#does anyone have any tips for dealing with sore knuckles/fingers?

[lazyfox411]

.

[vocalyunho]

Tangerine

pairing — Mingi x reader (fem)

genre — fluff, angst, friends with benefits au, smut (first time)

warnings & tags — reader uses a bratty attitude as a defence mechanism, Mingi’s soft side as well as his dom side make their appearance, semi-fwb to fully being fwb, power bottom! Mingi, kinda bratty & sub! reader, handjob, blowjob, praising, masturbation, mention of cunnilingus, fingering, choking, explicit unprotected sex, spanking, pull out method, mention of blood.

word count — 4.2k

synopsis — Mingi and her agreed to help each other out whenever they need it, but after this incident...how long will it take for them to realise that their agreement isn’t only an ‘agreement’ anymore? 

A drop of spit landed on her sternum as she slightly relaxed her jaw. The contrast between her body’s heat and the drop’s made her notice it as it slid down and tickled her a little. Mingi, carefully, ran his hands along the sides of her head, fingers dipping in the smooth hair until his hands met each other on the back of her head to hold her hair in the most loose ponytail. 

“you’re doing so well-”, his gaze is soft when she looks at him with mouth stuffed and eyes hazy “-so so well, baby”

Her tongue ran on the underside of his cock to show her appreciation for the validation Mingi offered her, and right afterwards, she slightly grazed his tip with her teeth. Mingi sighed at that, a sigh that was content and on the verge of becoming a moan. 

He pressed his hips forwards, as much as he could from the sitting position he was in. The couch screeched slightly and her hand gripped his thigh harsher in an attempt to bear the gag reflex that made its way to her. His tip found the back of her throat and her eyes watered in a second but Mingi could only see the flushed cheeks and swollen lips that had him wondering if it’s worth it, right now, to just stop everything and kiss her. It was, but he didn’t. Instead, he let himself enjoy the view of her tears making their way down her cheeks until they, somehow, disappeared.

“such a good girl -my godd”, his head fell on the back of the couch. The praise was simple and one she’s heard several times before, but that didn’t stop her knees from weakening even if they were already resting on the floor. She hollowed her cheeks, giving him a more intense pressure around the tip and Mingi groaned, letting his hands fall from her hair. y/n snickered mockingly, loving the effect she had on him and the next moment, Mingi barely took a few words out “d-don’t make me come-”, a sharp breath followed “-just yett”.

The demand had her slowing her ministrations in an instant...her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and her lips detached from him with a wet pop that echoed louder than she expected. Only her hand kept pumping him slowly, just enough to keep him hard “no?”

“no”

“did I do something wrong?”, she asked, looking up at him, even though she already knew she was doing great. Her only view of his face was his Adam’s apple that was dancing pathetically inside his throat while his chest rose and fell constantly and his hand was gripping the wearied fabric of the couch harshly.

“no”

“what is it then?”, she cocked a brow, though he couldn’t see her.

Mingi took a moment to calm down. He was way too close and he only realised it now that she stopped.

“I just- fuckk-”

As he had just managed to stabilize his breaths, she licked a stripe from his base to his tip making shivers wash his thighs. It wasn’t unusual for her to tease him like that, so the reaction didn’t go unnoticed and the mocking smile from before made its appearance again before Mingi tried his best to finish his sentence. “-want us to try something new”.

She tilted her head in confusion, “right now?”

“right now”

“all of a sudden?”

Mingi nodded and felt his heart tightening. He didn’t know how she’d react to his idea, especially since it wasn’t a part of their deal.

To him, y/n was the good girl that had his body shaking and his dick twitching just by the skills of her mouth and hands, and to her, he was the guy that had her legs quivering and her lips releasing lustful moans just by the games of his tongue and fingers inside her. They were only that for each other and just that...until now.

Mingi needed more, he’s been needing more for quite a while now, actually. He needs to feel her all over him, on him, around him, under him, however she likes as long as it is only for him, and he needs it desperately...even though it isn’t a part of their agreement.

He doesn’t only want her to wrap her pretty lips around his tip anymore, but to lay her lips upon his and to rest her tongue inside his mouth...he wants her to tangle her fingers in his sweaty locks and be able to look at her in the eyes as she does and he, especially, wants to finally hear her pretty sounds, all of them, without her trying to hold some back.

“I want you to ride me”, Mingi spoke fast. 

“what the fuck?”, was her first reaction “that wasn’t a part of our agreement”, she let him go.

“I know...you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to”

A moment of complete silence followed, with only their breaths -especially Mingi’s heavy one- echoing in the room. y/n looked as if she was ready to defend herself any minute and Mingi couldn’t blame her. What he was asking for, after all, wasn’t just a favour, he was asking her to lose her virginity to him and he was no one important or special to her.

Anyone reading this right now would’ve guessed that y/n isn’t a virgin, but appearance is often deceiving. Other than foreplay (lots of it), she’s never had penetrative sex with anyone before, as surprising as that may sound. That’s why Mingi was insecure about what he was asking for.

“I just thought-”

“if you want me to do that-”, she talked back fast.

Mingi waited to hear what she had in mind.

“-you'll eat me out twice next time I come over”, she said while standing up and trying to regain her balance because of her sore knees “you owe me for blowing you, anyway”

Mingi was the one who was taken aback now. Her first reaction had made him decide that there’s no way she’d agree, and now she wasn’t only willing to do it, but demanding and straight forward too. The stereotypes had taught him that when a girl decides to lose her virginity, she does it with someone she trusts and she’s shy and, maybe, a little scared before doing so. Mingi was either foolish enough to believe those stereotypes or y/n didn’t see virginity loss as something as important as others (he didn’t even consider the case of y/n actually wanting to lose her virginity to him).

“deal”

His heart skipped a beat at the images that flooded his mind. As she stood up and stripped herself from all the clothings, something inside Mingi told him that he had to see her breaking down for him, to see her real self, and he only realized what was going on when she straddled him. She managed to do it without touching his erection but once he was back to real life, Mingi gripped her sides and forced her to sit on his lap, trapping his hard on between their bodies. He did it on purpose and she knew it. The sensitive bundle of nerves on his tip sensed the wetness on the thin fabric of her panties, instantly, but she didn’t seem to care one bit. It was reasonable for her to grow wet, she was sucking him off, after all.

“do you have a condom?”, she broke the silence.

“fuck”

“you asked me to fuck you and you don’t even have a condom?”

“I hadn’t planned it”

She rolled her eyes “can you at least- pull out?”

“I think so”

“just warn me when you’re close, I don’t want you coming inside me”.

Mingi nodded in anticipation and guided his hand on her back, touching her feather-like, and travelling upwards until his hand met the back of her head and his eyes, y/n’s gaze. He forced her head forward until they were eye level with each other. She looked relaxed but he knew she wasn’t as chill as she seemed. Her heart was beating faster than every other time inside her ribcage and her breaths were jerky, that’s why he stretched his neck and got closer to her face. He let her feel his calm breathing for a moment before connecting their lips simply (kissing was a part of their agreement as a ‘mood maker’ only). Her eyelids fell shut and her hands rested on her thighs but the burn inside her was still hot and bothering. 

“no need for that”, he said as he broke the kiss.

“what?”

“your hands are shaking”

She looked at them and Mingi realised she wasn’t aware of it until he mentioned it. He rested both of his hands on top of hers, an action that was new both to y/n and him, since they haven’t been intimate in this way towards each other before. Everything they ever did was restricted to their primal needs and lacked any type of emotion, and this right now broke the second rule. 

She shook her head as if the shaking was nothing but Mingi didn’t take long to speak the first thing in his mind, “I’ll take care of you”. His thumbs caressed her knuckles and as much as she liked this side of him, she still tried to overlook it, she tried every time.

He’s always been good to her, praising her good job, complimenting the little details, giving her all the validation she needed...the complete opposite to her. She had never shown him a single hint of deeper emotion or given him the slightest praise. Even when his fingers were buried inside her, even when she was on the verge from the pleasure he gave her and even when he called her “baby”, she didn’t show him everything she felt. She fooled herself by thinking that she shouldn’t let it get to his head when, in reality, she was just scared. If she did show Mingi how he made her feel, he’d want to get better and give her more and...she’d fall for him. 

She didn’t want that but the fact that she agreed on what he had asked her for and the way her heart skipped beats at his words, said otherwise. She knew it, but she overlooked it again. Thus, she kissed him once more, only this time her hands rested on his bare chest.

Her lips moved smoothly against his in a slow yet needy pace until Mingi, suddenly, moaned. y/n smiled against his lips, barely grinding on his erection, loving the effect she had on him and careful not to make a sound herself. And as he was about to slip his tongue inside her mouth...she parted. Mingi chased after her lips but y/n lifted her body and held herself up on her knees as a careful hand found her underwear and slid it to the side. Dropping her head forwards, her pointer and middle finger massaged her clit for a bit before the neediest lip Mingi has ever seen of her, got trapped between her teeth. Her eyebrows furrowed, accompanying the bitten lip, and Mingi thought that if the expression on her face could take the form of a sound, that sound would be a breathy, ecstatic moan on the verge of turning into a needy meowl. If she only let him see that expression again, while he’s inside her, Mingi would be the happiest man alive.

He sat there, watching her in awe but the force of habit made him replace her fingers with his and stretch her hole by inserting two fingers in it, without even thinking. y/n’s breath got caught in her throat and her hands landed on his shoulders subconsciously, only for Mingi to pump them slowly to test the wetness at first. She had to be prepared for something larger so he added a third one, not long after, expecting her to moan out loudly as she always did, but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled and bit her lip in content at the new stretch. Her head fell backwards and her hand gripped the wrist that was working magic inside her but didn’t try to stop it. She let him speed up and give her the sweet stimulation she deserved.

“that was s-sudden”, she chuckled as if this was nothing, yet she was secretly loving it.

Mingi was already mesmerized by the view in front of him but that didn’t stop him from speeding up sensibly. Her wetness resounded with every thrust of his digits until he decided to bury them inside her and collide his palm with her clit. He curled his fingers while massaging the bundle of nerves, something he’s never done before, and y/n cursed. She clenched around him and that’s when she finally moaned loudly. 

Mingi couldn’t wait for the moment he’d see her reaction to him getting buried inside her. He didn’t know why he wanted that so much...he’d seen her reaction to his fingers and tongue multiple times before but something about her losing it over his cock, took him to heaven.

On the same side, y/n had always thought that if Mingi was this good with his hands, there’s no doubt he’d be ten times better with his dick. She was indeed a little scared of losing her virginity, but she was much more impatient to find out if her conjectures would get confirmed. Thus, when she felt the knot in her stomach tighten, she grabbed his wrist harshly and stopped his ministrations instantly.

“I-I thought you’d fuck me”, she said out of breath.

“I was preparing you”

“Do I look like I need fucking preparation?”

There it was again...that attitude that had Mingi needing her more. Her eyes were drowsy but her voice strong and in any other case, he would get mad at an attitude like this but when it came to her, he found it the hottest thing in the world. He wouldn’t lie if he said that sometimes, when he thought of the way she acted, he got helplessly hard at times that his hand was the only solution.

She stared at him but instead of getting a response, Mingi licked his lips and moved his hand from her, to his erection fast. If she wanted it now, she’d get it now. 

She was already keeping herself up on her knees, so he aligned himself with her core easily but instead of pushing in, he grazed his tip along her sensitive parts, taking the time to travel from where she needed him the most, to her clit and back again. 

“fuck”, y/n sighed, the new type of friction getting her weaker than she expected. Her legs trembled and Mingi noticed and exhaled in content, seeing how such little stimulation started tearing her wall of pride down, already. It felt like her previous bratty attitude stayed in the past as her brows raised in need.

She was just as cute as he always thought she’d be and when she rested her forehead against his (as a readiness indicator he thought), Mingi found the chance to push in, wanting to see her very first and honest reaction.

To say that she didn’t let him down would be only an understatement...her breath fanned his lips, her face scrunched up and her lips took the shape of an ‘o’, and all of this while a soft cry resounded in the small living room. He almost witnessed her real self. 

His tip was, for sure, larger than his fingers so her body going into autopilot mode, was understandable. She didn’t move one bit, so Mingi held her by the sides and started pushing her body down on him, slowly and gradually. Her voice broke more and more with every inch that was inserted and occasional ‘ah’s’ found their way out of her lips...it didn’t feel comfortable yet, it was painful for her. She’s never had something as big as this.

“fucking hell”

y/n shut her eyes in pain and Mingi let her take all the time she needed once he bottomed out, in order to get used to the stretch. They both knew she wouldn’t bleed (because Mingi was the one who had broken her hymen the first time he helped her out), but she still needed to adjust to something as new as this.

No words but only looks were exchanged between them when she tried to lift her body, and Mingi could’ve sworn to any God that tiny tangerine speckles danced in her eyes when she lowered and let him fill her again. A rough moan escaped him at the pressure she offered and after a few more knotty bounces her own pleasure sounds started making their own appearance. Her silk helped a lot and so did the slow pace.

It started feeling good sooner than she had expected and so, her arms rested on his shoulders as his, layed on her thighs. She moved agonizingly slow, often hissing at the girth, and once she got used to the sense, her body started asking for more. 

She went faster, just enough to gain more stimulation and Mingi moaned at that. His hands were caressing her thighs in the rhythm of her bounces, his eyes were glued on her face and even if y/n wanted to increase the pace, she wanted something else more. She had the need to see him take control. 

She wanted Mingi to do her as he pleased, to show her how he liked it, to be rough with her and to just...be at his mercy for once, but how would she ask for that without seeming weak?

She kept bouncing on him in a steady pace...Mingi was big, she knew that very well and he felt...perfect. Every time he got buried to the hilt, her walls tightened but Mingi wasn’t in the right state of mind to notice she was doing it on purpose. Instead he let himself enjoy it until his body started needing more and that need came out in the form of a groan that was deeper than his already deep speaking voice. He wanted her to bounce on him faster, to feel every corner of her, to feel his tip reaching her deepest parts.

“go faster”, he commanded but y/n continued moving as she was, like she didn’t hear him. Mingi tried to snap his hips upwards but it was impossible with both of them moving at the same time, so he said it again and louder this time.

“I said go faster”

y/n tried her best to keep her composure and talk to him, without her voice betraying how hard it was to think straight.

“why don’t you man up and fuck me yourself then?”

She said with effort and then stopped...with him buried inside her, twitching at the attitude she gave even now. Mingi’s eyebrows raised in surprise and y/n cocked a brow full of pride, because she knew exactly what her words were doing to him. She wanted him to ruin her and she’d get it the way she knew best...by provoking him.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”, he tilted his head, obviously bothered by her comment.

“can you even fuck me properly or is fingering the only thing you can do well?”

Mingi’s tongue poked the side of his cheek at the frustration that washed his body. He didn’t want to go hard on her for the sake of this being her first time, but her attitude hadn’t given him a single break. There’s no way he would take it anymore.

“you really don’t think before speaking, do you?”

The provocative eyebrow disappeared when Mingi placed his hands on her ass and gripped each cheek harshly. A harsh slap resounded before he lifted and pressed her down on him with full force...and then he did it again and again and again and y/n found her jaw going slack. He didn’t hold himself back at all. Her hair moved in every which way and landed on her face messily, her arms wrapped around his neck, holding for dear life, her legs lost all their strength but Mingi kept it up. He got drunk on the slapping sound of her ass against his thighs and her high pitched cries and, maybe, he liked more than he should the fact that her lips ghosted over his...open and ready to be kissed. And he would kiss her if his mind wasn’t hazy and if he didn’t want to prove that, what she’s gotten herself into was brattier than her attitude.

y/n cried out in pleasure, he reached so deep that he hit every right spot, every part that had the burn inside her turn into a big fire and she’s sure she wants to feel that more often. Even though Mingi couldn’t do it, she did it herself. She captured his lips in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss as he still bounced her on him. It was messy, but she needed it and Mingi returned it feverishly. Their noses brushed each other’s, their breaths got mixed creating a heavy sound and they only parted when y/n cursed under her breath at the part he reached. 

“right there, baby?”

“pplease more”

“huh?”

“M-Mingi please”, she cried out.

They fucked shamelessly, not giving a damn about Mingi’s neighbours hearing them. They got addicted to each other’s effect. 

y/n lost herself when he wrapped his hand around her throat. His dominant side was better than she had expected. No one’s ever treated her like that and only now did she realise how much she liked it.

“you’ve gotten y-yourself into big trouble, d’you know that?”, he squeezed the sides of her throat making her yelp.

“ha-harder please”

“can you even ttake it?”

Mingi said before forcing her to come face to face with him. He kept her stable right where their lips almost touched and before y/n could connect them, he snapped his hips up. Her eyes rolled back and her jaw went slack. He found it, he found that one spot and with every thrust, he hit it harder and harder and harder until she went completely crazy. 

Her body trembled, her head was left on the will of his hand and her core tightened so much that Mingi felt his body burning. 

She cried out for more, though she couldn’t take it. Mingi knew he had reached her g-spot, her pathetic voice confirmed it but he didn’t complain...he felt better than ever before and he loved her sounds, he always did. You could say they were the ones that brought him to his climax right after hers.

Mingi thrusted fast until he suddenly left her throat and raised her body enough to pull out fast. He pumped himself with quick, small strokes as y/n fell messily on his thighs. Her hands found his chest and her face took an expression Mingi’s never witnessed before. 

Thick white liquid got spread on his thighs, right under her body but he didn’t notice it as his climax made its way to him. He let out moans, both rough and sweet, both needy and full of relief and came on his stomach and chest (some of it reached her hands too).

His arms fell on each side of his body lifelessly and his head fell on the couch as low curses showed how rough his high was. He breathed fastly and so did y/n who rested her upper body against his, not minding the cum that got trapped between their bodies. 

It took them a moment to calm down. y/n was so weak she could barely move, it was even hard for her to feel her legs and when Mingi looked at her form, he realised that all that attitude she gives, hides the version of herself she’s afraid to show. She needs someone to take care of her for once, for her to not have to take care of herself by her own all the time. She wants someone to take control and guide her. He wanted to kiss her softly and tell her that he could take care of her but when he gripped her sides and slid her upwards and closer to him, she hissed lowly. Her clit got dragged on his thigh and the sensitivity was unbearable but when she raised her head and looked at him with eyes drowsy and features soft, he couldn’t help but cup her chin and kiss her.

“you fucker...you’re good”, she whispered, resting her forehead against his and making him giggle.

“I’m even better at the missionary”

“next time?”

“for sure”

How long would it take for them to realise their agreement isn’t only an ‘agreement’ anymore?

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taglist: @barnesbabee @byekyoto @yunhozone @yunhowhoitiss @amultislifeforme @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @mirror-juliet @chansungies @deonghwa @lunarmingi @toffee-hwa @lqsience @yunderland​ @cutemaknaegirl  couldn’t tag: @joshuasfairy @yunhosillegirl

[bluefuckboy]

Summer Jasmine ✨

Kiribaku A/B/O (Omegaverse)

Alpha Kirishima and Omega Bakugo

Summary: Bakugo has been a single father for three years, after a one night stand with an unknown Alpha resulted in him becoming pregnant. He has always struggled with being an Omega, but has been successful at hiding his true identity, including now while raising his daughter, Yuki. After an incident at preschool, he is called into a parent teacher conference. But what was supposed to be a simple meeting turns out to be a twist of so called “fate.” Bakugo questions whether the difficult journey he’s endured has led to this Alpha, whose scent is like a peaceful, summer breeze.

I’ll be posting the full fic on AO3 soon. It’s about 10 chapters or so and approximately 15K. The name comes from a song released in 1972 called “Summer Breeze” by Seals & Crofts. I’ll explain more when the full fic is released, but go give it a listen as it’s a good, calming song.

This is the first chapter with a note at the end on how the a/b/o universe is structured for this fic

Trigger Warnings: implications of assault against Omegas (including brief mention of attempted rape), mpreg, mentions of abortion, issues dealing with self-hate and struggles with gender identity in terms of secondary gender of a/b/o, later chapters are nsfw

@slackslumber I’m sorry this turned out to be a light novel

Bakugo glanced up at the plate next to the classroom door.

Kirishima E.

Pre-K

He inhaled and ran a hand through his hair, which he had attempted to tame in vain. It wasn’t his first parent teacher conference. Yuki was an unruly child and was becoming even more so as she got older. This time she had tried to bite the ear of another kid and Bakugo was prepared for another dull lecture from a dull teacher who didn’t know a thing about actually raising kids.

He let the breath he had been holding out and gripped the doorknob, giving it a turn. The room was set up like any normal Pre-K classroom would be. There were little brightly colored chairs in groups, large matts with the letters of the alphabet and numbers adorned the floor and model planets hung from the ceiling.

At the front of the classroom was a large desk at which sat a man with bright red hair that was pulled back into a short ponytail. He was dressed in a nice button up, sans tie, with the top couple buttons undone. Rimmed glasses sat perched atop his nose and he pushed them up with the butt of a pencil as he stared at the stack of papers in front of him.

Bakugo cleared his throat and the man looked up.

“Oh! Sorry,” he got up and went to extend a hand to Bakugo, “I’m Kirishima, you must be Yuki’s dad.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Bakugo replied, shaking the hand offered to him.

Kirishima was tall and Bakugo opted to stare at his feet clad in worn dress shoes instead of trying to meet the amber eyes of the teacher. Kirishima motioned for Bakugo to take a seat at a chair that had been moved in front of the desk.

Bakugo sat down, crossing his arms out of habit. He tended to keep to himself and that extended to his interactions with other people. He didn’t want to draw any extra attention to himself.

Kirishima seemed to be the complete opposite. It was clear he was well suited for the job he was in. Bakugo could see children’s drawings hung on the wall behind Kirishima. Little stick figures with crude faces. There were a couple that had a character with spiky red scribbled on top of its head. They had shaky letters drawn next to the stick figure that read “Mr. K.”

Kirishima moved the stack of papers to the side, and set his glasses atop it. He gave Bakugo a toothy smile and Bakugo noticed the sharpness of his canines. His brow furrowed and he tensed a bit. He didn’t particularly care for Alphas, so he was usually a little wary around them.

But Kirishima’s eyes were soft and warm. There was a small scar by one of his eyebrows and Bakugo noticed he had the makings of crows feet at the corner of his eyes despite his youthful appearance. They were probably from smiling so wide that he looked almost like a shark.

Kirishima picked up the pencil he had earlier and twirled it as he said, “I hate having meetings like this, so I’m sorry if I seem a little bit unprofessional.”

Bakugo didn’t reply and Kirishima continued, “Yuki is wonderful. She’s very bright for her age and does great with her grades. But she seems, hmm, how do I put this.”

He tapped the pencil against his temple in thought, his bottom lip sucked under his top teeth. His expression turned to concern as he spoke again.

“It feels like Yuki is lashing out, so that’s why I wanted to talk with you.”

Bakugo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he said, “I can make her apologize to that boy and his parents. We had a conversation about using our words and stuff.”

Kirishima waved his hand. “No no it’s not that. Well, it is a part of it. But not the main reason I called you here.”

Kirishima sighed and sat back in his chair. “I care a lot about my students. It’s kinda silly but I think of them as my own kids sometimes. So I want them to do well. But not just in school.”

His cheeks tinged red slightly. “I know it’s not my place to butt in on people’s personal lives, so I apologize if I offend you, but I’m just concerned that this might be something for Yuki that is bigger than the classroom.”

He turned to reach behind him, grabbing a picture off the wall that Bakugo hadn’t noticed during his initial glance at the artwork. Kirishima placed it in front of him and Bakugo looked down at it.

It was a picture of a little stick figure girl with a bright pink bow in her hair. She was standing next to a figure of a man who was holding the black line that was the stick figure girl’s hand. The word “Daddy” had been written next to the figure in legible handwriting that must have been from a TA or something.

The background of the photo was scribbled with a blue sky and green grass, with a little house in the distance. But there was an area that was left blank, a white spot on the other side of the girl. Her little stick hand was surrounded by the white, almost as though she was trying to reach for something. “Yuki” was written in large shaky letters at the bottom of the paper.

