belt-buckle lashings, it sits in the center of Nockfell surrounded by an ancient and decrepit stone wall, commanding a legacy of fear and reverence. The other side of the wall is unknown to me, but I was always good at pressing my ear against it and listening to the sounds of the adjacent unbound people.

Still, after all these years, I can’t tell if I’m locked inside or out.

I peer through cracks and holes in the carved out rock, just big enough to stick my fingers through. I can’t exactly tell what’s on the other side, but I’m scared of it. It’s full of a terrifying life that I know I can’t live myself, so I sit back from my side of the wall and I watch what pieces I can catch through the holes.

You are the way you waste, and I waste away by watching you.

Out there, you’re warm and content. I don’t see your smile, but I could pick out the sound of your laughter in a crowd of a hundred people. I watch you keep yourself busy by feeding your infinite curiosity, always sticking your plastic nose where it doesn’t belong, and often paying a price for it. But you don’t care, as long as you’re satisfied.

You’re cool.

I’ve almost always thought that.

Your dark clothes, your heavy jacket, your fingerless gloves. Your chipped black nail polish, the wallet chain that matches Larry’s, that stick and poke of a butterfly on your wrist. The way you always walk with purpose, the way the insults roll off of you, the sincerity of your words. The music, the backtalk, the friendship, the graveyard hangouts, the treehouse, the basement bedroom, the rebellion, all of it.

It’s cool.

Maybe the grass is greener on the other side, but I’d rather have your problems than mine. Creaky, leaky pipes bursting with green ooze in an allegedly haunted, run-down apartment complex with stained and matted carpets and a legacy of murder honestly doesn’t sound so bad to me compared to the things I have to come home to.

It would be a reasonable trade-off for friends. Family. People that check in on you. People who aren’t afraid to say hello to me in the halls. I could go check the mail and talk about the weather with someone like it’s normal. I could be a part of something.

I know it’s selfish, but I want it. I want it more than anything, and you have it.

You’re not as afraid of consequences as I think you should be. Maybe it’s because we’re different. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I’m just a coward, too weak-willed and spineless to fight for myself.

Maybe I’m afraid of coming out because it means I’ll get treated the same way I’ve treated you. Maybe I’m scared of losing the plausible deniability of the late bloomer when people finally see me for what I really am. Maybe I’m scared nobody will fight for me because I deserve it.

Maybe all of that’s true, but the thing I can’t stand the most is the way I know you would look at me with pride. Contentment, joy, peace. Your eyes would crinkle at the edges and that would be the only indication you could give that you were smiling. Put a hand on my shoulder, give me a hug, invite me to lunch, bring me to your friends. You’d reel me in for good, and I could never handle that.

I fear the weight of your forgiveness would crush me.

I’ve seen the depths of your shame and fear. I’ve seen the way you cry and scream and vomit and beg, writhing on the ground as memories of death’s touch strike you down again. I’ve touched the subdued terror in your soul with my bare hands, and they burned under the heat of it. I know the humiliation you hide behind that mask you call your face. I will always know you by your scars.

Even after everything you’ve been through, you’re hopeful. Kind. Genuine.

I don’t know how you do it.

You take my cruelty in stride, never taking your heart off of your cheek. You afford me more patience than I deserve. The earnest tone in your voice always shakes me to my core, threatening to break the hollow foundations of my disgraceful being, when you say that deep down I’m a good person, even though I don’t think there’s anything inside me anymore.

In my dreams, I can see your face. I can run my fingers through your hair. I can hold your sadness for you. I can touch your skin, your clothes, your lips. In my dreams, you walk me through town by the hand, and you look at me with your head cocked to the side like you always do when you’re observing. It’s peaceful, quiet, calm. We’re left alone.

In my dreams, I can trace your scars. The deep trenches of carved out flesh, the webbing that moves up into your hair. In my dreams, I can kiss the purple vein on your temple, the altered shape of your jaw, the tiny, protruding bump of your nasal bone. I could tell you that you don’t have to hide from me, I’m not scared of you. That I wouldn’t have you any other way. That it makes you who you are. That you’re cool.

In my dreams, nobody will ever touch us. But I could never really touch you either. Only in my dreams could I love you the way I want to, and for it, shame swallows me whole.

I remember how it started.

There was always this seed of sin inside of me. I didn’t plant it there, but I did bury it inside my heart. I pretended that it couldn’t grow its roots in me if I ignored it, but weeds don’t need you to water them yourself to grow into a parasitic garden. I covered it in my need for perfection and normalcy. I covered that in prayer, fear, guilt. I layered it all over this seed like pavement, but cracks grew in my facade fast, and through those cracks, the seed had sprouted.

If you trace the stems down underneath the concrete, you can find a cavity full of the tangled nest of the roots of my desire.

I hollowed out my soul trying to stop the spread, but all I did was make more room for it. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, I have become completely and wholly infested. I know one day, hell will catch up to me, and the light in your soul can’t save me from my fate. I can tell myself anything I want, but I know that deep down, I will burn for it.

You were exempt from P.E. for several reasons, so I never saw you in the locker rooms, just on the bleachers, your head in your hands. You always looked tired when you sat there.

No, it was during one summer break I saw it. You and your friends were at the playground, dicking around on the monkey bars while I sat on the bench, half-reading my book, half-watching you through the cracks in my wall again.

You hung upside down, laughing at something Larry said. Your shirt slipped up, all the way to your armpits. It was all skin, hatched with sparse blue hairs on your chest and stomach. The waistband of your boxers, wrapped around your bony hips. Ribs, held just centimeters beneath, moving and bending as the rest of you did. Barely-used abdominal muscles struggled to keep your weight as you bent up, trying to pull yourself back down, and I still remember the way your stomach folded over itself when you finally got up there.

I can never erase it. That piece of you is locked inside of me forever. It keeps me going just as much as it holds me back. I’ll never let it go if it kills me.

I could never have what you have. I could never do what you do. I’m not strong like you are, I’m a coward. I’m weak, worthless, and empty. There’s nothing inside of me worth looking at, let alone anything worth saving, I know that. God knows that. But I can watch you through the cracks. Pretend I’ll one day take you up on your offer and talk to you, let you in. I’ll keep you at arm’s length, saying words that sound like they mean something, then disappear again.

I could never be like you, but I can watch you from afar, and that’s enough for me.

When the last bell of the day rings, I watch as you and your friends are the first ones out of those double doors, laughing and tripping over yourselves on the stairs as you stumble into the rainy streets. I watch as you all join hands, spinning around in barely coherent circles, words unintelligible, youthful energy palpable. The sound of your joy cuts through the ice-cold rain, straight into my stomach, watering the weeds I can’t pull out of my chest. The ambivalence of your mask does nothing to hide the unbridled joy you have for the moment, eyes crinkled and head bobbing to the loose rhythm, until your feet stumble over themselves; you’re the first to fall over and you take everyone down with you, laughing onto the soggy ground.

You all lay, cradled by mud and grass, hands grasping for one another as you keep pulling each other down, cursing and teasing each other while the wet dirt and plant life stain your clothes.

For a moment, you catch me watching. Your head on the ground, tilted back to look at me with an upside-down view. The rain is beginning to stop now, and your blue eyes find mine more clearly as the skies began to empty of their storm clouds. I see that look in your eye. You want to greet me, to run up to me, talk to me, but I don’t let you. Won’t let you. You want to pull me in so badly, but I can’t do it.

Watching you is all I can let myself have. But you’ll never understand that, which is why I saw your deep-blue irises, full of life and contentment, and I walked away from them, even as they called my name.

I feel the flames of Hell licking the backs of my ankles as I run from you again.

One day it will come to claim its pounds of flesh from my body, and when it’s done, there won’t be anything left for you to bury.

Until then, you are the way you waste, and I waste away by watching you.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

256. “She’s been missing since Friday and you’re not worried?” Jlaire?

Thank you, kind anon, for going above and beyond by giving me the prompt associated with the number from the 390 Prompts

This takes place in a version of my De Morgan's Law AU, which means that Barbara is a changeling, Jim is a shadowmancer named Jennifer "Jen" Lake, and Claire spent the age of 8-16 as Morgana's amnesiac apprentice. Claire has since reclaimed her identity, hence why she's Claire and not Fontaine de Morgan.

This takes place at the end of the season 2 equivalent of this AU.

AO3 (restricted to registered users)

~

Quietly Claire and Jen stepped from the portal and into her room. She didn't want Jen to be making portals right now, but this was the fastest way back to Claire's room. Jen didn't want to go home right now. Not after the Janus Order.

"Could you check my house? See if my mom's," Jen had swallowed, looking like she was trying very hard not to cry. "I know it's a coward's way out-"

"Jen, I wish you were more of a coward," Toby had said to her. Jen had been living with Toby after his mom had been exposed as a changeling. She hadn't answered any of Jen's calls since they had found the massacre at the Janus Order.

"I'll check out your house for you, see if Dr. L is laying low there," Toby had continued. "Just don't pull any more stunts like what you just did."

Claire was about to tell Jen to make herself comfortable when she heard her parents talking.

"She's been missing since Friday and you're not worried?" her mom said.

Oh. Right. The Gunmar-possessed Draal had broken her phone, and after that Claire had been too distracted to have Jen or Toby call her parents. It still didn't come easy to her, knowing that she had guardians who cared about her and couldn't spy on her using magic.

"Of course I am," her dad said. "But you know how hesitant she is to involve us. We couldn't protect her back then. We'll just get in her way, now."

"You should go to them," Jen half-said, half-yawned. "Let them know you're okay."

While you still can, was unspoken.

"I'll text them, or something, but I'm not leaving your side," Claire said. "Not after the amount of dark magic you used. Even I haven't ever tapped beyond my resevoir and into my life force that much. Probably because I was taught to drain the life out of other things, but still."

Some part of Claire wondered if Decimaar functioned in a similar way. She wasn't sure if that was any use, though. Morgana hadn't taught her much about how to put the life force back into a creature, much less a soul.

"Is it really that bad?"

"It's a miracle you're alive. And I don't trust miracles." In Claire's experience, miracles were just the product of meddling wizards, ones more powerful than Claire and Jen.

It had been some sort of miracle that the amulet had chosen her, a seeming human, and called her by her true name. (It had been Merlin using Morgana's apprentice against her.)

It had been a miracle that a fairy was walking the streets of Arcadia despite the centuries of exile after the war with the pixies. (It had been eight years of Morgana's meddling.)

"Okay, then when I see my mom again she can explain why it wasn't a miracle." The way Jen's voice wavered spoke volumes about how much of a miracle it would be for Dr. Lake to still be alive.

"I just hope the Lady hasn't sunk her claws into you."

"You don't call M -" Jen cut herself off at the look Claire gave her. "You don't use her other names anymore. Why now?"

Claire had refused to call Morgana by any of her titles out loud ever since she had come to terms with the knowledge of what Morgana had done to her. She had had parents who loved her. She hadn't been abandoned at the mouth of Morgana's cave. She had had a name, and for eight years Claire had had no name when Morgana had so many names. Even the false name she had been given, Fontaine de Morgan, still had been a way to lay claim over Claire. A fountain of Morgana's magic.

"Names can have power when spoken aloud. You used her staff. I don't want to take any risks."

