#i swear to god please brain realize we Did Several Things on the list please

[ourceliumnetwork]

you know, this morning my agenda for the day was cleared. I thought up some errands to take care of tomorrow in one fell swoop, and then it turned out I was gonna get a buddy and the opportunity to take care of about half of it today which, baller, am i right? Plan is to get back out tomorrow at some point and take care of the rest of it and once my brain catches up that the hardest of the trips is out of the way, we'll be set lol

[rocksaltandmountainash]

Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 29

Chapter summary: all work and no play would make kara boring. peter is there to ensure that doesn't happen. set between Teen Wolf seasons 3b and 4, and Supernatural seasons 7 and season 8.

Series masterlist: can be found here.

Word count:  3.9k

Warnings/notes: swearing, canon (TW and SPN) typical violence, smut, peter hale being incredibly attractive and nice, which definitely requires a warning. Gif sources:  Peter 1 | Peter 2

Utah:

Peter scratches his nails through your scalp, eliciting a contented sigh from you as you recline against him. You’re all kinds of relaxed, leaning back on his chest and resting your hands on his bent knees, savoring the moment as you come down from your high. He’s just given you a good-morning orgasm and if he wasn’t sitting behind you, propping your body up, you could collapse and melt into the bed. 

Almost. If not for one question that’s pin balling round your head.

“Peter?”

“Mmm.”

“You know that…. Wh- when you…ah fuck, never mind.”

He stops playing with your hair to peer down at you, “What?”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

He swiftly wraps hands around your waist and shifts you so you’re facing him, draping your thighs over his own, “Tell me.”

Suddenly keenly interested in inspecting the veins running down his forearm, he has to lay a palm on your cheek to get you to look at him. 

“Just…that thing you say -”

“We say a lot of things.” 

You smile shyly at that, couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to, because Peter is vocal and descriptive in bed and he makes you loud. Part of you thinks he does it on purpose, like he’s hoping if you get enough noise complaints at one Motel 6, you’ll be banned from them all and he won’t have to lower himself to your standards anymore.

“You know which thing I mean.” 

Peter genuinely has to wrack his brains to figure out what you’re talking about and grins when the penny drops on the word that makes you croon beneath him, throwing your body higher toward ruination in an instant. 

“Oh - you mean ‘Daddy’?” he smirks before continuing, “I thought you liked that?”

“I do! But…it doesn’t weird you out?” averting your gaze, your eyes drill a hole in the wall behind him. Tell me you don’t think I’m a freak.

“Why would it?”

“Because you’re someone’s actual father.”

Peter draws in a weighty breath, staring at you intently. He didn’t realize you knew about that, and guesses your source at the same time you break and admit;

“Stiles?”

“Stiles.”

The sound of shared laughter pierces straight through your embarrassment.

“You know they’re dating, right?”

“Yes, thank you - I’m aware,” he says curtly. 

It bugs him; Malia with the sarcastic boy who not too long ago was flinging chaos around Beacon Hills - though he knows it’s not his prerogative, his place to be worrying about her.

“For one thing,” Peter lifts his fingers to list off reasons, “I only found out about Malia recently. I didn’t raise her, and she has never called me that.” 

It makes sense. You know that blood doesn’t necessarily mean family. As much as you came to adore Bobby, all his bumbling affections couldn’t turn back the clock and make it like you’d known him your whole life, like he’d parented you.

“Also, it’s…” his eyes drift, recalling each yes daddy, daddy please, fuck daddy, you’ve ever uttered, “Exquisite - so you better not stop.”

He grins when you relax, “And third, you started it.”

“What? No, I didn’t!” 

“You did.”

“When?” you demand.

He thinks back, pinpoints the beginning, “Colorado - when we sorted that nest.”

“Oh…whoops.” 

You don’t remember, would have sworn it was Peter who said it first, which only proves how corrupting he can be, how far gone you are. With your fears mollified, you scoot closer and push on his chest to force him down to the pillows.

“Does Stiles know about me?”

“Pretty sure you’ve met him - several times,” you tease, grabbing a condom from the box on the nightstand. 

Peter rips the foil packet open with his teeth. “Come on, you don’t gossip about me?”

“God no! Much as I love the kid, I’m not sharing details of my sex life with a seventeen-year-old.” 

Impatiently, you wait as Peter carefully rolls the condom down before positioning yourself above him.

“Fair enough…mmmm,” he sighs as you glide over his length. “What about Weiner boy?”

That would be worse than Stiles - technically Samandriel’s probably thousands of years old, but he looks eleven, so the thought makes you cringe.

“Nah, he’s mad at me.” 

“Why?”

“I have an idea. He thinks it’s dumb.”

The sensation of Peter’s hands squeezing your waist, exerting control over your motions, gets you worked up, primed for another round. How he studies your every move floods you with want, causing your cheeks to flush as you grind.

“What’s the idea?”

“Not telling.” 

“Why?”

“It might actually be dumb…shit…” 

Peter sits up, the head of his cock tapping against your entrance, 

“Can you just shut up now?” you whine.

“Depends,” he smiles into your neck, gripping the base of his cock, “You gonna keep saying it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Finally, he tilts his hips and lets you sink down onto him.

****

Arizona:

You decide you deserve a night off. The day hasn’t been particularly taxing, just a couple of hours wandering through the mall to replenish your shower stuff and skin care.

You even got a trim, a few inches of split ends taken care of before feeding quarters into a massage chair and licking cinnamon sugar from your fingers after a warm pretzel, reluctant to venture out of the air conditioning back into the humidity.

After such a peaceful day of research and retail therapy, you simply can’t face the thought of hunting, want to chill, be normal for a change. So now you’re wolfing down a burrito while you watch A-Team reruns and text Peter. He’s arriving tomorrow, and you’ve been thinking about him all week. 

Luckily, the limited amount of sex you’d had in the past hadn’t been bad, per se, maybe just a little disappointing. Bland. Boring. Not that you’d known at the time.

Chris was your introduction to multiple orgasms and dirty words falling from your mouth and all kinds of things you’d wanted but never tried. The discoveries you’d made about yourself, the way he monopolised your mind for a bit there, had felt like more than only sex. All intertwined with wanting to be his - you liked it when he called you pretty as he came and held your hand after, loved how he snuck kisses away from the bedroom. 

But that’s all it - all Chris - can be now; a memory. Had to try to forget, the good parts and the bad. Clear out the image of his hand wrapped around a gun, pointed at Stiles. Push down the humiliating way you’d tried to fuck him after Allison, how kindly he’d denied you, barely touched you after that night. Until he left and kissed you goodbye at the airport.

Forced to choose one thing to lock away in your mind forever? 

You wouldn’t be able to decide between the miss you and you’ve got this and trust your instincts or the heat of his breath on the shell of your ear moaning your name and groaning shit baby, just there and mmm, that’s it.

Peter, on the other hand, is your first experience of fucking like it’s sport, or a competition, something to excel at. Of giving yourself over to someone and letting them use you as they please.  He calls you things you never would allow outside the walls of cheap motel rooms, things you probably shouldn’t enjoy - slut and whore. But always daddy’s slut and my perfect little whore. 

It’s disgusting, and it’s worrying and it’s perverse, except...it really isn’t. It’s fucking hot.

No stake in each other, no claims, just teasing and playing games and then going your separate ways. It’s purely physical, neither of you have feelings, you’re merely another of each other’s bad habits, like how smoking tastes so right when you’re drinking.

Regardless of what this thing with Peter is, it’s undeniably fun and you want to keep it. You’re even beginning to feel relieved you’re so completely alone, because you don’t want to defend your desires, just want to follow them down the rabbit hole. Why not have some light to look forward to when everything else is so dark? 

Wiping your hands, you laugh at his response to your text saying you’re headed for a shower.

Pics?? 🙏

You tell him to piss off and stand waiting for the water to warm up with your phone in your hand.

Go clean up, doll. Tomorrow you’ll be filthy. Sleep well x

****

Oregon:

A month later, and you’ve got a fairly stable routine going, taking tentative steps back into the real world. It’s an after effect of running away or being left behind that you become adept at rebuilding. You’ve done it before, even find some comfort in sowing the seedlings of a new life.

You work during the week, mostly straightforward cases, make time for Samandriel even though neither of you have anything resembling news, and do a reasonable job of being nice to him. 

Peter usually arrives on Fridays - grabbing you up as soon as you open the door, always ready and always with some snarky remark about your lodgings. 

“Is there any hovel you won’t stay in?”

“‘Dunno, any mirror you don’t stop in front of?

Tonight, though, you’re alone. Kicking open a flimsy bathroom door and slamming on the light switch, leaving a trail of blood across the wall and knocking the hairdryer out of its cradle. Panting hard and mumbling to yourself, you take off your jacket and cut your t-shirt up the middle so you can peel it away.

One glance at the gash that starts at your shoulder blade and runs all the way round your left side has your throat filling with acid. You slip your arms through your bra straps, unclip it and drop it at your feet before you lay out supplies across the counter and steel yourself.

“Shit.” 

Much worse than you’d thought. 

You’d only tracked two demons sneaking in and out of the abandoned mill. Nothing you couldn’t handle on your own. After climbing in through a basement entrance, there were three more waiting. During the fight that ensued, you lost your footing and landed on something sharp. In your hustle to get back up, you’d twisted without thinking, howling as your flesh tore open. 

With the stress and the fever pitch of your anger, you were able to clumsily dispatch the last demon before you staggered back to your car, which was hidden behind the tree line a mile down the road. Not your finest work. Wasn’t until you were a few blocks from your motel that you started to feel the pain.

You feel sick as you un-spool thread with trembling hands. Feel so fucking stupid as you poke into the skin under your breast, watching your progress in the mirror, so you can pretend it’s not your body that’s carved and leaking blood.

Realizing there’s no chance you’ll be able to reach around to patch up the entire wound, you let the needle hang useless and pull your phone from your jeans pocket. 

Don’t want to ask for his help but you’re out of options; the cut is still dripping and you’re chilly and tired and he’s closer than anyone else.

“Fuck.” you watch a fat red line dribble down your abdomen as your finger hovers over the contact. You hit the call button before you change your mind.

When it clicks over to voicemail, you turn and slide down the cabinet, wanting to cry at the automated voicemail greeting.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m in Oregon…can you…”

Suddenly you panic. He won’t come. Why the hell would he? You barely talk when he visits. All your questions seem to annoy him, so you just bang the weekend away - hardly what you’d call friendship, and probably not worthy of a favour.

“Can you come fuck me right now?”

The only ace up your sleeve to guarantee he’ll show up. 

“Sweet Home Inn, Highway 20, Room 7.” you speak fast, closing your eyes and pulling your jacket to wrap it around yourself.

Peter parks next to your beaten up car, smiling to himself and brimming with smugness as he retrieves his overnight bag from the passenger seat. 

It’s only Wednesday and you’ve called to beg. This is going well. 

He raps his knuckles on the door, playing out in his mind how the night will go, what new thing you might be up for trying this week. Then there’s an unmistakable scent in the air and he barges in to find you slumped against the bathroom cabinet. 

You’re out cold, topless except for your jacket thrown up over your shoulders. Could be mistaken for asleep, if not for the puddle of stained red clothes next to you, if your skin didn’t look ashen, gray under the singular lightbulb. 

He moves your jacket aside and sees what he’d smelt - long, dried rivulets down your stomach. 

Peter scoops you up and takes you to the bed, happy to hear you groan but unhappy you’re not waking. He presses a towel to your torso, because moving you caused fresh streams.

so much blood

Deaton doesn’t answer Peter’s call, and he fights the impulse to throw his phone across the room, electing instead to glower at your side, as if his angry look alone might staunch the flow.

too much blood

He calls Derek, who thankfully picks up.

“What?”

“I need you to go to Deaton’s.”

Peter can feel Derek rolling his eyes at him through the phone.

“Why? Pet-”

“Kara’s hurt. She needs a Doctor.”

****

People are arguing. 

“She should be in the hospital.”

“Keep your voice down.” 

They’re quieter now, “If she wanted to go, she would have.”

“Fine. Get her a tetanus shot, at least. And look out for signs of infection.”

“Fine,” Peter is equally snarky, “Here.”

He hands the man wearing glasses a wad of cash and bundles him out the door.

You watch it occur from one opened eye, wondering briefly who that man is and who they’re talking about before you fall back asleep.

****

Night comes and Peter wakes you, gently running his palm up and down your arm until you stir.

“Hey. You came?” you’re groggy and sore and more than a little shocked.

“You called,” he tucks your hair behind your ears, unsettlingly relieved to hear you speak, “Who did this, Kara?”

“Huh? No one…” you scramble for something that will stop the chilly steel in his voice from overflowing, because he’s here now and you don’t want him to leave, “I….slipped.”

You change the subject, wriggling your arms out from the sheets, “Who was that guy?”

“Some doc Deaton recommended. Stitched you up. Said you made a good start.”

Peering under the blankets, you look over the cleaned up wound, take in the line of sutures - much tidier than you would have achieved.

“I tried.” you admit, embarrassed by your efforts, and squirming under the soft smile he’s aiming your way.

“What do you need?”

Closing your eyes, you stretch your legs, careful not to move your body too much.

“I’m starving. Diner?”

“No, you need proper food.”

You roll your eyes at Peter’s disapproval. True, you’ve been subsisting on a steady diet of scrambled eggs, takeout, and protein shakes. Though in your defense, the drinks are loaded with vitamins, taste like chocolate milk and are the easiest way to stay full during your long drives.

He swats at your leg, “C’mon - get your ass up.”

“Eggs are healthy,” you mumble under your breath as you slowly get off the bed to wrap a bandage around yourself.

“They’re probably powdered.” Peter tells you, helping you get your bra clasped and pull a shirt on.

“Waffle House would never!” you protest, swaying as you let him do your buttons.

“There,” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, “You’re ready.”

****

The restaurant Peter takes you to is fancy, as expected. What’s unexpected is that the hostess let you in.

Must be a slow night, or he laid out a hefty tip or - there it is. You realize Peter has disarmed her with all his handsome and charm when she grazes her hand over his back while taking his coat, and looks solely at him as she lists the specials.

“It’s like I’m not even here.” you tease after she’s gone.

“Jealous?”

“Definitely…. think she’ll take my number?”

Peter peruses the wine list as you read the menu, frowning at the prices.

“Don’t,” he warns, “Get whatever you feel like. My treat.”

“You sure? I didn’t bring my wallet.”

He pulls the menu away from your face, “It’s just dinner. I’m not giving you an organ.”

“You’d love to give me an ‘organ’”

Groaning at your terrible joke, he opens his mouth to say something obscene when the hostess returns, beaming at him.

He orders, then directs her attention to you, “What do you want, darling?”

“I’ll get the eye fillet, please.”

“Sides?” she’s a touch less friendly now.

“Green beans, and mashed potatoes, and…mushrooms.”

Peter grins at your appetite and you shrug, too hungry to care about politeness and if he’s buying, you’re eating.

“Drink?” 

Now she sounds downright snippy and you can’t look at Peter in case you laugh.

“Just whatever he’s having.”

You hand back the menu and glare at Peter, waiting till she’s out of earshot to scold him, “Why’d you say that? She’s gonna fuck with my food!”

“She wouldn’t dare.” 

Your phone vibrates against your ass and you squeak before you pull it out of your pocket and read the screen, remarking on the coincidence -

“It’s Derek.” 

“Ah.”

You raise your eyebrows that he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I called him. I was trying to get hold of Deaton. Derek went and found him.”

Peter tries not to let it get to him when you mutter shit before hitting ‘answer’.

“Hey, one sec.” you tell Derek, holding the phone against your chest while you get up from the booth.

“I’ll be quick,” you promise Peter, “Check my food for broken glass please?” 

You drop a peek on his cheek as you pass, leaving him smiling. Outside, you pace the block as you bring the phone up to your ear.

“Hi.”

Derek doesn’t bother with a hello, “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine. How are you?” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just a cut. All sewn up.” You pretend that’s all he’s talking about.

“That’s not - why is he there?”

“He’s…we’re…”

Screwing each other senseless? Pals? 

“I called him.”

“Kara, he’s not what you think.”

“And what is it I think, Derek?” you ask, working hard to keep your voice on an even keel.

“I mean…he’s not a good guy.”

He’s probably right, you should heed his warning, but you look through the window and see Peter sip his wine without a care in the world. He’s just him, he’s here, and you’re not particularly good either. 

“I can handle Peter.” you laugh off Derek’s worries, “Okay?”

You hear him exhale… ”Okay.”

****

Peter stays an extra few days, helping you out while you recuperate. He refuses to let you do anything for yourself, bringing you coffee and food in bed, fetching your laptop when you’re fed up with reality TV, lingering outside the bathroom door while you shower. 

He’s kind and attentive and you wonder if it’s because he feels guilty. He should. You’re frustrated, borderline hostile, because Peter’s been ignoring you.

Tipsy from the drinks you had downed, drunk on how he’d taken your hand and shot the hostess a pointed stare, you pawed greedily at him in the car on the way back from dinner. 

“Peter? Can I?”

He tuts, shaking his head as he peels your hand off his thigh, “No, you’ve been bad - running off, getting hurt.”

You huffed and sulked, then your hand snaked back toward him. “Please….Daddy?”

He couldn’t refuse, with your voice needy and your fingers running across the pronounced bulge in his trousers.

“Need it that bad?”

He smirks as you nod eagerly and pretends to be annoyed, “Go ahead, doll.”

Made it back without crashing, locked the door behind you, and almost got him right where you needed him. Peter could always fuck you dumb, bury himself deep in a way that had your vision blurring and stopped your mind from spiraling. 

So, you braced for the pressure that would drive away your shame at messing up and having to resort to calling him to rescue you. 

He looked down, saw your eyes squeezed tight shut and quickly put an end to it. Making a barrier of pillows between you, he told you to quit bitching and rest.

By the end of the week, you’re climbing the walls, itching to leave. Had grown accustomed to being alone, to uninterrupted days spent with only your own thoughts, so it’s strange to share your space with someone for such a length of time. And if he won’t fuck you, what’s the point?

“It looks good,” Peter says, inspecting the cut as you lie on your side, arm thrown up over your head and clutching a sheet against your front. 

You’re healing fast, not as fast as he would, obviously, but he’s pleased with your progress.

“Good enough to get outta here?” you ask, dropping your arm.

“Wait…” Peter pulls your arm back where it was, “I’m fixing you.”

He focuses on arranging three rectangles of gauze in a line and taping them down carefully as you huff out a sigh, not sure which is worse - the ache of your injury or the one between your legs. 

“Done.” 

You tug a t-shirt over your head and start clearing up the trash, but Peter smacks your hand away.

“I got it.” he sits next to you and repacks the first aid kit, “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”

You glance toward your open notebook, “Mmm. Maybe Chicago?”

“What’s this?” he stands and picks it up, flipping through the pages, “See the Empire State Building? Faulkner Books, Jackson Square?”

“Hey! Give it back.” 

Leaping off the bed, you grab for the book, but Peter spins and continues to read, 

“Ride a horse? Kara, there are horses in Oregon.”

“Not the point, you dick.”

“Are you…” he turns to face you, “Are you scared of horses?”

“The average horse weighs 500kgs.” 

Peter laughs.

“Shut up!” you try again to get it out of his grasp, wincing as you reach up.

“Sorry, here.” Peter hands it over immediately when he sees your pain, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” annoyed you lift your shirt to show him your side, “See? No blood.”

Peter’s gaze travels along your body, taking in the littered bruises in various hues of yellow and purple, and the small cuts and scabs of pink that dot your skin.