Bakugo’s heart clenched as Kirishima spoke softly.

“This was from a week ago. We had draw your family as our art project. I don’t want to pry or assume anything, but when I asked Yuki what the white spot was, it seemed to make her upset.”

Bakugo could feel his cheeks getting hot. He wasn’t sure how to reply. It was obvious that he didn’t have a partner, and being a single parent wasn’t unusual. Rather it was the fact that in their society he wouldn’t be considered Yuki’s father.

Bakugo’s silence made Kirishima redden a bit more and he said, “I’m sorry if this is sore subject. I’m just concerned.”

“It’s fine,” Bakugo spat.

The words came out more defensive than he meant them too and Kirishima’s eyebrows knit together closer with concern. Then he asked the question Bakugo always dreaded he’d hear.

“Can I ask you about Yuki’s mother?”

Bakugo swallowed and tried to compose himself before speaking again.

“I’m raising Yuki on my own. Her mother is…”

He trailed off as his heart started beating faster. He was always so cautious and he knew that he should tell Kirishima to mind his own god damn business. But something about the calmness in Kirishima’s voice and his genuine smile made Bakugo feel like this was a safe space.

He tried to push down the ball of anxiety buzzing in his chest as he gripped the sides of the chair and said quietly, “It’s Yuki’s father, not her mother. I… I’m the one who gave birth to her.”

The admonition seemed to hang in the air and Bakugo hung his head. It shouldn’t be something he was ashamed about. Male Omegas were rare and it was even rarer for one to be able to give birth. They called it a “True Omega” and the odds were about one in a nearly half a million. It was a rarity that was often exploited, which was why Bakugo had kept it secret, even from Yuki when she asked why she didn’t have a mommy like the other kids at the playground.

The classroom was deadly quiet and Bakugo’s adrenaline was nearing the fight or flight stage, but then Kirishima spoke again.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell anyone. I care about Yuki a lot, so I promise I won’t make things any more difficult. And if I can help in anyway, I’d be more than happy to.”

The offer caught Bakugo off guard and he finally looked up. Kirishima’s expression was one Bakugo had only seen on the face of characters from the movies he used to watch as a kid. A look that made you feel safe and protected, almost like a knight in shining armor. Kirishima smiled and it felt like a weight had been lifted from Bakugo’s chest. Even the air seemed clearer and he realized his knuckles had turned white from his death grip on the chair.

He let go, but regretted it as his hands started shaking. It felt like he was coming down from a panic attack and he felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks. He flushed from embarrassment and ducked his head into his lap.

It was mortifying, but he couldn’t stop and his whole body trembled as he wrapped his arms round himself. Fat tears were rolling down his cheeks and he wanted to melt into the floor. But suddenly there was an aroma like a summer breeze.

It wrapped around him and as he inhaled shakily his trembling started to stop. His whole body felt like it was being enveloped in a warm embrace from the inside out. It was a comforting, almost faintly familiar scent and he could feel his muscles relax as the tears gradually started to subside.

A tissue appeared in front of him and he realized that Kirishima had come around the desk to kneel beside him. Bakugo reached out a shaky hand to accept the tissue. As he did, the tips of his fingers brushed against Kirishima’s.

It was the briefest of contact, but it felt like little sparks had ignited from where the pads of their fingers had touched. Bakugo looked to see if Kirishima had experienced a similar feeling, but his face was still etched with worry. His hand on the back of the chair did tighten slightly however and Bakugo’s heart rate went up despite not knowing what he was expecting.

But then Kirishima was standing up again, taking the smell of the summer breeze with him. It made Bakugo realize what had happened and he looked at Kirishima with an expression between anger and fear.

“Did you just use pheromones on me?”

.

A/B/O Universe Notes

Alpha/Omega changes occur at puberty

Secondary sex characteristics manifest. Alphas will go through a growth spurt and will eventually grow their “fangs.” Omegas will have their first heat. Both will begin to emit pheromones and part of growing up is being able to control them. However, thanks to modern medicine, blockers makes it much easier.

70% of the population is Beta

Betas are essentially normal humans. They can procreate with each other and don’t experience a rut or a heat.

20% of the population is Alpha

They are considered a superior form of human. Physically they are usually a bit taller, able to gain muscle very easily, and have lots of stamina.

A unique characteristic of the Alpha are their fangs. They manifest during puberty and are attached to glands in the Alphas mouth. During arousal, while in rut, or even a rush of adrenaline can cause an Alpha’s fangs to descend slightly from the gum line and is referred to as “baring.” The canine teeth are connected directly to the glands and are the sharpest and most prominent, but the lateral incisor will also sharpen slightly during puberty. When an Alpha bares their fangs, the canines will become extremely pronounced. When marking, the fangs are used to puncture the skin and can secrete fluid from the glands in order to mark an Omega.

An Alpha will experience a rut occasionally. During this time they will become fixated on mating and can become irrational. Ruts are sporadic and with the help of blockers, most Alphas are able to avoid rut.

10% of the population is Omega

Generally thought of as the “weakest sex” Omegas are usually smaller in frame and it is hard for them to gain muscle. They can become pregnant regardless of gender, but male Omegas are not common. Impregnating a male Omega is also extremely difficult, unless they are a “True Omega” Most male Omegas are recessive.

The Omega experiences an estrus period, or heat, once a month. It will make them want to breed, same as the Alpha’s rut. Unlike a rut, blockers have no effect on the estrus period. During the estrus, an Omega will become wet, secreting what is referred to as slick, making it easier for an Alpha to enter them. For female Omegas it is secreted vaginally, for male Omegas it is secreted anally. However, male Omegas often produce significantly less slick during the estrus period and the chances of pregnancy are very low.

True Omegas are a phenomenon where the body is fully Omega, regardless of gender. The person will be able to be impregnated easily, even if they are male, and their estrus periods are often more intense. The percentage of True Omegas that have been reported is less than 1%.

Copulation:

Between Betas it’s exactly how it works in regular humans.

Between an Alpha and an Omega there are a few more factors. Pheromones play a part in intercourse, both in initiating and during. Slick makes it very easy for an Alpha to enter an Omega. During intercourse the Alpha is able to “knot” an Omega if significantly aroused, or in rut. Knotting lets the Alpha stay connected to the Omega for an extended period of time. Ejaculation is delayed while the Alpha is knotting. Once knotted, an Alpha will ejaculate numerous times into the Omega. Knotting can last for a few seconds, to over an hour. The physical knot is a gland at the base of an Alpha’s penis that will swell in the Omega, causing them to become stuck together until the Alpha finishes ejaculation or is rendered incapacitated.

Pregnancy

For Betas it is around a normal gestational period of 9 months. For Omegas it is shorter, usually around 4 to 5 months. Children of Omegas tend to be on the smaller side, regardless of the parents genders.

Fated Mates/Pairs

This is regarded as a fantastical idea, but has never been proven as fact or fiction. A fated pair consists of an Alpha and Omega who are so compatible, it’s almost like fate has brought them together. Some claim to have experienced almost a supernatural pull to their partner, but scientists have labeled it the evolution of compatibility making it easier for Alphas and Omegas to select the best mate for them.

[nalgenewhore]

<3<3<3

masterlist - ao3 - day four - day six

<3<3<3

The stupid beads on her stupid headdress dangle over her eyes and Elide angrily bats them away, her other hand white-knuckled in the heavy, ruby-red skirts of her dress. 

She stalks through the circus grounds, anger and hate nearly sparking from her eyes. Because of their cover, Lorcan’s taken to bracing Elide’s ankle constantly, but her gratitude for it and her growing affection for the female cannot placate her now. 

It’s the third night in a row that Elide’s customers at the oracle’s tent have been driven off to see Lorcan’s performance, and Elide has reached her breaking point.

The female is doing it to annoy her, she just knows it. She will not crack and pretends to hate it, pretends to not know that Lorcan craves her attention. 

On the other side of the grounds they’ve claimed is Lorcan’s clearing. The crowd is too thick for Elide to push her way through, so she climbs onto a barrel for a vantage point. 

Lorcan’s hatchet and dagger are gleaming arcs of light as she fights the foolish man who thought he could best her. A line, near a mile long, snakes its way around. Elide doesn’t understand mortal men and their fascination with proving their power over women and females. She marvels at their confidence, when it seems as though Lorcan is hardly breaking a sweat and the bored expression on her harsh face clearly shows that this is nothing but play to her, not even challenging enough to be considered training. 

She whirls and spins, always getting the best of her opponent, who stumbles around after her, trying to get a single hit. 

It’s beautiful, the way Lorcan moves, each move effortless and deliberate. The way her hair shifts like rustling grasses on a flat, open plain, not once getting caught on her opponent’s rusty sword. 

Then, in a flurry of motion that has Elide’s brows lifting and heat rising to her cheeks, Lorcan’s contender is tripped and his back slams into the hard dirt, where wild grasses used to grow. The tip of Lorcan’s hatchet presses into his flabby neck and Elide stares, her eyes glassing over as she watches the vein in his neck pump rapidly with his racing pulse. 

Slowly, she wanders her eyes up the weapon and Lorcan’s arm, tracing the lines of toned muscle visible through the shirt that clings to her sweaty, glowing skin. 

“And the winner is Lorcan!” Nic announces, eagerly stepping forward to triumphantly lift Lorcan’s hand. Unlike before, his eyes don’t stray to the precarious neckline of Lorcan’s open shirt. The still-red slice beneath his left eye is a warning to others, of what will happen should one forget their place. 

The disgust on Lorcan’s face is unmasked and she snatches her hand back, baring her non-human teeth. Wisely, his face paling, Nic steps away, self-consciously lifting his hand to the cruel wound that still smarts. 

Good. 

Lorcan looks elsewhere, possibly to her next challenger, but her eyes slide to Elide. She reads the angered desire in them and smirks, her steps swaggering as she returns to her starting position. 

It’s almost as if she expects Elide to sit and simper like the rest of her adoring public. Elide’s upper lip curls with annoyance and she gets down from the barrel, her skirts dragging on the ground. She glares down at them and lifts them up, wanting to shred them to pieces. 

Instead of doing what she wishes, Elide leaves, her back straight and chin lifted in defiance. 

She returns to her tent, where no one awaits. Hardly anyone is by this end anyway, all drawn to the strongwoman’s show. Elide rips the sign down and aggressively shoves the heavy curtains aside as she stomps inside. 

The first second that she’s alone and hidden from the world, Elide yanks the headdress off and throws it away. She pushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead and sighs, slowly walking to the rickety card table erected in the middle of the tent. 

Elide takes a cloth from the table and walks to the corner, where there is a collection of cushions and pillows to recline against. She remains standing and picks up the pitcher of water. Elide dunks her cloth in it and uses the sodden material to wipe the thick layer of cosmetics from her face. Every evening, Molly and Ombriel insist on pasting it across Elide’s face. She hates how thick it feels on her skin. 

Face cleansed, Elide pulls the pins from her hair, letting the thick tresses, rich and dark like cocoa, fall around her shoulders. She scratches her scalp, easing the pain from her roots. Then, Elide sits, slowly lying down and looking at the candles that surround her. 

She tracks the wax drops falling down the sides, spilling over the cheap candle holders, as she waits for Molly to shout that the carnival has ended. Then, she’ll return to the too-small tent and wait for Lorcan. Neither have ever mentioned how Elide cannot fall asleep until Lorcan’s arrived.

After a few minutes, when Elide has still not heard Molly’s shout, someone shoulders through the tent flaps. She sits up, expecting Ombriel here for the money, but sees Lorcan, bare from the hips up, save for the tight chest wraps she dons every morning. Elide rolls her eyes and says drily, “You know that Molly will be begging you to stay.” 

Lorcan walks until she’s reached the back of the tent and picks up Elide’s water jug. She drinks deeply and accidentally sloshes some of the cool liquid down her chin. Transfixed, Elide watches a bead of water trail down the line of Lorcan’s throat, catching on her collarbone. 

Her cheeks heat again. 

“Nic cannot wait for us to go,” Lorcan counters, putting the jug down and standing above Elide with a hand on her hip. 

Elide rolls her eyes again and crosses her arms, jerking her chin towards the absence of a shirt. “Did you sell your shirt too, then?”

The grin that slices across the death-blessed Fae’s face can only be described as wicked. “Sure did. Got fifteen coppers from a farmer’s wife for it.” 

“That’s disgusting.” 

“What, the fact that it was a woman?” 

“No,” Elide says, narrowing her eyes, “the fact that someone would pay for your sweaty clothes.” 

For some reason, Lorcan takes Elide’s engagement in the conversation as an invitation and sits down, propping up cushions to lean against. She tucks her hands behind her head and shrugs, “Money is money.” 

Elide eyes her, “You don’t seem so…” 

“Irritated?” 

“Murderous.” 

Lorcan hums, “Besting thirty men and having fifteen of their wives offer a spot in their beds does that to a person.” 

Elide digs her nails into her upper arms hard enough to leave crescent marks. She can’t explain the feeling that shakes her body and makes her want to snarl in the face of those women. “Then why aren’t you with them.”

Lorcan surveys the candles, the carpets, the pillows and cushions. Her eyes don’t miss the tight grip of Elide’s hands and something like satisfaction flashes across her gaze. “I do not care for mortal women who like to use me to explore their desires. I am not a… plaything or an experiment.” She smoothly gets to her feet and picks up the cloth Elide discarded earlier. One side is smeared with a white paste of cosmetics, so she flips it and uses it to wipe the grime from her skin. “You know, I heard a great many men tonight speaking of the things they’d like to do to you. Why not have your fun with them?” 

The thought of any man, but especially the ones who leered at her this evening, touching her skin… their bodies on hers… Elide has to fight the shudder that runs through her and the urge to crawl out of her skin. 

She drops her hands into her lap and looks down at them, idly fingering a rip in the cheap fabric that chafes her smooth, creamy skin. “I do not want them.” 

Lorcan retakes her seat, but she’s closer to Elide now. Close enough that Elide can see the hints of smile lines on her cheeks. “Do you prefer women?” 

“No. I do not ‘prefer’ women.” Elide looks up, like recognising like. “I do not care for men. At all. Not in that way.” Hardly in any way.

“Neither do I,” Lorcan says, her voice almost… soft. 

A small smile twists Elide’s plush lips, “I knew that. You… do not hide it well, if that is what you’re trying to do.” 

Surprisingly, Lorcan laughs. It’s nothing more than a dry chuckle that hisses through her teeth, but it stirs something warm in Elide’s belly. “I suppose I do not. I no longer care to have the patience one needs to deal with them.” 

“Did you ever?” 

“No,” Lorcan laughs, again. 

Elide decides she likes it when Lorcan laughs, and she wants to hear the rasping sound for the rest of her days. Carefully, with fear of rejection, Elide moves closer. Lorcan is silent, her dark eyes tracking Elide with some sort of warmth. 

It’s- it’s too much. Elide looks down again, shifting her skirts. Her ankle is exposed, Lorcan’s magic snugly wrapped around it. She stares at it a moment, her fingers twitching. 

“Does… does it hurt?” The words sound unnatural, like Lorcan has never asked that. 

Elide looks up, “No. Not really. It’s… it’s just sore.” 

Lorcan frowns, glaring at her ankle. Around it, her power slithers, holding it tighter. “You told me the magic helped. Why does it hurt.” 

“You know,” Elide teases, “that’s supposed to be a question.” 

Lorcan glares at her, utterly unimpressed by her avoidance. 

Elide sighs and rolls her eyes, “The brace helps, but… the bones healed improperly. No matter what, it will always hurt a little bit. I hardly notice it anymore.” 

The fierceness eases from her face, but there’s a different anger that fills her gaze. Lorcan studies her ankle and touches it with a gentle finger. “It… hurts most of all here.” The slivers of cool, dry death move to apply more pressure. A slight twinge eases a bit of the stiffness. “And here.” 

She fixes everything she can, and Elide is… it’s far lighter. She smiles and looks up at Lorcan, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Lorcan says, silently looking at Elide. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Because. I want to kiss you.” 

A sly brow arches up, “Really? Is there a… reason you haven’t yet?” Elide tilts closer, “Are you frightened?” 

Lorcan snarls and slides her hand to the side of Elide’s neck, stroking her thumb over the corner of Elide’s jaw. She’s almost… gentle when she kisses Elide. 

The smaller woman grins and grazes Lorcan’s bottom lip with her teeth. She licks into Lorcan’s mouth, slightly out of practice. In her teenage years, she had her fun and filth with the maid girls, or the laundress’ daughter who delivered her sheets. 

At Morath… Manon. But she’s never truly wanted a person as much as Lorcan. 

The demi-Fae cups the back of her head and twists her onto her back, leaning between her legs. She controls it, kisses Elide slow and deep. 

Elide sighs softly and gives in, arching her back into the female above her. Lorcan’s fingertips drag down her spine and her hand grabs Elide’s backside.

Lorcan slides her lips down Elide’s jaw and her canines nearly breaking the skin beneath it. Elide’s gasp is caught in her throat and then Lorcan stops. She lifts her head. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nic.” 

A whip of Lorcan’s magic snaps out and strikes through the heavy tent curtains. There’s a scuffing and the scent of piss and… fear, so thick that Elide nearly gags on it. 

Then, a heavy body thumps on the ground. Lorcan slowly rises to her feet, still touching her hand to Elide’s. “He’s dead.”

Elide stands and places her hand on Lorcan’s jaw, turning her face back, “Then it’s done.” 

Lorcan wraps her arms around Elide’s waist and dips her dramatically, catching her lips again. She’s not sure she’ll stop craving the taste and feel of it. 

After a long, lazy moment, Elide tilts her chin away. “We have our own tent. A private tent.” 

Those dark, depthless eyes glitter, “Is that so.” 

“Yes,” she grins. “And, just so I know, is this… a one night tryst for you?” 

“I’m yours for however long you wish.” 

Elide traces her fingertip over the dip in Lorcan’s collarbones, “If I wanted you for longer than one night?” 

“Yes, even then.” 

“Months?” 

“Even then.” 

“Years?” 

“Even then.”

Elide kisses Lorcan once more, “And if I wished for forever?” 

Lorcan thinks for a moment, her lashes brushing against Elide’s high, rosy cheeks. “Especially then.”

<3<3<3

an: i. am. in luv with them. im obsessed. 

@ladyverena​​​ @ladywitchling​​​ @mythicaitt​​​ @sassyhobbits​​​ @darklesmylove​​​ @julemmaes​​​ @letstakethedawn @cicada-bones​​​ @highladyofthegentry​​​ @darlinminds​​​ @nahthanks​​​ @sjmships​​​ @eyllweambassador​​​ @flamingveritas​​​ @adelzd-bookblr​​​ @somewhatdynamite @woollycat22​​​ @firestarsandseneschals​​​ @the-regal-warrior​

[glassbxttless]

Hi! Just here to remind you that this is an AU and Han isn’t actually a piece of shit like I’m making him out to be in here (:

This is also the final part in this little piece of the AU. I might start expanding it though (: (I’m sorry if it makes y’all sad. Just putting Matty through it /: )

Matt Solo x Reader

Part Three

Word Count: 1,807

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, abuse, swearing

You’re awake before Matt is, Randy’s still asleep on the futon and Ben isn’t in the room. You climb down off the bunk bed and your thighs are sticky from the night before. And you’re searching for the bathroom to clean up just a little before you face Han and Leia for the day.

Once you settle yourself into the restroom and wash up a bit, you instantaneously hear the yelling, the skin against skin slap. “Jesus fucking Christ— I just woke up.” Matt’s voice is gravely. “Can I eat something before I get your bitch fit, Han?”

And then everything goes quiet for a while. Matt’s never called his father by his first name to his face. He grabs the orange juice from the fridge, Ben is smoking a cigarette on the back stoop. Leia is stunned by the exchange between her husband and youngest son for a moment. You’re standing in the hall, just watching Matt pour himself a glass and takes a drink. He isn’t even wearing his glasses at this point. His face is bright red on one part of his cheek.

You pick the glasses up off of the ground, noticing the crack in the lenses, and walk towards him, handing them over quietly. “Do you wanna leave?” You ask him quietly as you slip them onto his face. He flinches just a bit, the stinging in his cheek is inevitable.

“Not yet. Got some shit to figure out this weekend.” He mumbles as he downs the rest of the glass. “I won’t hit him back.” You tuck a strand of his hair back and take a look at his cheek. “I’m fine, Sunny. Happens a lot.”

“He hit you?” You ask quietly and he just tips his head back and steps away to join Ben on the stoop, asking for a cigarette.

You take a deep breath as Leia looks at the boys on the stoop. “Does that really happen often?” You ask her as she starts cooking breakfast.

“Unfortunately.” She says quietly, “hasn’t done it in so long… I thought they were doing better.” She sighs.

“He doesn’t smoke at home.” You point out and move closer to offer your help with breakfast.

“Being around his dad and Ben does that to him.” She says softly as she starts frying up the bacon. You cut a potato into small pieces. Matt was upset as soon as he woke up that morning. Getting the shit smacked outta him when he walks into the living room for having sex under his roof. He’d gotten a good one in too, his face was still sore.

“I didn’t tell him.” Ben says softly as he flicks his cigarette out. “Guess he heard.” They’d been sitting together quietly, unsure of what to say. They’d each gotten their fair share of slaps and punches. They’d also gotten their fair share in. But Matt was almost thirty now, he wasn’t seventeen anymore. He wasn’t about to punch his dad's lights out for slapping him. He had a lot more shit to deal with and it’d definitely be a lot harder than he was intending.

“I don’t care, honestly.” Matt flicks the ashes away and takes another long pull from his own cigarette. “I’ll fuck my fiancée wherever I wanna fuck her. I’ll do it in his fucking bed next time. I don’t care.” He shrugs again. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Sunny wanting to meet you guys. Woulda went another fucking year not talking to him.” He puts the cigarette out against the concrete and places the butt down, rubbing over his face.

Ben sighs and pulls the spare pair of glasses from his jacket pocket, handing them over to him. “Here. Shouldn’t be looking through cracked lenses.” The silver frames are shaped a bit different from the usual gold pair he wears, but the prescription is right and he’d do anything to get that giant line out of his vision. “Keep your glasses and Randy’s contacts on me, in case you need them.” He says softly.

Matt almost smiles as he exchanges the glasses. “Thank you.” He says softly.

Ben nudges his shoulder, “he’s just mad he isn’t getting laid.” Matt laughs softly and smiles, glancing at his hands. “I’m sorry. For what I did before.” Ben says quietly. “I don’t have any excuses for it— but I am sorry… and I’m really glad to see you happy.”

“Thank you.” Matt says softly and wrings his hands a bit. Both boys turn their heads when Leia opens the door, smiling sadly.

“Matthew? Let’s take a look at that, huh?” She says quietly as she moves past them to crouch in front of them.

“Mom, I’m fine.” He says softly. He may have always been a little upset that his mother never left him after he first hit Randy in one of his rage fits. “Barely hit me.” He lies as Leia looks him over.

“Don’t lie to your mama.” She says quietly as you step out to check on Matt as well. You were ready to get the weekend over, to go home. And you wouldn’t ever ask Matt to come here again, if he didn’t want to. “I’m sorry that he did that.” And that flipped a switch in Matt’s brain, one that couldn’t ignore what his mother let happen to them.

“You’re only sorry that you stayed with him.” Matt says and pushes her hands away a bit. “I’m twenty-nine and you’re still kissing his ass.” You bite your lip gently and walk forward to place your fingers against his bare shoulder.

“Matty? Be nice.”

“I don’t have to be nice to anyone here.” Matt snaps, his eyes are filling with tears and his chest is tight. “You and Randy are the only two people who haven’t fucked me over in one way or another.” Ben sits there awkwardly, you wrap Matt in your arms as Leia looks at him genuinely hurt. “I didn’t want to come here.” His voice is shaking. Almost thirty years of holding it all in and he’s breaking down in your arms. “I didn’t want to see any of you.”