"I think if her staff was that powerful, it would've been a lot harder for you to fight Angor Rot. You have more of a connection than me, between her hand in your amulet and being raised by her. The magical genetic manipulation is something we both have."

"Please don't take any more risks."

Jen leaned foward and kissed Claire. She began to lean into the kiss before pulling away. "You can't just kiss me expecting that to make me not worried about you."

"We're at war. I don't think we can get away with not taking risks."

"I know, but you know what I mean. No unnecessary risks. You really scared Toby."

And me.

"Okay, okay, no unnecessary risks. Dark magic isn't like a concussion, right?" Jen half-asked, half-yawned.

"What do you mean?"

"Can I go to sleep? Or will I not wake up again?"

"I'll watch over you, but I don't think so."

Jen pulled out her phone as she made herself comfortable on Claire's bed. "Tell your parents."

Claire waited for Jen to fall asleep before unlocking Jen's phone.

This is Claire, she typed. That was the easy part. She kept on typing and hitting the backspace button, trying to figure out what to say. This was why she had considered not going home again, staying Fontaine the Trollhunter instead of becoming Claire once more. Her parents had already lost her once. At least if she hadn't become Claire again, they wouldn't have known it possible to lose her again. The fact that Jen was tossing and turning wasn't helping Claire's concentration.

Jen was likely having a nightmare. Was it induced by the dark magic? Claire having been sent to the Deep with heavy chains binding her wings? The Janus Order?

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw Jen's eyelids move. At least whatever nightmare she was having couldn't hurt her here in Claire's room.

Jen's glowing eyes snapped open. This wasn't the first time Jen's eyes had glowed; it was a side effect of her changeling side.

But her eyes weren't glowing blue. Oh, no, they were glowing gold. The same gold that Claire had grown up surrounded by as long as Morgana wasn't ignoring her. The same gold that Claire had once wished her magic had been the same color as, the same gold that Claire had always been thankful that Jen's magic didn't manifest as.

Claire summoned her armor at the same time that Morgana summoned the Skathe-Hrün to Jen's hand. Claire barely raised her shield in time to block the sharp points.

If Jen was controlling her body, Claire wouldn't have been able to dodge what would have been a non-lethal blow in an impromptu sparring session. If Morgana was truly focused on killing Claire, then Claire would probably be dead by now. (She needed to work on her reaction time.)

Claire did the calculations in her head. She couldn't let Morgana take Jen away. Morgana would be more powerful with a physical host, meaning that she probably wanted to take Jen back to the cave to more easily possess her. She was likely more focused on having a host than using her puppet as a lethal weapon.

They wanted to protect her.

"Mom? Dad? Help!"

[needsmoresleepwrites]

When Sakura is added to the Furin first year group chat and his cellphone use starts to increase, nobody thinks to tell him about the dangers of being online, meeting up with strangers, or suspicious ads. (KameSaku, TogaSaku)

Dogg on Premise (Clean Up After)

Read on AO3

tags: Sakura and cellphone, stranger meetup, 0721, oral

A/N: I wrote some self-indulgent 0721 day (hj) content, hehe. My first contribution to windbreaker. Since it's NSFW, this post is only an excerpt, check out the full fic on AO3

——————————————————————————

When Sakura is added to the Furin first year group chat and his cellphone use starts to increase, nobody thinks to tell him about the dangers of being online, meeting up with strangers, or suspicious ads. 

He grumbles as he walks across a train crossing. He’d seen it a few times during patrol, but had never ventured further since it technically wasn’t Furin territory anymore. He frowns as he goes under, noticing the change in atmosphere immediately. He tries not to let that bother him. He’d lived in sketchier places before but as he walks down the road full of bars and nightlife, he wonders if maybe he took a wrong turn somewhere. He blushes when he sees a couple kissing in front of a shop while the owner smokes, uncaring of how heated they’re becoming

He pulls out his phone and opens up the last conversation he had before heading over

unknown number, 8:47pm <<lets meet tonight <<i have a few minutes to spare <<make sure not to tell anyone, ok ;)

me, 8:55pm >>why the hell not

unknown number, 8:56pm <<a bit unfair to gang up on me like that dont you think <<not that i cant handle a few more bodies

me, 9:02pm >>only cowards fight dirty 1on1 it is

unknown number, 9:03pm <<oh that came faster than the last message <<looks like youre getting better with those fingers of yours <<come here: places.app.wbd/9RDMzps69T?x_t=bnr

me, 9:08pm >>shut up

me, 9:09pm >>!

Unknown number, 9:10pm <<wwwww <<just follow the signs

He feels himself get mad just thinking about the conversation and when he taps the link to open the location, he can’t help but let his finger linger with a little too much force. Instead of opening the link, a menu opens and he curses

He squints at the options and (gently) clicks open . When it does, he realizes he is in the right place and he’s only a few paces away. 

“Aren’t you a cutie? New around here?” a voice calls out from his right and he turns to find a slim man making pawing gestures at him. 

Sakura frowns, “So what if I am?”

The man laughs at his response and Sakura’s frown drops when he doesn’t detect any malice. The people in this town really are weird. They gave him food, tried to treat his wounds, called out greetings whenever they saw him, and now they even laughed like they’d been friends for ages. Even after being here for a few weeks, it was hard to get used to this feeling of community.

The man gestures him over, “I’m surprised nobody’s picked you up yet. Where ya headed?”

When Sakura comes closer, phone still in his hand, the stranger throws an arm around his waist, pulling him in close. Sakura freezes, then blushes to the tips of his ears, “W-Why are you so damn close, huh?! Are you tryna pick a fight?!”

He tries to move away, but the stranger holds him tight, “Wow, that really is your natural hair color, isn’t it?”

Sakura goes rigid for a different reason. He growls, “Let go.”

The stranger tries to soothe him by rubbing his side and without his Furin jacket, Sakura feels the touch a little too closely. His face lights up again. The stranger smiles, “Come on, don’t get mad. I think it suits you. You’re cute, but you have a bit of a temper. Now,” he says, grabbing Sakura’s hand to see his phone’s screen, “where are you…”

He lets go immediately, as if Sakura had burned him somehow, and steps back. Sakura can finally breathe a little easier but the guy seems a little nervous now, “Oh, didn’t realize you were one of his guys. My bad.”

Sakura raises a brow but doesn’t get a chance to say much else to the guy. Before the stranger retreats into the bar behind him, he says, “Just go down that way. It’s hard to miss.”

“Thanks,” Sakura mumbles, “I guess…”

Alone once more, he walks down the small street the stranger had pointed at. It was narrow. Too narrow, he vaguely thinks, noticing that it would only fit two people walking shoulder-to-shoulder. He snickers, Three, if one of them is Sugishita. Except it was more likely he’d take up the whole width for himself, refusing to walk next to anyone but Umemiya…

The path is mostly dark and the only reason Sakura isn’t stumbling over himself is that every few steps, a light will turn on to light his way. They turn off once he’s passed them, leaving the way he came bathed in darkness. It’s a perfect place to get attacked… But this doesn’t bother him. He’s used to fighting in the open and closed quarters. He won’t let anyone get the upper hand, no matter the location

By the time he finally emerges, the liveliness of the main street feels like something he imagined. 

Instead, he finds himself looking at a giant abandoned building. When he takes out his phone again, the app says he’s arrived.

He grins.

The way the building has been claimed by art and stickers reminds him of Furin High. No place on its surface is left unblemished. He feels himself get excited, That guy must be the real deal if people react to this place like that guy! Sakura is glad he answered that message. He knew that he couldn’t get to the top alone and he was glad he had Suou and Nirei on his side to help him, but there was still a lot he needed to do. Just because he had friends now, didn’t mean he could slack off in his training

He needed to get stronger if he wanted to get to the top and stay there. 

Except that now that he’s here, he’s not sure where to go. He tries going through the front, but finds the door locked. He even pounds on it a few times and calls out, but nothing happens. The place truly appears to be abandoned.

<<just follow the signs

He frowns, “What signs?”

It takes a bit of searching, but the only sign he manages to find is a worn out “dog on premise” sign. Like the rest of the building, it’s been graffitied. There’s an extra “g” next to “dog” and stickers cover the edges. There’s also something like spilled paint running down the top and it makes the letters look messy and runny. At the bottom, it reads ‘clean up after’. 

“What does that mean?” he wonders aloud and walks toward the little alcove the sign is affixed to. There are some stairs going down and he frowns again. He’s starting to realize this place is a bit strange. But I’m already here, and he didn’t need anyone thinking he’d ran away!

To his surprise, the door isn’t locked. He opens it and finds himself in a bathroom. The light flickers momentarily

There are three stalls and a two person sink. There’s also another door at the end of the room. He raises a brow. Perhaps it used to be a staff entrance? But when he opens the door, the entrance has been bricked off. 

“The hell…”

That’s when he realizes he’s not alone. There’s a tapping sound, like wood on floor and he turns around quickly, legs apart and arms raised, “Who’s there!”

“Ahhh,” a male voice answers, “You’re here.”

It’s coming from the first stall and he’s not sure how he missed the clogged feet when he’d walked in. They stop tapping against the floor. 

Sakura is beyond confused, “You’re…in the toilet?”

The voice laughs, “That’s right.”

Neither says anything for a moment and Sakura briefly wonders if someone did attack him on the street and managed to knock him out. This feels a little too surreal. 

“Are you,” he begins, “...almost done?”

The man makes a long contemplative sound, “No, not really. Just started actually.”

Sakura hears the sound of clothes being moved around, but the feet stay in place, unbothered, “Why don’t you join me in the next stall?”

Sakura’s brows are furrowed so tightly, he thinks this is what the grandmas mean when they say he shouldn’t frown so much or his face will stay stuck like that, “What? I don’t need to use the toilet! And why aren’t you ready? I’m not here to play games!”

He’s not sure when he lowered his arms, but he raises them again. 

The man laughs and then grunts, like he’s hit himself, except that the only noise Sakura can still hear is the sound of clothes. When he swallows, the sound his throat makes is too loud. He feels a sense of something he can’t name run down his spine and he suddenly wishes Kotoha hadn’t taken his Furin jacket. But she’d insisted it needed some mending, a member of Bofurin can’t go walking around looking like this, have some pride! 

Not like a jacket can do anything in a fight anyway…

The guy knocks on the wall of his stall, “Come on. I promise it’ll be fine.”

Sakura shakes his head, “No, you come out here! Or I’ll go wait outside!”

“Sakura.” So far, the voice had been playful but the way the man says his name is strict. Sakura shivers, “Go into the stall next to mine.”

His face goes red, why the hell am I blushing?!

But he realizes that there’s only so much he can do. He can either walk away, which he doesn’t want to do after coming so far. He can bust down the door, which he doesn’t want to do. He might like to fight, but he wouldn’t attack someone when they’re on the toilet! Or he could listen and just wait…in the stall next to him. He remembers the reaction of the guy from before and grits his teeth, “Fine!”

The voice becomes playful again, “Good boy.”

Continue on AO3

[thoraeth]

Words: 1820

TW: mild language as usual, kisses get hot (nothing explicit, just in case)

Taglist: @lostfirefly

Summary: after one last trial test, Buggy and Ava discuss the weird situation between them. As they agree on moving on, none of them will actually keep their word.