“Darach?” he whispers, eyeing older scars that have faded to an almost translucent silver. 

Nodding and realizing he’s staring, you drop your shirt, self-conscious under his burning scrutiny. 

You’re not hideous, but you don’t think you’re beautiful either. Hated feeling frail or weak, so are proud of your hard earned muscles, years of a strict training schedule giving you strength where you wanted it. A decent rack, curvy enough to like the way you look in jeans - but that was in clothes, covered. Without layers is a different story, an ugly one.

“Don’t.” 

Peter moves your hand away from your hem, tracing his fingertips gently across your skin. His other hand reaching around the nape of your neck to bring you close,

“Scars mean you survived.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 308: VIBE: CHECKED

Previously on BnHA: Lots and lots of Shindou idk what else to tell you.

Today on BnHA: Tired Nomad Deku rescues Shindou from Muscular, and us from Shindou. Muscular is all “OH BOY I SURE CAN’T WAIT TO FIGHT DEKU AGAIN AFTER HE TOTALLY KICKED MY ASS THE LAST TIME!! I’M SURE THIS TIME WILL GO DIFFERENTLY SEEING AS HE’S HAD ALMOST AN ENTIRE YEAR’S WORTH OF ADDITIONAL TRAINING, AND ALSO HAS SIX FOURQUIRKS NOW, IN ADDITION TO THE CONFIDENCE THAT COMES WITH HAVING EIGHT OTHER PEOPLE’S SOULS CHILLING OUT INSIDE HIM OFFERING MORAL SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT.” Deku is all, “[kicks Muscular’s ass effortlessly].” Muscular is all, “[gets his ass totally kicked].” I for one am very satisfied with this, and with respect to all, I would like to hereby declare this post a discourse-free zone. I’m just happy to see my son out here making good use of his FOURQUIRKS, and more importantly beating Muscular in less than seventeen pages so we can all go on with our lives lol.

damn Deku since when were you allowed to look this cool

from this perspective and with the smoke, cape, backpack, and mask more or less obscuring his actual profile, he looks less like a sixteen-year-old boy and more like a grownass man

OH SNAP

we got a glimpse of this in the cleaned-up scan of 307, but seeing both of his eyes looking so distinctively All Might-esque here is... whoa. I mean we know that his face still looks pretty normal underneath the mask and he doesn’t actually have the black sclera, but still, this is an awesome look. mini-Might

lol Muscular

you and me both. I mean no offense, but yeah

so Deku is just standing there silently

typical Deku. tight-lipped and expressionless. mum’s the word. quiet as a mouse. silent as a grave

okay no but seriously this is so weird and creepy though you guys. Deku please say something or else I’m just gonna mindlessly say whatever stupid things come into my head in an effort to make things less awkward

so Muscular is all “I should probably make a cool speech about revenge but Horikoshi couldn’t think of anything good so I’m just going to stand here clenching my fist real slowly”

“I’m not here to go on a monologue” he says, as he monologues about not monologuing

okay you guys I confess I have only read through/watched the Deku VS Muscular fight once because the arm-breaking is just way too uncomfortable for me to revisit. and so as a result, I have completely forgotten Whatever The Deal Is with Muscular’s eye lmao so let me go look it up real quick

okay so it’s a prosthetic, obviously, and he changes it out according to his mood. that part does sound familiar. I just can’t remember which eye is supposed to indicate which mood. don’t tell me I actually have to go back and reread this shit

lol I’m skimming through chapter 75 now and remembering/realizing that I hardly paid any attention to this the first time around because as soon as I found out the villains were after Kacchan my brain was like “TIME TO FOCUS ON THIS AND ONLY THIS NOW AND FOREVER” and yeah. ah memories

anyway so he started out with the flower-looking eye, and then later on he was all

which begs the question, how on earth could I have ever forgotten the most ridiculous panel I’ve ever read lmao

anyway, but so after all of that, I'm only just now realizing that this isn't one of his previous eye prosthetics in the current chapter; this is an ACTUAL FUCKING ROCK that he's just randomly shoved into his eye socket fkdsjlk

so basically (1) I did all of that painstaking research for nothing, five whole minutes of my life wasted THANKS A LOT, and (2) what, and I have never meant this more emphatically, THE FUCK

anyway so now he's leaping at the building that Deku is standing on top of. but he’s not aiming anywhere near Deku though, wtf

(ETA: HAHA YOU BROKE ALL YOUR MUSCLES YOU LOSER.)

...huh

lmao okay then. I hope those annoying citizens in the building next door are watching this go down and rethinking their life choices

dlkdkljk

just keep standing there pressed right up against the window, why don’t you. “WHAT’S GOING ON THIS SUPER CLOSE COLLAPSING BUILDING IS BLOCKING OUR VIEW.” well, folks, we’ve long since known there’s a critical shortage of hero and villain brain cells, but what we’re learning now is that civilian brain cells are also in short supply

OH THANK GOD DEKU IS FINALLY TALKING THAT WAS ACTUALLY UNSETTLING AS FUCK

SO HE’S STILL OUR GOOD, POLITE, WORRIED, CONSIDERATE DEKU UNDERNEATH THAT COOL AND MYSTERIOUS VENEER. for real, thank fuck, because I swear to god if he suddenly started acting like the Dekus in all of the vigilante AUs my interest in this series would have dropped something like 50% lol. just because he dropped out of school and ran away from home and is currently dressed like the physical manifestation of a Linkin Park playlist doesn’t mean he’s not still the WORLD’S BIGGEST DORK okay

I MEAN, THIS RIGHT HERE. THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT. HE’S APOLOGIZING FOR THE DELAY

PLEASE FIND THE ATTACHED SHINDOU YOU REQUESTED. BEST REGARDS!!!

OH MY GOD WHY IS HE SUCH A BADASS

something about making bold, confident statements while obscured in smoke?? idk but damn it fucking works

ffjkkl

more importantly, should you tell him you actually need your copy of Shindou in excel format and not pdf?? on the one hand you don’t want to sound ungrateful, but on the other hand what are you even supposed to do with this

this chapter so far consists of like 50% smoke, but on the other hand Deku VS Kacchan 2 had a lot of cinematic smoke too so who am I to complain

OMG IS IT HIS ARMS

IDK DID YOU?! TELL ME YOUR SECRETS. PLEASE, AT SOME POINT THIS FIGHT HAS GOT TO ACTUALLY ADVANCE THE PLOT

OHHHHHHH

IT’S EN’S QUIRK!! OH MY GOD OKAY THAT’S ACTUALLY AWESOME

I CAN HEAR THE SOUND OF DISCOURSE RUMBLING IN THE BACKGROUND BUT I DON’T CARE LOL. WON’T CATCH ME EVER SAYING NO TO ANOTHER SIXQUIRK. GO AHEAD, BRING THEM ON, I WANT TO SEE THEM ALL but take it easy though Deku. don’t want to give yourself lung cancer or anything

also it’s good to see that in a very real sense he’s not fighting alone. the Vestiges really did mean it when they said they could appear more easily now. this is on a whole other level

so is this whole next page still En talking, or someone else? because whoever it is sure is chatty

okay, several things

pretty sure it is En, because he keeps saying “I suppose.” for someone who never said two words until one page ago, this guy sure never shuts up. we can’t all follow Muscular’s lead I suppose. oh my god now I’m doing it too

really like the suggestion of Deku using the SIXQUIRKS like tools in an arsenal, because that’s what he’s good at! it’s almost like he’s been training for this his entire life. “you value quirks too much” LOOK HE JUST THINKS THEY’RE COOL OKAY IS THAT A CRIME

where the fuck did all this rope come from

not gonna ask what the fuck that thing is sticking out from the back of his utility belt. Horikoshi will surely explain this

is that a fucking jetpack. I’m sorry Deku were six fucking quirks not enough for you. you can fucking float??? but JUST TO BE SAFE, LET’S STRAP A PAIR OF ROCKETS TO OUR SHOULDERS IDK

-- or wait, is this all supposed to be like a visual representation of En’s metaphor?? OH MY GOD AM I JUST STUPID LOL, DON’T ANSWER THAT. NEVER MIND. NEW LIST!!

rope = blackwhip

jetpack = float

radio = danger sense

and so I’m guessing that this ridiculously phallic thing is supposed to be a flare or something?? and that = the new quirk, smokescreen. well that was a fucking ride lmao we now return you to our regularly scheduled chapter

so now Deku is floating to his heart’s content and thinking that he’ll just sneak up on Muscular and vibe check his ass or whatever

WOOOOOOOO DANGER SENSE YESSSS I LOVE THIS FOR HIM

okay guys, I'm gonna press pause here for a sec to make a serious note, because I am loving the shit out of this, but tbh I'm having trouble enjoying it as much as I want to because I keep getting anxious thinking about the discourse. I know that a lot of the fandom has very strong opinions on Deku's character development one way or the other, and I want to respect that. but I also really have no spoons to debate this topic at all beyond what I’ve already weighed in on. so if it’s all the same to everyone, I plan on staying out of this discussion, at least this week

anyway! that said, YEAH BOI GET HIS ASS

VIBE: CHECKED. CURB: STOMPED. HOTEL: TRIVAGO

-- OF COURSE HE’S STILL FUCKING FINE LOL HE CRASHES INTO BUILDINGS FOR FUN IDK WHAT I WAS EXPECTING

dammit Muscular. how many fucking quirks does it take to beat you?! the annoying thing is that even with all of his cool new powers, Deku is still something of a mismatch against him. anyway r.i.p. to all these poor buildings

OOOOOHHHHH

you guys have no idea how intrigued I am at the prospect of watching Deku try to play both good cop and bad cop here lmao

anyway so Muscular says he doesn’t know, go figure

“I’m not here to make small talk or anything” he says as he small talks about not small talking

OH MY GOD DEKU

are you really gonna talk no jutsu all of these villains from now on?? that last battle really did have a profound impact on you, huh! interesting

you guys he’s really doing it omg

Deku this guy tried to murder a five-year-old literally just for fun. I mean more power to you, but holy shit you’re really gonna try to defeat Muscular with anger management therapy huh

I MEAN

WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THAT RESPONSE COMING dlkjslkjk

FUCK’S SAKE DEKU, I KNOW YOU MEAN WELL BUT THEY CAN’T ALL HAVE TRAGIC PASTS KIDDO

but. I have to admit, I do still like that he tried. probably knew just as well as we did what the end result was going to be, but still. he made the effort in good faith and I respect that

uh oh

why do I get the feeling Muscular just got a whole lot deader

oh my god oh my god he’s doing the “powering up” stance ffff don’t fucking tell me you can still use your fucking arms here, Deku

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY WHAT’S THIS??

okay so basically he’s saying that whatever it was he sensed in Tomura, he doesn’t sense from Muscular. which, yeah, that sounds exactly right. good judge of character here lol

AHHHHAHAHA YESS

WHOOPS, GET FUCKED I GUESS

WOOOOHOOOOOOOO

lmao so apparently this is the belated result of Shindou’s attack from chapter 307?? I’ll be damned. good for you Shindou!! I always liked you buddy. please just take my word on that and don’t fact check that statement

okay lol the one tiny bit of discourse I will allow is that it’s bullshit that he just did that with his right arm. like, I’ll fully acknowledge that. that makes no fucking sense, and I demand an explanation from the Great Plot Hole Filler himself. he’s never let us down before when it comes to continuity so I’m trusting him not to suddenly start now

that said, we love to see a rematch against a boring guy settled quickly and decisively within the span of a single chapter. THANK YOU

I like that Deku implies that his power is being a smart nerd who battles villains using the power of ANALYTICS. he basically didn’t do anything except restrain Muscular and wait for Shindou’s attack to take effect while halfheartedly checking to see if he regretted any of that murder and stuff

(ETA: and almost forgot to mention, he made excellent use of all four of his active SIXQUIRKS. it’s like the chapter title said; this is basically him fighting all-out, and it’s a sight to see.)

also, as cool as the mask was, this just feels right. like, we had our fun, now let us see his face, yes good

anyway, I think this was a good start towards establishing What’s Up With Deku Right Now! so if it’s all the same to Horikoshi, I would next like to take some time to explore Why’s Up With Deku. that, and What’s Up With Everyone Else, Especially Kacchan. por favor

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Missed Opportunities | Helmut Zemo x Reader

Here's a little something I cooked up. Not sure what I want to do with it, but it was bugging me to be written. For better or worse.

This is a little Helmut Zemo/Female Reader moment. It has Sam and Bucky too. It's not fully developed, but hopefully you all can enjoy it for what it is.

OOOOO

You were in Germany when you got the call from Sam. He needed help locating the Flag-Smashers, and was hoping you could offer some assistance.

He just happened to call at the perfect time, because as it turns out, the person you went to visit was no longer around. So, since you had essentially made a trip across the ocean for nothing; you figured, why not? Might as well make something of your travels abroad and not make it a total loss.

Sam gave instructions to meet him at a residence in Riga, Latvia. He mentioned very little other than that. Technically though, that wasn't entirely his fault. You're pretty sure he intended to provide more information, but Bucky was shouting, "Hellos.", "You've been missed!", and her personal favorite, an exasperated, "Please save me from my tormentor."

After Bucky's outburst, Sam had seemed to have forgotten about you on the phone; so you were just listening to constant bickering in the background. All you could do was shake your head and laugh at this point. Truly, Earth's greatest defenders were simply children at times.

It was good to hear their laughs. It had been too long and the world was still recovering.

We all were.

Bucky, Sam, and you all disappeared when Thanos snapped his fingers, wiping out half the universe. When you all returned, there was love and there was loss all around, but it bonded the three of you in a friendship deeper than any of you could imagine.

Okay, perhaps, that's a slight exaggeration. You became extremely good friends with both James and Sam; however, the two of them are a different story altogether. They won't admit to their friendship, but you know they'll both come around one day. They're just being stubborn idiots. God, she missed those two guys. It's been months since she had laid eyes either one of them.

So, here you are, standing right out front the door Sam gave instructions to meet at.

You fiddled with the arm of the backpack strapped across your chest. You didn't think you'd be this nervous, but a combination of excitement and adrenaline had caused you to be a bit jumpy. You tried to shrug it off as you raised your hand to knock on the door.

Not even 10 seconds after you knocked on the door you heard the shuffle of footsteps, accompanied with the ever present response of, "I got it."

Only the footsteps halted abruptly and muffled discussions were faintly heard through the door. You couldn't make out what was being said, only that no further movement had been made to answer the door.

I swear to God, if they are simply having an argument about who gets to open the door, I am going to murder them both on the spot.

You were about to knock on the door again a bit more insistently, but you never got the chance as the door abruptly swung open to reveal Bucky.

As you stared back at one another, you couldn't help but noticed his tense appearance, which is not all that unusual for him, but it was a more strained posture. You assumed it had something to do with whatever was being talked about just moments prior to answering the door.

It couldn't have been too serious because seconds later he dropped all pretense and gave you a heartfelt smile before sweeping you up in his arms for a hug.

He all but dragged you inside, it only caused you to chuckle at his enthusiasm. Yeah, you had missed him a lot.

The hug continued to linger on, and you could hear the door behind you close. You were about to motion to Bucky to release you from his hold when you heard Sam pipe in highly amused, "Buck, give her some room to breath."

You could feel the glare James was giving Sam, but he did let you go eventually.

Upon the release from your hug, the sleeves of your blue hoodie had drifted past your hands; you pushed them up a bit where you could grab James's hand and squeeze it in silent thanks.

After letting go of Bucky, you turned around to face Sam, shaking your head and grinning at him with delight, "Never a dull moment around here is there?"

"Never," Sam replied. "It's my turn, now," holding his arms out, he smiled pulling you into a softer embrace, but no less enthusiastic.

You huffed out a laugh and hugged him back with equal fervor.

A few moments had passed, and you reluctantly untangled yourself from Sam. More pleasantries had been exchanged and small talk had filled up the space as you walked fully into open living space.

You did a turn about the room as you headed towards the kitchen area with the guys trailing behind you. You had grabbed the strap of your backpack and had lifted it over your head.

You were about to place your stuff on the kitchen island when you heard soft footfalls make their way from the outer hallway towards you.

The unexpected noise caused you to hesitate; you turned your head towards Sam and James with a puzzled expression on your face. You had opened your mouth with the intention to ask them who else was in the safe house with you, when you saw him.

The backpack you were holding had fallen out of your hands and onto the floor with a thud, but you couldn't tear your eyes off the man standing across the room from you now. Your face had gone completely slack jaw and eyes had widen in shock leaving you speechless.

You would normally have said something quippy in this moment, but your brain had stopped functioning.

The silence was finally broken from Sam's response to the situation.

"Okay, I know what this looks like. We can explain him," Sam cautiously said. "Actually, Bucky should be the one to share this story, since it was his idea."

You could hear the words Sam was saying, but they never really registered. You assumed he thought you were shocked because the man who stood in front of you once tore your friends a part. Because he was supposed to be in a prison in Germany. Any other number of reasons could potentially be listed. What Sam didn't realize, was that the man standing before you was the last person you saw before you disintegrated before his eyes, and this was the first time since that chaos you had seen him again.

Other than Sam's calm reply, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Perhaps it was because the same look of shock and awe was reflected on Zemo's face.

You tried to form a response, something, anything to say.

Neither Sam or Bucky knew you used to visit Zemo after he was imprisoned. Whenever you travelled to Germany, you would tell them you had a contact that only agreed to provide information face to face. They never put two and two together, but they also trusted you implicitly; so they had no reason to ever question your motives or who exactly you were going to see. You actually saw Zemo a fair amount of time. More often than not, it was always to learn about the inner workings of Hydra. While they may be diminished in capacity; they still had not been completely eradicated. And you were determined to locate and destroy every remaining Hydra base, and dismantle them once and for all. They took your parents from you, and you were going to make sure they couldn't hurt anyone ever again. So, Zemo had been the obvious choice to help gain as much information as possible in your quest.

So, over the course of 2 years, you had made several trips to see him. You could almost say you were on friendly terms, but mostly, you believed his kindness and willingness to provide information was a benefit to him. To interact with someone on the outside to remind him he's not completely alone in the world.

The last time you saw each other was a day like any other you would come to visit. You'd lean outside his glass cell and just talk. The prison only allotted an hour's visit. So you always had to make your time worth while.

This particular day was colder than usual for the time of year. And being left outside the prison hallway where Zemo's cell was located only caused the draft to further lower the temperature with the concrete walls. You had involuntarily shivered as a cold draft had blasted in from one of hallways. Zemo had taken notice and unzipped his hoodie, passing it off to the guard to hand over to you. In that moment, the realization came that things were no longer black and white between the two of you. When you asked him why, he simply shrugged and said it's what any gentleman should do. His expression had softened though and was no longer outwardly indifferent. You had put on the blue garment and zipped it up; tugging at the sleeves as the hoodie was much larger on your frame than his.

There was only about 30 minutes left of your visit when alarm bells started going off. Zemo had pushed himself against the glass to look down the closest hallway to try and see what was going on. You had tried to remain calm, but when the guard standing nearby had disappeared right in front of you both, you knew something was dreadfully wrong.

With visible panic on your face, you had whispered out the word Thanos to Zemo. You'll never forget what happened next or the expression on his face. There was a hitch in your lungs and a strong tugging sensation drifting through your chest. You stumbled into the glass and fell to your knees in front of Zemo. You had slumped onto your side trying to concentrate on what was happening to you. You peered up at Zemo as he had slid himself down the glass to your level gazing at you in concern. You could hear him shouting for help, but there was no one around. You placed your hand on the glass to get his attention, and only then did you realize, you had tears in your eyes.