You press kisses into his hair and ask Ben and Leia both to give you a minute.

Ben obliges and pulls Leia back into the house. Randy catches sight of them coming back inside and raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?” And Leia just shakes her head.

Matt cries, pressing his face against your chest. And you aren’t sure if you’ve ever really seen him cry since you’ve been together. Matt hid his vulnerability so well, replaced it with anger, did his best to be better for you. You didn’t need anyone that wasn’t able to handle himself. “Let it out.” You whisper into his hair and gently run your nails up and down his back. “We can go home.” You say to him quietly. “And we don’t have to come back.”

Matt takes a few deep breaths and presses a deep kiss into the skin of your chest. “I should say something…” he wipes his eyes and you take in the appearance of the different frames. “I love you so much… but please, don’t ask me to come back here again.” His voice is quiet and you just nod.

“Go get dressed, Matty. I’ll drive us home.” She says quietly as you help him stand. And when you go inside and hear Han say something about Matt crying like a little bitch. You’re the one that loses your shit. “Excuse me?” You cock an eyebrow up as you push Matt forward to his bedroom. He’s so used to being the one in charge. The one that deals with your bullshit, but here he was so vulnerable and you are sticking up for him. “He’s allowed to cry. Especially when he has to deal with this bullshit. You should all be thankful he even agreed to come here because all you’ve done is treat him like shit.” You're pointing at Han now.

Matt re-emerges from the room with a t-shirt on now and his backpack pulled onto his back. His hair is disheveled and his face is splotchy. But he’s spent. He’s ready. He looks at his family quietly and takes them in. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be in the same room as them all again. Not until there’s a funeral.

And he thinks that maybe he should try with his brothers more, forgive his parents, and keep his distance from them. He needs his own boundaries. He needs to learn how to deal with his own emotions in a proper way. “Sunny.” He snaps his fingers and points to the spot beside him. You’d be offended if he didn’t wrap his arm around your shoulders and take a deep breath. “Ben, Randy, dinner at my apartment on Saturday?”

Randy nods, smiling a bit. “Of course… you need help with your stuff?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matt nods and passes his bag to him before looking at his parents. He leaves your side for just a moment to pull his mom into a tight hug. He’d continue to call her and maybe in the future he’d be okay with inviting her over for dinners too. He kisses her head and smiles a bit. He even moves to hug his dad, knowing in his heart that he really doesn’t want to see him again. And he smiles tightly when Han rubs his head and says I love you, kid. He just nods.

You carry your own bag outside to where Randy was putting Matt’s into the car. “He doesn’t deserve this.” Randy says to you quietly. “He’s smart. He gotta outta here for a reason.” He shuts the back door and turns to look at you, “thank you for taking care of him, you know? He’s too smart for himself. Can’t take care of shit.” You chuckle. “And make sure he knows we’re here for him.”

Matt walks outside and heads straight for the car. You thank Randy quietly and climb into the driver's seat. Ben steps out and raps on the window with his knuckle until Matt rolls it down. And Ben offers Matt and Randy both another cigarette which they all enjoy. Ben smiles, “hey. We’re alright.” He shrugs. “You’re alright, Matt. Doesn’t matter what happens.”

“Still our baby brother.” Randy chirps with the cigarette between his lips and Matt turns a deep shade of red.

There was still so much you didn’t know about Matt’s family. But this one night— not even full weekend— has shown you why Matt stays so distant. And you reach over to take a long draw from Matt’s cigarette which has you all laughing. “Dinner on Saturday?” You confirm with the three of them who all just nod.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

*

*

@sacklerscumrag @mrs-zimmerman @miraclesabound @fizzywoohoo @roanniom @thepriceofstars @2000andwhat @loganluckylover @themuseic

[carnistirs]

cafuné

↳ @taangweek 2020 Day 2: Modern AU 

Summary: Aang just really likes braiding Toph’s hair. 

Read on ao3 or under the cut

cafuné {Portuguese} the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

‘

“Fuck, are you serious,” he hears Toph mumble in frustration as her fingers snag in her hair.

Aang clears his throat. “I could brush it for you?”

He honestly doesn’t know what possesses him to blurt that out in the open, but it’s too late to take it back now. He waits on bated breath, watches her continue to struggle with the tangles in her hair. She gives up, uttering an agitated go for it, Twinkletoes, and that’s really all the permission he needs before he’s wandering in Sokka’s bathroom, looking for a brush.

The knots look like they’re a pain to deal with, given the unhappy expression on Toph’s face, so he promises to be gentle. Ridiculously enough, he doesn’t know where to start, so he sweeps most of her long hair away from her front, fingers touching the ends of her hair and – oh.  

Oh, wow.

Her hair’s really, really soft.

“Did you fall asleep back there?” she asks archly.

“Sorry,” Aang mumbles, the heat rising on his cheeks – stop, she can’t even see you – while he carefully runs the bristles of the brush over her dark tangles.

He gets lost in the repetition of it, quietly marvelling over how smooth and shiny her tresses are after he brushes them over and over. Toph’s hair drapes like satin over his palms and even when there are no knots left to run over, he keeps brushing.

“I think the tangles are gone,” Toph says later, a hint of bemusement in her voice.

Aang sets the brush aside, but doesn’t stop touching her hair; he gathers a chunk of it at the top before separating it into three sections, slowly crossing the strands over to the center. He gathers in more pieces of her hair every time he crosses over a section, and even though he’s never done this on anyone else before, he’s seen his mother do this a hundred times when he was a kid.

Ten minutes later, a French braid falls down Toph’s back and there isn’t a single strand out of place.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could braid,” she murmurs in surprise, her fingers reaching behind to touch the plait curiously. “Thanks, man.”

Toph’s smiling at him, easy and content, and he barks out a laugh to disguise the fact that he’s blushing again.

“It’s a really nice braid,” Katara chimes in with a knowing grin, a tease dangling at the tip of her tongue. “Can you braid my hair too?”

She plops down without giving him the chance to answer – not that he would decline her anyhow. Katara’s hair flows down in pretty waves, smelling like strawberries, but Aang can’t help the frown tugging at the corners of his lips when he touches it.  

Her hair just isn’t the same as Toph’s.

‘

They’re in line for a movie that doesn’t premiere for another two hours (“We’re getting good seats this time. I’m not risking another goddamn sore neck by sitting in the front row again,” Zuko hisses—) and it’s astonishing how they still aren’t the first people in line.

“Your buns are getting loose,” Aang says idly, tugging at one of them.

Toph swats his hands away. “Well, don’t make it worse, idiot.”

“I could fix them.”

A statement, not a question – with the amount of times Aang’s volunteered to brush and braid her hair this past month, it shouldn’t exactly be news to her at this point.

He knows Toph’s going to say yes, like she’s done every other time he’s asked, so he eagerly starts unravelling her buns without waiting for her expressed permission. Aang had watched a five-minute hair tutorial a couple of days ago and he couldnot, for the life of him, stop picturing her in the exact hairstyle he’d seen.

“I’m gonna need you to bend over for a little while, T.”

“What? No.”

Aang revels in the silkiness of her hair, ignoring her refusal. “It’s an upside down Dutch braid that leads into space buns.” That’s what the video had been callled anyway. “C’mon, it won’t take that long. Just sit on that bench if you want. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

She sighs, loud and aggravated, but Aang’s already pushing her towards the bench, his touch gentle against the slightness of her body.

“What are you doing?” Suki chirps, appearing with a bowl of popcorn that she’ll probably finish before the movie even starts.

“Suffering,” Toph grumps with her elbows rested on her knees.

“I saw this video the other day and I wanted to see if I could replicate it,” Aang tries – fails – to say casually.

But as soon as he starts braiding, he forgets that Suki’s even there because the glossiness of Toph’s dark hair honestly takes him to a higher plane of existence. Truly, it does. He’s never felt anything like it – Appa’s fur isn’t even as soft as this - and the feeling of being able to manipulate her hair to his will doesn’t help things either.

“Whoa,” Suki murmurs once he’s pinning the second bun to the top of Toph’s head. “That’s so pretty! Aang, do you just go around braiding any girl’s hair?”

“No, he’s only willing to braid Toph’s,” Katara says smugly off to the side.

Aang narrows his eyes. “No one asked you.”

He slides the last bobby pin into her hair and admires his own handiwork, unable to suppress a grin because it does look better. At the risk of getting flat out punched by Toph however, Aang keeps this opinion to himself.

“You like it?” he asks, quiet, meant for her ears only.

Toph’s fingers brush across the crown of her head. “You braided the buns too? Really. You just had to outdo me.” But her lips are curved in a way that softens her face completely and she’s just—

So, so beautiful.

‘

“You never ask me first,” Aang hums happily, fingers weaving her hair together. “What’s the special occasion?”  

“Nothing that special. Just going on a date.”

What the fuck.

Aang’s hands freeze in her tresses as he slowly tries to comprehend her statement. His heart leaps to his throat and it threatens to stay there then, suffocating him.

His chest constricts together uncomfortably, his mouth pressing into a thin line, and there’s an ugly, irrational part of him that wants to ruin her hair now. He wants to leave Toph looking like a mess, hoping that her date is shallow enough to stand up a blind girl just because she has a bird’s nest on her head.  

He immediately feels awful for thinking such a thought, but there’s something clawing at the bottom of his stomach, green-eyed and ravenous.

“Who’s—” Aang can’t even hear his voice through the shrill noise ringing through his ears. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“You know Kanto? The guy that sits in the front row of our English Comp class?”

He vaguely remembers this Kanto guy – vaguely- which means there’s really nothing that special about him in the first place.

Toph perks up a half hour later. “Oh, are you done? What’s this one called?”

“A waterfall braid.”

It’s twisted halfway up, leaving the rest of her hair to fall down in soft waves he created with the use of Katara’s curling wand. Fucking monkeyfeathers, he’d given her waves. Kanto’s not going to be able to keep his hands off her. What the fuck did he just do—

Her phone beeps then, breaking his train of thought. “Shit, I’m late,” Toph says, dragging a finger around one of her waves just to feel the gentle curl of it. “Thanks, Twinkletoes! I owe you one.”  

And then she’s grabbing her cane and running out the door, leaving Aang to blink after her with a pathetic kind of despondence. He exhales sharply, hands white-knuckled as they clench the edge of the bathroom counter.

‘

He’s halfway through a large tub of ice cream when she comes barging back into his apartment two hours later.

Toph rips the spoon out of his mouth and snatches the ice cream from his hands before dumping herself on the sofa next to him. She takes a spoonful, immediately blanching when the taste seeps into her tongue.

“Why’s this ice cream so nutty?”

“It’s dairy-free,” Aang replies, taking the tub before she can throw it halfway across the room. “So, um, was your date...good?”

“No,” comes a snort. “Asshole kept talking about himself, so I just paid the bill and walked out.”

Aang smiles in outward delight because that’s such a Toph thing to do. He should feel bad that her date didn’t work out, like any other good friend would, but he really, really doesn’t.

“Sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Nah,” she waves an airy hand. “I just feel kind of bad because you spent all that time on my hair. It feels like a waste.”  

A nervous thrumming beneath his skin. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“The date’s over.” Toph turns her head and makes a point of blinking milky green eyes at him, gently knocking her knuckles against the side of his head. “You going all airhead on me again?”

“No,” he laughs, inwardly cringing, because it sounds so high-pitched in the space between them. “Your night shouldn’t end on a bad note. Let me take you somewhere fun. It’ll be a better date.”  

And—

Terrible, horrendous silence.

“Date,” Toph repeats after too long of a while, her voice contemplative and strained with something else. “As friends?”

“Yeah, why not? Friends go on dates all the time.” Aang breathes in, lets it whistle out silently through his teeth, and he doesn’t know why he even bothers keeping quiet when he knows she can probably hear him. She can probably hear the silly, birdlike flutter of his heart as well, just beating around recklessly in his chest. “If you’re still not having a good time, just forget it it ever happened. Or punch me if you want.”

“What happens if I have a good time?”

“Then you let me take you out on another date and we keep going from there.”

Toph tips her head back towards the flashing TV and his eyes linger on the arch of her cheekbone, on the delicate cut of her jaw. “Fine,” she ends up saying, smirking through the faint tinge of pink settled on her face. “Just so you know, I’m looking forward to punching you.”

So he takes Toph to a roller skating rink that’s still open this late. Toph trades her cane for his arm as they skate slow circles around the rink, and Aang tries not to show how pleased he is just to have her hold onto him, to feel her small fingers in the crook of his elbow. She laughs with him and at him, loud and blithe, her long hair floating behind her.

Aang trips once because he stares at her too long, even taking her down with him as he grasps desperately at her hands, but she never gets mad at him.

(She still punches his arm though, despite having a good time. He’s okay with it.)

‘

“For someone who’s glaringly bald, you’re a huge hair snob.”

Aang opens his mouth to argue with her because no, he’s never been a huge snob of anything in his life, but then he takes stock of their current situation. They’re pulled off to the side, ten minutes away from the restaurant, with his hands in her hair because Toph had come to him with a look – he doesn’t even know what to call it – that had mismatched braids stretched over her forehead like they’re supposed to be her bangs.

“Who did this to you,” Aang says instead.

Toph grins widely, clearly amused at him. “Suki.”

Scoffs. “I love Suki, but that girl only has, like, three go-to hairstyles at best. You would have been better off with Katara. Or Sokka at least.”

“Damn, shots fired. Suki’s so kicking your ass when she hears this.”

“No one likes snitches, you know,” Aang says, tugging at her hair in a way that makes Toph stick her tongue out at him.

It’s very cute – the flash of a pink tongue and her nose scrunching up at him. In the end, he fixes it with a fishtail braid that has a tighly bound start and a body that curves into a shapely weave of thicker strands. It looks like a mermaid’s figure, actually, and he’s very proud of it.

Okay, wow, he really is a hair snob—

Aang doesn’t get to finish the rest of that thought because something soft is touching the corner of his mouth. It’s a teasing gesture, entirely light against his bottom lip, and he still feels incredibly breathless by the time Toph’s pulling her head back.

“I missed, didn’t I?” Toph laughs to herself, turning her face away.

He follows her helplessly though, leaning over the emergency brake to cup her face in his sun-kissed palms. He dips his head, his mouth burning hot as he brushes it against hers once, twice, three times, tasting sweet cheeries all the while. Aang feels her smile faintly against his lips and he loves it, loves feeling it grace her face, loves tracing the bend of it with his own mouth.

Toph makes a quiet noise when he scrapes his teeth along the plumb of her mouth and he thinks he’ll go mad at that sound. He presses harder against her, feels her lips part under the sweep of his tongue—

“Oh—” Aang jerks back when he realizes he’s completely pressing her into the corner of the passenger seat, when he realizes how small she is under his awkward set of long limbs. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” is her eloquent reply as straightens her sunglasses. “Did you hear me complaining?”

“It was okay then?” he asks, flustered.

“Yes. You’re a phenomenal kisser. Totally rocked my world,” Toph retorts dryly, making him beet-red at this point, but she leans in to kiss him again, not even missing his mouth this time. “This better be an amazing vegan restaurant you’re taking me to.”

Aang beams, pink-cheeked. “It is! You’ll love the chipotle tacos. It doesn’t even taste like tofu.”

Once he pulls back onto the road, his fingers twitch between their armrests, itching to hold her hand. He hadn’t been that transparent, he thinks, but then Toph lets out a mild sigh as she slots her fingers through the holes of his own, stilling his restlessness.

‘

It’s Suki’s turn for movie night – which Aang always dreads – because she always, undoubtedly, picks the scariest ones to watch. Suki is a tyrant who laughs in the face of danger (“I pick them because I know you hate them,” she cackles, “and because I like hearing Sokka and Zuko scream like little girls.”) and consistently feeds off of their discomfort.

He spends most of the time ignoring the disturbing noises coming from the TV and focuses on spinning Toph’s tresses into an intricate flower braid he’d seen on Instagram.

“You’re really not watching?” Toph whispers, body leaning against his knees as she sprawls on the floor.

“I want to sleep through the night,” he explains pointedly. “Why does it have to be horror? What’s wrong with rom-coms?”

“Everything.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“I honestly can’t believe you meant every word of that,” Toph throws back, feigning disgust.

Aang frames her face with his hands, tipping it back so that he’s treated to an upside down view. He presses a happy kiss to her mouth, flicking his tongue playfully over her teeth while Sokka squawks out no oogies! from across the room.

His girlfriend’s hair looks like the epitome of spring when he’s done with it, what with her strands braided into three rosettes at the back of her head. He watches Toph slowly touch the formed petals of the braided updo and, unable to help himself, cranes his neck a bit to kiss her fingers affectionately.  

‘

“No,” he pleads in a murmur when her fingers reach behind to undo her hair. “Leave it.”

Toph’s brow lifts, but there’s a knowing grin on her face. “Why?”

She’s sitting right on Aang’s stomach in nothing but her undergarments, hovering over him like some otherworldly creature. The crown braid he’s intertwined in her hair is still perfectly intact and she simply looks untouchable, like she can step on him and he’d very much welcome it.

“You look like a queen,” he breathes out in a rasp, swallowing tightly.

His hands slide up Toph’s thighs to rest on the creamy skin of her hips, fingers curling to hold on, to leave light impressions behind. As much as he loves loosening her hair for her at the end of the day, feeling ringlets and waves as he brushes them out with his fingers, he just wants her to keep the braid on longer just this once.

Aang takes the hand that’s pressing against his shoulder, slanting his mouth over her wrist. “You can tell me what to do. If you want.”

“Uh, I already do? On a daily basis.”

He flushes. “I meant here. In bed. Only if you want, T.”

Toph’s lips melt into a smirk and he immediately feels his blood rush so far down south at that expression. “Is it the hair? It’s gotta be,” she hums, bending over to grip his chin in her palm. He exhales in a tremor when she tugs his bottom lip into her mouth. “Alright, Twinkletoes, hands above your head and don’t touch me until I tell you to, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” comes out of Aang as easy as breathing while he crosses his wrists above his head, his heart racing.

‘

When one of Aang’s professors shortens the deadline to his twenty-page paper out of nowhere – leaving him a week to finish the assignment when he initally had three weeks left – he buries his face in his hands and screams.

Fifteen seconds later: “Aang?”

Toph appears at the doorway with a disgruntled Appa at her heels; disgruntled, because she’s no longer paying attention to the large St. Bernard licking at her ankle.

And he doesn’t care how particularly needy he looks when he holds an arm out to her, wanting her, but he does it without hesitation. Her fingertips barely have the chance to graze his before he’s yanking her onto his lap, tucking his face into her neck. He hears Appa whining before he joins them too, plopping down by Aang’s chair with a grunt.

She smells so fresh, like apples and honey, and he wants to kiss her skin all over until the taste is in his mouth.

“You okay?”

“My philosophy professor,” he groans, muffled against her skin, “is so horrible. This is the third time he’s done this.”

“He changed the due date to your paper again?” He nods, miserable. “Want me to kick his ass? Just give me some badass viking braids and I’ll fucking do it.”

Smiles. “You can’t assault the faculty.”

“Says who.”

Aang sprinkles soft kisses along her jaw, his fingers already relieving her hair from its messy topknot. The viking braids he has in mind will probably take an hour to do, judging by the sheer complexity of it, but the work will clear his mind from the stress he doesn’t want. Toph sits straighter on his lap, used to the motions by now, and it makes him grin wider.

He rubs his fingers against her scalp. “Thank you.”  

Already, it feels like his chest is less tight. Like he can breathe easier.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies, closing her eyes in placid content. “Badass viking braids, and then I kill this professor of yours.”

‘

“You sure you want to give hair clippers to a blind girl? What if I accidentally turn this into a bloodbath?”

“I think the more pressing concern is why you’re smiling at the thought of it.”

“That’s just my face. Way to make me feel self-conscious about it.”

“You’ve never been self-conscious about anything in your life.” Softer, quieter: “And you never need to be. At least around me.”

“Ugh, it’s too early for you to be this sappy.” Clicks on the clippers. “Okay, let’s do this. I actually miss touching your bald head.”

“Maybe let me do it with you first a few times? And once you get the feel for it, I’ll hand it off to you.”

“This is fucking crazy.”

“You trust me?”

Mocks back in a voice that’s supposed to sound like him: “I think the more pressing concern is if you trust me.”

He laughs, bright and easy. “Yeah, I trust you.”

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (7/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Again, this chapter is dealing with really heavy themes that could potentially trigger some readers. Please read at your own discretion.

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Warnings: Kidnapping, panic attack, mentions of sedation, needles

Part 6

Clint and Bucky don’t get home till nearly four in the morning. They stumble up the stairs, exhausted and on the verge of collapsing. They’re determined to make it up to (Y/N)’s apartment before they fall asleep.

They bundle into the apartment and are surprised to find only the stove light on. (Y/N) usually leaves, at least, a couple of lamps left on in the living room and a lamp on in the bedroom. Bucky looks up at Clint, concern evident on his face and Clint squeezes his arm in an attempt to reassure him. Clint moves further into the apartment to check the bedroom, while Bucky investigates the kitchen.

It only takes Clint a moment to flick on the bedroom light before he calls out to Bucky and joins him in the kitchen. He stops short when he sees Bucky hunch in on himself and cover his mouth with his hand.

"What is it?" Clint asks.

Bucky holds up a slip of paper. "Something's wrong."

"What?" Clint turns on the rest of the kitchen lights and takes the paper from him. "She left a note?"

Bucky nods silently and Clint gently pulls him to his chest with one arm. He runs his hand up and down Bucky's back, hoping to keep him calm, while he reads the note.

Hey guys!

I don't know if you'll be back before me, but in case you are, I'm heading out to stretch my wings. After last week I think I need a little break, haha. It's 8:45 right now, but I'll stop by Clint's place to feed Lucky before I head out for the day. I'll have my phone with me if you need to get in contact.

See you when you get home!

(Y/N)

P.S.: I'm not running away again. I promise.

The note falls from Clint's hand and he wraps his arms fully around Bucky. It slowly sinks in that (Y/N)'s been gone for well over twelve hours and Clint begins to panic.

"Maybe she decided to camp out for the night," Clint offers. "She hates being cooped up for too long."

"No, she would've texted or called or something." Bucky takes a deep, shaking breath. "Something's wrong, and you don’t want to admit it."

“Of course I don’t wanna admit it, Buck. She’s-” Tears form in his eyes and he wraps Bucky tighter in his arms. “She’s our girl.”

“We gotta get her back.”

“We will.”

Bucky shakes his head and pulls away. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose her.”

Clint wipes away Bucky’s tears and then his own. “I know. And we’ll find her. I’m gonna call Steve and Nat and Sam. We’re gonna get every single pair of eyes we can on this.”

Bucky covers his face with his hands and Clint tucks him under his chin. They stand silently in the kitchen until they’re able to speak again. Bucky takes a seat on the couch and texts Steve while Clint immediately calls Natasha. He can hear Bucky sniffle and has to force himself to stay where he is.

Natasha is not in a good mood when she picks up.

“It’s four in the morning.”

“I don’t give a shit, (Y/N)’s gone.”

“What do you mean she’s ‘gone’?”

“Bucky ‘n I just got home and she wasn’t here.”

“She probably ran off again. I know you don’t want to hear this, but she’s done it once, she’d probably do it again.”

“The fuck she would, she’s settled here, Nat. She wouldn’t just leave without telling us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Clint’s tempted to break something. “Nat, I’m telling you, she wouldn’t fucking do that. She wouldn’t do that to us. Not again.” His breath catches in his throat and he does his best to hold back his tears. “Please, Nat. We need your help.”

Natasha sighs. “Fine, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Clint sighs, relieved. “Thank you. Would you bring Steve with you? Buck’s getting in contact with him, but we need his help on this.”

“I’ll let him know.” She pauses. “Anyone else you want on this?”

“Sam,” Clint says. “He’s good at this kind of stuff. And I’m gonna call Tony and see if he can help at all. I don’t want him physically looking for her though. We’re already impatient enough as is without adding his stress to the mix.”