Chapter 4 (PT2) - Ignition

<CH4(PT1) CH5> | Read on Ao3

The pirate rolls over in his bed, massaging his face vigorously after a long nap. “How long was I out?” he wonders, as warm sun rays are coming in from the window.

Too tired to get up, he stares at the room: Ava's side is neatly ordered, bed made, shelves empty.

“She must have stayed at Romi's yesterday. Again.” The jester sleepily scratches his belly.

“It's always Romi and her tests, or those marines’ training or Doc needing help with this and that.” he scoffs.

“If you don't want to be around me just fucking say it.”

The speakers on the ceiling turn on.

“Oi, you up? We're waiting outside.”

Buggy gets up and gathers his boots on the floor, exhausted at the very thought of what awaits him: that blonde idiot avoiding his gaze, his fuel failing again in front of everyone.

Zipping up his gray coverall, he growls at Ava's bed: “She fucked everything up.” He thinks. “Why did she do it?!”

Gritting his teeth, Buggy stomps upstairs and gets through a huge bulkhead door.

He's out on the weather deck, blinded by the light.

“Jester!” Romi shouts. “You took forever! Get the fuel, quick!”

Slowly, Buggy walks towards her: she's mounting on the Drifter, wearing a thick padded suit and a weird helmet on her head.

Behind the Captain, Ava's running the final checks. Their crewmates step back and she places her thumb on the vehicle's dashboard: it switches on, its tiny icons lighting up.

As the blonde feels Buggy's cold stare on her, she turns around to greet him with a faint smile.

They both traffic around the Drifter, clumsily trying not to get in each other's way.

“Ok, all ready.” she announces, as the pirate locks the cycle’s tank.

The Drifter’s engines power up with a loud hiss and the reflections of its spinning wheel dance throughout the deck.

“I’ve got a good feeling this time.”

Ava looks up at Buggy, his face tired and tense in anticipation.

“Or I messed up again and everything’s about to blow up.” the man snaps “You’re not coming to the lab anymore, you can't know.”

“What?”

“Coward.”

A sudden burst of wind startles both of them.

In a blink of an eye, the Drifter cuts through the air, its engines roaring loud as it runs through the deck before surpassing the edge of the ship. Fast and steady, the cycle flies over the sea and climbs up high.

Buggy can't stop looking at that scene: over their head, Romi is floating, spinning, darting through the orange sky of the Belts. They did it.

He did it.

A few minutes later, the Captain descends back on the ship while the crew cheers and shouts.

She gets off the Drifter and throws her helmet away, running to hug everyone.

“Best feelin’ of my entire life!” Romi screams, eyes sparkling in pride.

“That’s just the beginning, babe, buckle up!” Buggy sneers.

The Challengers come flocking around their Captain.

“That was crazy!”

“Please don’t break your helmet.”

“Screw you Labophanse! Ah, ah!”

“I want to fly too!”

“Hell yeah, we'll take turns!” Romi laughs while freeing Ava from her arms.

Soon after, Torres returns from the lower deck with a handful of glassware and a dusty bottle of liquor.

“Time to party!” he shouts as everyone takes a dented glass.

A couple of rounds and Buggy is alone with an empty bottle.

“Hey! If you’ve taken all the booze, I'm feeding the Drifter to the Sea Kings!” he cries out.

Shaking out the last drops, the jester notices Ava, walking towards him with two tumblers filled to the brim.

“Gimme that! You don't even like it.”

“They're both for you.” she rolls her eyes as the man snatches the liquor from her hands.

“I figured you could use a little extra to unwind.”

“Well, it never hurts.” Buggy wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “For your information, though, I’m perfectly chill.”

“Almost icy. At least with me.”

“Oh, pardon me miss.” The pirate shrugs. “But you see, I’m not quite myself lately, ‘cause a good friend of mine has disappeared. One day we're all fun and games and then…puff, gone! Like a magic trick!” His fingers float around. “I wonder what happened to her.”

“I was uneasy around you after the lab, ok? That's what happened.”

“Mh, I think I had a hunch…from how fucking weird you've acted these days!”

“I’m sorry but I needed a little time! I didn't know why I did that, it was embarrassing.” the woman sighs. “And I felt awful.”

The jester bites his lips.

“I guess I was a bit harsh too, back then. Do you, uhm, need more time?”

“Honestly, I don't think it matters. It's just making things weird.” Ava scratches her neck, ignoring the knot in her stomach. ”I'd rather we go back the way we used to be, so… no more talking about the lab.”

“Yes ma’am!” Buggy grabs his second glass, a huge weight lifting from his chest.

While the Challengers run below deck, he walks with Ava, filling her in with his recent adventures at the chemistry lab.

“It burned up?” the woman frowns. “I don't recall any alarm.”

“I asked JoyJoey to disconnect it.”

“You silenced the fire alarm?!”

“Hey, keep it down!” The pirate slides one arm across Ava's shoulders and pulls her close. Giggling, he whispers in her ear: “It kept going off! JoyJoey was fed up too.”

The celebrations continue in the lunchroom with fresh food and loads of drinks, courtesy of Crocodile’s money.

Torres and Ava are cheering on their tipsy Captain, who's running around the table, while Meg and Buggy are pulling a reluctant young man inside the room.

“Leave the kid alone, you two!” Allen laughs, “Poor JoyJoey.” His happy voice is drowned out by the aggressive music playing from the speakers.

Hours later, a terrible headache forces Buggy to slow down.

“Does this fucking song ever change?” he thinks “It’s just hammering and hissing over and over again…ugh. ”

He’s leaning against the kitchen cabinets, looking around the room with a glass in his hand, when his gaze falls on his female crewmates. They’re all in the middle of a conversation, making gestures at each other.

Smiling behind a sip of his drink, the jester feels at peace. “Who knew the science gang would be this fun. Lady luck must be back on my side.” he thinks.

His eyes are fixed on Ava. Hands dirty with black grease, metal on her face: a perfect Egghead specimen, always plunging headlong into the weirdest things. So different from the bland creature who sailed off Fugu, ashamed of eating in front of anyone but him.

The thought of her kiss floods Buggy's mind.

Gripped by a confusing yearning he dares not name, the pirate looks down and sprints out of the lunchroom.

“Damn, get a grip. You’ve had too much to drink and too little sleep, that's all.”

Walking down the silent corridor isn't giving him any relief, his mind crowded with loud thoughts.

The jester gets back to his bedroom and sticks his face under the bathroom’s cold tap water.

“Hey, let’s be real for a sec.”

He talks to the man in the mirror, black water running down his face.

“You know wasted and this is not wasted. Not even close.”

“What's the big fucking deal? You enjoy a little yapping with your roommate who happens to be tolerably good to look at…so what! It's nobody’s fault if that bloody charm of yours makes them all fall for you.”

“Big words for a clown who’s been spit upon for years.” Frantically, the man messes with his hair, fighting the snarky inner voice creeping through his mind. “No wonder you lost your shit at first fucking touch.”

Buggy paces back and forth in the room, trying to escape that familiar voice that's haunting him, making his stomach twist: there's a whole island out there, swarming with minions who worship him like a god, but the only thing he’s ever felt among them is misery.

“Fine. I guess I am feeling some umh… fondness. What then? Should I settle for a constant reminder of Crock’s boot on my neck? Even on my wedding day? Fuck no!”

Buggy freezes as the room's doors slide open.

A bulk of blankets and papers walks in whistling, dropping knick-knacks all over the floor.

“Hello!” Blonde hair is peeking out behind the beddings.

“You just stepped in and it's chaos already!” The jester shouts, his arms open wide.

Ava throws her things on her bed, then kicks her boots away and climbs inside Buggy's module. Legs crossed, she stares at the starry sky outside the window.

“You still haven't told me what's inside the fuel. Oh, and I have some juicy gossip.” the woman says happily.

“I’ll show you tomorrow.” Buggy hops next to her, adjusting the shirt under his half-unzipped suit. “What's this late night tea?”

“Torress…and Meg.” Ava winks at him.

“No fucking way he's into older women!”

“Well, the heart wants what the heart wants, I guess.”

“Heart?” he sneers “It’s just the sailors’ loneliness giving him that itch.”

Gasping loudly, the blonde shoves him by the jaw and Buggy bursts out laughing.

Just like that, a sort of clarity dawns on the pirate: in small, petty moments like that, Croc and Hawk are not in the room with him. Actually, since Ava came around, he’s been doing nothing but laughing and singing and digging his hands in gunpowder. All things happiness is made of, as far as he can tell.

If this is the miracle he kept asking for in Karai Bari…Maybe he should trust his luck one more time.

Ava's heart skips a beat.

She hasn't noticed Buggy getting closer and now his head is sinking in her neck.

“Umh, about the lab thing.”

She struggles to process the man's muffled words as his arms are sliding around her waist, blue hair tickling her cheeks.

“Shall we try again?” he whispers.

Before she could even face him, Ava gets pushed back by a rough, hungry kiss.

She's overwhelmed by the jester desperately pressing on her lips, his coarse chin scratching her skin with every deep breath.

She meets his kisses with equal zeal as she tastes the faint bitterness of his faded face paint.

Hastily, they both get handsy and the blonde stops to observe Buggy trafficking with her coverall’s zipper.

Pulling back, she whispers against his parted lips: “If it's just for tonight, I want to know.”

“Tonight, tomorrow, Friday morning, next month,…”

The pirate stutters incoherently while Ava places lingering kisses on his gold earrings and down his neck.

The woman nuzzles his nose and falls back into the mattress with a teasing smile. Whatever the jester is up to, she doesn't care anymore: at that point, he’s an itch she’s dying to scratch.

[mylovelookup]

No one wants you on tumblr anymore.

Dear anon who’s apparently been creeping in my asks for weeks, sorry I’m only answering you now but life’s been busy but I guess that concept is unknown to you considering you have the time and energy to throw it on my way. Anyways! Fortunately I came to know of your existence bc you made the wise decision to creep into my comments on ao3 and it’s just my luck that I’ve just now decided to check my emails for notifs.

Anon, I’m guessing you’re the one I’ve “bullied”? But I also believe you’re the same freak who sent me those rude asks about my art and so what that tells me is that you’re just drooling for my attention and somehow hoping for my demise, finger tenting your hands like a villain? Before you were just insulting my art but now you have to actually resort to INVENT things as well, that much you’re desperate…

I’d never understoodd how could someone spend this much energy actively antagonising a complete stranger online bc it’s legit rotten and kinda pathetic in my opinion and that’s why the idea that I could be the one doing that to someone is just preposterous to say the least. Also in the last few months I didn’t have the energy to do anything except doing things which would bring me personal comfort. Drawing and posting fanarts was one of them. Guess you have to ruin that too,uh? You have to be really awful and bitter to manufacture lies… I mean what’s your end goal here? I’m legitimately curious. Maybe you’ve got the wrong person lmao? I’ve never been confrontational with anyone online over anything and I would just rather block people so, just so you know, that could be an option for you as well!

Anywho. I don’t know who you are (although I have my suspicions) but unless you’re the lady at the hospital who I snapped at for trying to not-so-sneakily steal my chocolate milk from my bag(!) (in my defence I didn’t eat anything the 38 hours before and that was the ONE good thing in the snack machine. I don’t like almonds on an empty stomach) I don’t owe anyone any apology.