He brought his hand up on the other side of the glass and placed it against where yours was. Funny how an instance can change everything between two people. You saw his eyes widen and that's when you noticed the right side of your body started to turn to dust. All you had time to say was, "I'm sorry," before you completely disintegrated before him, leaving him, no doubt, alone once again.

You would have laughed at the expression on his face now if you knew it hadn't been the first time he's seen you since....what happened. But there was nothing really funny about the situation.

You weren't quite sure what to do, but your feet made the decision for you as you slowly made your way to stand directly in front of Zemo.

It's the first time you've stood together without any glass between you both. He's a bit taller than you, but not by miles; you're chin roughly comes up to his shoulder.

You see him swallow as if he's also thinking of something to say, but instead you see him raise his hand up and start to reach out to touch you, but stops before actually doing it. Internally, you make your choice for him and reach up with your hand and grab the one he's left hanging in the air. It's just a light touch, almost as if you're both worried the other might not be real.

Zemo glanced down at you holding onto his hand and back at you briefly. He squeezed your hand gently and then you heard him release a harsh breath before gripping your hand tighter and yanking you into his arms.

You barely had time to think about what was happening before you were enveloped into the most emotional hug you've ever felt.

The reaction was unexpected, but then so were the circumstances you were in, so nothing should really surprise you, but you were. Your arms were slightly hovering over his back, not entirely sure at that moment what you wanted to do, as you were still in shock. But, after a brief pause you brought your arms firmly around his body and hugged Zemo back with just as much care and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. You heard him mumbling words into the side of your head, but couldn't understand what he was really saying.

Time could have been standing still for the infinite period we were latched onto one another. It wasn't until the clearing of Bucky's throat that jarred us out of the moment. The noise wasn't loud, but the room had been so silent until then; it sounded like a freight train.

Realization must have hit us both at the same time that we weren't alone in the room, and we jumped apart as if lightning had struck us both.

At this point, you were looking at anything in room, but Zemo. You started playing with the ends of your sleeves in nervousness when Sam spoke up in a very slow and deliberate manner, "Would you care to explain to us, what is going on?"

"I thought you were going to have Bucky explain to me, why Zemo's not in prison!" you say back, not ready at all to try and explain things. You still needed to wrap your own head around it, before attempting to share your brief history with Zemo.

"Oh, no doll. This can wait," James answered. You could tell he was not happy, but maybe more confused than anything by how he responded.

Both were assessing Zemo to try and figure out if this is some sort of game to him. Bucky had reached out to grab your arm and pulled you gently away from the criminal mastermind and closer to them to instinctually protect you from him.

You outwardly sighed, knowing there was a long conversation about to happen.

Zemo took a step forward and James took a step back bringing you with him. Sam seemed perturbed over the entire situation, but Zemo spoke up first.

"Is that, what I think it is?" he said. Zemo cocked his head to the side and eyed you with amusement.

You silently shook off the hold Bucky has on you and raise an eyebrow at him to not try that again. You swiveled back to Zemo, placing your hands on your hips. Confusion was written clearly on your face as you answered him back, "Could you be a little less vague?" A small smile graced your face in reply.

Zemo pointed at your midsection and a smug expression appeared on his face.

"I must say, you look quite fetching in my clothes."

You were physically startled by his comment. You had forgotten you were wearing his hoodie. It's why you went to Germany. To return it to him, but when you found out he was no longer there, you realized you were going to have to either keep it permanently or track him down. Sam's call came in before you could make that decision. Fate really is something else.

Your hands grabbed the fabric of the hoodie as you closed your eyes and ducked your head. You could feel the embarrassment threatening to turn your whole face red.

You started to shuffled away knowing an immediate outburst was coming from both of her friends. What Zemo just said, implied so many different things. So, of course Sam and Bucky would start shouting without having any context to the situation of how you acquired a piece of his clothing.

If the floor could have opened up at that moment, you would have appreciated it.

Sam and Bucky were both visibly upset and clearly about to start a fight with Zemo, but thankfully Sam, being the more even tempered of the group, stopped Bucky from doing anything. He had shrugged off Sam and stared at you with hurt on his face.

You exhaled shakily as things started to calm down. You dared to catch a glimpse of Zemo, and of course, out of everyone here, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy causing the chaos he wrought with his sly comment.

If looks could kill, he would have been flayed alive.

"Enough," you said to everyone. It was time to clear the air. "Let's all just take a seat."

You had gotten exasperated by the entire situation and turned to Bucky and Sam, "Do you automatically have to jump to conclusions? Do you not think there is a perfectly logical explanation, somewhere?" You had slapped your hands down by your sides and turned to Zemo. He looked as if he were about to say something, but you cut him off pointing a finger at him.

"And you. Big trouble. Don't even get me started."

As you stared at Zemo; he at least had the decency to appear somewhat contrite at your scolding. You could still tell he was mildly amused about the whole situation.

You saw Sam had taken a seat and started to wave you over to where he and Bucky were.

"Start talking," he said.

"I'm not sure where to start," you answered, pacing back and forth.

"How about the beginning?" Bucky parroted out arms crossed in front of him, he was clearly still a bit defensive.

"The beginning. Right. Sure. I can do that," you stopped to think about how to start, but everything just seemed to be as if you were actually hiding something from them, when you weren't. It just never came up, and The Blip was emotional for everyone.

Truth be told, you would like to avoid this conversation at all costs. For many reasons, some you're not ready to deal with.

Zemo had spoke up while you were deciding how to broach the subject at hand.

"If I may," he spoke.

The three of us had answered him simultaneously, "No!"

Yeah, it was going to be a long day.

OOOOO

[tsumwriter]

Second Best (Kuroo x Reader)

Kuroo angst where I lowkey made him a dick... sorry Kuroo stans 

Objects were being miscellaneously thrown in the air as chairs were being knocked down while you and Kuroo spit out spiteful words that neither of you really meant. 

You were fuming but really all you wanted to do was cry. 

You were tired from these fights where Kuroo would just try to get a rise out of you and vice versa. 

Typically, they were over the dumbest things like you forgetting to put your used mug in the sink or Kuroo forgetting to put the toilet seat down. They were usually dumb things like this, but today was different. 

A few hours before the fight, you had come home excited to tell Kuroo about your big promotion that you had been offered. 

You were currently a recent graduate and intern at a fashion company in Tokyo, but if you accepted, you would be a formal employee of the Paris branch. 

Of course you were going to decline, what with the recent engagement and the upcoming wedding, but you wanted to tell him anyway because it was a big deal to you. But after today, you weren’t sure if Kuroo was worth staying for. 

You had made Kuroo’s favorite meal to share the exciting news, but he had come home late without a phone call or even a text, and when you brought it up he exploded on you. 

‘Do I need to tell you everything? God, you’re my fiance not my mom.’ 

‘Well if you just told me the fucking truth then I wouldn’t need to ask every time!’ 

The saddest part was, he didn’t need to tell you where he was or who he was with because you already knew the answer to that: hanging out with his ex, Kozume Kenma. 

Kenma always seemed to be at the center of all of your fights. No matter how it started, the end was Kenma because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be Kenma. 

Today was no different. 

“I was with Kenma because I was trying to get away from you!” 

As soon as Kuroo spit out those words, the air in the room thickened and the temperature dropped, along with your heart. 

Each word was like a dagger to your heart and you fell into the couch in defeat. 

At first, Kuroo felt a sick satisfaction because he felt like he had won the argument. But when he saw you hugging your knees tightly while looking away from him, he knew that he had taken it too far. 

You weren’t even crying, you were just completely dejected and so was Kuroo. 

He plopped down on the other side of the couch and the only sound in the room was the creak of the couch as his weight fell onto it. 

The silence surrounding the two of you was suffocating but neither of you wanted to say the inevitable… This had to end, but no one wanted to end it. 

But you were stronger than Kuroo. You knew this. 

Kuroo Tetsuro was still in love with his ex-boyfriend and refused to admit it while you were already coming to terms with the fact that you were always second place. At first, you thought that the engagement would change him but eventually you realized that it was just you foolishly in love. 

So you broke the news to him, the ‘exciting’ news that had started this entire ordeal. 

Chin on your knees, you quietly muttered, “I was offered a promotion.” 

Kuroo’s eyes widened and he turned to you. This is what you wanted to talk about. This was why you were so excited when he came home… And then he blew up on you. 

He wanted to congratulate you. To hold you in his arms as he told you what a wonderful job you were doing but seeing you look so broken, because of what he said filled him with so much guilt that he couldn’t move. 

So he just waited for you to continue and hoped that you would forgive him. 

Meanwhile, you were looking down at the ground as you were contemplating your next words. 

A tearful breath escaped your lips as you continued. 

“It’s a textile designing position in Paris and I’m taking it.” 

You looked at the man to your left and observed his shocked expression. 

“I’m tired of this, Tetsuro- tired of us… Of you acting like you’re in love with me when we both know it was never me.” 

Kuroo reached out to pull you into his embrace, but you stood up and turned your back towards him, facing the window looking out into the city.

“(y/n)... babe, I can change. I’m sorry.” 

You laughed bitterly as you felt the salty tears falling down your face. Shaking your head, you wore a sad smile on your face before you turned to the now crying man on the couch. 

Kuroo was hunched over with his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His body was shaking as he sobbed silently. 

You walked over to him and knelt on the ground next to him. 

When he felt your body next to his, he looked up with tears in his eyes. 

“I swear, it’s just a stage, baby. Everyone falls out of love but we’ll be okay. We’ll be oka-”

You shushed him gently and kissed the tears on his cheeks for the last time. 

“Tetsuro, you can’t fall out of love if you were never in love.” 

Kuroo furrowed his brows in confusion to which you laughed softly. God, he was in so much denial. 

You brought a hand to move the hair that was covering his eyes and cupped his cheek. 

“I have to go.” 

He shook his head furiously as he watched you take off your ring.

“No, please! Say the word and I’ll even cut off Kenma.” 

A tired sigh escaped you as you set the ring down on the coffee table. There was no truth in his words. This was just him saying anything and everything to get you to stay but you couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please don’t hurt me more than you already have.” 

Kuroo blinked away his tears as he watched you walk towards your shared bedroom. 

He was crying and his mouth was still spewing out apologies but some part of him felt the slightest bit of relief. 

‘I’m a monster,’ he thought to himself as he chased after you. 

-- several years later 

It was a Saturday, and you were looking out the huge window enjoying the crisp morning air on your face. 

With Paris fashion week behind you, work was slowing down, and you felt like you could finally breathe a little. Weekends finally felt like weekends and you could do things like staring out your window for no reason. Now you could finally go to the cafe you were meaning to check out, try the new rooftop bar, and visit the wineries. 

As you were going down the mental list of things you wanted to do, you heard your phone ringing.

It was an unknown number with a Japanese area code. 

‘Probably work,’ you thought. 

Since headquarters were in Japan, it was common to get random phone calls from Tokyo. It was a little odd that they were calling you on a Saturday, but you just assumed there was a client emergency so you picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello? Is this (l/n) (f/n)?” 

Your heart stopped and you felt your breath hitch. How had he gotten your number? You’d gotten a new European number and only gave it to a select few in Japan. 

“Kuroo-kun, how’d you get my number?” 

This time, it was Kuroo’s turn to react. 

It had been years since the breakup, but for some reason it felt foreign, almost painful, hearing you call him by his surname. But after what he put you through, who the fuck was he to dictate what you should call him now? 

He was just glad that your voice held no venom towards him. 

Maybe Kenma was right- maybe you didn’t hate him as much as he hated himself for hurting you. 

“Hi (y/n), it’s been a while, huh? I got your number from Hitomi-chan, had to beg her for it though.” 

You let out a soft laugh that contrasted the pang in your chest as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. You had moved on- built an entirely new life without him, but hearing him say your name made you feel weak. But you had come too far to come crashing down again. 

“Yeah… A few years, right? How’ve you been?” 

Kuroo laughed softly, and you could imagine what he looked like. Eyes squinting the tiniest bit and his mouth turned up into the grin that you loved so much. 

“I’ve been great… Getting married actually.” 

You felt your jaw clench as you searched your brain for appropriate responses. 

It took a few seconds but you eventually responded. 

“Congratulations, that’s really exciting!” 

You flinched at how fake your own enthusiasm sounded but hoped Kuroo wouldn’t pick up. 

“It is… but I wanted to be the first one to tell you. It only felt right to tell you before you found out through instagram or something.” 

A small smile appeared on your face, even after all these years he was still thinking about you. 

“That’s thoughtful of you, Kuroo-kun. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do.”

There was a brief silence before Kuroo called your name again. 

“Hey (y/n)?”

“Yes?” 

You could hear Kuroo swallow loudly and fumble with some kind of fabric, which you assumed was him loosening his tie. 

“I’m really sorry for how things ended. You deserved better and I wish I could’ve been a better man for you.” 

You paused and wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks before responding. 

“What do you want me to say, Tetsuro?” 

Your voice was shaky but so was his. Kuroo was crying too. 

“Nothing… I just want you to know that I loved you. As hard as that must be to believe, I did love you and I don’t regret one moment with you.” 

You covered your mouth and moved the phone away from your face as you tried to control your breathing through the crying. When you could breath somewhat normally, you brought the phone back to your ear. 

“I have to go, Kuroo-kun.” 

He cleared his throat, “Of course, you must be really busy.” 

Your heart was racing as you tried to decide whether or not to tell him that you were still in love with him. That there wasn’t a day that passed by where you didn’t wish you could run back into his arms. That you regretted leaving him and not just settling being his second best. 

“Hey Tetsuro?” 

“Hm?” 

Should you tell him? 

No, you would never tell him. 

“Congratulations again.” 

This was your secret to have and to hold. 

[fangirleaconmigo]

Descarada’s Fic Recs Part II: More Witcher Rarepairs

My niche as a writer may be Geraskier (and Jaskier x Eskel) but I read everything and I want to boost writers of rarepairs that I love.

This is from a ficrec series. Here is the masterpost, with a list of upcoming rec posts.

These fics have about 60-800 fics on AO3.( I previously did a post on extra rare rarepairs with 1-60 fics on AO3)

Please scroll down for the ficrecs for:

Geralt x Regis

Lambert x Aiden

Geralt x Eskel

Yennefer x Tissaia

Jaskier x Yennefer

DISCLAIMER #1 Please check the tags on the fics. Our triggers and preferences will be different.

DISCLAIMER #2 Please do not be discouraged if I don't recommend your fic. It doesn’t mean I didn’t love it. My brain is a sieve and space is limited. Treat this as a starting point only. I encourage you to reblog and add your own.

1. The ship: Geralt x Regis

Why I love this ship.

Regis is an elegant, genteel, vampire who can turn dangerous and deadly at the drop of a hat. He is kind, sex positive, and chugs his respect women juice. I mean THE BEST. And doesn’t our Geralt of Rivia deserve the best??

Regis is a monster that Geralt is theoretically supposed to kill. But he loves him instead. That’s classic and good.

Geralt being with a ‘monster’ frees him from the burden of being treated as the ‘other’ in respect to humanity.

Geralt adores Regis so much that he doesn’t even realize that Regis is a vampire for like 88 pages. (Wow, what a great graveyard this is, Regis. Wow, you know so much about vampires, Regis. I like this herb smell you’ve got going, Regis.)

Geralt, who has a hard time trusting, trusts Regis completely.

Regis shows that he is willing to sacrifice anything for Geralt (and by extension, Ciri).

So look, you get the BEST OF BOTH WORLDS. You get the drama of enemies to lovers (witcher + vampire) along with the comfort and softness of friends to lovers.

The fic: I Came Here Without A Choice, by @merulanoir

Why I love this fic

It is the canon-setting, Geralt x Regis of my dreams: a quiet, gentle burn of: we swear this is casual, to a deep, genuine friendship, to a profound love.

Their dynamic is teasing and warm and safe, in spite of the occasional angst.

The sex scenes are so incredibly well done. 🔥

I was the human equivalent of key smashes and sobbing emojis several times over.

It follows them through the books and games, but you don’t need that background to follow. Canon deaths are QUICKLY resolved.

But if you really don’t want to be spoilered for books or games, check out the one shots below.

Recs for further reading:

Falling by Firelight, by @caffeinatedmusing Geralt kisses Regis. Regis finds out that Geralt has little fangs of his own. 🥺

From Different Perspectives, by @snuckybarnes on AO3. Vampires have glamours that fade when they begin to trust someone. So why does Regis still look the same to Geralt? (So sweet)

From the Wisdom of Bards by @rallamajoop Geralt asks Dandelion why he’s been dreaming of Regis. Hilarity ensues.

2. The ship. Geralt x Eskel.

Why I love the ship:

My favorite ship dynamic of all time is childhood friends => lovers. Why? Because our component parts: love, pain, betrayal, powerlessness, shame, are at their most potent, feral, and savage in childhood.

When you know someone then, you know their raw materials. Can anyone be more seen? And if that person has seen that and still loves you? What could be more affirming?

Now, Geralt and Eskel. There are few things so achingly sad in fiction than characters who are the last of their kind. It is comforting when they find love and companionship with each other.

Childhood friends to lovers only gets more profound in the presence of severe childhood trauma. When I think of the horror of The Trials, I really get in my fucking feelings. The idea of either of them being alone through it is too horrible to ponder. So I want them to comfort each other. And for that friendship to grow into love? Oh god. I just. I love that.

They strike me as a pair who can be quiet with each other, who can sit somewhere and whittle or look at the fire, and never have to speak.

They would understand each other without a word, and no matter how long they are apart on the path, it would be like no time has passed when they reunite.

The fic: breathe into my hands; i'll cup them like a glass to drink from, by @inber

Geralt is nervous about the additional rounds of trials and Eskel comforts him. Explicit.

Why I love this fic:

Their chemistry is so achingly sweet and nervous and their friendship is so evident.

The writing is evocative and vivid. (Inber is always fantastic)

Geralt has a loving and safe first experience, which my god after everything he goes through he deserves such a thing.

Eskel is the way I like Eskel. Protective and gentle.

Further recommendations:

@djarining has a series of ficlets with moments from their youth. Her writing is beautiful and makes your heart ache.

Love Looks Not With Eyes by @rawrkinjd . I cannot fully express how much I love this one. Eskel is a flower fairy and lives in a garden. Geralt and Ciri move into the house.

Stones by @madamemeduse is a sweet, touching ficlet about Geralt coping with his worries about Eskel.

@bawdybean has a longfic Finding Center that is a work of love for Eskel, and is endgame Geral/Eskel. It is sometimes incredibly heartbreaking because it follows videogame lore including the sacking of Kaer Morhen, how Eskel gets his scars, and times when Geralt is with other people. It is also full of heart, vivid emotions, character development, memorable oc’s, and incredibly well done sex scenes.

Honestly, it pains me to stop listing fics, some of the best writers in this fandom write this ship. So all I can say is...go forth and find more.

3. The ship. Lambert x Aiden.

Why I love the ship:

To explain this ship, we have to start with Lambert, the youngest Kaer Morhen witcher. He is known as being the angry, smartass one who is resentful of being a witcher, and you know what? He is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CORRECT. Being made a witcher was not a fucking favor. It was an atrocity. And it also means that his only support system (Geralt, Eskel) is inextricably tied to some of his worst trauma.

And who is Aiden? In the game, Lambert says that Aiden was the best man he’s ever met (to Geralt! A damn good man himself!), and he spends years trying to avenge Aiden’s death.