“Okay. See you soon.” She hangs up before Clint can say goodbye.

Clint sits on the coffee table in front of Bucky and takes hold of his shaking hands. “Nat’s on her way over with Steve and Sam.”

Bucky nods, but it’s clear that he’s still trying to process what’s happening. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna see if I can get Tony to help us track her phone.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna find her, Buck,” Clint murmurs. He kisses Bucky’s knuckles. “I promise.”

“You’re sure she didn’t just leave again?” Natasha asks.

“I’ve already fuckin’ told you, she didn’t just leave,” Clint growls.

“She left a note,” Bucky says. His voice is rough and makes Natasha do a double-take. When she sees his red-rimmed eyes, she realizes how serious this is.

“Can I read it?”

Bucky nods and points to the kitchen counter. Steve picks up the slip of paper and scans over it before handing it to Natasha. Her frown grows deeper the further she reads into the note. She opens her mouth to speak and Clint holds up one hand to stop her.

“We know she’s missing. Her laptop is still here and so is the rest of her stuff.” He wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and sighs. “Like I said. She wouldn’t do this to us.”

“No, Clint I get that. Do you know where she would’ve gone?”

“North,” Bucky croaks out. “We were up there a couple weeks ago. She likes flying up there.”

“Did Stark manage to find her phone?” Steve asks.

Clint shrugs and checks his phone. “I think he’s still working on it. I’ll call him again-”

“No,” Steve says. “It’s alright, I’ll do it.”

Clint absentmindedly rubs circles against Bucky’s shoulder, trying to calm himself more than Bucky at this point. For all of his optimism, Clint knows how much he’s lost throughout his life. He’s lost his brother to the Swordsman, his childhood to abuse and the circus, his mother to his father… Hell, even his shitbrick of a father dying was a loss. But losing (Y/N) a second time overshadows all of that. There’s no time to mourn or process, just an overwhelming need to go, find, rescue. The urge to protect Bucky is there, too, but he knows that Bucky would never fall into his arms like a damsel in distress, even if there’s a tiny part of him that wishes he would. Wishes Bucky would let him take care of him. But he knows that taking care of Bucky means finding (Y/N) first.

Steve interrupts his thoughts, letting them know that Stark’s found the location, and Clint coaxes Bucky to his feet. He grabs his spare bow and quiver from his apartment before they leave the building.

Dawn breaks and brings even more anxiety with it.

They find her phone in the middle of the field Bucky had taken her to not even a month ago. Bucky's heart drops to his feet and he would walk away from all of this if it weren't for Clint's hand on his shoulder.

Bucky crouches down and picks up the phone. The screen is freshly cracked and the battery is nearly dead. He pockets the device and scans the surrounding area for any other sign of human life. He's about to say something when he notices that the top of a nearby tree has been snapped off. He reaches out to Clint and takes off as soon as he's got a hold of his hand.

"What is it?" Clint asks breathlessly.

"Something."

Clint knows better than to try and get anything more out of him when he's like this.

Bucky drags Clint to a clearing littered with crushed leaves, broken branches, and feathers that are too big to have come from any kind of bird. Both men freeze at the sight in front of them and Clint feels nauseous when he notices the dark, tar-like substance stuck to the majority of the feathers.

"I-I saw the broken off trees and I…" Bucky trails off and drops to his knees. "Oh, God."

Clint glances up from the carnage to see Sam hovering in front of a particular tree. He grabs something before he drops to the grass and walks over to Steve. Clint sees him say something about a bag and "Caught on a branch." His stomach clenches and he manages to force himself to walk over and investigate.

Sam turns as Clint approaches and holds out a tattered pack.

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “This is all I could find.”

Clint reaches out with shaking hands and takes the bag. His breathing stutters. “Shit.”

“Is it hers?”

Clint nods. “Yeah. It’s hers.” He looks around the clearing. “The feathers are hers too, and they’re every-fucking-where.”

Clint watches Natasha prod at a clump of feathers. She frowns when she touches the tar-like goop and a string of it pulls away with her fingers. She scowls and walks away, making a note on her phone. Bucky’s wandered over to the one clear space in the middle of the grass and Clint joins him. He takes Bucky’s hand in his and hopes it’s at least a little comforting.

“She fell here,” Bucky murmurs, tracing a vague indentation in the grass. “And then it's like she just disappeared.”

Clint shakes his head. “She didn’t disappear, Buck. She was here. We’ll find her.”

He kisses the side of Bucky’s head and wraps him in a tight hug. Bucky hesitates, but slowly wraps his arms around Clint’s middle and presses his nose to his chest. Clint notices Natasha speaking with Steve and his brows pull together when she glances back at him before talking to Steve again. He sees her say “shot down” and “kidnapped” and the hopelessness starts to settle in again.

There’s something wrong with my left wrist. Probably a sprain. Both of my wings are sore from tip to shoulder, but I think I twisted my right wing on the way down to the ground. My ribs are probably fractured after snapping so many branches, and it’s hard to breathe. Secondary to all of that, every inch of exposed skin stings with little tiny scrapes and cuts.

I have to take my time in sitting up and wince when my wings stretch a little too far. There’s something that’s stopping my feathers from fanning out to the point that any kind of movement slowly becomes painful. I slowly extend my left wing, hoping to investigate whatever's stuck to my feathers and stare in confusion at the mess of black goo covering the majority of my secondaries. Cautiously, I reach out and try to remove some of it, and I only succeed in pulling a feather loose. I swear and flick the goo that came away on my fingers to the floor.

I sigh and try to fold my legs underneath myself, but my motions are inhibited by a pair of shackles around my ankles. A long length of chain tethers the shackles to the floor. With that, in combination with the crippling soreness that's starting to settle deep into my bones, I realize that I'm not getting out of here any time soon. Wherever here is.

I shuffle back until my back hits the wall and my eyes slowly begin to adjust to the low light in the room. It looks like I’m being held in a small barn. Little slivers of light creep through cracks in the walls and fall across my hands, revealing every little cut and scrape. I sigh and angle myself so that I can reach the goop on my left wing. I lick the pads of my fingers and try to work some of the stuff from my feathers. It’s slow going, but I manage to avoid pulling out any more feathers.

Eventually, I can’t keep up with cleaning myself, and exhaustion settles in every inch of my body. I curl into myself and doze off.

“An excellent specimen, Doctor.”

I don’t recognize this voice. The sounds of conversation slowly creep in at the edges of my consciousness. I keep my head down and just listen.

“As it should be, I made the serum!”

“When was she made?”

“I can’t be sure. It was not a procedure that I performed. I believe she was an accident.”

“Ah, well, you know what Bob Ross says.”

The second voice laughs. “I think you’re onto something, there, my friend.”

It takes a moment for it to register that these people are the reason I have my wings. And they’re just talking about me like I’m some kind of animal. An experiment.

One of them begins to pace in front of me. “It appears that she’s been sleeping for nearly twelve hours. Should we be concerned?”

“No, the serum imparts a sort of healing factor. The fastest way for her to heal is to sleep.” The shift and their shoes scrape along the concrete floor. “That being said, I don’t know the extend of her injuries. And her breathing has changed since we started speaking.”

The one pacing stops mid-stride. “She’s listening.”

“Precisely.”

Their footsteps approach and I panic. Fingers sink into my hair and wrench my hair back. I’m forced to look up at the woman who had previously been referred to as the Doctor. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just barely see the wiry young man that holds my head back.

“What should we do with her?” the young man asks. “Do you think she’s ready for tests.”

“Please,” my voice comes out scratchy. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m not sure,” the woman says. She begins to pace. “On the one hand, I’ve been waiting for weeks to capture her. Her strength and speed are unlike any of our previous subjects. I’m curious to see what makes her different from the others.”

“But?”

“But she’s been very clearly hurt.”

The man’s hold on my hair tightens and I whimper. He just tugs harder and I force my hands to stay where they are in my lap.

“We’ve been very careful in the past,” he says slowly. “We’ll sedate her. Keep her limbs still. She won’t feel a thing.”

“That is true…” I catch the wicked glint on her eyes and my stomach churns.

The young man laughs in my ear. “Excellent.”

“We’ll have to trim the tar from her feathers.” The doctor shakes her head. “Shame. They’re so beautiful.”

“Don’t touch my wings,” I plead. “Please.”

They just carry on as if I’ve said nothing. I watch the man grin, his eyes crazed. The doctor gestures towards the door and several large figures bundle into the barn. They all stalk over, arms outstretched and ready to grab me. I try to shrink away, but the man holding my head is stronger than he looks, and I can’t move an inch.

Hands latch onto my wrists, ankles, and wings, and I cry out in pain. I go limp in an attempt to make myself too heavy to carry, but they just twist my wings back to fold them. I bite down on my tongue to keep every whimper, groan, and sob from surfacing. My wrist and right wing scream out white-hot pain and, each time they jostle me around, a new jolt of pain lances through my body.

The three men dump me face down onto a metal table and roughly strap my arms and legs down. I beg them to leave me. To let me go. To just let me go. Nothing I say seems to reach their ears and tears streak down my cheeks by the time they wench my wings down to the table. Two large clamps descend from the ceiling and pin my wings to the table. I’m stuck and in pain.

The doctor appears at the edge of the room and she slowly approaches me. She seemed hesitant earlier. Maybe there’s some way I can reason with her?

“Please, don’t do this,” I plead. “You don’t have to do this. Please.”

She grabs my face and turns it from side to side. I whimper and pull against my restraints when she twists my head a little too sharply.

“You don’t understand,” she says. She presses my cheek to the table and my entire body seizes up as I feel someone slowly inserting a needle into my neck. “I want to.”

Her manic grin is the last thing I see as the world goes black. The hum of electricity fills my ears and my body goes completely limp.

-------

Part 8

So that was a ROUGH chapter, but I promise that there will be a happy ending I just need you guys to trust me on this.

If you’d like to yell at me, absolutely comment, reblog, and/or shoot me an ask.

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This fic:

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[philliamwrites]

i could make it holy, make it fine (pt.1)

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Akechi

Tags: #domestic fluff, #kissing, #wedding, #persona 5 royal spoilers

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Goro can't believe his first marrital dispute will be about the plastic cat dolls in front of their café whereas Akira is a simple man with simple needs like laying out black napkins and wearing a dress. 

Note: Part 2 (work in progress) | Inspired by ‘Make it Holy’ by The Staves.

i could make it holy, make it fine

    “Quick, don’t think. Black or red?”

    “The napkins stay blue. Now shut up and don’t move.”

    Black curls fall to the ground with each snip snip of Goro’s scissors. He tips Akira’s head back with a knuckle to check that his hair is the same length. Not that anyone could tell if it wasn’t once his hair dries into its usual curly mess. Goro assumes Akira gave him this task just to have an excuse to stare at his face from close-up—as if he doesn’t do it at any given chance anyway regardless of day or time.

    That is the luxury of living in a place they feel comfortable enough to lower their defences. Goro is still trying to learn calling such a place home.

    Warm hands roam over his legs, demanding his attention. “What are you thinking about?” Akira asks and presses his chin into his belly, looking up. After seven years, his features have grown sharper and more elegant like the dagger he used to wield. Sometimes Goro looks at him and the sight of beautiful, beautiful Akira Kurusu steals his breath.

    “That you look like a twelve-year-old after shaving.” He pushes Akira’s wet hair out of his face and flicks his forehead, then steps out of his grasp. He crosses their bathroom to take the broom leaning against the wall in the corner, only to unceremoniously drop it in Akira’s lap. “Now clean your mess. I’m done.”

    He leaves the room before hearing a response, brushing off stray black hair from his shirt and pants. Now he has to vacuum again. Why Akira asked him to cut his hair instead of booking an appointment with a professional is beyond him, but it does remind Goro, as he tugs at the end of his ponytail tickling the nape of his neck, that he might need a cut as well. The shop stays closed anyway during their preparations, so now seems the best time to get things done they usually can’t while tending to the café. Repairing the creaking floorboard behind the counter, washing the dark, vintage curtains hanging in their back office. Even though Akira is against it, they need to sort out which maneki-neko lining the front of their entrance they want to keep and which to throw away. He can’t believe his first marital dispute will be about dusty plastic cats.

    The blow drier starts in the bathroom. Akira’s head peeks around the corner, the hot air whipping his hair left and right. “Goro, can you check the mail? Ann’s postcard might have arrived.”

    Goro shoos him away like a fly. On his way to the stairs leading down to the café—a feature Akira insisted on during their apartment hunting to pay homage to his old home—he passes their kitchen where he puts a kettle on the stove for another round of coffee. So far, he’s only had benefits to be engaged to one of Tokyo’s most popular barista.

    Leblanc is abandoned and quiet. He won’t ever admit it oud loud, but he’s glad Akira didn’t change the name after inheriting the business from Sojiro. Anything different would have been blasphemous. But while it is the same name, Leblanc’s replica lives with touches that scream Akira’s name. Bookshelves line one wall opposite the entrance, filled with every book he’s read during Highschool. Customers come and pick one and in return leave a book they have at hand, constantly switching up the collection. Then there’s people complimenting the amazing replicas of famous contemporary artist Yusuke Kitagawa on the walls, asking Akira where he bought them. But if Akira is known for his delicious coffee, he’s famous for his secrets.

    Opening their post box, bills and two cards fall out. The first shows The Louvre lit at night. Ann’s curly handwriting is unmistakable, leaving a short message that she’ll arrive a day before the ceremony. The other card has a simple flower design and one word on its back.

    Congratulations. — M.

    Goro stares at it for a solid minute. It’s been long since he’s seen this handwriting, but he does remember it from torn-out diary pages inside a place that had blindingly white walls and tasted of despair and bitter endings. He takes everything upstairs where he finds Akira with dried, adorably messy hair.

    “I didn’t know you still hang out with Dr. Maruki,” he says, voice neutral as he drops the cards and bills on the table where Akira has already spread out coffee and biscuits from Haru’s shop. He considers the card, absentmindedly stirring his cup. “I don’t. Sumire might have told him.”

    “Not that I really care.” Goro drinks from his cup, eyeing Akira from the side. He’s draped over his chair like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. “He’s not invited.”

    “I doubt he’ll come. Wouldn’t be too much fun if you stabbed him with the cake knife.”

    Goro snorts, but the image does bring a faint grin out of him. It is a time though he doesn’t think too fondly of; a time when he’d felt too much at once and too little words managed to express that. He remembers when Loki and Robin merged into Hereward and the surprise that Robin never really left his side, always with him; the light, the good, the innocent and childlike fantasy to become a hero one day. The night he spent under Akira’s covers; limbs entangled, secrets and fears shared in quiet whispers, thumbs wet from drying tears both pretended were never shed.

    After they defeated Maruki and destroyed the Happy World, Goro woke up in his bed, dizzy and disoriented, still sore from the fight. While staring at his white ceiling, he counted his heartbeat. Every thud in his chest was like a bird trying to take flight out of an ebony cage no one built a door into. He’d only have to tear his chest open and it would be free. It would return to where it longed to be, a little café tucked away in Yongen-Jaya.

    Instead, Goro got out of bed, donned his winter uniform and went to meet Sae Nijima to discuss the terms of proving Shido’s guilt and his arrest. Again. He spent half a year in juvenile hall until Akira paid his bail with the remaining savings from their Mementos ventures.

    “You’re crazy,” Goro had said when he met Akira outside, everything he used and owned during those six months shoved into a single plastic back.

    “I missed you,” Akira had replied and now, seven years later, they’re doing what Goro never allowed himself to dream of; never showed interest in until meeting Akira Kurusu.

    “Will our suits be ready?” he asks now, downing the rest of this coffee. He usually hates when it gets cold, but Akira’s blend is still enjoyable.

    “I’ll check my e-mails later. They should have replied by now.” Akira watches him, tapping a slender finger against the kitchen desk. “I still think one of us should wear a dress.”

    “You also think we need a champagne pyramid which we can’t afford.”

    “Okay, perhaps not that,” says Akira. “But I would make a radiant bride.”

    Goro doesn’t doubt that. If he takes an afternoon off and searches long enough, he’ll surely find the drag cop outfit somewhere in the attic—a real attic, this one—from all those years back. Maybe he can ask Akira to wear lipstick again when it’s time to seal the deal during the ceremony. He can’t think of anyone who would object to that.

    “That’s your cue to say ‘Truly’.” Akira carries both empty mugs to the sink, a slight pout adorning his face. Goro rolls his eyes. He waits until he passes him on his way out to hook a finger through a belt buckle and pulls Akira with a sharp tug on his lap. He blinks in fake innocence. “Oh?”

    “I prefer you looking good in a dress stays between us,” Goro says, shimmying his hands under Akira’s shirt—wrong, Goro’s shirt—where they rest on warm, soft skin.

    Akira thinks about it. “What do I get in return?”

    “No divorce papers.”

    Generous as always.”

    “It’s a deal then.”

    On cue, Akira’s head bends and finds Goro’s mouth. Kissing Akira is still the same as seven years ago: hot, addicting. Like breathing air for the first time after staying underwater for hours. His hands roam over spots he knows where bruised long, long ago and Akira reacts like they never disappeared. Like they never left the Metaverse. Still sixteen and eighteen and too busy bruising their knuckles and knees fighting for their own justice instead of settling down and taking their time unravelling each other. It still manages to untie a tight knot within his chest. He could spend all day kissing Akira. He should spend all day kissing Akira.

    One, two, three tugs on his ponytail and Goro reluctantly relents to free Akira’s bottom lip from between his teeth.

    “We should give you a cut as well,” Akira says, curling the end around a finger. Goro shows his surprise by raising one eyebrow.

    “You’d be okay with that?” he asks. He’s started to believe Akira’s fixation on his hair—drying it after a shower, braiding it when he’s bored, burrowing his hands in them when he cums—is a religious thing, though the prospect of it being short, feeling the cool breeze on the back of his neck during summer and not bothering to brush it every hour to untangle any knots, is appealing.

    Akira wears a dreamy sort of look—though, no. That’s just him being horny, probably imagining Goro with shorter hair and all new discoveries it might bring as he gently scrapes his scalp. It’s as good as any answer. He pushes Akira off his lap and rises as well, turning left and right to stretch and make his joints pop.

    “Fine, but if you mess it up, I’m going to shave you bald.”

    They share a single look, thinking of the only person they know with a bald head and Goro regrets his words already, hates the face of the man he never wants to remember flashing before his eyes.

    Akira takes his hand and squeezes. “I’m going to make you the most handsome man alive, promise.”

    He allows Akira to lead him to the bathroom, the objection that his task will be hard so long as he breathes on his lips.

    Five more days. Five more days and the most handsome man alive will be his.

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Twenty-Five

Masterpost

Patton was sitting on the couch, as this seemed to be a two-person-only type of job.

“Ok! A little more! Just a little! Wait, wait, wait! Here! Don’t move!” Roman groaned. “He moved.”

Virgil was up on the roof, trying to get the antenna to catch a tv signal. With his better hearing, he could hear Roman yelling when the tv actually got a picture that wasn’t mostly static.

They’d been working at it for quite a long time now, and it didn’t seem that they were getting very close. At least they were having fun.

It was quite a while longer before the image was halfway clear, and Roman decided that it was as close as it would get.

And then the three of them sat down to watch a movie.

Patton patted his lap, and Virgil actually tipped over to lay down. He’d been so much more open to touch ever since they started practicing with the thralls. At first, Patton had been very worried that he felt like he owed it to them, but with how much Virgil leaned into his hand as he ran it through his hair, he seemed to enjoy it at least as much as Patton did.

Roman was more aggressive with his affection, grabbing Virgil in a headlock and scrubbing his knuckles over his head. But after clearing it up the first time, where Virgil had thought it was some kind of attack, he was smiling, and even laughed once, squirming out of the hold and tackling Roman back.

They still had to be careful with anything remotely silver-colored, as it made Virgil freeze up just by seeing it, and if they moved towards him with it he would go into a full blown panic attack.

But other than that, the last few days had brought them closer and closer together. A little stir-crazy, but they were managing that pretty well, or at least Patton thought so.

Virgil hadn’t quite figured out how to manage the thrall, but from what Patton heard, it was a pretty finicky thing to manage anyway. And that was what all the practice was for. He’d get it! Patton was sure of it.

Virgil slowly melted more and more into Patton’s lap, his breathing slowing until it was barely there. Apparently vampires didn’t really need to breathe, and the habit of unconscious breathing slowed until it eventually stopped. Emile had explained that to him, and that Remy didn’t breathe at all while he was sleeping, and sometimes when he was awake too. It weirded Patton out, but he was getting a little better at ignoring it.

Once Virgil was completely asleep, and the movie ended, Patton switched to the news.

“—but everyone’s freaking out!” A woman was saying. “I feel like I can barely let my kids out of the house!”

“You understand the reasons why, right?” The interviewer asked.

“Of course I do, but this is still just too freaky! My dad turned out to be a vampire. My dad! He could’ve been assaulting my kids when he came to our house! And what does that mean for me? Am I a part vampire? How am I supposed to get the vampire part out of me?”

“From all reports, it is not possible to be a percentage of a vampire. You either are or are not.” The interviewer said calmly, as if he was reading off of a script.

“Then how are we going to stop the vampires? Who knows how far they’ve infiltrated!”

“I’ve been assured that they are being rounded up very thoroughly.”

“But it just takes one, doesn’t it? And that one could infect how many people?”

The interviewer turned to the camera. “This is why we’re trying to be sure and get every one. If you know, or suspect someone of being a vampire, please call the authorities. There are fool-proof tests, there is no way we will accidentally arrest anyone innocent.”

“Well, that’s good.” The woman said. “But if vampires are real, and we’re practically crawling with them, who knows what else could be? Are werewolves real? Are ghosts? How would we even know?”

“There have not been any confirmed reports of other paranormal creatures, however the government is keeping the possibility in consideration.”

“I should hope so. This is all too dangerous! I don’t know why they’re trying to put any of them to work, it’d be safer to just kill them all.”

Patton felt a minute stiffening in Virgil. He stroked his hand over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Virge, I’ll turn it off.”

Virgil’s eyes opened, and he turned to mostly hide his face. “Thanks.”

“Virgil, none of us think this way. Not for a second.”

Virgil nodded silently.

Patton rubbed more firmly. “We’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. No one’s taking you.”

“It’s… it’s not… you’re… stuck up here.”

“What do you mean?”

Virgil rolled back to look up at Patton. “You’re stuck up here trying to keep me safe. You both just left your whole lives behind, and I’m— I-I’m not—“

Patton put a finger over his mouth. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t worth it. Don’t you dare.”

Virgil bit his lip, his forehead furrowing. He gave a slight nod. “But—“

“No buts, mister. Do you think I would lie to you?”

Virgil shook his head.

“And I say you’re worth every bit of it.”

“I do too,” Roman said, butting his way into the conversation. “You’ve been adopted. I even got Logan in on it. And you aren’t getting out of this family that easily.”

“Roooman, that was a surprise!” Patton protested, but he wasn’t really upset.

Virgil, on the other hand, looked awfully close to crying.

“I—I don’t understand!” He said, his voice cracking. “Why do you even want me?”

Patton was instantly ready with a million reasons, but Roman spoke first.

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you could understand, you just don’t believe us.” Roman put a hand on Virgil’s knee. “But we’re going to stay here, and keep wanting you, and keeping you, and making sure you’re as safe as we can make you, until you do believe it.”

And then Virgil did cry, curling into Patton and reaching out a hand for Roman. Roman grabbed his hand and moved closer, sandwiching Virgil between him and Patton.

•^*^••

Thomas dropped to his knees as the pressure released, shuddering.

“Atta’kid, Tommy!” Remus crowed. “Now you know how to get out of a thrall. A baby one, anyway.”

Dee went straight to Thomas, scanning his face intently. “Are you ok?”

“M’fine,” Thomas said, though really he felt like he was about to throw up.