I’m gonna turn off the anon asks on here and on ao3 and maybe you can show your username (without using burner accounts👏🏻) and be less of a coward in your sleazy ways to pick fight with strangers!

[catsthepope]

HEY FNAF FANS I WROTE A THING

This will be included later on, but will be edited. This is an EARLY DRAFT in light of the recent lore drop.

Michael was never meant to be caught in the experiments.

But when Evan begged him to do *one* nice thing for him and stay up so he could sleep, Mike called him a baby and coward. Evan can’t ask now.

Now he’s awake, kneeling by his brothers bed, and swearing not to sleep until Evan wakes up.

Imagine when he’s greeted by those same horrors his brother had described in his nightmares.

“Evan, Evan I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you,” I choked out as I clutched his hand. “I should’ve stopped. When you told me you were having nightmares. That should’ve been the line. You woke up sobbing.”

He was still. It was silent besides the beeping of the heart monitor. *His* heartbeat. All that was left telling me he was alive.

“This is all my fault. We just wanted to scare you. I didn’t want to lose you too,” I let myself fall to the ground, with his hand against my forehead. “I love you dude. You cant die on me. You’re so strong, Evan.”

I hurt you.

The clock chimed in the hall. Midnight.

I heard the hum of the aircon.

“I’ll stay here, like you wanted me to. I’m sorry,” I don’t need sleep, or food. I need to keep him safe.

He won’t be alone.

He won’t die. (and if he does it sure as hell won’t be alone.)

I need him.

Step.

“Dad?” I wiped the tears away from my eyes quickly. I don’t know how he wants me to feel, but the mix of disgust and pride is something I can’t imagine being normal.

Step.

I grabbed the flashlight from Evan’s nightstand as I rushed to the door. It was the right one. I flicked the light on.

What the fuck was *that*?!

The decayed version of what I assume was Fredbear? I think? Scurried away before I could make it out fully. I looked back at Evan as the realization hit me.

His nightmares.

They weren’t nightmares, were they?

You don’t listen, do you?

“I should’ve believed you. But I’m here now, I’ll protect you now,” I sat down at the foot of his bed, listening for any sound in the deafening silence.

I’m the reason he’s going to die.

(Filler)

I heard the clock chime as Evan’s nightlight flicked on and the animatronics dissolved into the darkness. I waited another 30 minutes before wandering out into the hall. I needed a drink. My head was spinning, but I noticed dad’s office door open. I know I shouldn’t open it.

I’ve never been in his office.

I pushed the door open.

Shit.

Evan’s room, but not just his room. This isn’t right, it can’t be. How are there more?! I almost choked on my breath as I turned away. I can’t confront dad, was he doing this to Evan the whole time?! He wouldn’t. He cares about us! He won’t hurt us, he’s our dad. He’s all we have left, right? I should call Henry, or Jere, or someone. Anyone.

…

I can’t.

…

They saw me hurt him.

Even if he lives, he won’t be the same. You know that.

I’ve killed my brother.

…

No.

Is dad going to let my brother die?

I won’t let him die. I won’t be the reason he dies.

I need him.

He’s all I have left.

[beginningobserver]

[RE:CONNECT - blog v.] Link 12- The faded colors of the truth

[AO3 version]

[CW: Murder mention; body horror mention; child abuse mention]

"He doesn't seem to be the same person I met before... again."

Somehow, Hiroomi was remembering his brief talk with Daisuke about Rui. He didn’t understand why his own words were bugging him, or rather… Why his own beliefs about who Rui was seemed to be completely wrong.

He never had been this close to Rui before Ukkomon appeared. He had been just a scaredy-cat witnessing the bullies pestering Rui. He had wanted to help Rui out, but…

“... Do I know him anyway…?”

The boy sighed. He was just sitting on his scooter's seat and looking at the horizon. He saw people and digimon in the distance, walking to different directions. The bay area had a ton of those critters now… Accompanied by children, teenagers or adults.

“Ayame might know him the best, she’s like him too…” he sighed, “Being a Chosen Child might connect him to other people who’re like him and can relate to his struggles though…”

At this point, he believed even Daisuke was more capable of knowing the real Rui than him.

“He doesn’t trust me, but he can trust Ayame at least.”

He didn't want to feel left behind. But he wouldn't complain, as long as he could help Ayame and Rui with everything within his reach...?

However, the feeling of not being able to understand Rui's feelings bothered him.

“... Maybe I was… rude to them all… Because I can’t get how it is to have a digimon by my side.”

Suddenly, his phone beeped. It was a message…?

“Huh?” He took the phone from his pocket and checked his inbox:

Hey, Koyama. Got a time to talk about something? We will be at Yamatoya Ramen.

“Huh…??” Hiroomi blinked, “What do you want to talk to me, Motomiya-san?”

What would Daisuke want with Hiroomi though? It was simple:

“You know Rui better than me, and there’s still things that are not clear.”

“What do you mean?”

Daisuke sighed, and rested his arms on the counter stool, “Rui told us his part of the story, but we never got to hear it from Ukkomon’s side, or even, yours and Nakajima’s.”

“It sounds like you’re doubting him when you put this way…” the other frowned, somehow doubting Rui's words sounded pretty unfair but…

“It’s not that,” he shook his head, “I want to be fair and listen to your own version of that. You said he ‘changed’ and he kinda mentioned something like that, about how his life simply changed all of a sudden when Ukkomon appeared.”

Hiroomi frowned, “I see…”

V-mon was sitting on the counter stool, being quite silent about it. Yet, he’s still interested in the conversation between the two humans.

Hiroomi felt like he was in one of those murder mystery series, and was just interrogated by the ones investigating the case. At first, it would be exciting but…

He wasn’t really feeling excited about that.

“Rui was… Exactly like I told you before, he used to be bullied at school. He was always wearing long sleeves and pants, we never knew why, maybe his body was sensitive to the weather? He wore those even on the hottest days of summer too…”

Unfortunately, Daisuke knew what was the reason behind that detail.

“He also… Didn’t feel like he was taking care of himself too, but despite everything he would be gentle and friendly to everyone, and yet…”

“... He had no friends, right?” V-mon completed that phrase, making Hiroomi just nod his head in response.

“Yeah, because of the bullies, nobody wanted to get involved with him. Nobody wanted to help him out either…” and another sigh came from him. Then, he continued:

“I wanted to help him but I couldn’t. I was weak and a coward. I’m still a coward, so…”

“Wanting to help but not being able to do anything hurts a lot, but you shouldn’t blame yourself as if you were purposely denying to help him” Daisuke said with a serious tone. And with this Hiroomi noticed that perhaps Daisuke had something in common with him…?

Only those who know Daisuke’s whole story would notice that he was a victim from the Vamdemon army’s invasion on August 3 1999. The reason he wanted so badly to be strong and protect others was because he couldn’t do anything back in time.

“I don’t think you’re a coward if you’re trying to help him now,” he added.

“... Thanks,” the young man said in return.

“He changed, right?” V-mon asked, rhetorically though, “Once Ukkomon appeared everyone got to know him better and he started to be less scary?”

“Yeah, I don’t say he was ‘scary’ but… He really didn’t look like a good person. It was stupid tho, judging him by his appearance like that.”

“You should never judge a book by its cover,” V-mon said, “It’s what Ken said once. If the art of a popular manga is not catchy enough but the story is pretty cool, then why would you judge it by the art?!”

Daisuke didn’t know if V-mon was being serious or just trying to make the poor Hiroomi smile by taking that phrase too literally.

Hiroomi chuckled, “That’s right, you shouldn’t judge manga and people by their looks! But you still have to judge other stuff by their appearance and smell, like vegetables and meat, to know if they’re fresh and not rotten.”

“Yeah yeah…!” V-mon nodded sagely.

Well, I guess it worked…?

“But seriously, Rui changed immediately once Ukkomon appeared. He cut his hair shorter and it was neat. His dad miraculously recovered from whatever the disease he had, his mother was much more lively and joyful… Things that caused a whiplash on everyone around.”

“I see…” Daisuke commented. Yeah, that tracks with Rui’s own story.

“At school, Ukkomon caused another huge impact because everyone had never seen a digimon before, or even knew what a digimon was at all. And then he made the bullies stop bugging Rui, and that… That gave me courage to stand up for Rui and myself too.”

“So, you were bullied too, huh…” Daisuke caught that a bit later though…

“Y-yeah… I was,” he confirmed and then continued, “But Ukkomon taught everyone to not let those bullies bother us anymore, so we all became Rui’s friends…”

“But it wasn’t just because of Ukkomon, right?” Daisuke raised an eyebrow.

“... In my and Ayame’s case, no. We got to know Rui because of Ukkomon… But we really noticed he was just a kid struggling with something . I think it was because of his dad, but I do remember hearing him crying outside on the balcony sometimes…”

And Daisuke discreetly clenched his fist. He also knew why Rui would’ve been crying outside on the balcony though…

“But I’m not sure about the others,” he shrugged, “We weren’t close to them either. Another kid from the building used to get along with us, but I dunno if he liked us and Rui for real.”

“Hmm…” Daisuke and V-mon were thoughtful but still listening to him.

“Pretty sure everyone else only got along with Rui because of Ukkomon and only for Ukkomon. Like when kids see you with a cool toy and only care about the toy and not you at all.”

Rui mentioned that Ukkomon confessed to have been hijacking the minds of people besides of his parents’ brains tho -- Daisuke mused.

“... Everything was going great for us until… He and Ukkomon disappeared.”

V-mon frowned, but Daisuke was still serious and looking at Hiroomi. At this point of the story, he was well aware what was about to happen, and it simply gave him another punch in the gut like it had happened when Rui had narrated that part to them a year ago.

“I wasn’t at home when that happened, but Ayame was. And she heard something weird happening at Rui’s home. She can’t remember the details well, but there were a lot of screams and it made the neighbors, including her and her family, worried.”

“...”

“They called the police and then… The rumors started.”

“Rumors?” that caught Daisuke’s attention, but he did remember Rui had mentioned something like that before too.

“You see, Rui’s parents suddenly died and nobody knew how. The police only found them lifeless in the entrance hall and Rui… Rui was fine but there was something about a monster eye on him, trying to be hidden by toilet paper.”

“I guess Rui had told you what happened that night, right?” V-mon asked.

“Yeah, he did later… Some bad guy tried to rob their house, murdered his parents and Ukkomon managed to protect him by opening a gate or something and throwing it directly in the jail.”

“Hmmmm…”

Daisuke and V-mon were aware that it was a lie, but…

“And he told us he got hurt in that same incident and Ukkomon desperately tried to help him out. Ukkomon gave his own eye to Rui, and this is why they fought, because Rui didn’t want him to do something like that.”

“Yeah, he told us too…” V-mon tried to keep the lie going, but he was grimacing.

“Anyway, he and Ukkomon disappeared and there were rumors about the ‘monster eyed kid from Hikarigaoka’ which made Ayame and I mad. Everyone else talked about it! And Rui wasn’t around anymore…”

“He was left with his relatives,” Daisuke remembered, “And spent the rest of his childhood with them until he finished High School and moved out.”