So how did Aiden, this cat witcher with ambiguous ethics, who no one else seems to have known, inspire that kind of consuming, undying, devoted love in crusty ass Lambert, even after his death?

We don’t know. But it’s compelling. It compels me.

So we imagine it together. Aiden occupies a liminal space between canon and fanon.

Aiden is a witcher, but he is from a different school, so they have intense commonality but also it gives Lambert some space from his past.

I just love watching closed off Lambert melt like an angry little icicle in the spring.

I love when fic writers have them call each other pup or kitty. IT’S CUTE, SUE ME.

The fic: Be Alive while I'm Here, by @imperfectkreis

Lambert and Aiden compete on the same contract. One wants to kill the ogre and one wants to lift the curse. Over the course of meeting up again and again, Feelings Occur. (Explicit)

Why I love his fic

It gives me the meet-ugly I crave with Lambert x Aiden.

Lambert’s development of feelings is gradual and believable.

Aiden teaches him other ways to be a witcher. He validates his anger. He encourages him to forgive himself and accepts him for who he is.

Aiden swaggers, and teases, and challenges Lambert, until one day Lambert realizes...uh-oh

By the end, oh Lambert is in love and it's beautiful.

Additional recs:

These Are a Few of My Least Hated Things, by @stfustucky Please, even if you don’t normally read modern AU, I beg of you give this fic a chance. The wolves run a bakery called Kaer Morsels and Lambert is in charge of making the rude and bawdy pastries. Aiden is a delivery guy who throws him for a loop. Their dynamic imagined so beautifully. It’s funny and heartwarming and insanely sexy.

I don't look for trouble, trouble looks for me!, by @lynge81 Lambert x Aiden meet on the path and fight monsters together and fall in love. It has all the humor and banter and feels I look for in these fics. You can tell that Lynge is super passionate about these characters, so the way they are developed is distinct and done with love.

Fun and Games, by @dapandapod Sweet, adorable, first kiss one shot.

Explicit, scorching hot ‘reunited and it feels so good’ fics:

Spring Thaw , by @crimsonherbarium

If You're Gonna Mess Me Up (Don't Do It Slow), by @writinglizards

4. The Ship: Yennefer x Tissaia

Why I love this ship.

Sometimes being a queer woman means that I am trash for intense complicated fictional wlw relationship. It also means that I’m extremely attracted to Tissaia de Vries. So here we go.

Tissaia and Yennefer are so similar in some ways (passionate, stubborn as fuck, resilient), so they have this connection. But the gulf of their differences are so vast that their bond reshapes the other on a fundamental level.

I find that dynamic rich and fascinating.

Tissaia is unbelievably stubborn, strong, and resilient. But in a way, she has always colored within the lines. She runs an educational institution, which is inherently ‘within’ a system of power.

Yen matches her in passion and stubbornness but is also rebellious in a way that Tissaia has never conceived of. Tissaia sees her rebellion as selfish at first. And Yennefer sees her clinging to the power structure as weak.

But their connection is so strong and profound that they are able to reshape the other. Yennefer sees that working as a team to save innocent lives is meaningful. And Tissaia ultimately chooses empowering Yen over controlling her. She helps her become the hero she was meant to be.

LET YOUR CHAOS EXPLODE. That moment DID THINGS to me. Their chemistry was electric.

The fic: And If I Recover (Will You Be My Comfort), by kapua on AO3.

With Tissaia’s health and life in the balance, they find the courage to say things that they’ve needed to say for awhile. (The AO3 doesn’t list a tumblr)

Why I love this fic.

SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL YEARNING.

It’s tender, sincere, soft, and sexy.

It is everything I wanted for them, and gives me closure for the battle of sodden.

The writing flows and is just full of warmth and affection for the characters.

Writer has so much Yennaia, including an adorable one where Tissaia is a librarian and Yen needs to use the printer.

More recommendations;

Sliding into Her DMs and Her Heart by @jzxr7 Tissaia is a senator and Yen is a movie star who drunkenly hits on her via Twitter. It’s amazing. This writer has SO MUCH great Yennaia, including several creative modern AU’s like this.

Some super hot PWPs in canon-verse.

Is this supposed to shock me?, by @magicsophicorn Tissaia walks in on the magical orgy instead of Geralt, and teaches Yen a very sexy lesson.

Yennefer the distraction, by tissaias_piglet on AO3. Yen keeps distracting Tissaia at these council meetings.

Whispers, by @lovefoodmusic Disturbing Tissaia’s work has some very sexy consequences.

5. The ship: Yennefer and Jaskier

Why i love this ship

I can’t resist a rivalry that melts into love. A heap of bitchiness just barely obscuring a chaotic, passionate love.

Maybe some people even still think they hate each other because of their banter. But then someone harrasses or hurts Jaskier, and Yen turns that person’s dick into an eclair.

Then they make out.

So yes, I love the banter and chaos potential. HOWEVER, I ALSO love the potential for softness and affection. Yen has a similar thing to Geralt where her trauma and abuse has caused her to shut people out. I love the idea of Jaskier melting that.

So really, this ship can be anywhere on the range of hilarity, hate sex, or achingly gentle healing love. (Some fics nail all of these at once) It’s versatile, babes.

The fic: so tight i'd bruise you, by @ric0cheted

Why I love this fic.

Mainly, because the writing is so good it makes you want to punch something. (Not from anger but from an excess of love)

It’s rare that a fic writer can get both voices SO SPOT ON that you can SEE them as you read. (Believe me, as a fic writer, this is difficult. We are almost always noticeably better at one or the other.)

It nails Yennefer’s protective hostility being slowly but surely chipped away. It requires you to read between the lines a bit because it’s from her perspective. And that’s half the fun.

You feel so deeply for both of them: Jaskier, who thinks he has fallen first and is terrified of showing it and being pushed away. And Yen, who has also fallen but is terrified of vulnerability and is denying it until the dead last minute possible.

It is part of a two part series, but I started with this, the second part. I had done a search to exclude Geralt tags because I really wanted to read about JUST the two of them, (which, unsurprisingly is actually kind of difficult to find) and this one came up. I realized afterwards that it is technically sort of pre-poly but it focuses on these two so much that I’m putting it here. (I’m doing a separate poly-rec post)

More recommendations:

I Found a Home in Your Touch, by @unremarkablegirl This is short one shot with sunsets, comfortable silences, and hand holding. It’s a warm blanket for your soul.

i made it through the wilderness, by @some-stars Jaskier accidentally reveals that he had a horrible first sexual experience, so Yen roleplays a do over. This one will sneak up on you with a (loving) punch straight to your feels.

Your body, like sugar and spice, by @feraljaskier Jaskier gets pegged and he loves it 🔥

the poet's wish, by @limerental I have already rec’ed limerental for Yengilla, but their 100k slowburn Yenskier enemies to lovers is the most ambitious AU for Yen x Jaskier (no Geralt related jealousy or heartbreak. Just the two of them with their own story) in the fandom. And it’s beautifully written.

So, that was a few of the extra rare rarepairs and fics that have caught the attention of this humble multishipper. Again, I know sometimes people don’t like rec threads because people feel left out. I am a writer too, and ofc I know that feeling. I just think it’s still worth it to do. What else are we going to do? Never hype each other???

So help me add to it and rb with your fic, or your fave if I missed it.

Witcher dividers by @firefly-graphics

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [95]

xi. etherea

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: language, angst, anxiety.

Summary: an unexpected reunion shocks you in more ways than one.

a/n: I can’t believe we’re on 95!!! how are we so close to the end omg??!! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Word of Anders' death and Diyoza’s sacrifice travels quickly, and Cadogan comes to find all of you, shocked and still standing outside the machine room door. You are all led to his personal quarters, encouraged to eat and sleep and rest, with the promise to meet again in a few hours. Miller, Raven, Hope, Jordan, and Niylah all crash in the giant bedroom, but you, Clarke, Octavia, Echo, and Gabriel are all too wired or hungry to sleep, and you sit together in the large dining room of the Shepherd. It’s not long before food, real food, not just nutrition bars, is brought to you, and you look it over before you exchange a look with the others. “They were capable of food like this the whole time? Why the hell were we eating all that bland stuff?”

“Guess they didn't want to waste it on some low level disciples.”

You wish you had enough of an appetite to eat the first real meal that’s been offered to you in ages, but your stomach is tied in knots, wrapped tight with anxiety. You shake your head and plop into a seat beside Clarke, her eyes locked on a wall across the room, and you reach out to squeeze her hand, trying to pull her out of her head. Gabriel and Octavia each take a seat at the table while Echo remains standing, choosing to pace the room as her brain processes the last few hours and what she nearly did before you all arrived. Diyoza’s death hangs over the room like a wet blanket, and though you only knew her for a few months, it still hurts you to know that she’s gone. It hurts you worse when you realize the loss that Octavia and Hope must be feeling. 

Octavia sits and picks at her food, unable to stomach it right now, but Gabriel sits nearby, hungrily eating anything within his reach, looking over all of you with a nod. “Thank God for the Flame. Doubt they'd serve us saji bowls in jail.��

Octavia eventually gives up on the prospect of stomaching anything, dropping her spoon into her bowl and looking at Gabriel in disbelief. “How could you eat right now?”

Echo looks over at Gabriel, reminding you and him of a memory that feels so long ago now, when Orlando was preparing you for your mission to Bardo. “He can always eat.”

If it were any other moment, you’d laugh. But with Diyoza’s death over your head and the looming possibility for severe punishment for both Hope and Echo, you’re too tense to laugh. Clarke must think the same thing, because she abruptly stands from her chair and glances over at the only man in the room. “Gabriel's right. If they didn't believe I had the Flame, we'd be in cells.”

She starts to cross the room, towards the door, and you stand and call out to her. “Where are you going?”

“To wake the others. It's time to go back to Sanctum.”

Gabriel glances her way, pausing his feast to shake his head. “Clarke, we're under house arrest.”

“I'm aware of that. I'm also aware our leverage disappears the moment he puts me in front of that stone.”

You lock eyes with your twin, starting to guess where this is going. “So what are you gonna do?”

“I'm gonna offer to do it as soon as the rest of you are safely back on Sanctum.” 

Octavia stands, instantly disagreeing, “Clarke, they'll kill you.”

Echo adds, “You are not sacrificing yourself for us.”

You stare at your twin, shaking your head, letting her know her plan is completely out of the question. “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m leaving you here with these people.”

She doesn't get the chance to argue back, because the door behind her slides open, and someone announces, “Make way for the Shepherd.”

You take the few steps separating you and Clarke, so you can stand by her side, and Octavia shifts closer to the two of you. Gabriel stands and moves around the table, along with Echo, all of you united on one side, mentally preparing yourselves for anything. As the disciples step into the room, they move apart, making room for Bill before a few more disciples pull up the rear. As soon as Clarke locks eyes with Bill, she starts, “We need to talk. I'm ready to help you, but only after my friends are…”

She trails off when Cadogan turns and motions towards the door, and confused, you all turn to see what he’s motioning towards, watching as a heavily bearded man in a large coat shuffles into the room. It takes a second for you to recognize him, your eyes finding the freckles along his face and the warm eyes beneath an unruly mop of hair, but as soon as you recognize him, you nearly collapse, reaching out for Clarke as you mutter, “Bellamy?”

He nods a little, confirming what you already knew, and you swear all of the air leaves your lungs. Your knees feel weak, tears springing to your eyes and spilling over your face as your body starts to move, you and Octavia both walking towards him. But in doing so, you trigger a reaction from the room full of guards, all of them lifting weapons towards you, freezing you in place. You stare at him, stunned, and your brain struggles to form more words, stumbling over a long list of questions before you manage to gasp, “How?”

Echo, sounding just as shocked, adds, “We saw you die.”

Octavia shifts a little, and you can hear her sniffle as she stares at her big brother, in awe to see that he is alive and well. “It's hard to keep the Blakes down.”

The room is silent, no one sure what to say, but from the corner of your eye, you see Clarke glancing at you and Octavia, able to see that the two of you are practically buzzing, unable to hold back your reunions much longer. She turns her gaze to Bill, using her status as the chosen one to demand, “Let them hug him.”

He stares at her for a long second, and you think he’s going to say no, but then a smile crosses his features and he commands, “Stand down.”

You turn to look at Octavia, whose eyes are on you and you nod towards Bellamy, knowing she likely wants to hug her brother first. She smiles at you in thanks before stepping forward and tugging him into a hug, and you watch on with a smile, happy to see the reunion. Octavia steps away and makes room for you to hug him, and you glance at Clarke before you do, exchanging a silent conversation. Should you warn him? Clarke gives you an imperceptible nod, both of you aware of the dangers of Bellamy accidentally slipping up because he’s not in the loop. You’re lucky Gabriel was in the room when Clarke arrived, able to clue her in to play along, saving all of your lives as you work to get off Bardo. You step forward and pull Bellamy into your arms, relishing in the feel of him, smiling as his arms wrap around your back, returning the hug. A hug that is five years, three months, and two days in the making. A hug that you have longed for since you first arrived on Skyring. A hug you nearly drowned for, learned to play disciple for. You want nothing more than to kiss him, whisk him away to some private room and tell him everything, show him how much you’ve missed him, but you know you’ll have time for that later. Right now, you have an audience and you have a mission, so you lean forward and whisper into his ear, “The key is the Flame. They think it's still in Clarke’s head, say nothing.”

You pull away with a smile, your eyes never leaving Bellamy as Cadogan announces, “I hope that now you're ready to help us, Clarke. Too much blood has been spilled. Each death is a child of Earth who won't transcend. I'll give you time to reunite while we make preparations.”

Clarke nods in agreement, and you glance at your twin, tears on her face, just as happy to see her best friend alive. Cadogan turns and starts to leave the room, and just as he reaches the door, Bellamy speaks for the first time, his words shocking you all into silence. “My Shepherd.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open a little, and you see Clarke and Octavia’s smiles drop as you all turn to stare at Bellamy, who has now turned towards Bill. “There's something you should know: Clarke doesn't have the Key. The Flame was destroyed, I'm sorry.”

You swear you’ve never been more stunned in your entire life.

And it’s only later, after Cadogan has the disciples drag everyone into a cell, after your fiance has betrayed you, that you realize something is wrong. You were so blinded by your joy at seeing him alive that you didn't even stop to really process his appearance. Not just the long hair or thick clothes, but the blank expression he gave all of you as soon as he stepped in the room. Any other time he would have burst in and tugged you and Octavia both into hugs, initiating the hugs first, not waiting for you to come to him. But now he just looks at all of you as if you’re a stranger.

And the realization hurts. The betrayal hurts too. You thought Bellamy joining Pike or not telling you about Echo was the worst thing he could ever do to you. But now you see that this is. 

Whatever the hell this actually is.

You pray to the Universe that it’s a fluke. He’s playing a part, knows something that you don't.

But something deep in your gut is telling you it’s not a fluke, and he’s not paying an angle.

Deep down, you know that Bellamy is lost to you.

Now, he’s a believer.

Now, he’s a disciple.

Which means that now, he is your enemy. 

-

next chapter

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (7)

Till Then

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Well, it’s spooky season! You know what that means? OH BOY SPOOKFEST!!!

FF.net | Ao3 

--

This investigation was not going well. 

First of all, she hadn’t attended the funeral. Perhaps she should have, to keep up appearances, but she couldn’t stomach sitting through the service while knowing there were no bodies in the caskets. 

It was wrong. 

She gave poor excuses to Alya and Nino, and skipped it. Maybe if she had gone, she could have learned more, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t stand it. 

Later that evening, Ladybug made a visit to the cemetery where the family crypt was. She allowed Tikki to do the actual investigating. She phased into the dirt of the freshly buried, unmarked grave, and concurred, it was the same coffin from before, with only sandbags inside. 

Gabriel’s too, over at the crypt. 

“Not much else to glean from this place,” Tikki said sadly. “Where to next?” 

“Actually,” Marinette wondered. “I have a hunch. Could you check Emilie’s casket too? She’s been dead for a while, so I apologize if what you see is…awful.” 

“I’ve seen worse. I’ll take a look!” 

Marinette waited anxiously, biting into her thumb nail. She really hoped she was wrong. Really really hoped. 

Tikki reappeared, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re hunch was right. Emilie’s is just sandbags too.” 

She groaned, dread bleeding into her bones. “Damn it.”

“Maybe they’re all together?” 

“At this point, I don’t know if I should even hope for that. Emilie has been gone for years. Wherever she is…I doubt we’ll ever find her, let alone Adrien and Plagg.” 

“We’re not giving up though, right?”

“Of course not!” 

Marinette knew she had a chance of answers at the funeral home. The director knew more than he was letting on, but she had asked too many questions as Marinette, and going in to interrogate him as Ladybug would probably put her identity in jeopardy. She’d have to think on that one, and try to find a way around it. 

Now for the ‘basement’.

Till then, my darling, please wait for me

Till then, no matter when it will be

Someday I know I'll be back again

Please wait till then

Since Felix had confirmed that the Mansion didn’t have a basement, she assumed the office building did. Nowhere else did Gabriel or Adrien spend a significant amount of time. 

While the workers were still on their vacation, she went in. There was still a secretary, though she was dressed in casual clothes, and the doors were closed to the public. 

“Hi Miss Dupain-Cheng. Working today?”

“Um, something like that. Organizing some stuff.” 

“Alright, well, let me know if you need anything. I’m just here to tell clients that we’re off for a while.”

Marinette smiled. “Thank you. Um...perhaps, do you know if there’s a basement?”

“Basement? Uh...there might be one. I’m not sure. The main elevator doesn’t go there.”

“Alright. I’ll look around then,” she smiled patiently and bid the woman adieu. 

The building was unsettling without anyone in it. Half the lights were turned down, and the only sounds were the hum of the air conditioning and her footsteps echoing in the dim hallways. 

Several years ago, when she had first started, she was given a tour. A tour that seemed so unimportant then, she was scraping for now. There was a back staircase, in case of fire. That much she could remember. 

The big iron door slammed shut behind her as she entered the stairs. There was a door with an Exit sign over it, the outside world on the other side. A set of stairs went up and around, to every floor above. 

But there was one more door. Labelled with a big ‘SS’ for ‘Sous-sol’. 

‘Basement’, in French.   

“Tikki! I found it!” She said to her purse. 

“Great job! Let’s get to the bottom of things!” 

Marinette screwed up her lips. “Pun intended?”

“In memory of Chat Noir, yes.” 

“That is what he would have said, isn’t it? God, I miss him so much.” But she decided not to mourn her best friend in the dank, spider-infested stairwell. 

Of course, the door was locked. 

“Nothing is ever simple, is it? I wonder who would have the key. Janitor? Maybe Gabriel has a set in his old office.” 

“Aren’t you forgetting your ultimate skeleton key?” Tikki asked. 

“...um, yes, apparently.” 

Tikki flew from the purse, and phased through the door handle. It clicked a moment later, and the handle turned. 

“Wow, you’re convenient. Remind me to ask for favors in breaking and entering more often.” 

“Anything for you, Marinette!” 

She felt along the wall, found a lightswitch, and turned it on. Deep below, a few scant lights flickered to life. 

And in the columns of flickering light stood silhouetted figures. Still, waiting. 

Marinette held her breath, afraid she had been caught. 

“Tikki…” She readied herself to transform the moment they moved. She was still in the dark, they wouldn’t have seen her. 

Seconds ticked on. They stood, never flinching, never so much as breathing. 

“Oh my god, they’re mannequins,” she breathed. “I mean, duh but holy shit that was terrifying.” 

She descended the stairs, one at a time, still being quiet, and keeping her eyes glued to the forms. 