“Now Dee can try! And you can get out of his, and then he’ll learn how to do it better, and—“

“Shut up, Remus!” Dee growled. “Thomas isn’t doing anything else for a while.”

Remus froze, and then pouted. “Fiiiine, you two are learning, I guess.”

Thomas slowly got up, his legs wobbly. “I can— try again. Just give me a few minutes.”

“No.” Dee said firmly, hovering nearby to catch Thomas if he started to fall. “I’m already regretting letting you try this. No more. Not today.”

As much as his body wanted to quit, and as sore as his mind was, Thomas was worried. He suspected that he and Remus had the exact same worry, that something was coming, and that they wouldn’t be strong enough, wouldn’t be skilled enough. They had to keep practicing. With Remus as a teacher, as crude as he was, and with Dee’s skill and Thomas’s stubbornness, they might just make it. If they didn’t quit just cause Thomas was tired. He felt his own weakness keenly, but he refused to be the weak link that made them all get hurt. Not if he could help it.

“An hour. I’ll rest for an hour, and we’ll try again.”

Dee frowned, far more concerned than angry. “Three.”

Thomas sighed, and turned it into a chuckle. “Two, and we get some dinner. Deal?”

“I’m driving,” Dee insisted.

Thomas was glad to let him have that, and fell asleep almost as soon as the car started moving.

•^*^••

“Come on, you can’t stay inside forever,” Remy said, rolling his eyes behind his glasses.

“It’s dangerous!” Logan insisted.

“For who, babes?!” Remy snapped. “For who? Cause it sure as hell ain’t you. Come on, Em wants to go out and I’m taking you with us before I can regret it.”

“I don’t want you to be going out either!” Logan said. “If someone touched you with silver, or recognized me, we’d be done for. Emile is the safest one, let him go if he wants.”

Remy’s eyes narrowed. “Hand me your silver.”

“What?”

“Hand it. Now. I know you have some.”

Logan frowned deeply, but reached into his pocket and pulled out the bolt he still kept there out of habit.

Remy took it in his hand, rolled it around, and passed it back without changing his expression. His skin was reddish and irritated, but he hadn’t even flinched.

“I drink. Coffee. Every day, babes. I’m not getting us caught over a little silver. Now stop being a wimp and go get in the car.”

“But—“

“Look, I can pass it off as an allergy,” Remy snapped. “If anyone gets us caught it’ll be you, acting all jittery.”

Logan reluctantly walked out to the car, where Emile was waiting.

“Remy, what’d you do?”

“I touched his damn silver, leave me alone.”

Emile glanced between the two of them, concerned, but left Remy alone.

The dinner actually went well, even if Logan was tense. No one paid them any attention, other than the waiter, and even that didn’t seem like too much.

“I apologize,” Logan said, as they got back into the car. “I should… perhaps, be willing to trust you more.”

“Yeah, whatever, I was a prick too. It’s chill.”

Emile may have mostly hidden the proud smile, but the emotion wasn’t at all hidden, making Remy turn and stare out the window for the next while.

“What do you think about popcorn and a movie once we get back?” Emile asked.

“I’d take the popcorn,” Remy said.

“Depending on which movie, I’d certainly be willing to partake with the both of you.”

Remy scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile.

•^*^••

“They’ve taken my son,” Liam said firmly. “I will see them go down.”

“Good man,” his superior praised, slapping him on the back. “And if there’s any way we can get your son back; you’ll have all the resources at your disposal.”

And with that, he handed over direct command of all the hunters in the state to Liam Hart.

[blankdblank]

Ridikulus Pt 27

…

All is found Lyrics used

…

Smiles lingered in your being helped off of Lipte in the stables and again the comments on the age of the forest and caves of glow in the dark butterflies and lizards with stones far older than the written word in your old world had you looking to the pair now freeing their undressed steeds. Unable to help it you looked over Thranduil’s face then asked, “15,000?”

His brow rose as he asked, “I do not follow.”

“How are you 15,000 years old?” Your question made him chuckle and Glorfindel smirk.

Thranduil, “Are you questioning the number or my surviving for so long?”

A passing group of guards off to their own patrols and Glorfindel said, “Let us get you off your feet, Dearest.”

The whole path you glanced between the two men with their hands across your back after the shake of your head freeing a butterfly from your bangs. Through the large double doors you joined the pair to the sitting room where Thranduil helped you into one of the arm chairs and set a foot rest in front of you as you eased off your boots and set them aside and smiled at Glorfindel when he eased your sore feet onto the stool he pushed closer to you. Button by button Thranduil undid his robe leaving it on a chair along with his circlet on his path to the kitchen while Glorfindel lit the fire and lamps for you then went to help Thranduil.

Leaning back you waited until the King had returned with a tray of snacks to go with the tea Glorfindel was carrying. With a grin Thranduil asked you in the hall, “You didn’t answer my question, is it my age or how I survived this long that puzzles you?”

The trays were set down as you stated, “It’s 15 thousand years. It’s just, so long.”

When he sat beside you his eyes trailed over your face in your glance at the cup Glorfindel had passed you, in a croak you started to ask, “How-,”

His brow raised at your pause before he asked, “How what?”

“I, I don’t-.”

His fingertips cradled your chin turning your head to look up at him and his soft smile, “Ask me anything.”

“How long were you married?” Steadily he drew in a breath then let it out as he turned his gaze away from you and rested his hand at his side counting mentally with taps of his finger on his thighs, “If you don’t-.”

He turned his eyes to you again, explaining, “It is a difficult question. There was three centuries of supervised courting until our arranged marriage was solidified at the middle of the second age.” He wet his lips, “There was another four centuries until our kingdom was finally sacked and we’d settled here. The official ceremony was after the new palace was formed, half a century later we had Legolas and she fell when we tried to aid those in the lands of Angmar to clear it of their Dragons on our way back from the wars at the first sight of their nests.”

“So, that, wow, seven centuries? What type of courting?”

He drew in a breath, “There certainly wasn’t any physical contact past the allowed three dances at celebrations, our, in arranged unions it is difficult to find a solid footing as partners. I went from a low standing to a Prince, requiring a marriage.”

“How, you said half a century, roughly, assume as an Elf, if I had a child, how old would that child be? How old are the twins, they’re the size of toddlers but they seem, older.. Dad said Estel is seven and they seem pretty even with Em.”

Thranduil chuckled, “Fifty would roughly be equated to, perhaps a ten year old mortal child.”

Glorfindel, “The Princes were seven when they were taken.”

Your brows rose, “So it’s going to take how long for them to get, your size?!”

They chuckled and Glorfindel stated, “Roughly a century. Though Estel is half mortal, so his aging would be closer to Em’s.”

Your hand reached up and your fingers traced the tip of your ear, “Now that we, that our ears are like this-.”

Thranduil, “There is no way of telling other than to wait it out. Due to their bond there is chance, as other Elven youth raised by mortals they might grow quite rapidly as to not be excluded from their kin.”

Glorfindel, “In the time our kin have fostered your young they have grown quite rapidly, I would assume your kin would continue to grow normally.” Making you nod again.

Thranduil scooted closer to you pulling the footrest closer to you in your next sip to prop his sideways bent leg upon to lean a bit more to your side placing his free hand on your knee. “Though, and I do mean this respectfully, if we, the three of us, were to have a child then it would be a waiting game to see how the child would grow.”

Little by little your questions flooded out only solidifying their believed unions with you were nearing at the topics you were discussing, the great test of it was when Thranduil asked, “I do have to ask, Glorfindel stated your relationship in school with a, Sebastian was innocent, however, your union with Charlie,”

You shook your head, “We were together for my first two years in school, it wasn’t a marriage. And barely were together a couple months before Riddle died.”

Thranduil, “There are certain levels our relationships take constituting a union.”

“You’re asking if we had sex?”

He nodded, “In not so, abrupt terms, but yes.”

Glorfindel eyed you in your inhale then added, “If you had, it would, there are two of us, leading to the questions of what you have experienced so we might know how our relationships would deepen together. Should it be to solidify first before anything physical were to happen with one or the both of us, separately of course.”

Thranduil nodded, “We would never demand or outright assume for us to share a bed together unless it were your wish.”

“We, did have sex, a handful of times. We were together in school only kissing. In the end of my second year he graduated, we split, he didn’t want to keep me away from anyone else if I’d found someone while at school. It was a few years then I met Sebastian, again, just kissing and he said we could take a year off to let me finish school and then see where we were in life and if we could work it out, but not long after he was engaged and having a baby with someone else.”

The admission making their jaws clench a moment only to relax seeing you weren’t troubled over it as they were. “After I had graduated and was working at the school was when Barty played my boyfriend. It was a few months before Tonks and Remus got married, with Charlie, we got back together for a bit. That’s when we slept together. Then, we fell out and I ended it. Barty played my fiancé and I had to fake my pregnancy. Then, I died, and, the world sort of fell apart we got sent into separate ends of it.”

Glorfindel, “Do you still care for one another?”

“I,” you wet your lips, “We grew up together, so, I don’t want you to misunderstand. I love him, I do have love for him, yes we do have a past, but that’s it, a past. He wasn’t interested in settling down, he loved racing off after dragons and I can’t be like that for him. He understands, if that’s what you’re worried about. Plus-,”

Thranduil, “Plus?” He asked while Glorfindel claimed your surprisingly empty cup.

After a soft sigh you answered, “It was sort of, confusing. I was,” the pair’s eyes narrowed slightly and their hands laid over yours fidgeting on your lap. “I was close to breaking, from the weight of it all. Dealing with Riddle, my aunt Bellatrix, Fenrir, and somehow Charlie had thought up that, Fenrir raped me,” Their lips parted and you continued, “The whole time he seemed, bottled up and just kept growing angrier and picking fights until he just shouted at me that I wasn’t being honest. That I was hiding things from him, and that I wasn’t trusting him with what had supposedly happened to me.”

Glorfindel, “Why would he assume-?”

“The night they killed Fenrir, they all hid their memories, took Swooping Evil venom to forget what they did. They figured he must have heard them talking about it before they wiped it all out. But they talked to him after,” you shook your head, “But I was done. It was too much. I don’t hate him, I could never hate him for wanting to be there for me.”

Glorfindel smiled folding his hand around yours, “I understand perfectly. He is part of your, I would say family, if that does not make you uncomfortable.”

You let out a weak chuckle, “It is an awkward little family we have. But we’ve settled into it. We’re all we’ve ever had.”

Thranduil claimed your free hand kissing your knuckles asking, “We have supplements, to hold off pregnancy, does your kin?”

You nodded, “Ya, all us girls take it when we’re old enough.”

Thranduil’s lips parted, “Your females take it?!”

You nodded then glanced at Glorfindel when he asked, “Why would you inhibit your abilities to be with child when it is the men who could handle that aspect much easier?”

You forced a smile, “Because not all men from our world could be trusted to protect us from, ‘surprises’ like me. Like Barty’s one nighter, he’s one of the rare exceptions actually wanting the child. Even Harry would have wanted Fin, or at least to help Sirius with him. If we want to control that aspect we have to take on that duty.”

Thranduil’s hand gave yours a gentle squeeze making you face him as he shifted to face you more, “I assure you, the pair of us will stick to our regimens. You will not be required to handle that duty as well. You are a teacher, a mother already, you have so many to look after, to protect. We are here for you, to protect you.”

At a loss for words you simply stated, “Thank you.” Making the pair smile and lean in to gently kiss you one at a time each grinning at your mint colored hair.

The opening of the door however brought a messenger into view, he bowed his head and handed off his message to the King when he had crossed the room. Beside you Thranduil read the note then sighed stating, “Thengel has inquired upon the status of your cousin wishing to hear if their friend, Ted, has found his family again.” He bowed his head to the messenger who hurried off after he added, “I suppose we shall have to write to him sharing their reunion.”

Peering at Glorfindel your fingers eased through the ponytail laying across your chest asking, “Have any of my relatives tried to hug you yet?”

Thranduil chuckled shifting to rest his arm on the back of the couch facing you to ease his fingers through the ponytail laying over your shoulder while Glorfindel scooted closer to you letting you lean against his chest so Thranduil could prop your legs up on his uncurled leg while the other laid flat under yours. “Past Em, no.”

Thranduil teased, “Well if they do we are to fake a sneeze to signal we are unwilling to accept.”

Glorfindel chuckled tilting your head to the side allowing him to steal a firm kiss on your lips, “I doubt any would try to hug me, and I hope that I would not have to use that trick.”

Slowly Thranduil’s hands moved to start rubbing your feet until another messenger arrived making him furrow his brows and nod then set it aside asking, “Are you tired?”

Your eyes shifted to the note then back to his eyes, “Is that your subtle way of asking me to leave?”

His lips parted and he shook his head, “What? No! Nothing more than my wishing for you to get enough rest.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully making him smirk in return with his own challenging gaze while Glorfindel’s lips met your cheek as you murmured, “Mhmm.”

Thranduil eased closer to you kissing your other cheek, “For that we are all going to bed.” A quick giggle came from you as they lifted you between them and carried you to the King’s bed and settled you down, removing their boots and scooting closer to you. Glorfindel stole the chance to lay his arm over your middle when they both laid down around you each claiming a lingering kiss before purring, “Off to sleep.” Making you giggle and settle between the pair drawing the covers higher over you while they slept on top of them draping their arms around you closing their eyes as you closed yours.

…

In the darkened room when the fire had burned out a furrow of your brows and withheld whimper from you had the duo around you lifting up to look you over in the faint moonlight. Deep in the dark fields around Rohan sitting up in the middle of the field outside of it your eyes widened in the rush of riders armed to the teeth halfway dressed to face off with the Trolls surrounding the city. Orcs and Wargs between the crude catapult pushing trolls raced forward and a distant scream jerking you into the main hall alerted you to your dreaming state. In the bed clearly belonging to Thengel in his race from the room his little girl had been brought by a servant and his cousin stood guard over his groaning pregnant wife in the bed Healers were trying to help stop her sudden bout of bleeding.

A sharp snap of your silver eyes flicking open alerted the men to your dream and as you sat up the purple shade melted back into place. Lifting your palms coated in white flames you whispered, “Meet me in Rohan,” sending a flaming message of yourself to Tonks.

Glorfindel, “You had a dream on Rohan?”

“Trolls and orcs are attacking them.”

Thranduil nodded stating, “We could send aid.” Mentally alerting a group of his guards to gather in one of the gardens while you leapt from the bed to find and tug your boots on again. “That was the whole dream?”

“Thengel’s wife’s in labor.”

Glorfindel asked in their jumping up to pull on their armored shirts and weapons along with their boots from their now shared weapons closet, “You wish to help her or guard her?”

“She’s bleeding and in pain, well, more pain than normal, something’s wrong.” That had their faces drop and they turned with hands on your back to guide you to join the waiting soldiers you guided through your doorway.

Into the central path in the heart of Rohan the Elves filed around you in your spinning stance seeing the Men scrambling after the night guard had caught the distant scent of warg who stole glances at Tonks popping up a few feet from you.

“Ted!!” A pair shouted as Thranduil ordered his soldiers to fan out around the city soon added by more through your doorway joining the Men as you neared Tonks at her chuckling greeting to the pair racing off as well.

Tonks locked her eyes on you, “City’s under attack?”

“Yes, but I need a familiar face, Queen’s in trouble,”

Tonk muttered, “The baby..” You nodded and she said, “We can’t help with the Trolls?” She asked hearing a shout about the creatures while Thengel raced off to join his men stealing a glance at the stream of Elves joining in with a simple grin spotting Tonks and Thranduil in the distance in the moonlight beside you and your enchanted doorway.

Waving your hand you summoned a handful of sunstone powder chunks you turned and offered to an Elf soldier, “When you reach the edge of the city throw this as high and far as you can.” He bowed his head accepting them and raced off as you said, “Baby time.”

A swish of hands from you and Tonks turned the giant boulders sailing for the city into seeds calming those waiting for impact in their flight to being battle ready. Up to the main fortified hall you raced taking the steps two at a time bursting through the open door with Thranduil and Glorfindel after you following the groans of pain leading you straight to the open King’s chambers. Around the Queen the Healers had gathered and your eyes shifted to Halmar, “Hey,” Through the edges of the shuttered windows a sudden burst of sunlight erupted lighting the now far from sneaky army between the stone turned Trolls easing the destruction of the cowering orcs and wargs.

With a bow of his head he replied, “Your Majesty.”

His eyes followed you in your path to the Queen’s side, who had shifted onto her back looking over you and the Elf Lords behind you nodding her head to the King she recognized, “Hi, I’m Jaqi, sorry to burst in but you’re in pain, may I?”

Your hands were extended a bit when you had knelt on the bed beside her and she nodded letting you touch her still stomach. Her eyes flinching over your face while Tonks named herself as the former Ted and that you were her cousin, calming the now whimpering Queen at another press of your fingers across her hard belly. The silence was broken as she stated, “My stones, I was told it was too late to try for a son, but we didn’t listen…Now we will have to bury-,”

Her eyes widened meeting yours as you said, “No burying, now I need you to trust me,” you looked to Halmar, “King’s Cousin, I need you to carry the Queen,”

Tonks, “Mungo’s?”

You nodded, “Mungo’s.”

She nodded and raced off, “I’ll get Thengel.” Darting out of the room while Halmar inched closer to the confused Queen.

She asked, “Carry me, why?”

“I’m taking you to our Doctors, your babies aren’t moving, we have to see why.”

Weakly she asked, “Ba-, babies? What could your Doctors do?”

“Right now we have to get you there or we could lose all of you.” That had Halmar lifting her and Glorfindel accepting hold of her concerned daughter asking to come too, a pair of Healers also joined your group to ensure her safety in the King’s absence. Through your doorway you took her into the bustling Mungo’s in the middle of a rough storm signaling what you felt to be an incoming awakening of Fin and Em bringing them to you. A Doctor approached eyeing the tall group behind you asking in Japanese knowing from prior visits you spoke it as well easing translation, “What is the problem?”

He guided you over to an empty exam room where she was laid on the bed, “Her belly isn’t moving, pain, and bleeding.”

With a nod he got to examining the Queen with her permission to expose her belly with the arrival of the confused and no longer argumentative King beside Tonks where he noticed a few telling blotches of yellow across her skin making him ask, “How long have you had these yellow blotches?”

She replied timidly, “Since I was a child, all women in my line have Stones.”

The Doctor nodded and said, “Well that would explain the problem, for now we need to ready you for a c-section to get baby out.”

Thengel asked in his step out, “Baby out? What is this section he speaks of? Will it be painful?”

“Don’t worsen things by worrying, it’s not painful they will numb her stomach for the incision,”

That had him inhaling making Thranduil grip his shoulder to keep him from shouting to say, “I assure you this is not dangerous. Queen Jaqi has delivered her daughter this way.”

The Queen muttered, “They wish to cut me? How could I bear the scars. My Stones already lesson my appeal as Queen…”

At that you raised your shirt to tap the small scar under your belly button, “This is my scar.” Parting her lips as she reached out to tap the barely noticeable scar also calming the King, “It is a bit of pressure, no pain, but something is wrong and to help this along for your safety and theirs you have to trust us.” She nodded and your head turned to the trio of Doctors returning spreading your group. Thranduil urged Thengel to the Queen’s head and you stepped aside to her belly alongside Tonks.

The Doctor said, “More Kerfuffles have had us busy, we might need your hands if my suspicions are true on how many we are facing.”

Thengel looked you over asking, “What did he say?” Watching the Doctor adding protective sleeves over his gloves up to his elbow over his smock.

You replied as a nurse began to rub the blood orange cleanser over the Queen’s belly, “Just explaining why it’s so crowded.”

The Doctor said, “Now, no need to be worried, just a tap and you will be numb, just lay back and babies will be here soon.”

The Nurse drew her wand she waved over the Queen’s belly parting her lips at the instant numbness and while you pulled on the gloves the second Doctor passed you after washing your hands you came back watching Thengel eyeing the scalpel in the Doctor’s hand. The shallow incision parting his lips while he held her hands nuzzling closer to her as her eyes shut and Glorfindel turned keeping their daughter distracted by talking with her between stolen glances of his own ensuring she didn’t look.

“There he is,” a snip of the chord on the purple baby boy who was laid belly down on your sleeve coated forearm and palm allowing you to rub his back while the nurse used the sucker to clear his airway for his first shrill cry at his sister being pulled out. Both having been positioned awkwardly, the after birth was next and her womb was sealed again while she smiled at the sound of the second Doctor lulling a cry from their daughter as well now joining her brother to be cleaned and weighed.

A glimpse around had a few moments to remove a cluster of small growths that had caused the trouble before her belly was closed fully and the Doctor said, “These Stones, you have gotten in your family line it is called Grop in our medical records. We have supplements we can send home with you to help reverse your symptoms within a month and your next pregnancy should be much easier.”

The Queen asked, “Next pregnancy? This will not be my last?”

He shook his head, “Not at all, you look young, from the look of your ovaries and womb you seem perfectly healthy aside from the Grop. Is that something that is common in your town?”

She answered, “A good portion of families have the Stones limiting bloodlines at impeding our carrying.”

“The supplements are easy to make, I am certain Jaqi could brew up a great supply for your town to distribute with those showing symptoms.” The first potion was given to her and she shivered and accepted the second that had her hands lower to her now flatter belly in the Doctor’s saying, “I assure you your belly has healed just fabulously and all your nursing abilities are in tact. Just rest and mind your diet, one pill a day and try to increase your fish intake,” he glanced at you, “I will fetch the supplements and we can get you home here in a little bit.” Lowly to you he asked, “I take it no insurance?”

“Just send me the bill.” Earning a nod from him in his path out of the room with congratulations removing his disposable layers with the other Doctors behind him while the Queen had taken hold of her daughter when her nightgown was fixed again. Stepping closer to Thengel you watched his misty eyed grin deepen at your offering his son, “Here’s your baby boy,” Into his arm he cradled the blonde haired blue eyed boy that squealed up at him earning a kiss from his father.

The Queen asked, “What was his comment meaning on increasing our fish?”

Tonks, “For Grop trying to eat fish at least once or twice a week would aid in alleviating the symptoms. See it all has to do with an imbalance of your diet, your bodies need more so the supplements help to kick that back into your bodies removing the spots and help your body to get rid of the stone clumps the imbalance makes.”

Nuzzling her child closer to her chest she asked, “I could carry again?”

Through an easy grin at Glorfindel bringing their older daughter to greet her siblings while your head turned again mumbling, “Two shakes.” Zapping off to Teddy’s crib in the growing storm shushing him to silence his pouting stance and bubbling tears. And Remus in the other room while he chased the next Kerfuffle loose in his home.

Remus shouted, “Ha! Got you!” His head turned seeing you holding Teddy, “How’s Rohan?”

Your head tilted, “Lotta Trolls, I’ll get him to Tonks.”

Remus nodded, “Good, think we’ve almost got it locked thanks to those journals you found. Another week or so. Will it take long?”

You hook your head, “No, not long now and Tonks’ll be back to snuggle.”

He nodded and turned to chase another shadowy stream, “Ha, there you are!”

Zapping off again you returned to pass Teddy to Tonks, who cradled him closely stirring a grin on Thengel’s face in her introducing him. All while you were off again gathering up Fin in his sling and Em before their fussing could explode into tears and in your return the Doctor was back handing the jar and giving the all clear for The Queen to return home. Halmar again lifted her and her daughter allowing Thengel to keep hold of their son walking through your doorway into the main hall now in the dark again at the fading of your sunlight charm.

Back into bed freshened up again from Tonks’ spell, she was settled with her children and Thengel, who smiled at the picture Tonks took for them. Right when you returned you had stepped out of the room as Fin started to cry at a loud crash of thunder when the storm had grown from Pumpernickel to Rohan. Em in a reach for Glorfindel now was in his arms curling up to sleep again at the start of a soft lullaby echoing through the walls when Thengel slipped out to check on his Men.