“He told you then…”

“He did,” the other nodded.

He also said those rumors hit where he was at the moment and made things difficult for him too… -- Daisuke added, but mentally because he wasn’t sure if Rui would be ok sharing that detail. Better leave it to Rui himself, if he ever tells Hiroomi and Ayame about that part.

“We kept trying to find him, but… We had no success” Hiroomi said, a bit melancholically,  “No one knew Rui’s family well enough and we didn’t know if he had relatives either. We didn’t want to think that anything horrible and tragic had happened to him.”

“...”

“And then we all parted ways, Ayame went to a medical university and I was just… attending a technical school with no idea what to do with my life. I got to meet her again two years ago and I learned she got a digimon, Cutemon, in the same year Rui disappeared.”

“The same year…?”

“Yeah, in September.” he elaborated, “The reason she hadn’t told me before was that she feared someone trying to come after Cutemon. It was when we started thinking that maybe someone tried to get Ukkomon that unfortunate night of March 2003.”

“...”

“But now there’s a lot of digimon around, right?” Hiroomi commented, “They’re appearing day by day, so I don’t think it’s easy to commit crimes like murder or kidnapping to steal a digimon when your neighbors or relatives can have one too and assist to protect you, right?”

“Hmm… True,” Daisuke mused.

“But… I think you guys understand him better than I do because of that.”

“Huh…?”

“I’m not a Chosen Child like you guys,” he chuckled nervously, quite sad though, “So I can't understand how the life of having a digimon living at your home or handling difficult cases like world-saving and being a hero is.”

“... It’s pretty normal,” Daisuke replied with a shrug, “People make a big deal of having a digimon but we’re still ourselves. The difference is we got dragged into a big thing at a young age.”

Hiroomi felt like he just messed things up when he had said that.

“But… Even if we got ‘chosen’ by someone or something,” Daisuke continued, “We are the ones who make our own choices. Nobody tells us to go and risk ourselves to protect a digimon or a human. We’re not obliged to fight if we don’t want to.” 

“...”

“I chose to fight because there’s things worth protecting and taking the risks.”

“...!!”

“What I’m saying is… You matter to Rui and Nakajima, with or without a digimon, they just see you by who you are. Your feelings and friendship are important so don’t worry about it.”

Hiroomi silently nodded, he just felt he really had hit a sore point Daisuke potentially hated . But the truth is… Daisuke didn’t want him to feel excluded from anything just for not having a digimon.

Having a digimon does not make us special, it’s what Daisuke meant.

“... I just wish I could do more for you guys though…” he muttered, but since the building was closed and nobody but them were inside, Daisuke clearly heard that.

“I think you’re doing your best and that’s what counts. People can still help without a digimon partner, there’s some people who simply lost theirs but they didn’t give up on helping everyone.”

“People… losing digimon?” and Hiroomi’s eyes widened, “W-what do you mean?!”

“It’s something we didn’t know until two years ago, but… It’s not a set-in-stone rule,” he explained, “three of our digimon seniors lost their partners, there’s something that went off with them and sadly…”

“... That’s horrible…” Now he worried about Cutemon and Ukkomon, also Daisuke’s V-mon and all the digi-friends he made.

“Well, if Taichi-san said it’s not something to worry about and that they will solve this… They will solve this and we shouldn’t think too much about it.”

“But why…?”

“They’re good at solving problems like that, and I trust Taichi-san when he says he will definitely find a way to bring all digimon who parted due to that awful partnership dissolution thing.”

“Yeah!” V-mon nodded, “No one will separate us from our partners forever!”

The other boy was just impressed how Daisuke and V-mon were like beacons of optimism and hope even when something cruel like losing their digimon was a real problem.

“You two really are incredibly inspiring, don’t ya?” he blinked.

“Nah, We’re just easy to understand,” Daisuke grinned.

Maybe thanks to that talk with Daisuke at late hours last night Hiroomi was relieved. But he overslept that morning… He thought he and Daisuke had become a little bit closer, because they didn’t know each other very well at first.

To Daisuke, Koyama Hiroomi was just a goofy funny guy who would sometimes pass by and do some delivery orders for his boss. But now he knew Hiroomi a little better, especially how the other was feeling detached from Rui and Ayame because of not having a digimon partner like them. And he deeply cared about Ukkomon and Cutemon, also V-mon and the others despite that.

And to Hiroomi, Motomiya Daisuke was just a very cool hero who saved the day and was just working at Yamatoya Ramen for some reason, but he did remember Motomiya telling him he wanted to run a Ramen shop too. But now he realized that Daisuke was just a very very ordinary guy dragged into the digi-business but, as Daisuke put it, ‘we’re the ones who make our own choices and we are not obliged to fight if we don’t want to.’ -- and that Daisuke’s choice was to help others because he wanted to.

[kybercrystals94]

When Fears Are Faced

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Bad Things Happen Bingo | Prompt: Facing their phobia

Rating: G

Words: 721

Summary: Hunter faces his greatest fear… [[this story might make more sense if you’ve read Where Fears Are Born (by me!) & Phobia (by @just-here-with-my-thoughts) first!]]

(This story takes place mid season 1)

TW: Arachnophobia (you might wanna skip this little story if you have issues with spiders…)

It isn’t fair.

None of this is fair.

Tech is the one who suggested swim lessons in the first place, so, really, he should be the one standing here compromising. That would be fair. That would be reasonable. But instead, somehow, someway, Tech is standing a dozen meters away and half a step behind Wrecker’s bulking, trembling form. At least the cowards have the decency to look sympathetic.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Hunter asks, forcing a gruffness into his voice to hide the way it wants to pitch an octave.

“Yes, Hunter, it’s perfectly harmless,” Echo says. Hunter isn’t looking at the cyborg’s face, but he can practically hear the eye roll.

“It’s true,” Tech calls from his safe distance, “I double checked the data myself.”

Shut up, Tech, Hunter wants to retort, but he bites his tongue. You’re doing this for the kid. If she can handle it…you can handle it.

“And look how cute it is!” Omega croons, holding her cupped hands up for Hunter’s horrified inspection, “It’s fuzzy!” Hunter does not look at it, averting his eyes. Omega pulls her hands back, and gently strokes the demon with her pinky. “Do you think it likes this, Echo? Me petting it?”

“Arachnids do not register affectionate gestures in the same way that traditionally domesticated creatures do,” Tech offers, voice carrying on the gentle breeze that has picked up.

Hunter grits his teeth. “If you know so much about them, why don’t you come over here and do this?” he asks.

“That was not the agreement.”

Omega smiles up at Hunter with the sweetest, most affectionate show of teeth he’s ever seen. “I promise it won’t hurt you,” she says.

Hunter wants to crawl out of his skin. He wants to call this whole thing off. He wants to knock Tech and Wrecker’s heads together for getting him into this mess. Instead, he tries so hard to smile back at his little sister. “Okay,” he says, “if I hold the spider—”

“—for thirty seconds—” Echo puts in quickly.

Hunter shoots him a look but turns his focus back to Omega. “If I hold the spider for thirty seconds,” he emphasizes for Echo’s benefit, “then you’ll let us teach you how to swim, right?”

Omega nods eagerly. “If you face your fear, I’ll face mine!” She bounces on her toes, so excited.

This isn’t fair!

Hunter wrings his hands together nervously. This is one of the worst moments of my life.

“Are you ready?” Omega asks.

No! Hunter holds out his hand. “As I’ll ever be.”

Wrecker and Tech lean in from their safe distance.

Omega drops the spider in Hunter’s hand.

Hunter can’t ever hope to try and deny the pathetic creak of his voice when the eight-legged monster scrambles confusedly across his palm. It finally settles near the base of his fingers, perching with its legs drawn up. He might as well be holding literal flame.

“Awww,” Omega lilts joyfully, “it likes you, Hunter!”

“How much longer?” he asks Echo.

Echo is watching his chrono. “It’s only been five seconds.”

“No it hasn’t!” Hunter protests.

“Now ten.”

Hunter’s muscles feel taut as Omega’s bow string. He might be shaking a little, but he isn’t sure if he actually is, or if it’s just his vision going a little foggy.

“You are doing so good, Hunter!” Omega says encouragingly, touching his arm. “I am so proud of you!”

This is kriffing humiliating. A little kid is telling a full-grown man that she’s proud of him for holding a karking bug!

“Twenty seconds.”

“You’re over halfway there, Hunter! Just a few more seconds.”

“Five, four, three, two, one…Done!”

Omega snatches the spider out of Hunter’s hand before he can hurl it across the meadow (and maybe directly in Tech and Wrecker’s direction). “You did it!”

Hunter has to lock his knees to keep himself upright. He can feel the cool beading of sweat across his brow. He wipes his hand harshly against his pant leg, trying to get the feeling of spider legs off his skin.

Omega trots over to a nearby tree and lets the spider crawl off her hand and onto the bark. She watches it until it climbs out of her reach before she skips back to Hunter. “I’m ready for my swim lesson!”

END

I dedicate this story to @just-here-with-my-thoughts! Thanks for the fun idea…I hope it lives up to your expectations 😂

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List!✨

[separatist-apologist]

Wishing On Dandelions

I see forever in your eyes

Summary: When Elain is gifted a castle from her late Uncle, she expects it to come with bats in the attic and ghosts in the halls.

Not a grouchy English Lord hell bent on pushing her out.

Note: A final thank you to @the-lonelybarricade for both validating all my worst impulses AND being my UK consultant.

Part 2/2 | Read on AO3 | Part 1

Everything fell apart faster than Elain could manage. One moment she was arranging her sister to meet a literal Duke and the next Feyre’s soon-to-be husband was just gone. Elain had left Nesta to guard Feyre, wanting to check both that Tomas was behaving himself, that their father was absolutely in their assigned seat, and that the groom looked appropriate awed and misty-eyed.

And found a smiling Cassian and his too-serious friend Azriel waiting for her just outside the doors.

“Don’t panic,” Cassian drawled in that heavy Scottish burr, “But I cannae find Rhys.”

“Don’t panic?” she breathed, looking from the pair of men who might have been brothers. “But you can’t find…the man…who is supposed to be marrying my sister.”

“Yes, exactly,” Azriel murmured, clearly amused. 

“Oh, god,” Elain breathed. “Come with me.”

Elain took them down the renovated halls of Feyre’s castle, her throat dry. Feyre looked so radiant, was practically glowing. Surely it was all a misunderstanding—some mistake easily rectified. No one could be so cruel. It was Elain’s mantra, even when she realized Cassian was the man Nesta was always going on about.

Even when Cassian ignored her instructions to find his friend and trailed after her older sister, his want so obvious and plain it made her heart ache. Azriel had glanced in her direction, perhaps thinking he, too, would join her.

“Find him,” Elain had ordered, gripping her cellphone in her hand so tightly there was danger she might shatter the screen. “You go up, I’ll go down.”

And before he could protest, Elain took off. Her feet ached from standing in tall heels on the unforgiving stone and all she wanted was to go home. Distracting herself with Feyre’s wedding was almost working, but the moment Elain ran out of things to think about, she found herself back in the foyer, Lucien’s mouth almost on her own, his fingers curled around her arm.

Leaving felt like a monumental mistake. 