They didn’t move, because they were plastic, and as she drew closer to them, she realized how fake they were. 

They weren’t even good mannequins. The paint was chipping and the proportions looked odd. 

“These go in shop windows, right?” Asked Tikki. “I’ve seen a few from your purse.” 

“That’s right. These look really old. I’m surprised they haven’t been recycled.” 

“Is this what Adrien wanted you to see?”

“I doubt it. What would mannequins have to do with anything?”

Tikki shrugged too, and looked around.     

It was the worst three hours of her life. 

But because Adrien had used what was presumably his dying words to tell her to look here, she scoped that place out thoroughly. She named all the mannequins, to try to take the edge off. It didn’t really help, but it made ‘James’ the eerily realistic mannequin that stood in the shadows a little more friendly instead of a murderer in waiting. 

There was nothing there except old clothes, rejected materials, and a whole lot of new friends that Marinette never wanted to see again. 

As Marinette pushed aside the 9th box filled with 70’s paisley shirts, she sighed. “I think...I think I’m looking in the wrong place.” 

“I agree,” Tikki said, her antenna drooping. “I think we should have found something by now, right?” 

“I couldn’t even find any inspiration down here.” 

In the corner of her eye, she saw something, and turned quickly. 

“What?” Said Tikki wearily, already knowing what was wrong. 

“Another freaking mannequin! I swear they’re moving when I’m not looking at them!” 

“They can’t do that.” 

“I know that, but my eyes are tired and my heart is on the edge, and coffee isn’t working on my brain anymore!” 

“I think we should leave then. Maybe try looking at the mansion again. Maybe there’s a basement that Felix didn’t know about.”

At that moment, her phone chirped with a message from Nathalie. 

Please don’t forget, tomorrow, despite it being Saturday, your presence is required at the Agreste Manor. Gabriel’s Last Will and Testament will be reviewed, and you have been named. Since Mr. Agreste is so famous, we have asked all beneficiaries to attend. Sunday, you have off.

“Well, looks like I have an excuse to go back to the mansion after all. Probably should get in there and explore quickly. I have no idea what’s going to happen to it in the wake of...well, you know.” 

“Someone is probably going to inherit it. Probably Felix now. He seemed rather friendly at the funeral. He might let you snoop.”

“Friendly?” 

“More than usual, at least. But who knows how long that will last.” 

“If I have to show my cards to investigate, I will. If Ladybug has to break in, I will. I’m not going down in silence.”

 Our dreams will live though we are apart

Our love I know we'll keep in our hearts

Till then, when all the world will be free

Please wait for me

True to form, she arrived the next day at the mansion. 

As she came into the parlor, where many people were gathered, Felix caught her eye. He jerked his head, gesturing for her to come sit by him. 

As she sat, she looked at the others gathered. She recognized Nathalie, of course, Amelie and Felix, and Mayor Bourgeois. There were a few other people she didn’t know. One she had seen at the company, but she couldn’t remember his name right now. 

“So,” she asked softly. “Is the lawyer going to read the Will out?” 

Felix scoffed. “They don’t do that anymore. We’re just all going to get a copy, and the lawyer will be here if we have questions. Normally, I’m pretty sure they mail it, but I heard that the Will is sealed so they wanted us to get it in person.” 

“Sealed?” 

“Meaning no one else can read it. Last Wills and Testaments are public records after death. Unless they are sealed.” 

“Uh. I didn’t know any of that. This is my first time being in a Will. Well, I think my dad has one, but he’s still alive.” 

“Good for you.” 

“That is—I mean—I wasn’t trying to—“ 

“Just shut up, Dupain-Cheng.” He chuckled. “You are so sensitive.” 

She just childishly stuck her tongue out at him. 

A moment later, Nathalie and a white haired gentleman arrived. 

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming. This is Dr. Nathaniel Grey, the Agreste family lawyer and executor of their estate. Now, everyone listed in the Will will receive a copy. Each copy has the same content, but for convenience, I have highlighted your name.” And she started to hand out the packets, calling out names as she did so.

Some of the strangers had the last name ‘Agreste’ so they had to have been related to Gabriel. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

Marinette held out her hand to receive the thick white envelope. 

“Oh Felix!” Amelie cooed. “Emilie left you her corvette! She loved that car, I know she’d be proud for you to have it.” 

“I’ve seen it. Beautiful classic car. I’m honored.” As much of an ass as he was, Felix sounded genuine in that sentiment. 

To not seem too eager, Marinette carefully opened the envelope. As she did, she tried to imagine what he would have left her. A share in the company maybe? Maybe a family sewing machine? Nothing much, surely.

She unfurled the sheet and wow that was a lot of pink. 

“What the hell?” Felix gasped, looking over her shoulder. He glanced back at his page, and frowned in confusion. “No offense Marinette, but what the hell?”

“I…I don’t even know…” She glanced over the assets willed to her. 

Gabriel left her the mansion.

Up until that moment, she had forgotten she was supposed to be looking for a new place after Nino and Alya got married. She had mentioned it to Gabriel once, off-handed, and he seemed to not really care. 

But if he left the house to her, could he have cared more than she thought? 

The mansion wasn’t the only thing he left to her, either. He left his share of the company stocks, as well as trusts and bonds. Marinette had become a multi-millionaire. 

“What’s the meaning of this, Dr. Grey!?” A woman shouted. 

The shout drew all attention to her. She was a rail thin, tall woman, with high cheek bones and blonde-white hair tied up in a bun. 

“What seems to be the problem, Madam Laurent?”

“I was left a small fraction of stock and my mother’s ashes, but this—this half breed harlot gets the entire estate!?” 

Marinette flinched, feeling guilty and wholly undeserving of Mr. Agreste’s gift. 

Thankfully, Nathalie of all people came to her aid. “Miss Dupain-Cheng has been working tirelessly and closely with Gabriel to continue his brand. She’s been named head designer for his company, and everything left to her is to help in that endeavor.”

As she and Felix looked over the list of gifts, she wondered how true that was. 

“But I’m his sister!” Said Madam Laurent. “I take precedence over her!”

“Not with a will, you don’t.” Dr. Grey explained. “Children are the only protected heirs in French law. The rest of his estate is his to do with as he pleases.” 

Marinette looked back at all the pink highlights. She began to wonder if they served a purpose in distracting everyone from the obvious. 

Adrien wasn’t on there. Not once. 

Although there are oceans we must cross

And mountains that we must climb

I know every gain must have a loss,

So pray that our loss is nothing but time

He couldn’t be disinherited from the Will, not under French law. And yet he was missing…like the Will had been drawn up with the knowledge that Adrien wouldn’t be alive once it was valid. 

Pale and shaking, Marinette turned to look at Felix. 

“Don’t let her get to you, Kid,” he nudged her, taking her appearance for still being put off by the woman. “Gabriel’s family has always been lower middle class, before he became famous. She probably just wanted a bunch of money…whereas most of it was my Aunt’s and it was returned to our family. Does that make sense?”

Marinette shook her head, and then whispered. “Adrien isn’t here.” 

He gave her a soft smile. “Yeah, I know. He’s gone, Marinette.” 

“No!” She shouted, then hushed herself as the others turned to look. “No, I mean…he’s not here.” She pointed at the Will.

Felix grew pale too, and poured over the Will himself. “No way…how…but—maybe it was an assumption. Maybe it was assumed that Adrien was going to inherit half anyway, so he made the Will in case something happened?” 

“Dr. Grey,” Marinette stood and walked to him. “How old is this version of the Will?” 

Nathalie gave her a sharp look, but didn’t comment. 

“Well, a little over a week, actually. Gabriel called me and asked to make some changes.” 

“And why isn’t his son in here?” She asked, darkly. 

Dr. Grey screwed up his lips. “You know, I don’t know. I told Mr. Agreste what the law was, and he said, ‘just write it up as if Adrien didn’t exist.’ I wonder if he knew what their fate was going to be.” 

Marinette tried not to cry. She really did, but she just clenched the document to her chest and sobbed. 

“Now now, my dear. Don’t be so blue.”

“Adrien isn’t a murderer! He can’t be!” 

“Does it really matter anymore?” The lawyer asked. “The truth of their demise will not be released publicly. Only a handful of people will know. I doubt anyone outside of this room, in fact.” He said it so casually, like nothing was wrong. 

“Didn’t you find it suspicious?” She demanded. 

“No,” said Dr. Grey. “You would be surprised at how many clients have second versions of Wills without a child in it. Whether it’s because they’re hoping something will happen, or they see their child going down a dangerous road. Or perhaps the child is terminally ill and the parent doubts they will survive longer than them. Regardless of the reason, I choose to not ask questions.” 

Marinette wished he had. 

Till then, let's dream of what there will be

Till then, we'll call on each memory

Till then, when I will hold you again

Please wait till then

“Now, did you see the conditions?”

“What?” She sniffed. 

“Here,” Dr. Grey pointed to an asterisk at the end of the mansion item. “This states that there’s a condition applied, and the condition will be on the backside.” 

Marinette wiped her face and turned the paper over. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng must reside within the mansion for ten years. Within that time, she may not redecorate or refurnish any room except for the ‘pink room’. Guests, spouses, and children are welcomed to join her, as long as she is the primary resident. If she is to go on vacation or an extended business trip, the house must be vacant, save for those who would keep it from disrepair. If Miss Dupain-Cheng fails to comply, the house, and all that is in it, must be demolished. It cannot be sold or gifted to anyone until the ten year mark passes.” 

Marinette just continued to stare. “I…that’s…really specific.” 

“More specific than I suggested, but it’s what Mr. Agreste wanted.” 

With a calm expression, but a heart in turmoil, Marinette folded her copy up. “Thank you for your help, Dr. Grey. If you’ll excuse me, I need a minute alone.” She took her copy and quickly walked across the lobby to her office. 

There, on her desk, was a vase with a bouquet of roses. She hadn’t been in here since before the funeral, but they looked fresh. No card though. 

She set the roses to the side, and unfurled the Will once again, laying it flat on the desktop. She poured over every item, not just Willed to her, but to everyone. 

Indeed, there was no sign of Adrien, but also no sign of his property. Did he have his own Will somewhere else?

There was the curious case of Nathalie, who was in the Will, but received only money and trusts. Not an inch of material property, despite her closeness to Gabriel after all these years. 

What did she know? What had she seen? Truthfully, Marinette was too afraid to ask. 

Tomorrow, she would visit City Hall and get the records of the mansion. Hopefully, there were some blueprints in there, and the hidden basement would be found.

Till then, let's dream of what there will be

Till then, we'll call on each memory

Till then, when I will hold you again

Please wait till then

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Revelation

note: Chris Cuomo really is the only person who has the power to make me drop everything and write smut in the middle of the day just bc of one sentence he said on air (I’m obv talking about this) and I hate him a little bit for it (jk I don’t)

words: 1.4 k

warning: swearing (as usual), smut, daddy kink (obv)

Enjoy and sorry for typos and grammar, this came right out of my stupid brain

“I just don’t know what to do! “you whined, throwing up your hands in exasperation.

The decision about whether or not you should take this once-in-a-lifetime job offer had you racking your brain for the last two weeks. You loved the place you were working at right now, it was familiar and safe, the first job you took right out of college. But you were in a dead end now, and this new opportunity meant that you would be able to climb a gigantic step up the career letter, the better salary was also a huge plus.

But with that came a lot of added responsibility, the possibility of long hours and a whole new field of work you had little experience in. The new firm was expecting your decision the next day, and you were freaking out.

You had never been the type of person to just take a leap of faith, you were a careful planner and loved talking things through over and over again before making a decision.

So you talked to the person you trusted most, you boyfriend Chris. He was a couple of years older than you, meaning that he had considerably more career and overall life experience. When you addressed the topic, he went out of his way to help you. You made lists, had hour-long discussions about the pros, cons and how it would influence the life you had together. Chris was definitely in favor of you taking the new job.

“A change of career paths is a normal thing to do, this position would grant you so much more creative space and room to grow professionally. Your current firm is great, but there is nothing left for you to aim for there. You’re only 30, you’re too young to just settle for a job without persepective.” He said, voice already slightly annoyed. You have been talking about this for two weeks now, always going back and forth, and he was starting to get fed up with the topic.

“You’re right, but I’m just so afraid. It’s so much responsibility, and I’ve never worked for a magazine like that before. What if they find out I’m completely useless at writing about fashion, and then I’ll be fired?”

“Babe, they offered you the position. That means they’ve seen your work, and they like it. They want you. Trust me, those changes are necessary. It was such a big risk for me to abandon law and go into journalism instead but look where it got me. If I hadn’t taken that step, maybe I would sit in some law firm now, but I would definitely not be happy. And even as a journalist, I had to take several turns and make changes to get where I am now. It’s part of the journey.”

“I know.” You whined. You had heard all those arguments before, but you just couldn’t make up your mind. Turning to Chris, you pouted a bit and spoke. “I hate making decisions, why can’t you just decide for me.” Hearing that, Chris just shook his head, looking really frustrated now.

“For God’s sake, Y/N, don’t force making that decision on me. I can’t do that for you. I’m not your daddy.”

It was like your brain suddenly decided to completely shut down, the words Chris just said echoing in your head over and over again. You felt a spike of arousal between your legs, clenching them together as you tried to stifle a groan.

“Say that again.” You whispered in a breathy voice.

Chris was visibly confused.

“What, I said I’m not your daddy, why-“

The needy whimper that escaped your mouth at hearing that word again interrupted him, and he looked at you with the most perplexed expression before it dawned on him.

“Fuck, baby.” He murmured as he realized what you were up to. You could see his eyes darken as he was making his way over to you, grabbing you to pull you close. He leaned down to cup your jaw with his huge hand and tilted your head up so you were looking directly at him.

“What do you want to call me, baby?” he asked, voice a low growl now.

“Daddy.” You whimpered, leaning into the touch of his hand.

“Say it again.” He groaned, and you could feel the evidence of arousal starting to push against your stomach. You moaned at how stained his voice sounded, burying your head into his broad chest. “Daddy, please.”

“Do you want daddy to take care of you, baby?” He asked, and roughly squeezed your ass over the fabric of your yoga pants.

“Yes, please touch me, I need you.” You were a total mess just from the few words Chris had said, your panties already drenched as you grinded against the bulge in his sweats.

His huge hands gripped the hem of your pants and pulled them down together with your panties in one swift motion. Seconds later, his fingers were buried in you, pumping in and out of your pussy while you were clinging to him, your knees almost giving out under you.

“Good girl, you’re so wet for daddy.” Chris muttered, his thumb brushing over your clit before harshly pressing down. You could swear that you saw stars for a second as a powerful orgasm ripped through you, making you coat Chris fingers with your arousal.

You collapsed against him, and he picked you up, carrying you over to the couch. He carefully sat you down before quicky pulling down his own pants. His cock sprung free, he was already hard, clearly enjoying this as much as you did.

Chris sat down on the couch and beckoned you over with his finger.

“Come here, baby, you know what to do.” he said, and the deep, wanton tone of his voice would’ve make you do literally anything.

You crawled over to him, climbing on his lap before slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. You cried out at the feeling of being filled like this as you slowly took every inch of him until he was fully settled inside of you.

“Shit, Y/N, you feel so perfect around my cock.” Chris pressed out through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your tights so hard he was definetly leaving marks.

"Move for me, baby.” He groaned, delivering a sharp smack to your ass.

You started bouncing up and down on his cock, whimpering every time you sunk back down and felt him stretching you all over again. The friction was delicious, but you needed more.

"Daddy.” You whimpered. “Fuck me, please. I need more.” For a second, it surprised you how needy your voice was sounding, but you were beyond caring.

With a growl, Chris grabbed your tights and started pushing you up and down on his cock, snapping up his hips to deepen his thrusts. He was handling you like you weighted next to nothing and seeing him use his strength that way turned you on beyond measure. You threw your head back, totally lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re so perfect, baby.” He moaned, “such a good girl for me.”

Hearing those words was like a catalyst, and when Chris roughly pressed you down onto his cock, your climax hit you out of nowhere, making you tremble and shudder as you came. Seeing you falling apart like that pushed him over the edge as well, his iron like grip holding you down as he spent himself deep inside of you with a shout.

For a moment, no one was speaking as you slowly collected yourselves again.

“Wow, that was crazy.” You exclaimed after catching your breath.

“Yeah, I have no idea where that came from.” Chris admitted, pushing his sweat-slick hair out of his forehead before kissing you deeply. “But I really liked it.”

“Me too.” You replied. “Maybe it even convinced me to take that job offer. But I think we have to do it again before I can make a definite decision.”

You winked at him and he playfully smacked your ass in return.

“Everything for you, baby.”

[welllpthisishappening]

The Couples That We Know

Technically speaking, they’re not supposed to be dating. Each other, at least. 

For Killian Jones, there are plenty of reasons to like working at Pendragon Publishing. Good pay, vaguely acceptable benefits, not-that-bad coffee in the break room. But there are also some things he kind of, sort of...hates. Namely the way dating his co-worker is possibly against the rules, and how that means they can’t go to the annual holiday party. Together, at least. 

So, enlisting the help of their best friends only makes sense. Pretend to date other people, avoid any hint of suspicion, and drink all the wine Pendragon’s party-planning committee can offer them. Perfect plan, really. 

----

Rating: Still teen, still with some kissing Word Count: 6.1K AN: As promised, the onslaught of Christmas fic continues. This one somehow has secret dating and fake dating because I know no trope limits. Also it almost sort of follows the prompt @the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt​​ sent in, which was "we’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years." Attempts to follow the prompt were almost made. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your Christmas jam. 

----

“You know, for this to work, you’ve got to actually stop staring at her. At least without quite so much palpable longing.” Opening his mouth, Killian has every intention of announcing how little he’s staring, but that would be a rather awful lie and it’s probably wrong to lie at Christmas. Or at least two and a half weeks before. Plus, Mary Margaret’s face makes even the thought of saying whatever he hadn’t entirely come up with impossible. 

“You going to give me detention?” “I’m seriously considering it.” He sighs. Dramatically. Nearly lets his chin slump towards his chest, which would add more than a fair share of melo to that aforementioned drama, and—“You think this is a dumb idea?” Mary Margaret’s eyes widen. 

Her lips practically disappear when she pushes them together that way, and Killian has to bite the side of his tongue so he doesn’t make some sort of teacher-based quip again. He really cannot afford to get sent to detention. Metaphorical, or otherwise. 

“There’s no possible way for me to tell you, again, how dumb this idea is,” Mary Margaret says, and that might be the most scathing string of words he’s ever heard out of her. Telling Emma suddenly becomes something of a necessity, and that’s a problem. 

The crux of their problem, really. 

Eyes flitting up, Killian ignores the wholly out-of-character sound Mary Margaret lets out when his gaze darts across the room and lingers on hair that’s looking shinier than usual, as if it’s trying to distract him and overwhelm him, and both things happening simultaneously is almost too much for his brain to deal with. When he’s had two glasses of wine, already. 

It’s not the best wine, actually. Killian’s not surprised. Pendragon Publishing is not especially well known for its money-spending efforts, and the annual holiday party is no different. Funded by some half-hearted party committee, that is very likely controlled by just one person, that same person does not appear to have an eye for decorating. If the copious amount of mistletoe hanging everywhere is any indication. 

And the whole thing exists to drive Killian insane. Both the mistletoe, and the party. Or so he will argue. When Mary Margaret inevitably points out what a dumb idea this is, again. 

She’s totally going to say it again. 