 Where the north wind meets the sea

There's a river full of memory

Sleep, my darling, safe and sound

For in this river all is found

 Against your chest in your song Fin calmed nestling into your chest luring the eyes of the returning Men to the main hall you were in. Pacing slowly your hand smoothed over the newborn’s back while even Teddy curled up in your song perking up the ears of the returning Elves at the clear fields for miles.

 In her waters, deep and true

Lay the answers and a path for you

Dive down deep into her sound

But not too far or you'll be drowned

 Out on the overlook Thengel watched his Men returning with lanterns used to signal the clear from the threat. In the front hall Tonks greeted her friends who had approached only to glance at the source of the voice that had drawn them here. Even Thranduil and Glorfindel were drawn into the hall granting the Queen her privacy after she had been instructed fully on when to take her supplements with her breakfast. The Men unable to help but grin at your gentle sway calming the boy shimmering softly as you were.

 Yes, she will sing to those who'll hear

And in her song, all magic flows

But can you brave what you most fear?

Can you face what the river knows?

 An all clear from the guards on watch came at Tonks dousing the flames of the portion of the field the orcs tried to light on fire. Mid song the eyes of the Men traveled upwards watching a barrier rise in a soft shimmer only to fade again from sight with the peridot band folded in your freehand now resting flat across Fin’s back.

 Where the north wind meets the sea

There's a mother full of memory

Come, my darling, homeward bound

When all is lost, then all is found

 Into the main hall you strolled with the Lords to find Thengel who looked you over and took a lingering glance at the boy in your arm and girl in Glorfindel’s near to the same size as his daughter now drifting off herself once again. Passing the ring to the King he inspected it fully then looked up at you, “The ring is bound to the barrier, only your allies may enter your lands.”

“I cannot thank you enough for all you have done, for my family and people.”

You shrugged, “It’s what we do. Look after our friends.”

Lowering his gaze again he stated, “King Thranduil stated you had a daughter,”

“Ah, yes, this is Fin, my baby brother. Bout a week old now, still getting used to storms.”

“Your mother is still recovering from the birth?”

You shook your head with an easy grin, “My Mother died when I was three. Fin is my cousin’s son, he died on the way here so my Dad adopted him.”

His grin faltered and he replied, “Oh,” watching you glance down at the boy and kiss his curled fist he tapped to your chin. “Your Adad is sleeping then?”

“No, we, um, have been having some trouble with our chimneys. Should be mended soon. Oh, and I do apologize for bursting in earlier, I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

In a low chuckle he replied, “Queen Jaqi, you are welcome here any time.” With a parting hug from Tonks to her friends you were back through your doorway to Northern Greenwood with the ret of the Elven forces allowing Tonks to head home and laugh seeing the mess Remus had made catching the last of the Kerfuffles. Into the bedroom again you went laying out with Fin in a bassinette by the bed especially made for him. With Em to lay across your chest between the men to steal what few hours you had left until sunrise only to be joined by all three of the boys having been woken in the return of the soldiers sharing what had happened.

Pt 28

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shesakillerkween

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac​

Ridikulus- @long-cosmos-overhead​, @partoftheminfamily​, @alishlieb

[stuckwith-harry]

Any ship + the “two sugars” prompt please?

A/N: This was at least 30% inspired by the fact that when I waswriting it, I was very much freezing my butt off in a Costa while waiting for @ronaldswheezy to finish her lectures. So Jessie from thepast is going to grab a hot chocolate now. Also, this contains somereferences to a poem you might know, which I‘m pretty excited about,so if that‘s something you dig, keep your eyes peeled. Leave me anask when you‘ve figured it out!

Warning for a few words Molly wouldn’t approve of, threestraight pages of pure, undiluted self-loathing, and Ron being shamed for his teapreferences when he isn’t even there to defend himself.

It’s two sugars, right?

“Okay.Light’s coming on now.”

Thewarning helps a little, but Harry still feels himself flinch when theBurrow’s kitchen lamps light up. Ginny squeezes his handbefore letting go and quietly walks over to the kitchen counter, barefeet on old wood. Harry slides into the nearest chair and wills hislegs to stop shaking while she fills the kettle to the top.

“Ican ask Dad about them”, she says, looking back at him over hershoulder. “He can put a Dimming Charm on them, so they don’t comeon so fast.”

“It’sno big deal”, mumbles Harry. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“He’dbe happy to be bothered about that. It might help, Harry.”

“Really,it’s … fine. I feel bad enough about burdening you with … allthis.”

Mostnights, when Harry wakes up,he can’t remember how tobreathe. He gaspssilently into the darkness of Ginny’s bedroom, withtense muscles and bright eyes, and the shadows on her walls growtogether like trees over hishead, and he’s sure theworld is ending – for a fewmoments, or maybe hours, who knows – nothing and everything isreal: the mattress is deadland and opens up under him,and drags him down,head-first, until he’s gone, without ever making a sound, awhimper, nothing more.

Butwhen she does wake up – when it’s so bad he can’t hide it –when he wakes up with a bang – thereis a small,shameful part ofHarry that breathesa secret sighof relief. Shespeaks warm, reassuring words, and strokes his hair, and holdshim until he stops shaking.

“It’sokay. It’s okay. Just breathe. Shhh. Just breathe.”

Sohe does. And he can.

Buthe could never, ever – admitit.

Becausewhen thelights come on, and he looks into Ginny’s red-rimmed, glassy eyes,he wants nothing more than tocurl up into himself and disappear. Heknows it’s his fault, how tired she looks. And there’s no hidingfrom the lights: They lay bare exactly how weak, and vulnerable, andpathetic he is.

Ginnytucksa strand of red hair behind a freckled ear. It’sgrowing past her shoulders again, and falling over her collarbones. Harrystill hasn’tgotten used to it: Every timehe looks ather, he expects tosee the same waist-lengthshock of hair shesported back in his sixth year, that impossible, sunny summer.

Butthat is long gone.

„You’renot a burden.“

Thekettle behind her starts to whistle – she turns her back to Harry,who issitting on the other side of the kitchen tableand allows himself to shiveras soon as she isn’tlooking anymore. He watchesher shoulder blades dig through her pyjamas asshe works – eager to dedicate every thought in his head to thesimpleroutine of placing tea bags in mugs and pouring steaming water ontop, and the way her arms move when she does.

Butfuzzyimages from his nightmares keep seeping back in, distantand solemn voices, and hischest tightens the more he tries to fight it – and the terriblyfamiliar feeling of struggling to breathe, and beingtrapped, and then drowning infreezing water, takeshold of him.

„Idon‘t want to wake you up, that‘s all…“

„Iknow.“ She disappears from his sight momentarily when she bendsdown to grab sugar out of the bottom drawer. It‘s the one that sitsin its cabinet at an odd angle, Harry remembers. Probably the resultof untamed childhood magic.He‘s not sure whose. „Ijust wishyou would. You’reso … determined to do it all alone, and for no reason.”

Whenhe doesn’t respond, she adds:“I wake you up, too, don’t I?”

Harrydoesn’t bother to argue. She knows justas well as he does that if hedid, they’d be here every night – that she’s getting better, and he isn’t. It’sbad enough that some nights,she wakes up anyway, finds him shaking and gasping on the mattressnext to her. She never says anything, never complains, but he’d bean idiot not to see it’s wearing herout, too.

It’sbad enough she knows herboyfriend is scared of thefucking lights.

Harryshuts his eyes and waits for his body to stop humming – listens tothe singing wind, theharsh, icy October rain as itdrums on the Burrow’swindows. Fivemonths have passed, and he’s as disoriented as ever: thereis no future ahead of him that he can see, and the feeling that he isoverstaying hisvisit creeps up on him almost as frequently as the nightmares do.

„It‘stwo sugars, right?“

Harrysnaps out of his spiral. „One‘s fine.“

„One‘syour regular.“ He can see her smile, though faintly, even under thesharp kitchen light. „You drink it with two when you‘re upset.“

“I’mnot upset.”

Hedoesn’t even know why he’s trying to pretend anymore. Ginny justlooks at him with that odd look of defeat he’s grown to hate somuch, because he’s always the one who puts it there.

“Ican’t believe you remember that”, he says, when the silencebecomes too much to bear. Ginny lets him guide the conversation awayfrom the heaviness without comment.

„Couldn‘tforget if I tried.”

Whathe doesn’tknow ishow much comfort ahot tea with two sugars holdsfor her. How much it meant, to have something so simple and warm toremember him by, when the world around her was falling apart. Whenthere was nothing left of him to hold on to, duringall those lonely, drearymonths, when she didn‘t know if he was alive – orif anyone would be, when it was over –there was still the way he liked his tea. And that when comfort wasneeded most, it came with twosugars.

Butthat part, Ginny – afterall a firm and life-longdefender of the fact that tea should be enjoyed without sugar –withholds, for now.

„Here.“She slides into the chair next to him with her own cup of tea, andHarry traces the chipped rim of his own mug with his index finger.Bees and butterflies and bugs, all clearly hand-painted, andclearly by a child, decoratethe red porcelain.

„Ithink Ron did that“, says Ginny, who must have been watching him.“He was maybe five.”

Harryallows himself to smile at the thought.

„Andthis must be from Charlie“,she says, pushing her own mug around on the wooden table. It‘s palegreen – yellow lines flow together to form a map of Europe. TheRomania-shapedspot next to her thumb ispainted in faded gold. “Gotit for us a few years ago.”

“It’spretty.”

“Hm-hm.”He watches as she closes her eyes over the steaming mug, andhis stomach sinks.

“I’mserious, Ginny, you don’t need to stay up forme.”

Shegrimaces and rubs her eyes. “You’re not the only one who can’tsleep, babe. Not by a long shot. You’re just the only one whoinsists he couldn’t use some company for the bad nights.”

Harryholds on to his mug until his numbpalms burn from the heat.“I’m sorry.”

Ginnysighs. “Look– just let me talk to Dad. Everyonein this house would be happyto help you out. It’s not nearly as embarrassing as you think.”

“I’mshit at asking for help.” His voice is barely audible.

“Iknow.” There’s a short pause, in which Harry intently watches histea, willing his cheeks to stop burning; knowingthat Ginny hasn’t looked away.“It doesn’t have to be me, if you don’t want.”

Harryopens his mouth, and the seconds stretch. His confession is just awhisper. “I like it when it’s you.”

“Good”,says Ginny. “I make better tea, anyway.”

Harrygrins weakly.

“It’strue. Ron drinks his with three sugars, it’s disgusting. And hemakes it so strong it could drink him.”

“Yeah,so it balances out all the sugar.”

“Disgusting,I tell you.”

She’sstill smiling at him when he looks around. Tired, and sad, sure, butalways smiling. Always there, without ever complaining.

Hemouthes a Thank you, and Ginny rubs his arm before resting herhand on his, tracing his knuckles with the tips of her fingers likeshe always has. “You’re cold”, she says quietly.

Harryshrugs. He forgets about it when she’s around – the way his sweatsticks to the back of his neck, and how the cold air licks his skinwhen he wakes up, and how his t-shirt clings to his sore body.

“Wannatell me about it?”

Harryswallows. He’s still looking at her hand, desperate to learn everyfreckle by heart again, and right now that’s everything he can bearto think about.

“It’sthe same”, he whispers. “The forest.”

Andthough Ginny nods and holds on to his hand, like it’s nothing, hecan see her shoulders sag. She knows, just as much as he does, thatthere’s not much she can do about it. And he hates it just as muchas Ginny does.

“I’msorry”, she says softly. “You don’t deserve to relive it allthe time.” She holds his hand a little tighter – and Harrydoesn’t look at her, he just stares at his steaming cup of tea, andblinks and blinks and blinks until his eyes stop burning. “But Ican keep making tea, if you’d like that. And remind you that you’regoing to be okay.”

Andthat doesn’t make the ghosts go away. It doesn’t wipe Voldemort’swhite face from the back his mind – blurrier now, but always there.It doesn’t change the fact that every sudden, bright light takeshim right back.

Butit makes him feel a little warmer.

[icecreambeach]

Prompt: An unexpected hug, McHanzo.

This was fun! Trying something with more conventional OW tropes, turned into something I really did not predict. Unexpected hugs and more! Tried not to spend too much time on it cuz you KNOW I’ll turn it into a monster if I don’t. :] thank you mataglap for my first prompt!!! 

People more or less take one look at Hanzo and assume he doesn’t want to be touched. Everyone in Gibraltar is worldly enough to know that, culturally, it just isn’t a big thing, and Hanzo is nothing if not a traditionalist. That and the forty foot wall of spikes that is his general personality make it an unspoken assumption that anyone who might think of patting him on the shoulder, or rubbing his back, or playfully touching him in any way should expect to leave the encounter without a hand. Even Reinhardt, who treats everyone from small musicians to floating robots like members of the same bizarrely-close football team, followed suit from their very first encounter. Everyone gives Hanzo a wide berth and he does nothing to contradict them – if anything, he seems proud to be singular, to be afforded the kind of wordless barrier often associated with passing royalty. He wears his physical isolation with a raised chin and guards his alone time like a precious commodity. Exposed tattoo like a warning: beware of dragons.

Which is why Jesse, despite fucking Hanzo every night for going on two months now, doesn’t so much as stand within five feet of the man in public. It’s definitely not for lack of wanting – even looking at Hanzo puts all kind of romantic impulse in the gunslinger’s fingers. But Jesse’s been through too many haphazard ‘relationships’ to screw this one up now – not when their connection seems so tenuous already, not when his heart is so far out on a limb. His rapid-fire approach to everything cannot be allowed to burn through this tender gift he’s been lucky enough to receive in this, a relatively late part of his probably-short life, when so much else has already been turned to ash.

That, and he’s not even sure Hanzo wants people to know they’re together. Everything the archer does is well-thought-out, purposeful. Even when he walks, he never wavers or stumbles. It’s one of the things Jesse loves most about him, but it also means that if he’s not making eyes or asking outright, then he probably wants Jesse to follow suit. He’s amorous enough when they’re alone – if a little rough and to-the-point. Jesse can deal with the lack of touch the rest of the time.

Except that he really, really can’t. He’s been a hugger since he was little and physical affection was a missed commodity during his bounty hunting days. In Overwatch, everyone’s a soldier, and that implies a certain closeness inimitable in the outside world. Jesse could easily be labeled as ‘handsy’ when it comes to his fellow teammates (especially the old guard) and no one seems to mind. Far from it – they practically encourage him. Lena is always throwing her arm around his waist, Angela is always giggling under his bear hugs, Genji actually holds his hand now and again, Lucio gets a big kick out of linking their arms like a gentleman, and he’s smacked Reinhardt’s ass so many times, he hardly realizes he’s doing it anymore (though he can barely withstand the reciprocation). His magnanimous lack of personal boundaries is so famous that every time he falls asleep on the rec room couch, he usually winds up waking to someone else resting on his shoulder, or in his lap, or, like Hana did that one time, snoring atop his chest, using his pecs as pillows.

The burning fact that Hanzo is the only one willfully left out of this touch-circle is how Jesse winds up burning his and everyone else’s breakfasts one steel-gray morning. Earlier, the archer heard someone knocking at Jesse’s door and basically hid in the bathroom while Angela poked her head in to remind Jesse that it was his turn to cook. He was out of there as soon as she left, not a touch nor word exchanged. Not even a look. Since leaving his dorm, it’s all Jesse’s been able to think about, and now he’s snarling down at a cast iron pan full of burnt bacon.

He scoops it up, dumps its contents into the trash and then lets it slam back down on the burner.

Lena, used to the gunslinger’s short-lived bursts of temper, sidles up to his side and rubs his arm. “Oy, it’s alright. There’s more bacon in the fridge.”

“You mind taking over? Sorry, I just,” he sighs, rubs his barrel-chest through his white tee, “Not feeling myself this morning.”

“Sure. Go and sit, lad. Let Auntie Lena handle this. You like beans, right?”

“Love ‘em,” Jesse sighs, seating himself beside Genji. More people trickle in, but Jesse keeps his head in his hands.

“You look like you had another late night,” Genji remarks, that usual coy, leading tone. “Thought Angela said to ‘take it easy’ with the hard stuff.”

Jesse glares, rubbing his trapezius. “What’re you, her enforcer?”

“Yes,” trills Angela, ruffling Genji’s hair as she passes him on the way to the coffee maker. “Genji is my enforcer.”

Genji, with his visor lowered, is even more insufferable with the doctor around. But he gestures kindly at Jesse, wordlessly asking him to turn around and face the ovens. “Let me show you something Zenyatta showed me.”

Too tired not to trust him, Jesse straddles the table bench and lets Genji sink his hands into his shoulders. The relief is instantaneous – nothing like a dexterous pair of metal hands to ease out the tension – but, if he’s being honest, it’s not very deep. Jesse’s back has got more knots than a bondage party.

“Ah, you should try it like this!” Jesse hears Reinhardt behind him, then a larger hand is clasped at the back of his neck, working its side muscles. “This is what they do in the spas in Berlin!”

“Ow,” says Jesse, though he’s leaning into Reinhardt’s hand.

“If you want a really good massage, you should let Lucio try,” says Lena, half-turning as she cracks fresh eggs. “He’s got a healing touch!”

“Why, thank you, Lena,” says Lucio, also from behind Jesse. “Scoot over, Genji. See, man, it’s the lower back you gotta focus on, that’s where it allllllll happens…”

Jesse laughs low in his throat as now three men all address his mess of muscles. He lowers his head, obviously in ecstasy. Glowing at the attention. A neat little buzz leaks into his bloodstream, renders him light-headed. “Y’all're gonna kill me.”

“Such great teamwork,” laughs Mei from somewhere to his right.

“Hey, I better be next,” says Hana from somewhere to his left, cracking open one of her carbonated tea drinks. “You know how sore I get playing games?”

“Perhaps we should look into a full-time masseuse,” drawls Angela, drinking her coffee near Lena. “Or maybe Winston could design one.”

“Robotics are not my forte,” says Winston, somewhere near the pantry – Jesse assumes he’s building his own breakfast, “And it seems like… you’ve… got it all figured out…”

His drifting off doesn’t register until Jesse glances up at Angela and Lena’s semi-stunned faces, both focused somewhere over his head. Already in a daze from the endorphins, he raises a brow, but doesn’t truly notice something’s off until all three pairs of hands leave his body at once. He doesn’t even get the chance to open his mouth – two hands, feels like Genji, return to knead hard into his neck, making him issue an involuntary groan and tip his head forward again. Typical Shimada – incapable of sharing.

Angela continues, totally unperturbed. “Anyway, it would probably be an unwise allocation of resources. We still have to repair the security drones, don’t we?”

“Actually, those are all done,” Winston says, cheerful. “Torbjorn finished them last night.”

“Where is that man? Sleeping in?” Reinhardt joins Angela in Jesse’s line of sight, also getting more coffee. His gigantic mug is shaped like a very cute lion. “Another one staying up all night?”

Genji’s hands on Jesse’s back lower from his neck to his shoulder blades, working in seamless, soothing patterns. Lingering on the toughest spots. Jesse will owe him big after this, and he says so – or, he thinks he does. It’s getting hard to focus.

“You are one to talk,” Angela hums, holding her mug like it doesn’t have a handle, pinky out. “I heard you hammering away with Brigitte into the wee hours of the morning.”

“And how would you know,” laughs Reinhardt, “If you were not also awake to hear us?”

Genji’s hands work down to Jesse’s sides, folding and squeezing over his love handles. Okay, getting a little handsy there, Genj…

Lena, stuck in the middle, looks back and forth between them, pretends to move the pans like they’re about to fight. Angela smirks: “I’ve been caught.”

“I think we’ve all got a few more late nights ahead of us,” says Winston, who seats himself on a stool fit with wheels – the bench tables don’t quite agree with his physique. “But it shouldn’t be for much longer. Now that Athena’s running at full capacity, we don’t even…”

Jesse kind of blurs out after that. Genji is digging his thumbs into Jesse’s lower back in a way that’s making him have to hold in the groans. He actually lifts up his right hand to bite the knuckles as the ninja shoves his own knuckles against the bunched muscle just above Jesse’s glutes. God, he’ll get Genji whatever he wants after this. He hasn’t been touched like that in ages.

Except that his groin is starting to pay attention, and that just ain’t right. Genji’s hands are smoothing up and down his back now, slow and absorbing, with considerable affection. It’s enough to pump something warm and syrupy throughout the gunslinger’s muscles, down to the tips of his toes and back up again.But it does seem like he’s finally finishing up. Good, that was getting a little –

Then his hands circle around to the front and he hugs Jesse, head on his shoulder, warm and secure – possessive, even. Rubbing his jaw into his neck.

“Alright, now,” Jesse grunts, “That’s a bridge too far, there, Gen–”

Then he turns his head and stops just centimeters short of Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo, head over Jesse’s shoulder, smiles and pushes his forehead into his neck. Now that the stupor is passing, Jesse can smell his fresh shower, feel the warmth of his firm arms, sense the embarrassment that urges the archer to give Jesse one final squeeze before standing up and sitting proper at the table.

Everyone eats, everyone talks, but Jesse spends the entire time hyper-focusing on the touch of his thigh against Hanzo’s beneath the table and avoiding Genji’s annoyingly smug glances.

- - -

“Hey, c’mere, you.”

Hanzo turns with a raised brow as his wrist is seized and pulled. Jesse tugs, and he allows himself to be tugged, until their chests are pressed together just outside the mess hall.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, yourself,” Jesse hums, his eyes dancing with energy. “Feel like I just had one-too-many shots of espresso. Baby – where’d you get hands like that? You got dragons in your fingers, too?”

Hanzo chuckles, strokes Jesse’s beard. “Maybe.”

“I mean it, Hanzo, that was something else. Is that…” He suddenly looks down at his arms around him, “Is this okay?” He glances to the side, where the others are filing out of the mess hall at their leisure.

“Of course,” Hanzo mutters, assessing Jesse’s shoulders with more rubbing hands.

“It’s just you – I know you don’t – wait, why you been so stand-offish then?”

“I had thought… you did not initiate anything in front of the others. I assumed you wished to be discrete.”

“Well, shit, I thought you wanted that! You didn’t initiate anything, either. And you ran outta here this morning like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

“You are the one who is always…” Hanzo sets his jaw, raises a brow. “You always have your hands on everyone else.”

“Again – I thought you wanted me to keep my hands to myself.”

“I thought you would…”

“What? Just do whatever the hell I want?” Jesse chuckles, looks at Hanzo like he’s ludicrous. “I wanna give you what you need, Han. I ain’t gonna start pawing at you if you don’t say so. Y’seem to like your space.”

“I do,” Hanzo strokes up from his shoulders to his jaw, “I also like when you invade my space.”

“Lord have mercy,” Jesse groans, halfway to scooping Hanzo up entirely, “You’re a goddamn heart-breaker. Always surprising me.”

Hanzo only chuckles, not quite knowing what to say to that. There are many things he doesn’t understand about Jesse, apparently – he’d assumed, all this time, that the gunslinger did not want his open affections, and that he preferred his status as a flirtatious yet independent loner. That they were better off keeping to their own respective status quo. He’d never been one for public displays of physical affection (or even private ones, for that matter), but something about Jesse makes him want to try new things. To take a few steps beyond the boundaries he’s known for so long.

“So, what? You saw me getting a back rub and got too jealous to resist?”

Hanzo scoffs, thumbs Jesse’s nose. “Am I to stand by and watch you be manhandled by my brother and two others?”

Now it’s Jesse’s turn to chuckle, pulling Hanzo fully into his chest for a proper embrace. Gliding his natural right hand across the shaved hair at the back of Hanzo’s head, holding tight around his waist with his metal arm. Breathing him in.

Hanzo splays his hands across Jesse’s back, breathes back. “Thank you.”

“For what? Being wrong all this time?”

Hanzo reaches up, re-adjusts with both arms around Jesse’s neck. “For trying.”

Jesse holds Hanzo around his middle, smiling against his head. Finally feeling him in his entirety; meeting him where he’s at.

[redflowerwind]

The things we give

Summary: Charlie is willing to give, and MC is willing to take. But overworking and burn out is a common threat that all geniuses face.