Elain shook her head, clipping down the hall praying Rhys was just around the corner weeping over how beautiful her sister was and how stupid and lucky he was. Elain flung open every door she could find, her blood pressure rising until Elain was on the verge of a panic attack.

She looked down at her phone.

He doesn’t want to hear from you.

Elain wanted to hear his voice, though. She dialed, thinking she’d just hang up once he said hello. Bracing her back against the cool wall, Elain’s eyes fluttered shut when Lucien’s voice answered. 

“Elain?”

And just like a coward, Elain hung up.

Of course, Lucien called back immediately. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her that he might. Elain answered silently, glass to her ear.

“What’s wrong?”

You’re not here, she nearly said. Instead, Elain took a breath. “Rhys is missing.”

“Fuck,” Lucien replied. Like he cared. Elain took another breath, imagining that he was right there, that he was speaking directly to her. “Are you okay?”

“I—” Elain hesitated. She’d expected him to tell her to stop worrying, that everything would be fine. Everyone did that—no one had ever asked how she was doing. “I’m so afraid he’s standing her up and it’ll break her heart.”

“That’s on him, not you.”

The sound of echoing steps drew Elain from the bubble Lucien had created. “I should keep looking. Thank you for answering.”

He hesitated. She nearly hung up when he all but whispered. “Of course. Just…erm…Elain?”

“Yes?”

It was her father walking toward her, brown eyes alight when he realized he’d found her.

“Just come back home. To me. Come back home to me.”

Elain’s heart died in her chest. All her usual eloquence failed her. The silence drew a soft sigh from Lucien’s lips before he ended the call. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t heard him say that.

Elain’s whole body screamed, begging her to just walk away. To do exactly what he’d asked and go back home, even if it meant more squabbling and arguing and sniping. 

“Daddy,” Elain said instead, plastering a smile on her face. 

“There you are,” he said, reaching for the tops of her arms. “You look radiant. Your sisters are nearly ready?”

“Yes,” Elain lied. She didn’t have the heart to tell him all his dreams of becoming father-in-law to a very important duke might be dead. “Just last minute jitters I suspect.”

He hummed his agreement. “I heard a rather unsavory rumor.”

Elain looked up at him. They shared so many of the same features. Same brown eyes, that same golden brown hair. He had the same shaped mouth, the same arching cheekbones—all of it weathered from time, lined and worn as he’d aged. 

“Oh?”

“That you and Graysen have ended your engagement.”

“Oh,” she breathed, nodding her head. “Yes, that’s true.”

Her father offered her a plaintive look that set Elain’s heart galloping again. Her stomach splattered at her feet, weighing his obvious disappointment. “You two were such a smart match.”

“We barely knew each other,” she tried, though Elain could feel herself wavering. She loved her father and had spent her entire life trying so hard to make him proud. He’d always doted on her, but never moreso than when her mother had become sick.

It was like Elain had merely replaced her. She’d been only ten, but she understood that he would fall apart if someone didn’t take care of him. Nesta was too lost to grief over their mother and Ferye too young, which left Elain.

“Extend your engagement,” he suggested, as if all she needed was time. “Give him another chance. He’s such a lovely man. He came round the other night just miserable over the thought of losing you.”

Elain opened her mouth to tell her father what Gray had done before closing it again. Would it even matter? “I—”

“I’m hosting a ball for you sister once she’s done with her honeymoon. Invite Graysen,” her father pressed, eyes bright and hopeful. “Let me announce another marriage in my family. Elain, I’m just—I want you to be happy.”

Elain looked into those familiar brown eyes before smiling. “I—I’ll talk to him,” she promised. 

“And the ball?”

“Of course I’ll be there. If you want help—”

“Oh, absolutely. In fact, if you want to think about returning to London for a spell, that would be so helpful.”

Oh god oh god oh god— “I can’t return,” she said carefully, hating how crestfallen her father seemed. “But I could likely come early to help?”

“But…but you do intend to return, right?” he hedged. “You don’t want to live in the country forever…”

Elain couldn’t stand it. She wanted to tell him how she felt and couldn’t bring herself to disappoint him.

“Of course not.”

He smiled, pulling her into a hug that didn’t at all feel comforting. Elain was too rigid even as she tried to return the gesture. To find solace in his embrace like she once had. Elain only felt misery, which lessened at the sound of Feyre’s exuberant voice.

Rhys had been found—and judging from the lipstick smeared around his mouth, wherever he’d been and whatever he’d been doing had hardly been the sinister act they’d all been imagining. Feyre’s hair was ruined, and when Elain rushed forward to try and fix it, Ferye only said, “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

Elain couldn’t relax. She was on edge, nervous and jittery through the entire ceremony. She watched how Cassian stared at Nesta—the obvious yearning and longing hidden beneath a careful, easy smirk. And it was impossible not to notice how utterly enamored Rhys was. Elain had to force herself not to call Lucien again after Rhys’s long, thoughtful speech about how meeting Feyre changed his whole life.

Graysen thought she was mediocre. 

What would he even say, standing up before their family and friends. When I met Elain, I knew I could do better. I did her a favor, marrying her. Nothing about her fascinates me, but for some reason I can’t let her go. 

Come back home to me. 

Elain didn’t sleep that night. She’d planned to stay a few days and mingle with other guests. Instead, Elain very carefully packed her things and crept into the hall at the crack of first light. She thought she could sneak away without anyone noticing.

Nesta was, of course, awake. It set Elain back by hours and yet when Nesta looked at her and asked to go to the train station, Elain heard herself saying, “I can take you the whole way, if you like?”

Nesta, thankfully, said no. It took Elain a whole two hours to get her there, and then two hours to turn around and end up nearly where she’d started—and another two before she saw the familiar shoreline. Lush, rolling hills and thatched rooftops, all winding toward a castle rising toward a gloomy, cloud-filled sky.

Elain parked at the bottom of the hill and all but ran up. She just wanted to see him, even if he was grumpy. She burst through the back, pushing open glass, french doors as a soft drizzle began behind her.

“Lucien?” she called, dropping her back to the tile floor. 

No response. 

Elain kicked off her shoes, knowing how it would make him insane to see her tramping through the pristine halls, dragging in the mud. He wasn’t in the study, nor was he in the drawing room. Not his bedroom, which she lingered in only for a moment, if only to drink in his heady, masculine scent and to appreciate how neat his room was.

Elain stopped, hands on her hips. “Lucien?”

She heard his voice—though he clearly hadn’t heard her. Against the soft rumble of a summer thunderstorm, Lucien shouted, “You think you can’t be a meal, but I assure you, you absolutely can. Get in the fucking pen!”

Henrietta was giving him grief and still he was trying to contain her chicken so she wouldn’t be hurt. Elain felt lighter than air as she made her way through the courtyard, ignoring the rain splattering over her skin, plastering her purple dress to her body. She picked up speed, walking, and then jogging, until she was running through the gardens, following the sound of his irritation. Henrietta spotted her first, abandoning her assault on Lucien’s ankles in favor of trotting toward Elain. Lucien’s head snapped forward, his red hair stuck against the golden brown of his face.

“Elai—” 

She crashed against him before he could finish what he was saying, kissing him like she should have done before she left. 

When she first met him, though, that thought was comical. Lucien, with his sneering lip and his disdain—undone by a kiss as a greeting.

Undone now, if the arms wrapped around her back were anything to go by. The trick, Elain found, to getting Henrietta to leave Lucien alone was covering his body with her own.

“You’re back,” he said, kissing her again before she could respond. She’d almost forgotten where they were, standing unprotected in a rainshower and Lucien certainly didn’t seem to care. 

She wanted to drag him to the ground, to peel those clothes from him until he was soaked with mud. 

“You’re wet,” she said instead, pulling back to look at him. Lucien’s cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen. The hunter green shirt he wore was stuck to his chest, outlining his every contour in maddening detail.

“I couldn’t…Henrietta…” he bit his bottom lip. “When did you get in?”

“Just now,” she replied, scooping the errant chicken into her arms. It took Elain a few easy steps to lock her up in the pen for the evening before she reached for Lucien’s hand. “Did she give you any trouble?”

“Endless,” he replied, hand tucked into the crook of her elbow. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.”

“Changed my mind,” she said blithely, noting the creeping smile on his face.

“Oh?”

“Don’t gloat,” she said, pulling him out of the rain. Lucien was quick, pressing her against the door she’d just closed so he could kiss her again.

“Why?” he whispered against her mouth, tongue tracing her bottom lip.

“You asked me to come home to you,” she replied, hooking her fingers in his belt loops to pull him closer. “So here I am.”

He moaned softly, gripping her face in his sturdy, strong hands. “You could have stayed.”

“Why? Everything I want is right here.”

The next kiss was the one she’d spent the night thinking about—rough and a little messy. All passion instead of elegance and skill. Elain thought she had total control right until his teeth nipped her bottom lip, drawing a sharp gasp. 

“Lucien,” she whispered, not needing anything but more. 

“Out,” he groaned, tongue sliding against her own. “Your clothes—they—you need to get out—”

“Smooth.” Elain tried to laugh, but she could feel his erection straining against her hip, practically scorching between their rapidly cooling clothes. 

“Let me take you out of them,” Lucien said, doing nothing that would free her from his body and the door.  Elain swore she meant to tell him so, but he was kissing her like a man on the brink and Elain wanted him so badly that she didn’t care how he had her that first time.

He cared, it seemed. Grinding his pelvis against her, he breathed, “To my bedroom.”

Pressing her fingertips into the soaked fabric of his shirt, Elain pushed just enough that there was breathing room between them again. They clasped hands, breathing hard as they made their way through the renovated halls. Lucien didn’t say a word about the puddles left in their wake, clearly unconcerned about the mess if it meant he could have her.

Elain pounced the second she was locked tight in his spacious, open bedroom. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Elain very carefully stepped them back to the edge of his bed, all the while kissing him. She didn’t notice his own hands until cool air teased over her skin and her dress plopped the floor around her.

“Did you–” Lucien’s tongue was back in her mouth, fingers tangling in her damp hair. He was still fully clothed, while Elain stood before him in nothing but a comfortable bra and a pair of unmatching panties. 

It was her turn to fumble through his buttons, untucking his shirt before shoving it off his broad shoulders. Lucien was magnificent, so beautiful it made her heart ache. 

“That first night you brought Graysen home,” Lucien growled against her neck, teeth scraping delicate skin as Elain tugged at his belt, “I could hear what he was doing to you.”

It was like Lucien had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he continued, holding her in place. Elain’s hands had stilled on the button. She remembered that night, too. Graysen had been embarrassingly loud while Elain had just laid there, unsure if Graysen wanted to fuck her or fuck Lucien. “Putting on his show.”

Her eyes found his. “And?”

“I’ve never been so jealous in my entire life,” he told her, his own eyes burning with heat. “I wanted to be him.”

“You hated me,” she disagreed, returning to the button of his pants even as Lucien shook his head back and forth.

“I’ve never hated you, Elain.”

“But—”

“Never,” he breathed against her mouth. “Only myself. But never you.”

“This whole time I thought—”

Lucien silenced her with a blistering kiss, pulling her wrists from the waistband of his boxer briefs to caress his chest. “I’m sorry.” The words ghosted over her lips, sweet like sugar. “I thought it must be so obvious to you—and you disliked me for it.”