“It’s going to work,” Killian mutters, but it sounds inherently unenthusiastic, and Mary Margaret’s eyes cannot widen anymore. They’ll fall out. Which will cause a scene, he imagines. 

And they’re trying to avoid that. 

Or, well—avoid breaking the rules, technically. They don’t want to do that. Because Pendragon might host shitty holiday parties, but it’s one of the most well-known agencies in the Tri-State area, and both Killian and Emma like their jobs. They like each other too. 

Deciding to date wasn’t really part of the plan. But she makes him smile, and he considers the ability to make her consistently laugh one of his better talents, and they’re really good at kissing each other. Which is something they’ve been doing for far longer than anyone realizes. Months, actually. With post-work dinners, and weekends spent together, and Killian has started to find it harder and harder to leave her apartment in the morning, because he keeps staying at her apartment all night, and not proclaiming several rather life-altering strings of words is becoming more and more difficult. 

Which brings them right back to the crux of the problem. Pendragon’s holiday party, and its presumably boxed wine, and dating other employees isn’t explicitly mentioned in the employee handbook, but it’s very likely frowned upon and showing up here together wasn’t a feasible option. No matter how much he wanted it to be. 

Showing with other people, though. That made sense. 

It made—sense adjacent. 

“Did I tell you that you look nice?” Tilting her head, Mary Margaret’s gaze turns appraising and she wasn’t particularly pleased about having to take her ring off. It hangs on a chain that’s only occasionally fallen over the front of her dress, and David thought the whole thing was hysterical. 

He sent “Mary Margaret 101” facts to Killian all week. 

“You don’t have to actually woo me,” Mary Margaret counters, but there’s a bit of color on her cheeks that doesn’t have anything to do with the heat in this rented loft. It’s very warm. 

“No woo’ing, just facts. Should that dress look familiar, though?” “Depends on how often you’re rummaging around the back corner of Emma’s closet.” “Not that often, but—” Mary Margaret nods before he can get the rest of the question out, smiling over the top of her glass. Filled nearly to the brim with wine that may actually be capable of eroding paint. It’s so bad. That’s probably not a metaphor for anything. 

“You’ve really got to stop staring, it makes you look like a crazy person,” she adds, and to prove how capable he is of following direction Killian’s does the exact opposite. Back towards his girlfriend, and there wasn’t really a ton of planning before they dove into the deep end of this totally legitimate, absolutely will not blow up in their face plan. 

Will’s arm is slung over Emma’s shoulders. “Can’t clench your jaw like that, either,” Mary Margaret mutters. Keeping the laugh out of her voice is seemingly impossible. 

And rolling his whole head is juvenile, but Killian’s starting to feel a little drunk. Without any of the fun benefits. His head hurts. “Should have come up with a list.” “I could if you want.” “I do not, no.” Mary Margaret’s smile is a hint more honest, that time. It really is a nice dress. “That’s what I figured,” she says, tugging on his tie familiarly. “But you look like you’re going to challenge your own best friend to a duel.” “Swords are a requirement for that, aren’t they?” “Alexander Hamilton.” “Excuse me?” “Dueled with pistols, so—” “—Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays?” Snickering, Mary Margaret bumps her hip with his and there are at least ten unopened texts from David on Killian’s phone. Demanding update for what he was regularly referring to The Great Idiot Romance of 2020 . Although, he never mentioned that in front of Emma. 

Who very likely would have won that duel, should it have occurred. 

“Alright,” Mary Margaret sighs, like she hasn’t already agreed to a whole night of this, “we should probably mingle, if we’re going to make this look legit.” “Say legit again, please.” She sticks her tongue out. 

“Not a very good argument, Ms. Blanchard,” he chuckles, shifting his hand to the small of her back and he supposes he should eat something. To sop up all the wine. Her expression doesn’t change. Might get more scowl-like, if anything. 

And there’s likely no reason for Emma’s neck to twist the way it does, except something else vaguely melodramatic that Killian cannot think about for the next four hours, but she does and he stands up a little straighter. Presumably, at least. Mary Margaret’s reproachful tongue click is very loud. 

But then Emma’s eyes are widening as well, and her lips are slightly twisted and Killian does a God awful job of winking at her. 

He swears he can hear laugh — across the whole loft. Four hours at this stupid thing, max. Then he’s going to make out with his girlfriend. For possibly four hours straight. Which he imagines is a record of some sort. 

“Food,” Mary Margaret declares, fingers back on his tie and she makes him eat four bacon-covered somethings before they leave the table. 

To mingle. As is required by polite society and Mary Margaret Blanchard soon-to-be Nolan, and Killian quickly loses track of the number of people they smile at and the few others they nod in the general direction of, and he really should have been better prepared soon-to-be to evolve into a problem. He’s not. And Aurora’s gasp catches him off guard.  

“Oh,” she cries, hands flying to her cheeks in the middle of a group of editors congregated by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and at least that’s kind of picturesque. “I didn’t know you were engaged, Killian!”

Every one of his muscles tenses. Freezes, making Killian’s ability to stay upright all the more impressive, and it’s nothing except instinct when his gaze practically flies towards Emma. 

Who immediately tugs her lips behind her teeth, Will’s eyes widening to a size that would be comical in any other situation. 

Mary Margaret’s jaw works — trying to find an excuse, or an explanation, but there’s not any of those things and Killian finds himself nodding again. “Yeah, yeah,” he stammers, “that’s, uh—we are totally engaged.”

“Selling it,” Mary Margaret murmurs through clenched teeth, and he considers it an exceptionally large miracle that he doesn’t point that out. She’s not doing a good job of playing her role now, either. 

Aurora doesn’t notice. Another miracle. ‘Tis the season, or whatever. “So,” she presses, “have you set a date or—” Strictly speaking, biology was never one of Killian’s better school subjects, but he’s starting to wonder just how much stress the muscles in his neck can continue to cope with, and he’s all too aware of how much he’s beginning to resemble a bobblehead.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’re, uh—” Licking his lips doesn’t help their overall state, floundering under the expectant stare of half a dozen coworkers who are now heavily invested in a wholly fake relationship, and Mary Margaret’s hand threatens to crack several of his knuckles. When she laces her fingers through his. 

“Thinking next winter,” she says, sounding more honest than anything else they’ve told these people. “City’s basically all decorated for us, already, you know?”

Aurora does know, it seems. 

Her nod isn’t as erratic as Killian’s, is far more enthusiastic — complete with wide eyes that practically announce her interest, and the hammering of his heart against his ribcage makes it difficult to hear the footsteps that are moving towards them. 

Will looks far too entertained. 

Emma’s lips are still missing in action. “Couldn’t help but overhear,” Will drawls, and the duel is starting to sound very appealing, “sounds like congratulations are in order.” He’s going to kill him. Killian’s going to let go of Mary Margaret’s impressively tight grip, and he’s going to use both of his hands to strangle his best friend. Or at least ensure that he’s deprived of enough oxygen that he doesn’t continue talking. 

He will enjoy it. Thoroughly. 

Lifting her eyebrows when neither Mary Margaret nor Killian respond to this supposed stranger’s proclamation, Emma’s exhale is inappropriately loud. Rife with guilt, and an emotion Killian can’t quite name because being jealous of her best friend’s engagement to someone else is as absurd as anything they’ve done tonight, but it’s also kind of nice and— “Aurora, this is Will,” Emma introduces, and he’s actually got the gall to smirk in Killian’s direction. Before thrusting his hand forward, smiling a bit more good-naturedly at Aurora, who only looks slightly confused. 

That’s fair. 

All of this is flying off the rails, and Killian briefly considers how much of a scene it would cause if he barreled into the kitchen demanding better alcohol choices. It’s probably not worth it. 

“Nice to meet you,” Aurora says, like an actual human. With normal, human thought processes and presumably fewer holiday-based lies to deal with. “We were just talking about Killian and Mary Margaret’s wedding.”

Blood floods his mouth, and Killian’s only slightly worried about running out of tongue to bite before the night is over. Mary Margaret’s fingers somehow tighten even more, threatening the blood flow to his entire right hand, and Emma is very interested in the state of her shoes. 

“That’s absolutely what it sounded like,” Will grins, “when’s the happy day?” Glaring without making it obvious is actually difficult. Killian widens his eyes, but that only makes the width of Will’s mouth increase — like some literary cat, and Emma’s eyes keep closing for prolonged periods of time. Like at least several seconds. 

“Next winter,” Killian bites out, “we’re getting married next winter.” “Decided on a location, yet? Gotta get that stuff in early from what I’ve heard.” “Have you just?”

Will nods, shoulders shifting ever so slightly. Like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. It’s not entirely working. 

Maybe they should apologize to Aurora. 

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Will says, “wedding industry’s cutthroat like that. Plan months in advance, and even then you might not get your first choice.” “That’s definitely true,” Aurora agrees, and maybe Killian will just topple over. Sit down on the floor and drink an entire box of wine, and he doesn’t think anyone else notices when Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. “When Phillip and I got married, we went through a couple different venues before we found one that worked with our date.” “Sounds hectic,” Killian mumbles. Talking was a mistake. His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, Emma’s gaze snapping up in unspoken warning, and he’s worried he’s using up his miracle supply. So as not to cry out at the overall force of Mary Margaret’s fingers. 

All five of which were apparently blessed with mutant-type strength. 

“Luckily we’ve got that covered,” she says, brightly and only a little disingenuous. 

Emma blinks. “Yeah?” “Yup. Did you know you can get a permit for a Central Park wedding for like fifteen bucks?” “Wow, that’s—that sounds really nice, actually.” “Depends on whether or not it snows, but—” Mary Margaret shrugs, and none of them are lying anymore. Well, at least not quite as blatantly as five seconds before. Will’s smile almost looks legitimate. 

“You’re thinking of an outdoor wedding?” Aurora asks. “In the winter?” Another shrug, hints of color rising on Mary Margaret’s cheeks. “Early December, and we probably won’t be outside for very long. Mostly just the ceremony, and some of the pictures. There’s a certain kind of romanticism to the city in December, isn’t there?” Aurora doesn’t look overly convinced. Killian barely notices — is admittedly very preoccupied with the look on Emma’s face, and how it almost feels a little wistful and maybe just as romantic and not kissing her is somehow a victory and loss all at the same time. 

“You know,” Aurora says slowly, like she’s about to impart a crucial piece of information on them, “if we’re being honest, I am actually surprised this is happening.” One of Killian’s fingers flutters. Where it’s tangled with Mary Margaret’s, and Emma hasn’t blinked in years. Possibly longer. “Weddings? Or another wonderful event put on by Pendragon?”

“Bet they didn’t try and find this venue that far in advance,” Will mumbles. Emma closes her eyes. That’s like—half a blink, at least. 

Aurora shakes her head, still looking far more serious than the situation requires. “No, no, no, well...you and Emma are always together at work, aren’t you?”

Breathing is a challenge. 

Gritting his teeth less so, the overall tension in Killian’s jaw threatening to do permanent damage. Emma hasn’t opened her eyes yet. 

“We’re friends,” he reasons, and if he were actually engaged to Mary Margaret he’d be almost offended by this whole conversation. 

Lying likely robs him of any right to relationship-based offense, though. 

“Oh no, no, I know,” Aurora says, without sounding entirely honest, “and I’m sure it’ll be a gorgeous wedding. Just—if we had to guess, I think most people at Pendragon would have thought it’d be the two of you.” If nothing else, this night has provided a massive insight into all the facial expressions Mary Margaret is capable of making. At least half a dozen that Killian was previously unaware of, including the current one — a mix of disgust and appropriate scandal, and Killian resists the urge to point out that he and Emma probably couldn’t date, even if they wanted to, which they are, but that’s...that’s beside the point. 

Entirely. Like a different hemisphere from the point.

Aurora gives a tight-lipped smile.

“When did you and—” Will clicks his teeth, effectively redirecting the conversation. “—Phillip, was it?” Aurora hums. “Guessing you two didn’t get married in the winter, did you?” Whatever else she says gets lost in the buzz between Killian’s ears, the overall state of his heart continuing to threaten the structural integrity of his ribs, and Mary Margaret gives his hand several squeezes. To recapture his attention and whatever professionalism he’s barely clinging to, and she’d been right about romanticism. 

Of which he’s clearly bordering on hopeless at this point. 

Emma smiles. 

And Aurora excuses herself eventually — Phillip appearing like an unknowing brunette knight in conversational-armor, all four of them nearly exhaling in tandem. 

“So,” Will says, “scale of one to ten, how much did we suck at that?” “A forty-seven,” Mary Margaret replies, head lolling onto Killian’s shoulder while he finally lets out the scoff that’s been bubbling in the center of his throat.

“Next winter, huh? For real?” She makes a noise that’s presumably some sort of agreement, and Emma’s smile doesn’t waver. “Thinking about it. If Scarlet will double check with Belle about taking pictures in front of the library.” “Public property,” he replies, “don’t have to double check.” “But can we go inside at some point?” Killian asks. 

“Wimping out about temperature already?” “Expressing concerns, like Aurora who is—” “—A wedding genius, apparently,” Emma mutters, and Mary Margaret’s shoulders shake. She still hasn’t touched her wine. Eventually that will prove important. 

“Got a lot of opinions when it comes to other people’s plans, at least.”

“Eh,” Will argues, “did we give her much of a chance to delve into those opinions, or was Killian too busy making eyes at Emma?”

Continuing to open his mouth without actually saying any words is frustrating. For Killian. And the state of his heart, which cannot seem to find a rhythm anymore. Especially when Emma flushes, and threatens to stare a hole into the floor and of the two dresses she owns that are currently making the rounds at this party, the one she’s actually wearing is better. 

Probably because she’s wearing it. 

“I told you,” Mary Margaret grumbles, without any of her previous ability to chastise. She sounds almost amused. 

“Although,” Will adds, “Emma’s not doing much better, so—” Huffing out a breath only serves to flutter the few strands of hair that frame either side of Emma’s face, and that’s only vaguely messing with Killian’s perception of...reality, maybe. “Ok, you do not get to point out my own,” she leans closer, like that will help the volume of her next few words, “fake relationship shortcomings.” “Why not? It’s making all of this endlessly entertaining.” “I’m a better fake date than you,” Mary Margaret says. “You had to use your own wedding plans because you can’t take your ring off.” “That is nice!” People likely don’t turn the way Killian’s brain has already convinced him they do, but every one of Emma’s teeth is visible when she grits them like that and both of their potentially-obvious fake dates look properly ashamed. 

“Sorry,” Will grumbles, while Mary Margaret twists her heel and whispers, “no more wedding talk, I promise.” Emma laughs. That’s—surprising. And it’s not quite the laugh Killian’s also started claiming as his, but that feels almost possessive, and she’s definitely carrying less tension between her shoulders than he is. “I think that ship has sailed,” she says. “Should have thought about your outfit beforehand.” “Killian likes the dress,” Mary Margaret smiles. 

“Yeah, well Killian likes me, so…” Tugging Emma against his side, Will lets out another noise that will only garner them more attention, and people are starting to dance. The party fund could not afford a band. Or a DJ. Or anything more than what sounds like slightly muffled speakers and someone’s Spotify premium account. Killian hopes it’s premium, at least. 

Hearing ads in the middle of this instrumental Christmas music might be the last straw. For his sanity.  

“Well,” Will says, “if Mary Margaret’s going to start planning weddings, then I guess I do have to step my game up. C’mon, Em—let’s show ‘em what we’ve got.”

“And what do we have, exactly?” “Impeccable rhythm, and the lingering knowledge of a Groupon dance class.” “Do people still use Groupon?” Emma challenges, and Killian loves her an absolutely ridiculous amount. For several thousand things, but at this very moment, it’s mostly how her voice causes Will’s eyes to bug again and his tongue to poke between his lips and maybe the whole night isn’t a total disaster. He should tell her he loves her. 

Sooner rather than later. 

“My girlfriend,” Will replies, “who will totally be able to sneak Mary Margaret and David into the New York Public Library to avoid frostbite and ensure very pretty pictures, presumably on that fancy staircase they’ve got.” “Nothing sets the tone for a winter wedding like some casual breaking and entering,” Killian says, barely containing his grunt when Mary Margaret’s foot shifts. On top of his. 

Emma rolls her eyes. 

They’re just playing the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas now. 

“We’d appreciate whatever rules Belle could break for us,” Mary Margaret promises, “and will not mention that she’s the only person still using Groupon. Like, in the world.”

Will’s tongue is going to dry out. “Get on my fake date level, almost-Nolan.” “Shout that louder, please,” Emma groans. “And does the staircase not have a name? Fancy staircase cannot possibly be the acceptable vernacular.” “Probably not, because no one actual uses the word vernacular in actual conversation. Now you’re just trying to show off.” “Sound suspiciously like you’re impressed with my vast vocabulary, Scarlet.”

“Product of your profession.” “Grand, I think,” Killian says, fully prepared for Emma’s slightly parted lips. He will argue he’s prepared, at least. One of his knees does threaten to buckle though, and Will’s current eye-roll rate cannot possibly be healthy. 

“The profession?”

“The staircase.”

“Oh. That’s pretty lame, actually. It doesn’t have like a—staircase sponsor?” “Not that I’m aware of, but the entrance hall is called Astor Hall.” “Similar to the place of the same name?” Will quips. “Or—” “—The guy from the Titanic?” Mary Margaret finishes. “Why do you know about this?”

Killian lifts one shoulder. The one not currently providing rest for Mary Margaret’s head. “I know everything, a good fake-girlfriend would know that.” “And a legitimate girlfriend would dispute that,” Emma says, “plus, the Astors own or have endowed like half of New York. This is not impressive knowledge, and don’t get Mary Margaret talking about Titanic, she’ll start waxing poetic about Leonardo DiCaprio.” “I do have a longstanding crush on Leonardo DiCaprio,” Mary Margaret admits. “If I start quoting things about a real party and point out that Kate Winslet was willing to dance, will that get you guys to move?” Will demands. “Because we’re starting to draw attention and that’s probably not going to help our quest.” “It’s a quest now?” Killian asks. 

“Way more dramatic that way, so yeah.” “Please don’t start quoting Titanic at me,” Emma requests, pulling on the front of Will’s jacket and it’s a testament to their dedication to this ridiculous plan, or quest, that he wore a jacket. No matter how bad a plan it might be. 

Or quest. Whatever, honestly. 

“Alright,” she continues, “show off the lessons, or I’ll make fun of you for the foreseeable future.” Will winks. Not well, but possibly better than Killian is capable of, and he’s going to blame the wine. “Prepare to be absolutely wowed, m’dear.”

Rolling her eyes doesn’t do anything to shift the smile off Emma’s face, although she does look at Killian before she moves and the jealousy clouding his overall sense of being is as antiquated as the music and as absurd as anything else. 

Impressive, considering their overall barometer for absurd. 

“When do you think Aurora got married?” Killian asks, rolling his head towards a sympathetic-looking Mary Margaret. “Spring? June? That’s cliché, right?” “June,” she echoes. “Probably required her dozen bridesmaids to help her hand-make table favors, too. Just to really drive the point home. You want something else to drink?” “Yes, obviously.” Narrowing her eyes slightly when she nods, makes it more difficult to look at her — but that might also have something to do with the amount of alcohol Killian’s already consumed, and he really does appreciate how often Mary Margaret keeps making him eat. Even when it appears everything on this catering menu comes with bacon. “Don’t do that, ok?” he asks, at least two of their allotted four party-hours later. 

She lifts her eyebrows. “Keep texting my fiancé?” “Maybe you are the worse fake date.” “Well, you’re speaking in tongues now, so—” Shrugging, Mary Margaret’s shoulder doesn’t collide with Killian’s, but he’s also starting to feel a little buzzed. And hating bacon. And possibly happiness. On principle. 