Or: Charlie has to deal with a very burnt out MC. Slight angst. Fluff. Supportive!Charlie because he’s a cinnamon roll.

A/N: this is my last piece for Hogwarts Mystery Event Day 7: Free Day! I’m glad to have been able to participate in it.If anyone has any suggestions on what to write next, please don’t hesitate to ask! @hogwarts-mystery-event

The first few days of spring were marked with a mixture of torrential downpours, blooming flowers and chilly weather. The last puffs of draft wind did nothing to help against the chill, though the scent of wild grass brought tidings of warmer weather as the sun began to peak out more each day. It made the first full day of sunshine all too tempting to resist as both students and teachers alike flock to Hogsmeade that weekend. Everyone seemed happy, after all who wouldn’t be?

Allison wasn’t, that’s who.

Whilst everyone was out and about enjoying the brief stint of fine weather, she was stuck inside the castle doing homework. This was because this was a day where she could have been running around like a lunatic in Hogsmeade with Penny and Tonks, enjoying the sun and fresh air and a fresh pint of butterbeer. But instead, she had dragged herself to the stupid library. She couldn’t even go out to the castle grounds and spread her work there. Instead, she was forced into sitting inside the stuffy room and suffer through a mountain of potions, arithmancy and transfiguration.

“This sucks.” She grumbles, flipping through her battered copy of Numerology and Grammatica as she scribbles furiously into her parchment, “I should have taken Divination instead, at least you get to make up stuff.”

Charlie leans over her shoulder and takes a look at her work, frowning at the list of numbers that went on to the end of the page, “Wow, are you gunning for Professor Sinistra’s job or what?” He asks just as Allison flips unto the next page.

“More like she’ll have my head if I don’t get this done by Monday.” She replies, not looking up as she sucks on the tip of her quill before scribbling down ever more numbers. Her brow is furrowed as she turns back to the book and scans it, seemingly deep in thought.

“She really works you all hard, doesn’t she?” He says, eyeing the pile of books she had stacked around her, some covered heavily in dust and most smelling like old moldy paper, “I mean, when was the last time you even slept in your bed?”

Allison grabs another book off the tall pile and turns to him, raising a brow, “if you think this is bad, wait till next year. Also,” she clears her throat, “I’m not sure why it concerns you whether I sleep in my bed or not.” She says huffily.

“It does when your snoring is loud enough to wake up the whole house.” He smirks at her, thinking of the time he found her curled into a ball and fast asleep in the common room in the wee hours of the morning, “That was an erumpent’s level of snoring.”

Allison blushes bright red, and Charlie finds it funny with how it clashes with her silver hair. Her round face doesn’t make her look any less like a tomato. He surprisingly likes the look on her.

He feels his stomach flutter.

“Oh, just shut it would you.” She hisses out, just as Madam Pince pops out behind a towering book shelf right behind them and shushes them both loudly. She shoots them both a dirty look before skulking back behind the shelves.

They get back to work immediately after that and spend the next few hours in total silence. Allison finishing up her arithmancy homework and Charlie just lazily sketching through the latest developments of their Cornish pixies. It’s almost 3 when Allison finally rolls her parchment into a tight scroll and shoves it into her bag with her 10 or so books. She takes a long yawn and stretches, her head spinning slightly as her back emits a loud crack.

“Gonna take a break? You’ve been here for at least 6 hours. We can go grab some food.” His suggestion is turned down as Allison shakes her head and pulls a couple books nearer to her.

“Make it 8. You can go ahead if you want, I still have so much more to do.” She groans, ignoring the grumbling from her stomach.

Charlie reaches into his own bad and pulls out Spellman’s Syllabary, “nah, I need to finish up my ancient runes homework, unless you don’t mind sharing?” He adds hopefully.

“Unless you’re offering me your firstborn child, you know my answer is no.” She smirks at him, and it zaps him with a surge of electrifying energy he doesn’t recognize.

“Boo Hoo. You know I can’t do that.” He pouts, “imagine what my mum would say!”

Allison snorts, cracking her stiff knuckles. “You have like 6 other siblings, it’s not that bad. It’s for your own good.” She ends in an insufferably high voice she picked up from Angelica. Not one to give up so easily, Charlie pulls another trick up his sleeve.

“If you trade me your Charms essay I’ll let you look at my Transfiguration homework.” Charlie offers. While Ben was the best at Charms in their class, Allison’s work wasn’t too shabby either and he could use some help.

“Nice try Charlie, but I finished my transfiguration essay before you came in, though I wouldn’t mind checking your Banishing charms essay.” She adds after a thought, pulling out her another roll of parchment and her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. After her last potion exploded and sent nasty green gas throughout the dungeons, Snape saw it fit to punish her with a 12 feet long essay on the uses of standard ingredient.  

“Hopefully it’ll get through that thick skull of yours not to mess up so badly the next time you brew a simple common antidote, though I highly doubt it would.” He sneers as Merula makes faces at her behind him.

“I got to get start on this baby right here.” She pats the book with a grimace. Her past few potion classes have been a nightmare, and she swore if that kept up Snape would force her to drink her potion.

“He’s a real git, I can tell you that.” Charlie adds sympathetically. “I mean, did you even see what Ismelda did last class?”

“Nope,” She sighs and feels her shoulders throb as she started her essay, “I was too busy fighting off green gas remember. But Snape isn’t wrong though, my last few potions have been total bull crap.”

“Well, I’m sure if you focus more-“

“Now’s not the time for this Charlie-“

“Maybe pay closer attention-“

“Charlie-“

“And tried harder-“

“I am trying Charlie!” She snaps, fuming. He recoils immediately, looking as though her words burnt him. He stares at her with hurt eyes and she’s sure they did. But she’s too frustrated to apologize.

“Oh, why don’t you just take a walk or something. It’s a perfect day to be out, no point staying here with me.” She says, ignoring the soreness of her wrist as she attacks the essay. He doesn’t say anything, but neither does he leave.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles some time later, and she grunts in response. Allison knew that Charlie didn’t deserve the short end of her temper, but her frustration had continued to mount further as another half an hour passes.

“Stupid, stupid book!” She spits out, slashing her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi furiously with her quill, she had barely made a dent in the essay, “Why on earth would Snape even want this essay for? It’s not like memorizing a hundred ways to deskin a puffer fish is going to help me!” She growls.

Just as Charlie opened his mouth, Madam Pince appears again. The old librarian looked ready to shush them once again, but her eyes fall onto Allison’s old textbook and she screams.

“Defiling a library book! Get out! Get out the both of you!” She screeches, lunging for the book. Allison immediately grabs on to it tightly and pulls.

“It’s mine! That book is mine!” She shouts back, but Madam Pince is mad with rage and she continue to pull relentlessly until Charlie kicks her in the shins. They then shove everything into their bags and makes a run for it, all the while hearing Madam Pince screams echo behind them.

“That old bat is mad I tell you,” Allison huffs, panting heavily as she rests herself against a wall, “now I won’t be able to finish this blasted thing in time.” She sighs. The late afternoon air is heavy and humid, unsurprising considering the amount of rain they have been getting. She looks around, squinting at the unfamiliar layout surrounding them.

“Do you know where we are?” Charlie pants out, she shakes a head and looks through her bag to make sure she has everything with her and gasps.

“What is it?” He asks as she proceeds to dump everything out and sift through the remains. Scattered pieces of parchment lie everywhere and the ground around her is covered in books.

“I lost my quill!” Allison cries out, angrily digging through her stuff. Charlie bends down to help her but there is no quill in sight.

“I must have left it at the library.” She moans, slapping her forehead repeatedly. “Can this day get any worse?”

“Only if you want it to be.” Charlie offers her bag back together with a book, their fingers brush when she accepts it and together they start packing things up.

“Where to now?” He asks, offering her a hand, and proceeded to grunt under the weight of the books in her bag as he pulls her to her feet, “God, you could lose some weight!” He teases.

Allison slaps his hands off, “I’m on a diet, okay?” She says, blatantly ignoring the pile of honeydukes chocolates she had stashed underneath her bed.

“Sure.” From the look on his face, Charlie seems to know about that stash of chocolate too.

Allison is about to make a swift rebut when they hear a nearby classroom door suddenly creak open. They both look at each other and draw their wands out. A couple years in Hogwarts have thought them that wondering into places blindly is a mistake that only idiots would make.

Unfortunately, they were also the type of idiots to walk straight into danger rather than the opposite direction.

“What is this place?” He mutters. The ceilings are unbelievably high past the threshold, and every inch of the place is covered with crate upon crates of parchment and books. There’s a desk and a chair in the middle, and it’s a complete mess of used ink bottles and broken quills. Strange diagrams are propped up against the walls along with handwritten notes pasted beside them. Its horribly dusty and he sneezes.

“Jacob’s room.” Allison states, her voice very small, “We found another one.”

She’s standing by the desk, holding something in her hand. Charlie approaches her and sees her sifting through hundreds of pages of writings, the words matching the same notes on the walls. He comes in closer to look at the words before she promptly tosses it all to the floor, her eyes glinting wildly.

Without another word, she turns back to the desk and proceeds to swipe everything off the desk. Ink bottles shatter when they fall to the ground, dried ink breaking into pieces.

“Hey-Hey! What are you doing!” He grabs unto her arm, and he feels her tremble violently.

“Allison, please calm down. Come, take a deep breath with me, let’s count to 10. I promise it’ll help.” He holds on to her until her ragged breaths even out and releases her. She still doesn’t speak and saunters off to a different part of the room.

Giving her the space she needs, he goes through the desk. The writings are too messy to read and seem to be written in either some sort of code or a totally different language all together. He starts to think the room was a lost cause until he feels a tap on his shoulder.

Allison is standing there, her expression unreadable as she holds up a picture. It’s tattered and faded, but he can clearly make out the images of a young Jacob Reed and an even younger Allison waving happily at him.

Charlie grins softly, pointing at a younger Allison in the photo. “Look at you, I can barely recognize you. In a dress and all, you look so prissy.” He laughs, turning to face her and his smile drops immediately. Allison stares at him with wide eyes, and he recoils when they start to overflow.

“Hey, hey. I didn’t mean that,” he sets the photo down, and instantly found himself grabbing her arms, “I like you. I mean the you in the photo. I-I also like you now, but you look very cute then! I mean, you still look cute now!” He fumbles, and laughs awkwardly, feeling the ends of his hair standing on edge. But she looks to the floor and Charlie resists the urge to shove his foot into his mouth.

The floor is littered with teardrops.

And without thinking, he engulfs her in a hug.

He’s taller than her now, the top of her head brushing his nose. Her hair tickles his cheek, and he can’t help but note that she smells strongly of fresh laundry and wild grass. He feels her stiffen as she immediately begins to pull away from him.

“It’s not that.” She mumbles out, pressing her palms against her face, “I lost my quill.”

“We can get a new one?” He suggests nervously. Allison shakes her head violently.

“I lost my quill. I lost my brother. I lost my home. I can’t even brew a single potion right without something exploding in my face now.” She spits out, fingers clenched into tight fist, and she bangs them against her face.

Charlie takes hold of them immediately, “Hey don’t do that! Look it’s not your fault. Whatever happened here, it’s not your fault.” She brings herself closer to him and buries her face into her hands and lets out a sob.

“It isn’t your fault.” He repeats, still holding onto her hands as he rests his forehead against her. “It really isn’t.”

“I know it’s not, I know! But,” Allison pauses and looks up at him, and he sees for the first time what years of desperately trying to hold everything together could do to a person.

Her blue eyes are flooded, rimmed red and puffy from tears, and he doesn’t miss the circles under her eyes, or the dryness of her skin. Her face is unusually gaunt under the dim light, her bony wrists shake furiously, looking so very young. She looks absolutely broken.

“I tried so hard, Charlie. I really did. I tried so, so hard.” She whispers, “I thought if I just focused on school, on work, on anything, then I’ll be ok. I really thought I would be.”

“I wanted to leave it all, to just walk wherever my feet would take me and never look back.” She smiles painfully, shuddering as he breathed in. He feels her wrist shake even more, “but I just couldn’t, Charlie. I kept going back to the very thing that was hurting me even though I knew that it would eat me alive.”

“And look where that brought me.” She looks down to the ground, “I scared everyone away. I lost so many points, Gryffindor is losing and now everyone is in danger because of me. But I still thought I could do it all on my own, I believed so much in myself that I couldn’t see how it was pushing everyone away, pushing you away.”

Allison stops shaking, gently pulling away from him and he lets her go. “I’m sorry Charlie. I’ve been a real prat to you.”

“Yeah you have been.” He says lightly, punching her lightly on the head. She looks to him. “But at least you know it too now, and you’re willing to change.”

“But what if it’s too late? What if we can’t fix it in time? What if-“ She starts again, panicked, but he holds out a hand. She stares at it.

“Leave tomorrow’s troubles for tomorrow. Trust me on this, Allison. I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.” He says firmly and looks right into her eyes, “Ben, Rowan, Tonks, Tulip, Bill, you can trust us. We’ll help you.”

She lets out a watery laugh, and her reply makes his heart jump to his throat.

“Don’t forget about yourself.”

The grin that spreads across his face is uncontrollable, especially after she takes his hand into her smaller one.

“Of course I won’t. I’ll be there for you too, just like how I am here now.” He reassures her, and the look on her face makes him feel like the luckiest boy in Scotland.

Charlie isn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly they were both sitting against a few crates, Allison cradling the old photograph in hand. She stared at it blankly for a moment before suddenly pulling up a blanket over them both and leans on his shoulder.

“I’m so tired Charlie.” She says.

I know.

“I think I’ve been tired for a long time.” Her gaze is distant.

I know.

“I just keep going and going.”

You do.

“But I just can’t find the top.”

There is no top.

“I’m all burned out.”

You are.

“I have been, for a long, long time.”

It’s alright.

“Can you read to me?”

He grins and leans in closer to her. She’s soft, and warm, and she’s sitting next to him.

“Yes, do you want to hear more about dragons?”

“I would love to.”

They rest there, silent except for the soft hum of Charlie’s voice as he recites stories of dragons and fairies, and gradually they both began to relax. Sometimes he too would just stop to hear the chirping cicadas roaming the castle grounds, and they would smile at each other, noses bumping. Charlie is still all too aware of how her hand was still wrapped around his, and how they filled in his gaps just perfectly. The small window was their only way to keep track of the time and under the blanket, both of their eyes started to droop, and before any of them knew, they fell into a deep slumber.

Love is strange, it’s patient, tender and kind.

It’s also very mysterious.

Just as the bright April sky faded away to inky darkness, they both knew deep down what this all meant.

And at that moment, everything changed.

Bonus scene:

Bill knows something is up between Charlie and Allison.

To the untrained eye, their relationship looks almost the same, Almost.

There are more shared looks now, soft whispers, knowing smiles and plenty of brushing fingers. Allison braids Charlie’s hair almost every other day now and Charlie sits next to her at almost every meal. In the evenings, they sit side by side near the fire place in comfortable silence.

Oh yes, Bill knows something is up, he notes as Allison erupts into laughter when Charlie broadcasts his ability to push milk through his ear, and he smiles, turning back to his book.

He isn’t going to say anything about it until they do though.

That is until the whole house decides that blowing milk out of one’s ear was the apparent best way to greet someone.

[unfolded73]

This Graceful Path (5/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and also will accompany later chapters. Thanks to the CSBB mods (@sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 5

Regina Mills thought of makeup like armor.

She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, carefully drawing a black line across the edge of her eyelid, unflinching as the tip of the eyeliner pen traced from left to right. She repeated the process on the other eye.

Tonight was about power. The balance of power had undergone a seismic shift in Storybrooke the moment that Gold breathed his last, and Regina had spent too long hanging back and waiting for the new Dark One to show himself, to make a mistake. Waiting for someone else to take care of the problem for her, thinking that somehow the mundane law enforcement process of the Land Without Magic would deal with things without her having to lift a finger. Now was the time to stop waiting. Now was the time to go out and take the power while things were still in flux. Make it clear that she was the one who controlled this town now, curse or not.

She finished, as always, with lipstick: the most perfect red, the color of the apples that adorned the tree in her backyard. Pressing her lips together, she gave herself one more critical look in the mirror before she put her lipstick away and stepped out of the bathroom, armor in place. Running her hands down the form-fitting black dress she wore, Regina walked down the hallway and cracked open the door to Henry’s room, letting a thin shaft of light fall across his sleeping face. His chest rose and fell as he dozed on, unaware of what Regina was about to let into their house. Slowly and carefully, she pulled the door closed.

She detoured by the wine rack, selecting a Cabernet before moving on into the kitchen. Pulling down two wine glasses from the cabinet, she set them down on the marble surface just as she heard a tapping on the front door. Smiling her best smile, Regina walked into the foyer and opened the door to greet her late evening visitor. “Killian, how are you?” She stepped back and beckoned him into the house.

“Confused as to why you summoned me here, Madam Mayor.”

“Please, it’s Regina.” She watched as he looked around the foyer of her mansion, taking in the high ceiling and the grand staircase. “And I summoned you here because I thought it was past time to get to know the man that my son speaks of so highly.” She walked back toward the kitchen, expecting that he would follow. He did. “Would you like some wine? I was just opening some.”

He shrugged. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to have a glass in the evening, but I have no one to share it with most of the time.” She pulled a corkscrew from one of the drawers and smoothly twisted it into the wine bottle.

“Henry’s spoken of me, has he?”

Regina plastered on a sweet smile as she poured wine into the glasses. “He seems to admire you a great deal; your love of books, for example. I can’t thank you enough for lending him things to read. He’s a very solitary boy, as you’ve probably noticed.” She handed him a glass.

“Aye. Although he seems much happier since his birth mother came to town.”

Regina held her smile, feeling the wide bowl of the wine glass give slightly under her clenching fingers.

“It’s very big of you, allowing him to spend time with her,” Killian went on. Before she could respond, her cell phone started to ring.

She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes before accepting the call. “I’m sorry, Killian, I have to take this. Yes, Sidney.”

“Mayor Mills,” Sidney said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I got your message.”

She set her wine down. “Yes?”

“You want me to run for sheriff?”

“That’s what I said. I don’t make a habit of joking, do I?”

“No, of course not, but… I’m a newspaper man. I don’t know the first thing about being a sheriff.” His shaky, obsequious tone made her fist clench as she envisioned engulfing him with a fireball.

“You investigate things, don’t you? Then you already know more about it than Emma Swan does.” She drummed her fingernails on the countertop with impatience. “She’s a criminal, and inexperienced—”

“She worked as a bail bondsperson, that’s—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Sidney. You’re running for sheriff. Understood?”

There was a pause. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I have to go. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” She ended the call and tossed her phone down. Regina took a sip of her wine, watching as Killian did the same. “I heard that Miss Swan questioned you about Gold’s murder; what a terrible business.”

“Aye, she had heard somewhere that I hated him. Can’t imagine what would have given her that idea.”

“Let’s be honest, Killian. We’re all friends here.” She took a step closer to him, her voice dropping. “A lot of people hated Gold, and a lot of people are better off now that he’s not in the world. Do you take my meaning?”

He set his glass down. “I don’t, actually.”

She smiled, her hand moving to touch his arm. “I mean, sometimes things like this happen for the greater good. Some things transcend the laws of this… pitiful world. It may be that, according to some higher law, the person who killed Mr. Gold deserves a medal, not a prison term.”

Regina watched his eyes carefully, but she could see no dawning understanding there, only confusion. “Well, when you find the person who did this, you can try to give him a medal, but I’m thinking Emma’s going to be more interested in serving up that prison term.” He took a step backward, putting some space between them. “So it’s a good thing I’m innocent. I’m not interested in either.”

Resisting the urge to pick up her wine and smash it down on the floor, Regina crossed her arms. “You are innocent, aren’t you? Or perhaps… unaware.” She stalked closer again, backing him into the countertop behind him. “Unaware of the dark power lurking inside you, hmm?”

The flash of fear in his eyes made her heart sing. “Why are you saying these things to me?”

“When you killed him, when you finally got your revenge on the Dark One after all those wasted years, what did you do with the dagger? Where did you hide it… Hook?”

He shook his head in denial, his hand starting to shake. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill anyone. Not good form… It’s not good form.”

“Somewhere in that curse-addled brain of yours is the information I need. But how. To get. It out,” she said, punctuating every other word with a thump of her knuckle on Killian’s forehead.

He ducked away from her, his face going suddenly very pale, and Regina wondered with annoyance what she would do with him if he passed out on the floor of her kitchen. Perhaps if he went completely mad, she could lock him up in the mental ward of the hospital, she mused. That would at least get him out of her hair while she conducted her own search for the Dark One’s dagger. But it would also guarantee that if the curse did break, if Emma Swan really was who Regina feared she was, Regina would have made herself a powerful enemy. Better to bide her time, and keep this sniveling, pitiful, nascent Dark One on her side.

She plastered on her fake smile again. “I apologize, Killian; I’m under a lot of pressure lately, and it’s starting to get to me a little bit. You can understand that, can’t you?” She picked up his glass and held it out to him. “Here, have some more wine.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Mayor Mills, I’d just as soon take my leave of you. I’m feeling quite ill all of a sudden.”

“Oh, of course, Killian. You’re free to go.” For now.

~*~

He tossed in his sweat-soaked sheets, trying in vain once again to find his way into sleep. It was like trying to dive off the end of a pier: putting his hands over his head, leaning over and launching his body into the water, only to find himself sprawled out on the hard wooden boards a moment later, sore and broken from the attempt.

And then when Killian did manage to plunge into the water, it was filled with monsters.

His dreams were unrelenting, technicolor horrors that left him sweating and gasping when he could finally pull himself above the surface. He saw his left hand lying on the deck of a ship like some dying sea creature as blood spurted from his wrist in a red parabola. He held a woman who looked like Milah in his arms and watched as the light of life died from her eyes, felt the numb certainty that her death was the end of everything good in his life. He saw himself, drunk and ruthless and cruel, forcing a terrified man to walk off the end of a plank into the murky depths of the ocean. Saw himself sink a knife into his own father’s gut.

He stabbed and stabbed, glorious great flesh-rending gashes as the life of the Crocodile drained out of him. The dagger sat heavy in his hand, the intricate hilt marking patterns into his palm.

Some of the dreams made a sort of sense. He had lost his hand in a sailing accident, that’s what he was seeing. But why did he dream over and over of Milah in such unusual garments? Why were his dreams so vivid with men cowering before his command when no such thing had ever occurred?

Blood ran down the dagger, blood coated his hand and soaked the sleeve of his shirt. He held the dagger up in the dim light, saw it waver as the writing on it disappeared. Saw it replaced by something else.

“You’re cracking up… mate.”

Killian sat up, jerking away from the hallucination that had materialized in his bedroom. He wrapped his arms around his legs, pressed his closed eyes against his knees until he saw white spots bloom behind his eyelids. “You’re not real. Not real, not real, not real,” he repeated out loud.

“I’m in your head,” the creature said. “Not the same thing as not being real.”

He looked up and saw the beast that had visited him before: the scaly, iridescent skin, the yellowed teeth, the clawlike fingernails waving at him impishly.

“Hello,” it said.

“Begone, demon.”

“Not so fast. I need to tell you some things first.”

Killian dragged himself out of bed, giving the apparition a wide berth as he left the bedroom. The chill of the apartment combined with his sweat-damp t-shirt set him shivering. He stumbled over to the kitchen, pulling a tumbler down from the cabinet with a trembling hand. More rum ended up on the counter than in the glass, but after he drained his first pour dry, Killian was able to put more rum in the glass with a steadier hand.

“You may have no recollection of what you did, but the queen has your number. She knows, but she’s going to bide her time. We’ll have to deal with her eventually, but best to wait on that. You’re not strong enough to face her. Not now. Not like this,” the beast said with distaste.

“Not real,” Killian whispered, taking another drink.