Elain wrapped an arm around her neck, bringing them both to the bed. “I suppose we’re both stupid, then.”

He smiled, thumbs sweeping over her cheeks. “You’re glowing,” he said, kissing down the column of her neck. “You’re always glowing.”

She was smiling and kissing, so happy she’d forgotten everything else. Rain tapped at the glass panes of his windows, drowning the soft sounds of his breathing. Elain was a drift in a warm sea, pressed into the mattress by the pleasant, solid weight of his body. Lucien seemed content to just kiss despite the solid, thick length of him pressed against her stomach. 

Elain wasn’t. Hooking her leg around his waist, Elain ground herself into him, arching her hips so her breasts were all but in his face. 

Lucien groaned. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“Well, stop,” she ordered, dragging her nails down his back. “Give me the rake.”

He choked, pulling up on his arms just enough to look at her. “Rake?” 

“Yeah,” she murmured, pulling his hair from the messy ponytail it currently resided in. With your long hair and the slutty way you dress.”

Lucien grinned. “Slutty?”

“I know what you were up to in London, too,” she added, though in truth all Elain knew was rumor. 

“Heard about that, did you?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes on his mouth. “So imagine my surprise when all you want to do is kiss.”

“Oh, I want much, much more,” Lucien all but growled as his fingers wrapped around her throat. With only the softest pressure, he inclined her head until he had his mouth on her ear. “What do you want, Elain?”

Elain rolled his hips and Lucien hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “I want you, Lucien.”

He groaned, pulling her face toward him. This time, when Lucien kissed, Elain kept her wits about her. Even with his tongue in her mouth, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, Elain had enough wherewithal to press the heel of her hand against his straining erection. It was meant to be motivation.

She was delighted when he hissed, bucking into her palm.

“Is this what you want?” she taunted softly. 

Lucien swallowed. “Yes,” he admitted, grinding into her touch. It followed a flurry of movement—Elain arching her back so he could unclasp her bra while she shoved his pants and underwear over his hips. They managed to get the offending clothes to the floor, leaving Elain in nothing but a thin pair of underwear and Lucien in nothing at all. She might have complained had Lucien not rubbed his cock against her—he would have slid right in without the barrier. 

She wasn’t ready to be done. After all the terrible, short sex she’d had with Graysen, Elain wanted something fun—something that was more than just her allowing a man to use her for pleasure. 

“Elain,” he whispered, licking the column of her throat. His hands were everywhere all at once, teasing and touching as his lips and tongue began to map out her skin. “Good thing you came home early.”

“Why’s that?” she managed, moaning when his tongue traced a slow circle around her nipple. 

“I cleared my calendar for the weekend, thinking I’d need it for Henrietta. I have nothing I need to do…just you.”

Lucien sucked softly, pulling a ragged moan from Elain’s lips. Pleasure pooled in her chest, sliding toward her aching pussy with each teasing flick of Lucien’s mouth. 

“What are you doing?” Elain asked, fingers replacing his mouth as he began to kiss lower.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he said, kissing against her hip. Elain couldn’t take her eyes off him, her breath stuttering in her chest when he reached the seam of her thigh.

Lucien’s fingers slid beneath the soft fabric of her underwear, pulling a mere inch. Just enough that Elain could have stopped him if she wanted. 

Elain lifted herself off the bed, making it easier to remove them entirely. 

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, speaking the words against her bare thigh. The fingers that had once toyed with her nipples moved to touch her pussy. Lucien groaned, the sound louder than the rumbling thunder around them, when he felt how wet she was. Elain whined, jerking as he rubbed a slow circle over her clit. 

“Do you taste as good as you smell?” 

Words failed her. She wanted to tell him he ought to find out—but Lucien was one step ahead of her. His tongue replaced his fingers, sliding up the wet center of her. It was something Graysen wouldn’t do—he didn’t like the taste and found it too tiring if he had to be there longer than a few minutes. Elain hadn’t protested, though she had been resentful everytime he begged her to get on her knees and suck him off.

Lucien was unhurried, slow in his exploration. He’d drag his tongue down her pussy, tasting and touching before returning to her clit. His movements were deliberate, building pleasure layer upon layer until Elain had begun to writhe from need. 

Lucien hooked his arms around her, spreading her further apart. There was a greediness to his actions that made her feel as if eating her out was a selfish act—he, too, was deriving pleasure from what he was doing. Driving her to madness with his mouth, pulling the exact reactions he wanted with a teasing touch of his fingers or the rough suck of his lips. Elain ground against him, chasing the building orgasm until she’d dragged the bottom sheet from its corners, desperate to feel something beneath her hands. 

Lucien’s teeth grazed the sensitive nub of flesh just as his finger slid into her body. Elain clamped against him tightly, causing a rumbling groan to vibrate through her. It was too much. She came with a gasping scream, hips arching off the bed. Lucien rode her through it, his own body thrusting into the mattress.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered, crawling back up her body for a searing, messy kiss. Elain pulled at his shoulder, lining them up so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“More,” she said against his mouth. “I want more.”

“You can have whatever you want from me,” Lucien replied, pushing himself an inch into her body. 

Lucien groaned, throwing his head back as his eyes rolled up into his head. Elain shivered, unable to contain a smile.

“Is it good?”

Lucien thrust himself the rest of the way into her body in response. It was Elain’s turn to gasp, unprepared for the stretch required in order to accommodate the sheer size of him. Lucien held himself still, head buried in the crook of her neck while Elain focused on deep, gulping breaths. 

Pain gave way to pleasure faster than she’d expected. 

He pulled himself out nearly to the tip, kissing the underside of her jaw as he thrust back into her. They both moaned. Elain dug her nails into his ass, meeting him thrust for thrust with wild, hungry abandon. 

“Louder,” he ordered, hand closing around her throat again. “Is this what you want, Elain? What you came all the way home for?”

“Yes, yes, Lucien—” Elain was rapidly unspooling, losing herself to the golden haze of pleasure. Lucien squeezed just enough that the breathlessness she already felt was heightened, 

“Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes,” she moaned. Elain was close, a fact he must surely have been aware of given his own erratic thrusts. 

“Come for me, Elain,” he whined, dragging the blunt head of his cock through her silken heat. “Baby, please, come—”

Elain fell apart, her scream of pleasure swallowed by Lucien’s greedy mouth. Lucien came right behind her, his moan of pleasure edged with the most delicious whimper—like he was twice as wrecked. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. Elain could feel the pounding pulse of his heart through the skin of his cock. “Holy shit, Elain.”

A small laugh escaping her. She was still clenched tight around him, her body practically shaking from the aftershocks. “Was it how you imagined?”

“Better,” Lucien murmured, kissing her mouth. The taste of Elain’s pussy clung to his lips, exciting her all over again. “Get on your hands and knees.”

“Already?” she asked, dragging her nails against his scalp.

“I have you all weekend, don’t I?” Was Lucien’s smug reply. “I have to take what I can get.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” she teased. Her laughter turned to a whine when he withdrew, rising on his knees to wait.

Elain would have done anything he asked. 

-*-

Elain was avoiding her phone. In truth, she was avoiding everything but her immediate world. Preparing for a restaurant took an immense amount of time, not counting her regular responsibilities. Her father was planning a masquerade party, in part to impress his new in-laws… and, she suspected, to bring her and Gray back together.

Elain hadn’t told Lucien about that. Even when Gray began texting her again, sweet like he’d been back when she’d first met him. \

I miss you.

Tell me about your day pretty girl.

Thinking about you.

Elain didn’t respond. None of those things were true for her. Elain had never been happier than she was with Lucien and with each passing day, began to feel resentment toward her father and his unfair expectations. Was it not enough? While Feyre and Nesta were allowed to carve their own paths, he still wanted to dictate Elain’s—and she was too cowardly to tell him no.

Lucien’s fingers snapped in front of Elain’s face. “Are you listening, or are you thinking about my cock?”

Neither, though she couldn’t admit that. “Just tired,” she said instead, catching the self-satisfied smile that spread over his lips. “I could use some uninterrupted sleep.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he replied crisply, turning back to the documents spread before them. “I need you to sign off on our application here…and here…and I need you to sign payment as well.”

“Yeah, alright,” she grumbled, snatching up a pen. She made her way around the table, leaning over him as she signed. Lucien exhaled in satisfaction, running his nose over her neck. 

“You smell good,” he murmured, snaking an arm around her waist. “I’ll bet you taste even better.”

“This is why we’re so behind,” Elain reminded him even as he pulled her into his lap. 

“I like being alone with you,” he admitted, kissing her cheek. “I don’t want to share.”

Elain wound her arms around his neck. “Father wants me to return to London in a month.”

Lucien’s expression flattened. “Oh?”

“I thought…I thought maybe you’d come with me?”

She saw the warring urges on his face. If Lucien came with her, the son of a duke—bastard or not—it might convince her father to drop Graysen. 

“Elain, I…” he trailed off, biting his bottom lip. Lucien didn’t want to return to London. 

Ever. 

“Of course. It’s fine,” she lied, grateful he couldn’t see her disappointment. “Just a few days and then I’m all yours again.”

He relaxed. “Or you could stay,” he murmured, lips back against her skin. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“He would be terribly disappointed,” Elain replied, her heart pounding at just the mere thought of staying behind. She’d already told Nesta she had to be there—Nesta would kill her if she went but Elain stayed. 

“Why does it matter? What about what you want?”

“It’s such a small thing,” Elain replied, though guilt gnawed at her. It was hardly small—Elain wasn’t willing to give up Lucien, and certainly didn’t want to go back to Graysen. What happened when her father pleaded? When she danced with Gray to smooth things over, to appease him because she couldn’t just be honest about what she wanted?

She risked losing Lucien. He would never forgive the betrayal if it ever got back to him. She’d be just another woman picking the wrong man over him. 

“Then why are you so tense?” he asked, lips trailing over her collarbone.

Honest—be honest. 

“He wants me to work things out with Gray.”

Lucien went taut, pulling his mouth from her skin. “Oh.”

Elain tried to stand but Lucien held firm, unwilling to let her escape. “Do you want him back?”

Elain scoffed. “No. I want—” 

Lucien’s breathing sped up, his fear etched over his features. “What do you want?”

“You.”

The fingers digging against her hip relaxed. “You have me.”

“I don’t,” she whispered, staring at the wood floor beneath them. “Because the thought of telling father I don’t want to go…that I’m never coming back…it makes me so nervous and I find myself agreeing to things I don’t want to do to placate him.”

“Ah,” he murmured, lips back on her. “What’s the worst thing that would happen if you told him you wanted to stay with me, a bastard born Vanserra?”

“He’d be disappointed,” she admitted. 

Lucien waited for her to finish, but that was it. And it was, she supposed, a little pathetic. She was a grown woman—disappointing her parents came with the territory. Elain had gone her whole life avoiding it, and wasn’t sure she wanted to start. 

But the alternative was going back to how she and Lucien had been before. Strangers but worse, because now she knew what it was like to have his undivided attention. 

“Is…is that all?”

“Yes,” she said, heart pounding in her chest.

“Well, as someone who has been disappointing his parents from the moment he was born, let me assure you it’s not that bad.”