Will and Emma keep dancing. Which also keeps them from having to interact with anyone else, but his buzzed-mind doesn’t care, and this whole thing was mostly his idea and that’s starting to really annoy him. 

That might be his base setting at this point.

“Bacon,” Killian clarifies, “don’t allow the national obsession with bacon to affect your food decisions when you—” Footsteps move by them, curious eyes and he’s not a frog, so his blood cannot possibly run cold. Plus, it’s honestly way too warm in this room. “We,” he amends, somehow rushing over two letters, and Mary Margaret noticeably sags against his side. “What was that about this being a dumb idea?” “Ah, getting fired at Christmas-time sucks. How will you buy us all presents, then?” Laughing helps loosen the knot of emotion that’s been growing increasingly tight in Killian’s chest, and the ends of Mary Margaret’s lips quirk up when he kisses the top of her hair. “Bacon is vastly overrated, though,” she adds, “people are obsessed with it.” “It’s weird, right?” “Definitely. Should I apologize for getting you engaged against your will?” Kissing her hair again is easier than responding, because responding might force Killian to contend with a lot of life-type plans he’s only half concocted, and he really should tell Emma he loves her first. Like, more than he realized. 

Until he had to pretend he didn’t. 

“Nah, but you can explain it to David because I don’t want my story to get interrupted when he inevitably starts laughing.” “You wanna dance?” Smirking at her does not have the same effect it has on Emma. And that’s definitely a good thing, but Killian’s drifting towards melancholy and the music isn’t instrumental anymore. Michael Bublé is a Christmas requirement, though. 

He flips his wrist. 

“Sweep you off your feet, Miss Blanchard.” She’s closing in on Will for number of pointed, if not passably amused, eye rolls. Still, Mary Margaret’s hand lands in his, and Emma’s eyes definitely drift towards them — which is as bad as it is good, and Michael Bublé’s version Santa Baby might actually be the worst thing that’s happened to any of them. All night. 

“Not exactly the pinnacle of music, is it?” Killian mumbles, and Mary Margaret hasn’t stepped on his foot. Or pointed out how close they linger to Will and Emma, both of whom look as unenthused by the music choices. 

And maybe it’s because he keeps staring, or possibly because Will is not the asshole he likes to pretend to be, but Killian is not entirely prepared for his friend to spin his fake date closer, or mutter something about cutting in that makes Mary Margaret laugh and Emma’s jaw drop and she steps on his foot. 

It’s the best thing that’s happened to him. All night. 

“We are not good at this,” Emma says, but she doesn’t sound all that upset about it and the buzz between his ears lessens. Turns into something warm and hopeful, and she’s close enough that he can smell her shampoo. 

“Something to be said for effort though, right?” “I’m not sure we’re making much of an effort.”

Nosing at her hair proves her point, but Killian’s—an idiot, and willing to blame romance, and the holiday season, and all the wine. So much. Even more bacon. God, he hates bacon. “Scarlet’s not subtle. And you look incredible.” “Do those sentiments go together?” “No,” Killian answers, “but true all the same.” “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Twirling her away, only to bring her back just as quickly, Killian doesn’t try very hard to avoid the smirk. So, he’s kind of a glutton too. For punishment, and poorly-timed emotions, and there’s a rather obvious glint in Emma’s eyes that leaves him breathless. Plus, she sort of slams back into his chest. “God,” she grumbles, “lacking some grace, huh?” “Eh, we’ll get there.” “Will we just?” He only realizes what he’s said when he notices the way her voice drops — rasped between lips that are redder than usual, and difficult to hear over goddamn Michael Bublé, and he’s totally staring at her lips. Obviously, he’s sure. “Yeah,” Killian nods. “Guaranteed.”

Part of him worries. Suddenly, Immediately. Overwhelming—ly. But Emma doesn’t move, and they’re more swaying than dancing now, and Mary Margaret’s footsteps are rushed. In a dramatic, everything is blowing up sort of way. 

That sucks, admittedly. 

“What are you—” Emma starts, but Mary Margaret just shakes her head. Yanking on Killian’s sleeve, she threatens to rip the fabric and he’s never heard her use any of those words. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hisses. 

Killian tilts his head. “Be more specific.”

“Lance Sinqua is here. Is he supposed to be here? Why didn't either of you tell me he was going to be here?”

“He works in acquisitions, I think.” “I thought you knew everything,” Emma teases, and he has to bite the other side of his tongue. To stop from kissing her. 

Making out, more like. “I’ve had a lot of wine,” Killian reasons, “Should I be more concerned about why Sinqua being at his own holiday party is a problem?” Swatting at his side with both hands, Mary Margaret all but snarls. Emma looks appropriately surprised. “I know him,” Mary Margaret says, pausing between every word for emphasis. “And he has seen me.” What feels like the weight of several words and half a dozen ridiculous plans and/or quests fall into the pit of Killian’s stomach. Where they immediately crush a variety of internal organs. “Will’s distracting him now,” Mary Margaret explains, “but—he doesn’t know David personally, just that I’ve got a boyfriend—” “—Fiancé,” Emma corrects lightly, but the tone changes again and Killian’s never gone into shock before. He assumes it feels suspiciously like this. 

“I do not care; at all. Just—Killian, you’ve got to come. Now. Like right now.”

Nodding hurts his neck again, but Killian’s legs move on their own and his hand finds Mary Margaret’s and thinking about the look on Emma’s face isn’t healthy. Makes him want to stand on a table, or something equally absurd. Shout several things from several different rooftops, and he wonders if she’ll have to wear a red dress for the wedding. 

The real one, not whatever one he and Mary Margaret are going to lie about.

And to his credit, Will’s attempts to run distraction do look admirable. Moving hands and a nearly legitimate smile, while Lance nods in interest and continued conversation, and Killian squeezes Mary Margaret’s hand. In what he hopes is solidarity. 

“Hey,” Will exhales, as soon as he sees them, “here he is.” Killian’s cheeks ache. “Present and accounted for. You must be Lance, Mary Margaret said you’re old friends.” “Ah, I don’t know about old,” Lance objects, “but certainly the rest of it. I didn’t know she’d be here, would have asked you guys for drinks before or something.”

There’s really no word for the sound Mary Margaret makes at that. Part squeak, and what sounds like an admission, but that says a lot more about Killian’s growing guilt and residual jealousy and—

“How long have you two been engaged?” 

Racking his brain, Killian’s had too much to drink for this. He’s dimly aware of Mary Margaret swaying closer to him, Will’s grimace all but broadcasting how unprepared they are for that particular question, but it also seems like he’s trying to tell Killian something. He does not understand. Fuck boxed wine, quite frankly. 

He opts for honesty. 

Sort of.

It worked for Mary Margaret, after all. 

Sort of. 

“We’ve, uh—” Killian starts, “—been engaged only a couple of weeks, but...we’ve been dating since March.”

Will’s shoulders droop. His eyes turn imploring, but he can’t actually say anything and Lance is, so it absolutely does not matter. “March?” he echoes. “Your friend said it was kind of a whirlwind romance. Got together in the summer.” His mouth does more than open. His jaw drops, nearly to his ankles and shoes that he actually got polished because this party isn’t super important, but Killian wanted to look nice on his fake date and Mary Margaret’s hand is the only reason he doesn’t fall over. 

“Ah,” Killian breathes, “right. That’s—yeah, that’s right.” Lance doesn’t look convinced, either. He should go talk to Aurora. Who keeps glancing at Emma, like she’s got like SONAR. Joke doesn’t even make sense. In Killian’s head. 

“We’ve been celebrating a bunch of different anniversaries,” Mary Margaret cuts in, speaking so quickly it’s as if that lie jumps out of her mouth, does cartwheels and then gets a four from the Russian judge for lack of proper execution. “Y'know...romance, and everything. He’s uh—Killian must be thinking of when we met.” Lance quirks an eyebrow. He might hate Lance. He definitely hates Lance. “You’ve only known each other since March.” “Oh my God,” Will mumbles, scratching behind his ear. And really, that’s not what does it. But it’s certainly a tipping point, or a metaphorical straw, and Killian nods once before he lifts Mary Margaret’s hand to his mouth, mumbles thanks against her knuckles and marches directly towards his actual girlfriend. 

Who is standing directly under the mistletoe. 

It’d be more impressive if she wasn’t, honestly. 

And the music doesn’t stop — although Killian can’t really hear it either, an arm finding Emma’s waist, and her hands landing flat against his chest and someone cheers. Will. It’s definitely Will. Heads turn towards them, surprise coloring more than a few of their co-workers faces, while others look...less so. 

Killian doesn’t bother dwelling on that. He’s got more important things to do. 

“I’m pretty ridiculously in love with you,” he says, Emma’s eyes getting brighter and her lips as distracting as ever. Several of the less-than-surprised faces aww. Audibly. Which doesn’t quite make sense, but he’s still not dwelling and—“Not admitting to dating you is driving me nuts.” “When is your lease up?” “What?” “Were those words confusing in that order?” Emma asks, infusing the question with false confidence that he can hear perfectly and she should have confidence in spades. At least when it comes to this. 

Maybe if they get to keep their jobs. 

“A little,” Killian concedes. “Are you—do you want me to move in with you?” “A ridiculous amount.”

“That’s admittedly not the best adjective I could have used.” “Eh, I won’t get particular with syntax.” “Stop showing off,” Will yells, “and kiss other directly on the mouth!”

There’s a general hum of agreement — even while Lance continues to look a little confused, and Aurora looks a little offended, both of which makes sense because they were fairly awful liars, and someone’s given Arthur a microphone. So the owner of Pendragon Publishing can tell them, “Literally everyone knew, you both suck at not making out in the break room.”

Heat wafts off Emma, climbs up Killian’s neck and takes root in both of his cheeks and Arthur is not done. 

“It’s not encouraged. Intra-office relationships, usually way more trouble than they’re worth, but, well—all you really need to do is sign some paperwork with HR and maybe find some other corners that are less obvious.” Nodding slowly only makes it more obvious the kind of strain all of Killian’s muscles are under, but he can’t come up with a feasible response to that and Emma’s fingers curl. Into his shirt, and he imagines that makes it easier — when she yanks him forward, lips slanting over his and she doesn’t have to push up the way she normally does. Still, Killian’s fairly certain he hears one of her heels pop out of her shoes, and if this is how it feels when a heart beats its way out of a person’s chest, it’s actually fairly comfortable. 

“I love you too,” Emma mumbles, against his mouth. So, the only reasonable response is to kiss her again. Several times over. 

And they do fill out paperwork, eventually — the story of the fake date fiasco, as David comes to call it, perfect fodder for Emma’s maid of honor speech, and proof positive of the inherent romanticism of the city at Christmas. 

[bgn846]

Together At Last a/b/o ffxv ot4 fic

Noct was so done with this bullshit, this had to stop. Knocking loudly on the door to Gladio and Ignis’ apartment Noct waited for an answer. They were home he knew this much, it was their date night. Pushing aside his slight wave of guilt at interrupting them he twisted his face into a scowl. This was serious, their stupid actions were making Prompto feel bad, he was sure of it.

Finally, he heard noise from inside and the small light from the peephole briefly faded. The door opened immediately afterward and Ignis was there looking an equal mix of worried and confused. “Highness, is everything alright? I thought you were staying at home this evening with Prompto?”

Seeing Ignis start to fret was doing things to his inner alpha, and they weren’t even together like that. Working to stay focused Noct tried to steer his teenage brain back on track. This was about his future beta, not Ignis. “No, everything is not alright!” he spit out while crossing his arms, Gladio did this all the time it looked intimidating enough.

“What’s happened, do we need to call Cor? Is Prompto alright? Where is he?” Ignis asked rapid-fire as he moved aside to allow him entry.

“Princess, what the hell are you doin’ here?” Gladio asked as he joined them in the hallway.

Forgetting his plan Noct barged in past Ignis and got right up in Gladio’s face. “I’m here because you two are making Prompto upset!”

“Whoa, hey, no need to be all crazy!” Gladio shouted back. “We didn’t do anything wrong, what’s this all about?”

“Is he alright?” Ignis tried once more, it was clear he was worried.

Ignoring the question, Noct continued to glare daggers at both of them. “He cried today because of whatever game you two are playing!” Unfurling his arms he pointed a finger directly in Gladio’s face and then to Ignis.

“We are not playing any games, I can assure you,” Ignis responded quickly. “Please, will you tell us what’s happened?”

“You two should know! Seriously this is stupid I can’t believe you’d pull this shit. You know I love him and this is what you do?” Noct couldn’t believe his friends would have treated Prompto so badly. His best friend had been acting strangely for nearly a month and today it was the worst. His beta had cried and when Noct questioned him about it Prompto refused to say. The only hint Noct had was when he mentioned possibly talking to Gladio and Ignis, Prompto had flipped out. They’d done something to him Noct was sure of it!

“We haven’t done anything to Prompto, I swear!” Gladio exclaimed. “You need to calm down and explain yourself.”

Hearing Gladio dismiss him so easily made Noct’s alpha tendencies flare, all rational thought was rapidly beginning to lose out to his anger. Before he realized what was happening Noct was yelling at Gladio and trying to hit him. His shield deflected his attempts which only made Noct madder. Vaguely aware of hands-on him Noct growled and tried to hit Gladio once more. His focus was solely on the other alpha in front of him. Then out of nowhere a sour scent filled the air and Noct snapped back to the moment with alarming clarity.

Ignis was standing between them holding his head with one hand. The other was blindly reaching out for something stable. Gladio had already moved to grab his arm. “Babe?! Fuck, did you get hit?” he asked with worry.

“No, its – you both – it’s too much,” Ignis managed before he listed to the side and Gladio caught him. “Your scents are too strong,” he added with a whine.

“Shit, sorry, how can I help?”

“Dunno,” Ignis hissed right before his legs buckled and Gladio carefully lowered him to the floor.  

“Are you in pain? What’s wrong? Talk to me please,” asked Gladio in a panic. It was obvious that he was very worried.

Without thinking, Noct kneeled down nearby and went to reach out to touch Ignis’ shoulder. Something in his brain was screaming at him to comfort Ignis. The urge to protect his friend was the strongest it had ever been. Unable to understand this new sensation he simply went along with what his inner alpha wanted.  That is until Gladio hugged Ignis close and growled at him.

Noct couldn’t stop himself from growling back and leaning into Gladio’s space. How dare he display such aggressive behavior, they were friends after all. Still unsure why he was feeling so off Noct continued to counter Gladio’s growls with his own.

“Not helping, not helping, not helping,” Ignis whimpered from where he was practically sandwiched between them.

Gladio stopped his alpha display the second Ignis fell quiet. “Sorry babe, I don’t know what to do to help, do we need to go to the doctor?” he asked leaning back to give them some space.

“Six no, you two need to bloody calm down.”

“I’m fine!” Noct replied in a huff.

“Hardly!” Ignis snapped right before he reached up and grabbed a fist full of Noct’s hair and pulled, hard.

The action caused Noct to lose his balance and he fell forward only catching himself just before the floor met his face. Surprisingly, this seemed to calm him down. The hand in his hair pulled slightly to get him to sit up.

“Listen carefully highness, where is Prompto?” Ignis asked with his hand still gripping Noct’s hair.

“My apartment,” he whispered, all the fight leaving his system.

“Does he know where you are?”

“No.” The hand in his hair tugged a little harder and Noct swore he heard Ignis growl under his breath. The sight was very surreal since he was still being cradled in Gladio’s arms like a baby.

“Have you been remembering to take your suppressants?”  

Noct nodded as best he could with Ignis iron grip holding his head in place. “The little blue bottle, yeah.”

Ignis let out a groan and finally released him. “Highness, the little blue bottle is your vitamin supplement. The orange bottle with the label that says monitrixan is your suppressant.”

“Since when?” Noct asked bewildered.

“Since I told you they changed it three months ago. I think you may be going into a rut.”

“No, no, no that can’t be right, I feel fine, I feel, I --.”

“Like a raging asshole?” Gladio finished.

“Oh gods, no I can’t be going into a rut, I won’t be able to hang out with Prompto. What if I try and take advantage?”

“I think we should discuss this with your boyfriend, in person!” Ignis huffed as he attempted to sit up. “He’s alone in your apartment and upset about something you’ve yet to tell us about.”

The severity of his actions came crashing down right at that moment and Noct couldn’t help but double over on the floor and cry out. He was such a jerk, oh gods, he’d left his best friend and future mate all by himself just because he wanted to yell for no good reason.

“Enough dawdling lets go there now, we can all talk together. I have a feeling I may know what’s going on.”

“You do?” Gladio and he asked in unison.

“Have you not considered how things have been changing between us all this year? How comfortable we all are together, the way Gladio tries to protect Prompto as much as me when we are out. It’s the same with you. Even just now you let me manhandle you. That’s not normal for a non-bonded pair.

“You’re my omega I’m gonna listen to you no matter what,” Noct blurted before he could think clearly. “Shit!” covering his mouth quickly Noct looked between Gladio and Ignis trying to see if they were upset or not.

Gladio barked out a laugh and relaxed slightly. “Damn kid, no wonder you were so protective of Iggy a minute ago.”

“How can I feel like this and not even realize it!” Noct wailed.

“Your emotions are a little out of it at the moment due to your unplanned rut coming. I suggest we go check on Prompto and talk more. Can you call him and see if he answers, he’s probably worried.”

“Yeah ah sure thing,” Noct tried to fish his phone out to call Prompto but he got instantly distracted when Gladio started to help Ignis stand up. Rushing over Noct grabbed Ignis to help.

“Highness, I don’t need help carrying Iggy,” Gladio chided as he fully stood with Ignis in his arms.

“I can walk,” Ignis added dryly.

“We’ll see about that,” said Gladio right before he put Ignis down on his own two feet. Noct again scrambled to keep Ignis upright as he swayed to the side.

“I won’t carry you but you cannot walk unaided,” Gladio admonished.

“Who’s driving?” Ignis asked ignoring Gladio’s comment.

“I had a car take me here, it’s still downstairs.”

“Even better, shall we?” Ignis offered as he tried to walk towards the door. Gladio was there to haul him upright when he stumbled.

“Do alpha scents really affect you that much?” Noct queried suddenly feeling very guilty for being the cause.

“I feel you both a little stronger than I would others since we are so close. Now, enough chit chat we need to go see Prompto.”

--

Prompto had long since abandoned his cocoon of blankets on the sofa, Noct had left nearly an hour ago and he’d still not returned. It was clear from his scent that he wasn’t mad at Prompto, but something was still off. Resigned to waiting for his friend to return Prompto tried not to worry. Things had taken an unexpected turn recently and he had no idea how to handle his feelings on the matter.

Then when Noct had asked him about it he’d flipped out and run to hide like a little kid. Noct had even offered to call Gladio and Ignis for help, oh, that had really freaked Prompto out. Those were the last two people he wanted to see. The feelings he’d been having were making him question his own relationship with Noct.

When he wouldn’t say what exactly was wrong Noct had thrown a tantrum and stormed off saying he’d fix things and that he’d be back. Unable to think of what Noct could have meant he paced the apartment and waited.

His ring tone broke the silence and Prompto snatched it off the coffee table to answer. “Hello? Noct?”

“Hey, um are you okay?”

“No, where are you? When are you coming back?” Before Noct could answer Prompto heard voices in the background. It was Ignis, shit, Noct had gone to get help despite what he’d said. “Are you bringing Ignis and Gladio over?”