“But there are other problems,” the beast continued conversationally as if it wasn’t speaking to a man who had lost his last connection to reality. “If the queen controls the sheriff, then she controls your fate. We need to put a stop to that.” The creature uttered a horrifying giggle. “Sidney Glass was born to be a pawn; we just need to take control of the pawn for ourselves. I think even you can manage that.”

Killian felt rather than saw the apparition disappear.

~*~

Emma’s eyes raked over the chalkboard menu at Storybrooke Coffee Company. She desperately needed coffee before work, and she was getting a little tired of the standard diner coffee that Granny’s had to offer. She didn’t have much discretionary income, but today a three dollar mocha felt necessary to surviving the day.

She was stirring sugar into her cup when David Nolan walked in. They eyes met, and she smiled awkwardly.

What do you say to the guy who broke your roommate’s heart? she wondered. It’s not like she and David really knew each other that well; they’d only spoken a couple of times. Aside from the fact that he’d been in a coma and was in an unhappy marriage, she knew very little about him. He wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and a pair of practical work boots, and he walked up to the counter with a charming grin for the barista.

While he waited for his skim latte to be made, he shuffled over next to her. “How are you, Emma?”

She shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. Sleep deprived thanks to the hours I’ve been working. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

“It was fine,” he said, but she saw sadness in his eyes. “Did you spend yours with… Mary Margaret?”

“Yeah.” She realized she was still absently stirring her coffee, and she tossed the wooden stirrer in the garbage with an eye roll for herself. “I thought you usually got your coffee at Granny’s,” she said, remembering when he and Mary Margaret had both been arranging to be there at 7:15 in the morning just to catch sight of each other.

“I did,” he said, glancing around. “But I… was afraid people were starting to talk.”

Emma decided to change the subject. “You work at the animal shelter, right?”

“That’s right.” He smiled agreeably. “It’s not glamorous and it doesn’t pay much, but I find it rewarding.”

“Graham used to volunteer there,” she said, and she was a little bit horrified to realize there were tears welling behind her eyes. Oh right, the other symptom of her lack of sleep — sudden and unexpected sadness.

“He did,” David agreed. “He had a way with the dogs. I’m sorry about what happened.” His eyes pierced into hers, and inexplicably, Emma felt a little bit better. “He was a good man.”

“He was.” The barista called his name, and David turned and walked over to get his coffee. She watched him; a strong guy, built like a farmer, like he’d be able to hold his own in a fight.

“Hey, David,” she called as she tried to press the lid back on her coffee cup without losing control of it and spilling it all over herself. He faced her, his expression expectant and pleasant. “Have you ever thought about doing anything different? I mean, besides working at the animal shelter?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it; they can’t afford to pay me full-time. Like what?”

“Like being a sheriff’s deputy?” She wrung her hands together, suddenly nervous. “With Graham gone, I need help. I mean, I could probably only bring you on part-time at first, but once I officially take over as sheriff, I might be able to make it full-time. If you’re interested.” She felt a twinge of worry that she was betraying Mary Margaret by asking David to work for her, but he was the only person in Storybrooke she had met who seemed like he would be remotely useful in the job. Mary Margaret would have to deal.

He grinned. “Well, sure I’m interested, but why me?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be suited for it. And there’s a lot to do and I’m all by myself there; I mean Graham had only hired me a month ago and suddenly I’m in charge.” She clenched her fist, letting the feeling of her fingernails digging into her palm distract from the stress and sadness she was feeling. She forced herself to laugh. “So what do you say? Can I hire you?”

~*~

“I have to admit, I imagined a little more action with this job and a little less reading,” David said, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Emma said, stretching her back out and trying to find a position where it wouldn’t ache. “This is the only thing I can think to do at this point.” They were carefully going through all of Gold’s real estate holdings, matching them up against records of rental payments from the townspeople of Storybrooke to see if anyone owed Gold money. It was slow and terrifically painstaking work. Hours of reviewing documents had led to a very short list of names, and even those people had only been delayed in a few payments. No one owed Gold money for any length of time, which in and of itself was interesting; with so many tenants, it seemed likely that some fraction of them would have been delinquent in their payments. She wondered what Gold did to get the money he was owed so consistently.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off a headache, and flipped to the next deed. It was for a plot of land with a cabin on the property, and the address caught her eye for being quite different from any of the others she had been looking at: 10250 Rt. 83. That couldn’t be anywhere near the rest of the homes in town.

“David, do you see any tenant records for 10250 on Route 83?”

He flipped through the manila folders, then flipped through them a second time. “Nope, none.”

Emma pulled the plat map book that she’d borrowed from the town records office over and studied the index, then turned to the appropriate page. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

Standing up, she carried the book over to the detailed map of Storybrooke that was up on the wall of the sheriff’s station. “Gold had a cabin not that far from where his body was found. A cabin that he didn’t seem to be renting to anyone.”

David stood up and joined her at the map. “Do you think there could be a clue there?”

“Yeah, I mean, he was out there with a shovel, and we still don’t know what he was trying to bury. Maybe there’s a clue at the cabin that will help us understand what happened that day?”

Pulling his coat on, David grinned at her. “Well, what are we waiting for, Sheriff? Let’s go.”

“I’m not the sheriff, not yet. Regina’s already threatened to get someone to run against me,” she said as they climbed into the police cruiser outside the station.

He scoffed. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re an excellent sheriff, Emma.”

“You’ve been working for me for two days, David.” But still, she couldn’t help smiling as they drove to the outskirts of town.

With David’s help navigating, they found the route to the cabin without too much trouble, pulling onto a dirt track that Emma probably wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been looking for it. At the end of it, they found a rustic cabin, as well as Gold’s black Cadillac.

“Well, that solves that mystery at least,” Emma said. “All this time and no one knew where his car was.”

“How far is this from where the body was found?” David asked.

“Not far,” she said, studying the trail map she’d brought. “It’s maybe a quarter of a mile through those trees,” she said, pointing.

The inside of the cabin was extremely basic. Mostly just a single room with dark paneled walls decorated with deer antlers. Wrinkling her nose, Emma looked around. She couldn’t see any evidence that Gold had left anything here.

“I’ll go check Gold’s car while you look around in here,” David offered, and she agreed.

They found was one small bedroom and a bathroom, but both seemed as barren and unlived in as the rest of the cabin. She clicked the light on in the bathroom and took a quick glance around, and was about to turn it back off when something caught her eye. On the tiled floor, next to the sink, was a single, perfect drop of what looked like dried blood. Bingo.

Emma ran for the front door. “David? Get the evidence kits.”

Her hands shook as she pulled the nitrile gloves on, her palms sweating and making it all the more difficult to get the damned things on correctly. Finally, she managed it, and dropped to her knees, photographing the droplet of blood from several angles before she carefully scraped it up into a small plastic tube that she could cap and label. David watched her from the doorway to the bathroom.

“Wow, you really know what you’re doing,” he commented.

She laughed uneasily. “Not really, but I fake it pretty well. Do you see any more blood anywhere?”

“No.” They both looked around before agreeing that there were no more droplets of blood. “So what if it is Gold’s blood? He owned this cabin; what will that prove?”

“Nothing, but maybe it’s not Gold’s blood. Maybe it’s the killer’s blood. Maybe they fought and Gold managed to injure the person who attacked him.” Emma stood up. “Okay, let me spray the luminol.”

David handed it to her out of the bag. “Go for it.”

Emma sprayed the sink and the floor around the sink with luminol before handing it back to David, who held up the black light and turned it on. “Okay, here goes nothing,” she said, flipping off the light switch.

They both stared at the sink for a while. “Holy shit,” Emma finally said.

“I’d say someone washed off a lot of blood here,” David commented. The basin of the sink glowed blue. As did several spots on the floor. Emma took pictures of all of it before they turned the lights back on.

“So whoever killed Gold came to the nearest place they could to clean up, and washed the blood off their hands here,” she said, pacing back into the main part of the cabin and pulling her gloves off.

“Looks like it.”

“Okay, let’s back up a minute. Gold drove out here because he wanted to dig something up or bury something, right? So how did the killer find him? Was it someone Gold trusted, did they come in his car together?”

“Maybe the killer followed Gold out here in another car?” David asked, running a hand through his hair.

“That could be.” She took a breath and let it out. “So I just have to check every car in Storybrooke for any additional blood traces.” Emma dropped onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.

They searched the rest of the cabin but didn’t turn up anything else. The initial rush that had come with discovering the cabin and Gold’s car and the blood drained away, leaving Emma feeling tired and hollowed out. For as much as they’d learned, she didn’t feel like she was any closer to finding the murderer.

Chapter 6

[submissivelynick]

Lunch Chat | Mateo & Nick 6/13

Tagging: @dommateolopez & @submissivelynick  Location: Mateo’s suite Date: Tuesday, June 12th, lunchtime Summary: Mateo and Nick chat about their relationship, Blaine, and other problems. (unfinished)

Nick knelt in front of Mateo's door when he arrived after his morning classes let out. He really wasn't hungry right now, but he had lunch plans with Mateo and he wasn't about to skip them. He really wanted to check in on his friend after all of his texts the day before. He hoped that Mateo had worked things out with Blaine, but he was avoiding the sub at this point so he really had no idea. He knocked gently against the door in front of him and sat back on his heels to wait for an answer.

Mateo wasn't really sure how he was going to get through today and tonight with Nate and Silas, but he was determined to push through. He could do this. Maybe having lunch with Nick would help. Hearing the knock, he came up to the door, a faint smile on his lips. "Hey, lobito," he said, gesturing for Nick to come in, his knuckles still bruised from the day before. "There's salad - I wasn't feeling a heavy lunch. I can make something else if you're hungry though. Or attempt to."

Nick forced a smile up at Mateo when he saw him. "Hi, Sir," he said quietly. He hadn't been given direct permission to get up, so he slung his bag across his back and crawled forward, his mind always on the rules the Dom had given him a few weeks back. It felt weird to be following them now--almost like a taste of what could have been for him--and he swallowed back the emotion as he settled inside. "Salad's fine with me, Sir. I'm not that hungry myself. Are you okay, though? What happened to your hand?"

Mateo thought maybe he should tell Nick to walk, but a part of him was soothed by the sight of Nick crawling. He was still obedient, his lobito. "You can sit at the table, Nick," he told the sub, plates and cutlery already set out for them. "I uh, may have gone too hard on the bag yesterday. I'll be fine."

Nick shrugged his bag off his shoulder and set it aside before standing up and making his way to the table. "Thank you, Sir," he said as he slid down into a chair. "Do you want me to get you some ice or anything? That would probably make it feel better, at least for a while..."

Mateo nodded, reaching out with a little wince as he dished up some of the salad for Nick, then for himself. "Nah, I've been icing them on and off. Doesn't help much anymore. They just have to heal." Maybe it was part of his penance, to go through the pain without aid for what he'd done the day before.

Nick watched as Mateo got him some salad, feeling bad since he knew he wasn't going to be eating much. "You need to be careful, Sir," he said, shaking his head gently. "Are... things better with Blaine, though, Sir?"

Mateo shrugged. "I'll be fine, lobito," he assured Nick, leaning back, fork moving idly through his bowl of salad. He let out a soft breath and shrugged. "I don't know, really. I couldn't tell you. Things... are things."

Nick gave Mateo a sad smile, wishing there were more he could do to help his friend feel better. Even if Mateo had chosen someone else over him, Nick still cared about him and wanted him to be happy. He picked up his fork and stabbed at his salad, but he didn't bring it up to his mouth. "How did it all go yesterday, Sir? When he came over?"

Mateo pursed his lips. "He came over. We... I don't know. I guess we talked. There were just things I couldn't talk about. Things he said that... hurt, but I... he wouldn't have said them if they weren't true," he muttered, frowning as he looked down at the bowl in front of him.

Nick sighed, rubbing his fork against the side of the bowl to push the lettuce off of it and then setting the fork down inside it. "Sir," he said, biting his lip. He felt like this might be overstepping, but he wanted to help. "You should talk to him about those things. Give him the chance to explain, or to apologize. I don't know what's going on between you two, but communication is so important, Sir."

Mateo shook his head slightly. "I can't tell him. Not after yesterday, I've done... more than enough to hurt him," he insisted quietly. "I'm not about to tell him that he hurt me that badly."

Nick frowned and reached his left arm out, resting it on the table so that his hand was lying palm up in the center, an invitation for Mateo to take if he wanted. He was going to have a hell of a time getting dealing with this closeness later, but for now, he just wanted to help. "I think you need to, Sir," he said quietly. "I'd want to know if I said something that hurt my Dom--or anyone for that matter. It can't get better unless you talk, Sir."

Mateo sucked in a breath, reaching out to gently rest his hand in Nick's. "I just... I'm not ready to talk about it yet," he admitted after a pause. "He said things that really shook me and I can't really talk about that until I'm a little more separate from that hurt, I think."

Nick gave Mateo's hand a squeeze once it was placed in his. "That's okay, Sir," he told him. "As long as you talk to him about it eventually. You don't want that sort of thing to just... hang over you, y'know, Sir? Does he know that you're still upset?"

Mateo sighed and nodded. "I wasn't... super nice about it. I just can't put it into words yet. Not without sounding like a complete ass. Because I know why he said it, but it still hurts a lot."

Nick bit his lip a little, his salad completely forgotten even though it was right in front of him on the table. "Then maybe... tell him you want to talk about it, but not yet, Sir?" he suggested. "And... remind him of your feelings, if-- I mean... I don't know, Sir. I'm sorry."

Mateo shrugged lightly. His appetite was non-existent by now, though he knew he needed to eat something. "I have. I tried to, at least. I think he finally understood. Hopefully he knows how I feel. I mean.. .that hasn't changed."

Nick offered Mateo a bit of a smile--it was the best he could manage with how he felt right now, and he was glad to hear that Mateo was communicating, at least a little. "Just... try not to make him wait too long, then, Sir. I just know that any reassurance I got would be helpful, if I knew a Dom was upset with me. Especially someone I cared about a lot."

Mateo nodded but silently wished that the pressure wasn't always on him to reassure. To comfort, to be so... aware, when his submissive could have an outburst over something he hadn't even considered seriously. When he had to think about appeasing someone else, and his feelings had hardly even been considered by the three people he cared about most since he was upset. "I'll do my best."

Nick smiled and squeezed the Dom's hand again. "I'm sure Blaine will see that and appreciate it, Sir," he told him, his voice growing a little quieter. "He's really lucky to have you, you know that, Sir? Everything will work out for the two of you in the end. I know it."

Mateo winced slightly at the second squeeze, but he didn't pull away from Nick's touch. His dark eyes dropped, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Nick," he said after a long pause.

Nick swallowed hard at the quick change in topic. It was somehow a lot easier to handle the conversation when it was about Mateo and Blaine than it was when it was brought back to him. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Sir," he said quietly, loosening his grip slightly but fighting the urge to bring his hand all the way back into his lap. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Mateo curled his fingers a bit when Nick loosened his grip. Yeah, it hurt, but he didn't want the sub to pull his hand away. "I know, but I'm still sorry. I don't like... knowing that you're hurting," he said quietly.

Nick shook his head. "Sir... If you're happy, and if Blaine's happy... then that's what really matters." He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and gave a little shrug, mostly trying to keep himself together. "I'm going to have to learn to be okay with this."

Mateo let out a slow breath. "If you need some... time, to not scene or... or be with me? I respect that," he offered quietly. He didn't want to stop spending time with Nick, but he got it if Nick needed to not spend time with him.

Nick didn't know what he wanted right now--or what he needed. It hurt his heart to think about doing anything with Mateo now that he knew that he'd blown his chance with the Dom. At the same time, though, it still felt good to be here with him. He felt like Mateo could make everything better, even though he knew that wasn't true. "I... what do you want, Sir?" he asked, looking directly at him.

Mateo let out a slow breath. Again, why was he making all the damn decisions? He knew it was his role, his mark, but submissives had their own feelings and thoughts and needs too. "I want you to be happy and comfortable with me, and with me and Blaine .And if that requires time apart, so be it. But I can't make that call, Nick. You're the one who has to do that."

Nick had kind of had the feeling that Mateo wasn't going to actually answer the question. That was what made him a good Dominant--that he wanted this to be Nick's decision. Well, it was one of the reasons, anyhow. He sighed. "Honestly, Sir?" he said quietly. "I still want to spend time with you. It makes me feel good." Ending that time together was another story, but he didn't want to think about that right now. "It also makes me really selfish. I don't wanna hurt Blaine, Sir. Or you. So please, Sir... tell me what you want?"

Mateo nodded, hoping he didn't look overly relieved. He was willing to give Nick the time if he needed it, but he didn't like the thought of not being in the submissive's life. "I want to keep spending time with you too. And I know... Blaine knows we're friends. I think he'll understand. It might... continue to be a sore subject for a while, but I think with time, it'll be okay."

Nick wasn't quite sure what the expression was on Mateo's face, but whatever it was didn't really matter--not when Mateo said he wanted to continue seeing Nick. "When you say he knows we're friends, Sir... what do you mean? Does he know we do scenes together, and that they've been sexual?" He bit his lip lightly, not sure which answer he was hoping for. "Do you want to... still keep doing that kind of stuff too, Sir?"

Mateo let out a slow breath. "He knows... I'm sexual with other people. I can only assume he knows I am with you, I... didn't think it was prudent to bring it up. I would like to, yes, but I'll respect your wishes if you would rather our time together be non-sexual."

Nick shook his head slowly. "I honestly don't think I have the patience to keep things non-sexual between us, Sir," he said, picking his fork up again and returning to playing with his salad. He still hadn't had a bite, though. "Unless you want to, I mean, Sir. I like teasing and denial but not all the time..."

Mateo reached down to play with his own food, popping a small bite of it into his mouth. It tasted good - he just wasn't hungry for it. "I don't think I do either. I'd like to continue our... physical relationship." He squeezed his fingers with a little wince. "It's not been a limit put on my relationship with Blaine, other than the limit we all have with penetration."

Nick kept playing with his lunch, stabbing bits of it before sliding the food off his fork a few seconds later. "Unless something further happens between you and Blaine where you want to stop this with me, I wanna keep seeing you, Sir. And... I might be willing to try a little more than no penetration, with you. Like... fingers. But just maybe, Sir. And only if we both want to."

[auroraxrp-blog1]

AURORA is pleased to introduce Kerani La’Faye, a Very Rare Blood Witch not affiliated to AURORA. She is 177 years old, but looks around Her Mid Twenties. Currently working as Bartender at the Devil’s Magic, and also runs a Small Tea Shop. She likes debauchery, a sense of humor, grossly sweet coffee, music, danger but is not very fond of tightwads, quick-tempered people, ignorance, chipped nail polish. Wanna know more about her, make sure to pay a visit !!

–GENERAL

name: Kerani La’Faye

alias: she uses her real name because she doesn’t care about hiding

age: 177, looks to be mid- to late twenties

affiliated: yes or no

if yes, headquarter: N/A

years they have been part of AURORA: N/A

are they a mentor within the headquarter they belong to: N/A

race: blood witch

race description: Witches are humans with magical gifts ranging from any number of abilities, but all witches have the ability to cast spells and curses/hexes, teleport, and brew potions. The typical lifespan of a witch is 850 years on average (the oldest recorded wizard lived to be 869). These are not the typical witches thought to have pointy noses and love pointy hats, but they blend in with everyday humans making them hard to spot unless they wear the insignias of their covens visibly—only someone with sound knowledge on witches would be able to determine one by looks. Their kind is hunted by hunters and mythical creatures alike for their power and to put an end to the ones that practice Black Magic. Blood Witches are a specific breed of witch with the abilities to enhance their magic with blood. Those who are particularly powerful can manipulate blood within someone’s body including their own. One defining trait of a blood witch is red irises when using magic.

occupation: Bartender at Devil’s Magic, an underground nightclub for witches and warlocks. For extra cash she runs a tiny tea shop that doubles as a potion store

unique features: on right ring finger has an Othala Rune below the first knuckle, “Fear cuts deeper than the sword” on her inner right forearm

class: very rare

–POWERS & WEAKNESSES:

main power: Blood Magic; the use of blood to manipulate and/or amplify spell-casting

magical abilities: Can animate objects using her own blood, can enchant things with her blood, spell casting (can strengthen with blood), teleportation, enchantments, curses/hexes, life absorption through blood, minor cloaking spells, can manipulate the blood in small parts of the body

non-magical abilities: crafts both for enchantments and decoration, mixing drinks, sass

weaknesses: limited to blood supply before unconsciousness or death, certain rituals require a certain type of blood, her blood may be tainted leaving her vulnerable to diseases or blood curses, teleportation is exhausting and is used as a last ditch effort, Dead Man’s Blood is poisonous, any powerful witch/warlock could break her cloaking spells, any spells on the objects she creates can be lifted by powerful witches or if it is physically broken, anyone with a protection spell or counter curse strong enough can counter her “blood-bending”, life absorption requires touch

–PERSONALITY:

likes: (6 max.) debauchery, a sense of humor, grossly sweet coffee, music, danger

dislikes: (6 max.) tightwads, quick-tempered people, ignorance, chipped nail polish

positive traits: (6 max.) passionate, loyal, social, clever, flexible

neutral traits: (6 max.) sarcastic, deceptive, determined, maternal, private, stubborn

negative traits: (6 max.) cynical, possessive, apathetic, careless, jealous, impulsive

mental state: N/A

personality description:

Kerani is a strong, independent woman who looks out for herself and no one else (with very few exceptions). She disregards the feelings of others to benefit herself and tends to be aloof and detached. She hates becoming close with people because she has been betrayed by so many before, therefore when the threat of liking someone intimately comes along she ignores them and has gone as far to slip them an amnesia potion to make them forget her while also giving herself one to forget them. It isn’t that she is not capable of caring for people, it is solely that she does not want to become unbearably attached to someone because it would destroy her. Despite not being close to anyone Kerani is a social butterfly, always spotted chatting with someone in the night club she works in. Again, it is all for her own benefit—she gets the blood she needs to do her spells and typically a hefty tip to go in her pocket. Even when speaking to her people find they don’t really know anything about her.

Being the lone wolf she is she hates men who are down for the chase (in the long run) because she finds them obnoxious and would rather be left to her own devises, however, she will use them to get what she wants—buy her things, do errands for her, use their bodies for rituals and the such if need be. All in all, Kerani is a heartless user of Black Magic who could murder someone as easily as she could clip a fingernail. With hunters constantly on her ass she leaves killing to a minimum to keep a low profile. So long as she isn’t killing humans the hunters tend to turn a blind eye, but she has little remorse for hunters and if they cross her path she won’t hesitate to deal with them.

–BIOGRAPHY:

place/realm of birth: Earth—New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

date/era of birth: May 17,  1840

if half-breed, parents: N/A

if water being, nature: N/A

biography description:  

Her life had once been something of a dream: a loving mother, a loving husband, a child on the way. But something had happened, a curse she had been prophesied with by an elder of her coven and she had, in her desperation, done anything to reverse it. Her love and passion for her family had brought her to her downfall and even after everything she had done, everything she had learned, the curse still took its toll. Her husband gone, her baby gone. The anguish was enough to kill her, but all of the guilt, shame and desperation she felt had quickly turned to rage. It was all her covens fault.

The memories of her betrayal often still haunt her, but they don’t bring the same joy and later pain that they once had. Her heart had grown cold and become stone to the point that killing seemed to be second nature. With her coven wiped out, Kerani was adopted into a family of witches known as the La’Feye who taught her how to harness her magic through the power of blood and how to prolong her life by the same means. It was through them and her own resourcefulness that Kerani became known as the Blood Witch, quickly becoming feared and respected among witches and magical creatures alike. Even hunters feared her and those that underestimated her due to young age were sorely mistaken when they crossed paths with her.

To this day many people know her by name, the blood witch who had long, long ago worked under the Oracle of Aurora. Now she works as a bartender in a club for witches and wizards who have taken shelter in New Orleans. On the side she runs a potion shop disguised as a tea shop for humans and magical creatures looking for potions and remedies or a simple cup of tea.