He reached for her face, holding it gently in his hands. “Stay with me,” he whispered when she didn’t respond. “He’ll understand you’ve merely fallen under the spell of my cock—”

“Oh, stop it,” Elain murmured, though she nuzzled closer all the same. 

Lucien or pleasing her father? It should have been an easy choice.

But Elain felt miserable all the same.

-*-

“Dad,” Elain said patiently, well aware Lucien was hanging on her every word. He was pretending he wasn’t, face buried in a book on that ugly pink sofa. Elain had her legs stretched over his lap, head resting against a cushion. “About Gray—”

“He’s looking forward to seeing you,” her father interrupted with excitement. “When do you think you’ll be in?”

“I…” Elain looked over at Lucien. His expression was scrunched, eyebrows pulled together with clear and obvious worry. “I’m not sure.”

Lucien exhaled softly. 

“I can’t wait to see you married like Feyre. This is what your mother wanted for you.”

And with that last little guilt trip, Elain hung up the phone feeling stupid. Worse than stupid—like a traitor. Lucien set his book down, turning entirely to face her.

“I know,” she said before he could. “I know.”

“That was rough,” he murmured, gripping her bare shin. “Just—just promise me you won’t dance with him.”

“You’re no better than I am,” Elain complained, tossing her phone to the coffee table before them. “ Be a little angry, Lucien.”

“If we’re fighting, we’re not kissing,” Lucien reminded her. “Prioritize, Elain.”

“So you’ll let me go, knowing my father is playing matchmaker with the ex you punched, so long as I come back to you?”

“I mean…I suppose I’d prefer if you stayed,” Lucien murmured, his grip on her leg tightening. “And I’d like it more if you told your father you were with me. That you—” he took a gulping breath. “Are you ashamed?”

Elain’s stomach dropped. “No,” she said, reaching for his hand. “No, never.”

He nodded. “Okay. Then I’ll live if you go, so long as you come back home to me.”

But she didn’t believe he’d truly made peace with her decision to go. Lucien left her on that couch not too long after, citing some piece of work he’d forgotten. Elain suspected he didn’t want her to see just how hurt his feelings were. 

She called Nesta, and then Feyre, just to make sure her sisters were at least still going. And it was on the phone with Feyre that Elain learned something interesting.

“I’m surprised Nesta didn’t ask Cassian,” Feyre said, her voice weirdly breathless. 

“Oh? How is that going?”

A muffled voice in the background called, “They’re in love!”

“Hello, Rhys,” Elain said before asking, “wait. Did Nesta say that?”

“No. She never would, but Cassian calls Rhys to talk about her all the time. If they’re spending so much time together and he’s in love with her…surely she is, too.”

“Surely,” Elain murmured, an idea percolating in her mind. “Do you happen to have Cassian’s phone number?”

“Why?” Feyre asked, but she sounded too distracted by whatever Rhys was doing to truly pay attention.

“Just…want to introduce myself,” Elain lied. Rhys called out the number before Feyre ended the call quickly, leaving Elain to make a rash, selfish decision. Her father would be so disappointed in her. Elain vowed to turn her phone off, to convince Lucien to keep her in bed where she wouldn’t be tempted to check her messages.

The phone rang, and a man with a cheerful voice responded, “Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Cassian?”

“Aye. Who asks?”

“Elain Archeron. We met at my sister's wedding?”

“Oh, Nes’s sister. What can I do for ye?”

“Nes—nevermind. I wanted to know if you’d like to come to a party my father is throwing at the end of the month.”

There was a pause. “Yeah, I would.”

Elain grinned. “Perfect.”

-*-

Lucien’s fingers drummed against the arm of the couch, his expression blank. She ought to have left and they both knew it. If she didn’t, Elain was going to be late. Maybe it was cruel not to have told him she wasn’t going—that she’d given her spot to Cassian and instead Elain was trying to get Lucien outside where she fully intended to have him.

In the grass, if she could manage it.

“I should check on Henrietta,” Elain said again. 

“Elain—”

“Want to join me?” she interrupted, sliding her hand over his knee. Lucien went taut, sucking in a soft breath.

“Shouldn’t you…pack…?”

“No,” she replied lightly, inching her hand up his leg. “The weather is so nice, it seems a shame to waste it indoors.”

Lucien blinked, so clearly trying to figure out what was happening. Elain crept further still, hoping he was at least a little hard. 

“You’ll be late,” he breathed.

Piece it together, Lucien. 

“I was thinking the grass is probably soft on my knees,” she said, reaching his cock. Lucien angled his hips toward her just enough to communicate he wanted her to touch without saying a word. 

Elain stood instead, tugging at his hand. “Join me?”

“Are you staying?”

“Yes.”

He sucked in another breath. “Elain—”

“If I have to choose between a night of dancing with Graysen or performing an indecent act on you in the garden, well…that's an easy choice, Lucien.”

“And your father—”

Elain ignored how tight her stomach felt. “He’ll have to live with the disappointment, too. I’m not a dress-up doll…and I don’t believe my mother wanted a loveless marriage for me.”

His face was so, so pale. “Loveless?”

“Yes, Lucien. Marriage to Graysen would be loveless…and I want to be loved. So I’m going to stay with you, and trust that in time, father will accept that my heart no longer resides in London.”

"Where ah…where does it live, then?”

Elain crept forward, placing the palm he wasn’t holding against his chest. “Here. With you.”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out, as if it had taken great effort to keep those words locked away. “Too, I mean. I love you, too.”

“How am I supposed to leave, knowing that?” she breathed. Lucien pulled her against him, burying his face into her hair.

“I suppose you’ll have to stay. I could sabotage the wallpaper again though, if you like.”

“Is that what you were doing before?” she demanded. Lucien’s smile was unrepentant. 

“Yes. I was afraid you’d go back to London and plan your wedding if I ever made things easy and I was so jealous of him.”

“So your solution was to make me hate you?” she asked. Lucien grinned.

“My solution was to keep you with me until you realized you were madly in love with me. Which worked, I might add.”

“What a gamble,” Elain teased, even as she kissed the exposed column of his throat. “You should write a book.”

“I should. I’ll call it, Twenty Steps To Make Her Yours: Does She Hate You, or Are You Misreading the Signs?”

“A bestseller,” Elain murmured, leaning up to kiss his mouth. “I’d buy a hundred copies.”

“You’re sweet,” he replied, a smile stretching over his lips. “And I think, if you’re offering to get on your knees, I’d rather you did so where no one could see.”

“Oh?”

“I’m terribly possessive,” he replied, his expression sharpening as Elain began tugging at his belt. “Someone might see and try to steal you away.”

Elain laughed. “They could try.”

She sank to the ground, pulling his rigid cock free while Lucien gathered up Elain’s hair. “My beautiful, sweet Elain.”

“How do you know I’m beautiful?” she retorted, kissing the underside of his erection.

“I told you,” he rasped. “You glow.”

Ignoring the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, Elain asked, “So all those times you were informing me I glowed with that angry scowl—”

“I was telling you how lovely I think you are,” he replied. 

“Did it ever occur to you that you ought to just say so?”

“Nope!” he replied cheerfully. “I have no regrets.”

“Just wasted time,” Elain grumbled, licking the head of his cock if only to punctuate her point. Lucien exhaled a shaky breath, his grip in her hair tightening. He stopped talking the moment she took him into her mouth. The clean taste of his skin mingled with the cinnamon and leather that seemed to cling to him. Elain drank him in, wondering if this would be the time he let her finish without pulling her off him.

Lucien’s personal record was a whole two minutes. Elain had begun counting each pass of her mouth in her head, trying to get to one hundred. Swirling her tongue over the tip of Lucien’s cock drew a ragged moan from him.

“Elain,” he panted, unaware she was only on stroke ten. “Elain, I’m going to fuck you on this couch.”

Elain might have laughed had Lucien not tugged her off him. He pushed her toward the sofa, flipped up the back of her dress, and thrust himself into her just as quickly as he’d pushed aside her underwear. 

“Lucien—”

“Hold the back of the couch,” he growled, snapping his hips roughly. Elain did as she was told, practically vibrating with need. Lucien’s hand tangled in her hair, pulling until her back was arched. 

“Guests are supposed to sit here someday—”

“On our couch?” he panted. Each new drag of his cock made Elain breathless, made her wish she’d never started talking at all. “This is coming with us when we leave.”

“Lucien—”

“That’s it. Whose fucking your pretty pussy so well? Tell me—loudly.”

“Lucien!”

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, lips brushing her ear.

Elain broke apart without meaning to, clenched so hard around him that Lucien followed just behind. It was quick and messy—no amount of steaming their couch would ever make it appropriate for guests. Not when Lucien pressed her into the cushions, feverishly kissing his way down her body.

And certainly not after, when he buried himself back inside her, making an utter mess of them both. 

That suited Elain just fine.

-*-

“Elain Elizabeth Archeron!” Nesta’s voice cut through the silence, drawing both Elain and Lucien’s attention toward the courtyard. Elain’s chickens wove themselves around open grass, chasing after bugs and, in Henrietta’s case, keeping a very close watch on Lucien, who had his head in Elain’s lap so she could better braid his long hair.

“Elizabeth?” Lucien asked, trailing a lazy finger over her thigh.

“It’s not,” she replied, wondering where Nesta had pulled that from. “It’s Marie.”

It hardly mattered. Nesta stomped into view not a second later, trailed by a very apologetic looking Feyre. Rhys was just behind, studying the grounds with interest, while Cassian trampled over a row of daffodils.

“After all the fuss you made about the dance—”

“Did you have fun?” Elain interrupted, noting the wide smile on Cassian’s face.

“That’s hardly the point,” Nesta hissed, eyes narrowed on Lucien. “Who is this?”

“Told you,” Rhys murmured to a silent Feyre. 

“This is Lucien Vanserra. I’ve told you about him,” Elain said, disappointed when Lucien sat himself up. He was squinting against the brightness though he’d extended a hand all the same.

“Pleasure—”

“This is Lucien?” Nesta demanded. “He’s so…”

No one spoke, waiting for Nesta to decide what Lucien was. 

“Young.”

“Did you imagine something else?” Lucien asked her, a smile gracing his features.

“Older, I suppose,” Nesta admitted. 

“Is this why you didn’t come?” Feyre asked, coming forward to shake his hand. “You could have brought him.”

“I don’t want to go back to London,” Elain told them with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m glad you two had fun.”

“Fun is not the word—”

“We had a great time,” Cassian assured Elain. His smile told her that whatever he and Nesta had done made the entire affair worth it. Certainly, from the creeping flush on Nesta’s neck, she felt the same. “Thank ye for inviting me.”

“Of course,” Elain said warmly. “Are you planning to stay?”

Feyre’s eyes swept around the grounds. “It would be nice to be together again. Would we be putting you out?”

It was Lucien who responded. “Not at all. You’ll be our first guests.”

“Come,” Elain added, patting the ground beside her. Henrietta scuttled forward, nipping at Lucien when he tried to settle himself back in her lap. “Tell me the gossip.”

Feyre was the first to plop beside her, blue eyes alight with mischief. Nesta came next, smoothing out her long dress—ever the lady. Elain smiled.

She’d never been happier.