“Yeah we are only a few minutes away, I’m so sorry for running out like that, we need to talk.” Again Prompto heard other voices, it seemed Ignis was saying they all needed to talk and that things would be alright. “I can go home and you guys can talk I don’t want to interrupt.”

“No!” Noct yelped, “Please don’t leave, dude we need to talk I’ve been a total asshole today and like I messed up my suppressants and shit, and I’m going into a rut, and I growled at Gladio earlier, and I tried to protect Ignis from him it’s nuts, I’m going insane. I really need you right now.”

“W-what? What do you mean you tried to protect him?”

“I think it's better if we talk in person, I’m feeling kinda flighty and Ignis helps.”

Prompto’s mind was reeling, Ignis helps? What the hell does that mean? Well, Prompto did actually know what that meant; he’d discovered this himself recently. Ignis being an omega had a really uncanny ability to calm him down with his scent. This combined with Gladio getting suddenly more clingy with him had begun to make Prompto feel things. Good things but things that he was still scared to explore.

“Prompto? Hey Prom, dude don’t bail on me now.”

“I’m here,” Prompto squeaked.

“Do I make you dizzy at all? I made Ignis get dizzy today cause I’m such a dick.” Ignis faint voice broke through telling Noct he was fine and to stop fretting.  “I mean Gladio did too but he and I – shit I dunno man—gah --  Prompto I’m a fucking mess right now. I hate going into a rut without warning.”

Suddenly worried about how Noct was going to handle his unwanted rut Prompto began overthinking everything. “I should go, for real if you’re going into a rut then that’s bad for me since I’m not bonded with you yet.”

“Prompto! Don’t leave! I’m serious we are pulling into the garage right now I’ll be up in a minute,” Noct babbled and then he hung up.

Standing frozen in the middle of the living room Prompto waited for Noct and the others to arrive. He’d missed his opportunity to run; now he had to face them all. However, when the sound of keys in the door signaled their arrival he was wholly unprepared for what came in. Noct burst in first looking crazed. The moment he spotted Prompto he ran over and hugged him fiercely.  Next Gladio came in with Ignis’ arm draped over his shoulder.

“I assure you I’m fine will you let me go!” The advisor requested trying to pull away.

“No, you’re gonna fall over like you almost did in the garage, and in the elevator, and in the damn hallway,” accused Gladio.

Ignis sighed loudly and steered Gladio closer, once he was within reach Prompto could only brace for the impact of Ignis grabbing his arm for support instead. “Are you alright? Noct refuses to tell us what has happened and I’m very worried.”

Looking at Ignis up close, the man seemed almost drunk. He was flushed in the face and holding him tightly. Forgetting his own issues for a second Prompto began questioning Ignis, he had a very strong desire to make sure Ignis was alright before they did anything else. “Are you hurt?”

“What? No, no, I’m – uh – I think, what did you say in the car dear?” Ignis asked over his shoulder as Gladio wandered away.

“You’re high on pheromones right now.”

“Yes! That!”

“But why? What happened?”

“Noct and Gladio began behaving like little miscreants and caused me to get dizzy.”

“Miscre—what? Please someone tell me what’s going on?!” Prompto cried.

“We were growling at each other and Specs got dizzy and then since we both felt really bad we tried to make him feel better with like a good scent, ya know? And now he’s sorta loopy because of it.”

“Loopy indeed!” Ignis huffed. “Prompto, we need to sit and talk, preferably on the couch so I don’t have to walk.”

--

Prompto stared idly at the little orange pill bottle on the coffee table, the label still fresh from where it had been ignored in the medicine cabinet for three months. Ignis had just finished explaining what he thought was happening and had gone quiet. If it weren’t for the fact that Noct was holding his right hand and Ignis his left, he may have tried to run away. Thank the six he was a beta, Prompto knew that if he was an omega he’d have had a heart attack long ago.  Already having anxiety about certain things would only get amplified being an omega.

Taking a big breath Prompto decided to voice his thoughts, it was what they were all waiting for after all. “Soooo, you’re telling me that little bottle right there triggered this whole thing, right?”

Ignis hummed in agreement but didn’t say anything more.

“Just to double-check, I’m not the only one who feels this way, like we’ve all been feeling it? I know you said Noct called you his omega and he’s already calling me his beta even though we aren’t bonded yet.” Prompto paused to gather courage for what he was about to say. “Um, so, like, you’re saying we could be a – a pack?”

Ignis nodded and squeezed his hand, Gladio smiled and nodded as well. That only left Noct, who wasn’t really in his right mind, but he had to get an answer from him too. Turning to his future alpha he smiled hoping Noct would admit his feelings.

“What? Why –why are you looking at me like that?” He sputtered. “I’m working really hard to not be a total jerk right now, what’d I do now?”

“You’re a lost cause buddy, I know you are acting oddly because of your rut coming but like do you want to be a pack?” Prompto asked hopefully.

“Yes! I mean yeah, sure, I think so,” correct Noct as he looked around at them and blushed.

“I still can’t believe we were all crushing on each other for the past few months and didn’t realize it!” lamented Prompto.

“Yes, well I didn’t exactly pick up on what was happening either; it seems we were all in the dark about our feelings. I do wish we’d noticed sooner though, I hate to think of you feeling upset just because you couldn’t categorize the new feelings you were experiencing.” Ignis sighed as he calmly rubbed his thumb across Prompto’s hand.

“And to think, we’d have still been in the dark if princess over there didn’t screw up his meds and turn into a total dickhead.”

“We’d have found out eventually,” Ignis added quickly. “We simply have a dramatic how we got together story now.”

“Dramatic? More like dimwitted,” joked Gladio.

“Hey! I didn’t mean to mess up stuff I just wanted Prompto to be happy and he was sad and I didn’t know it was because he liked you two and was afraid to tell me and like I didn’t know I felt the same way and I’m sorry!” Noct blabbered.

Prompto was starting to enjoy Noct’s loose-lipped nature but he knew other things came with a rut besides odd behavior patterns. “So ah, what are you going to do about your um, you know, needs?”

“Huh?” Noct asked with a blank look.

“What he always does, watch TV, whine at me for food, and go off to his bedroom to handle things, literally,” Ignis chimed in.

“Can’t Prompto come with me this time though?” Noct pleaded.

“Oh, no highness, you’re not bonded yet so that’s not happening.”  

“Yeah, I’m not exactly ready for that either yet, sorry buddy.” He and Noct hadn’t really gotten that intimate and Prompto definitely wanted to save it for when he wasn’t in a rut.

Noct started to whine but gave up and pouted instead.

“I can always help you out if you need,” Gladio teased from his spot in the armchair. “Iggy always says I’m the best, you can find out for yourself.”

“Gahhhhh no, not yet, not ready for that! I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Suit yourself.”

Prompto felt Ignis shift beside him and he turned to see the man watching him intently. “I suppose we will have a few new things to figure out now that we are to be together as a pack. Keeping Noct from going insane during a rut wasn’t what I hoped would be our first activity together but we must start somewhere.”

“I still can’t believe this is happening, we’re gonna be a pack!”

“I’m so happy we all feel the same way,” Ignis added.

“Well at least now we’ll all be mindful to not let Noct skip his suppressant medication,” Prompto replied.

“Yeah, he’s a right little asshole when he’s not in control of his alpha side,” Gladio cut in as he stood and came over to ruffle Prompto’s hair. “I’m gonna go make sure princess’ man cave is ready for later. I know what he’ll need. You two can handle him for now?”

Prompto nodded and looked over to Noct who’d remained silent and was leaning heavily into his shoulder. Maybe the day’s events had finally worn him out. “We’re all in this together now Noct, don’t worry we’ll all take care of you.” https://archiveofourown.org/works/32335489

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 22

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

You’re not sure where you are. You think you’re awake, blinking several times but there’s nothing except all-consuming darkness. 

“H-Hello?” you call out, throat on fire. You’ve never been this thirsty in all your life. There’s a haze of confusion, the heat of your own body, the sensation of blood boiling in your veins, but the air around you is frigid. 

Are you dead? Where is Sam?

Fear blooms in your chest as you pat along the floor, feeling for any sign of your surroundings. There’s cold stone under your palms. You feel further along, trying to find a wall only to realize there are bindings around your wrists. You panic, pulling both arms toward your body as a heavy chain rattles cold and heavy over your legs. 

“Help me!” You shout, curling into a ball, trembling in fear. “Is anyone there? I need help!”

A thousand thoughts collide at once. Have you been kidnapped? Are you dead? Where is your husband? All you want is Sam to appear and explain what’s happening. 

“Sam!” you call out. “I’m here!” 

For a long time, you sit there and cry, the panic coming in surges, bringing with it sweat and heat and desperation. You pull at your bonds, tugging and thrashing until you think you’ll break your arm. There’s a warm wet trickle sliding down your right arm and you know it’s blood, the cuff around your wrist has sliced through the skin and if you keep fighting the chains you’re afraid of doing irreparable damage. 

During the worst of it you writhe and scream, sure that you’re in the pits of hell, locked away, alone and chained for all eternity. At some point, you wear yourself out like an exhausted toddler after a fit and fall asleep on the ground in a cold sweat. 

When you wake the second time, you’re prepared for your surroundings. But you also feel different. There’s an ache in your stomach as if you’ve eaten something that doesn’t agree with you and surely you have a fever. 

Somewhere in the distance, there’s the dripping of water falling. Looking toward the sound you focus in and see a faint flickering in the distance, the only sign of life so far. The discomfort in your stomach spreads upward, bringing with it nausea and sense of...longing? No, that’s not it but it’s a strange need sparking to life. 

The sound of the water grows louder. The longer you stare into the distance the more you realize you can see a far off glow of a torch. Your wrists are sore from trying to escape but you suddenly feel strong. There’s no explaining it, but a determination sets in and you’re sure that you can free yourself. 

“Pull yourself together,” you whisper. You stand, slapping your cheeks to focus on the task at hand and then you push forward with every last vestige of strength within you. The metal holds and for a moment you think your wrist will snap, but instead, the cuffs crack. First, one, then the next, leaving you breathlessly victorious in the dark. 

Carefully you move in the dark, mindful of not tripping. But as you walk you discover that you can in fact see. It’s muted, but you can discern the outline of the stone that covers the floor and the doorway near the end of the room. 

There’s a long, winding hall in both directions with half-burnt torches lighting each direction. You look both ways, unsure of where to go, but fear guides you to move. Right seems like as good a choice as any.

After walking for what seems like a lifetime, you come upon another Y. One of the halls is lit, the other ominously dark, ready to swallow you up. Closing your eyes you send up a prayer and follow the flames. The tunnel curls away into infinite nothingness.You shudder, feeling your brain starting to go hazy, searching for a way out. Should you go back?  

Eventually, the tunnel opens up into a tall room and you’re met with the sight of an enormous statue. You recognize it as a larger version of the same statue in the Great Hall. This is King John, and to his right is a stone carving of Queen Mary. 

Sam’s parents. You’re in the catacombs of your own castle. 

What could this mean? The implications are endless, but at least you haven’t been kidnapped. You’re thankful for that. 

A few fears whirl to life in the back of your brain. What’s happened to your husband? However you ended up here, Sam would certainly never allow you to be chained up in the bowels of the castle. The longer you walk, the more certain you are that he’s fallen victim to some cruel fate. You pray he’s alive, tears swelling up and dripping down your cheeks. 

There’s a faint memory and then the realization that the last thing you recall is pregnancy. You were round as a house and excited to spend the afternoon walking in the countryside with Sam. 

You pat your flat stomach, sighing heavily in confusion. Nothing makes sense, up is down. The very universe seems to have turned on its head. A sudden, spine curling pain rips through your stomach, sending you to your knees as you moan in agony. Something is wrong. You’re dying, you’re sure of it. 

Taking a moment to recover, you manage to get back on your feet and keep moving. Scrambling up two sets of spiral stairs you find yourself in one of the lower passages of the castle. While you never spent time in the catacombs themselves, you explored these areas when you first came here. Spent dusk till dawn tiptoeing around and memorizing each nook and cranny. 

There’s a window ahead, but no light shining in. It must be night time. 

You walk on, careful to remain as quiet as possible. The circumstances in which you awoke are bizarre and you suspect that there are villains afoot. 

You can hear voices, a distant conversation between two guards discussing the bosom of a servant girl. It’s strange, you’re sure they’re far away, but you can still make out every word. Slipping down a narrow back passage you move stealthily around the outside wall of the castle, only to have it spit you out into the Great Hall. 

Peeking around the corner you check to ensure that no one is lurking. It must be the wee hours of the morning and the castle should be asleep. 

You’re met with a welcome sight. Dean. You’ve never been happier to see him, at least he’s a familiar face. 

“Dean!” you hiss, walking toward him. 

He turns, eyes bulging at the sight of you. It seems to take a moment for him to realize it’s you, hands falling from his hips, mouth gaping open. 

“What are you doing?” he rasps, taking a careful step in your direction. “You freed yourself?” His eyes dart to your bloody wrists and tattered nightdress. 

“Someone took me prisoner! Chained me up in the catacombs!” You sputter, fresh tears pooling in your eyes. “They left me to die down there. And my baby, do you know what happened to my baby?”

“Oh, no,” his face falls, eyes fluttering closed as his fists clench. 

“Where is Sam?” You inch closer. “Is he alright? I have to let him know I’m alive.”

“He knows,” Dean explains gently, holding out a hand like a trainer working with a wild horse.  “He put you down there himself...for protection.” 

“What?” You choke, your body going cold. Of course Dean would take joy in pitting you against your husband. “What are these lies?”

“You need to remain calm,” he whispers, swallowing hard. “Why don’t I send a guard to find Sam and we’ll call a maid to clean you up.”

You look down your skirts, covered in mud and grime. You can only speculate what the rest of you must look like. 

“Wait,” your mind is racing. “You said Sam put me down there? He chained me?”

“There is so much you don’t understand right now. He only did what he thought was best. Let me have someone find him, he can explain-”

“No,” you panic. 

Is it possible your husband has turned on you? What is it that you’re not remembering?

“Talk to him, he can explain-”

“Where is my son? Did I give birth?” you whisper, the swell of emotion aching in your chest. “Did he die?”

Dean blinks, eyes wrinkling as he nods.

“You have a daughter and she’s in perfect health.” 

A daughter. You were so sure the child was a boy and yet his words ring true somewhere deep inside. 

“Will you take me to her?” You move closer, reaching out to your brother-in-law. “I want to see her. She must need me.”

“She’s fine,” Dean counters. “You’ll see her soon, I’m sure.” 

“Please,” you implore. “Please, I know you hate me but you have to tell me what’s happening-”

You’re interrupted as pain shoots through you stomach. It’s similar to your monthly bleed but magnified a thousand times. As the spasm passes you break out in a sweat, glancing at the roaring fire. 

You stare at Dean thinking a thought so foreign, so treacherous, that you can scarcely believe it’s yours.  But you can’t deny that you find him...attractive. There’s a pull, a lust that creeps out of the recesses of your mind, popping up out of its hiding place. 

And you swear, although you know it cannot be, that you can smell him. Tipping your head from one side to the other you examine his face. He’s frozen, watching you have a life altering realization as you breathe in deep, taking his scent into your lungs. 

Your heart speeds up, chest rising and falling faster as you slide closer. 

“What is wrong with me?” Squeezing your eyes shut, you pull Sam’s face to the forefront of your brain. 

Sam. 

Sam. Your husband. The father of your child...and yet Dean is right here and he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the idea of you eyeing him like a choice cut of meat. 

“We shouldn’t be near one another.” He gulps but doesn’t move away. 

“I feel,” you swallow, a trickle of sweat rolling down your temple. “I think I have a fever.”

That has to be it, you’re sick. It’s the only explanation for these adulterous urges. 

“You’re in heat,” he breathes in through his nose, pupils widening. “Or close enough.”

“What?” you murmur, not really listening. “I am rather hot.” 

“You don’t-” he goes silent when you glide closer. 

You arch upward, eyes fluttering closed at the heat of his skin and the scent of him surrounding you, wrapping around and crawling inside where you’re vibrating with need. You reach up, sliding a hand over his chest and he grabs your wrist. 

“Stop.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You’re married to my brother.” 

“I…” the thought gets lost somewhere in the lust induced haze. “I know I should stop but I want to be close to you.”

He’s looking down at you as his tongue darts out over his lower lip. His head dips down, your mouths a moment shy of connecting. 

“Take your hands off her.” 

Sam’s voice is a low growl. You pull back from Dean to find your husband standing in the middle of the room. Both of his hands balled into fists at his sides and his eyes narrowed, focused on the two of you. 

“Brother,” Dean swipes a hand over his face as he turns away. 

“Sam,” you heart swells, then shatters at the sight of him. He’s furious, and he should be. He just caught his wife in the arms of his brother. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I’m so sorry. I can’t think. I’m overcome with this...fever.”

Dean retreats further away from you and the pain rips through your abdomen. You cry out, falling to your knees, howling and clutching your stomach. 

“She’s in heat.” Dean says that word again and it dawns on you what he means. But it can’t be. You’re human. 

“Please make it stop,” the pain grows stronger, and you drop onto your side, lying on the floor and writhing desperately. “What’s happened to me?”

“Stay away.” Sam thrusts a finger toward Dean. “You’ve done enough damage.” 

“I did what needed to be done,” Dean spits back. 

“And you would have again if I hadn’t come upon you. You would have fucked her in the name of salvation.”

“Watch yourself!” Dean steps toward Sam but you draw their attention, letting out a blood curdling scream. 

“Am I dying?” you cry, looking up at your husband. 

“No,” he whispers, his face morphing from anger to something softer. Kneeling down he scoops you up in his arms. “I’ll take care of you.”

While it’s not quite the same as being near to Dean, Sam holding you, pressed up against his body, quells the cramping. You claw at his shoulder, bury your face in his chest. 

“I don't understand,” you whisper, tears sliding down your face. 

“I know.” Sam walks away from Dean. “Let me make you feel better, then I’ll explain everything.” 

[miss-smrxtiee]

“I’m sorry” from prompt list!!

-Truly Sorry-

prompt #13 “I’m sorry...”

Warnings: Swearing. TINY amount of angst

Summary: Eliana and Ethan get in a heated argument that causes uncertainty to grow in their relationships. How will Ethan make it up to her? - ONE SHOT

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! I planned to have this posted 2 days ago but I’ve had some things come up in my personal life that caused me to hit the brakes a little on this but it’s finally here! Please like and reblog if you enjoy! It’s greatly appreciated💖 -S

Thank you @aylamwrites for the ask! YOU A QUEEN EVERYONE GO CHECK HER OUT! 💖🙌🏻 (Her OH fics are everything)

❤️-prompt list-❤️ (ask me!)

💖-full masterlist-💖

——————————-

Ethan’s POV

Guilt spreads through Ethan’s chest... Why am I so stupid! He looks across the room, his eyes settle on pictures of both him and his lover...

Why do I always push her away like that?

10 minutes before...

Eliana and Ethan were both in a very heated argument... I mean they have fights but this one was bad...

“You should calm down! It’s not a huge deal listen, I’m sorry Okay? You win.” Ethan says to a fuming Eliana.

“You’re not getting away like that! I’ve been trying so fucking hard these past few years to make you respect me! And one single thing changes that view and I have to listen to your lectures and all the stuff you hate about me! I’m sick of it!” Eliana rants. Ethan’s eyes widen. He can practically sees the pure anger rolling off of her.

Crap. She’s really getting mad about this... I need to calm her down so it doesn’t go overboard.

“E... I’m really sorry I haven’t respected you... I know I’ve been a dick these past few weeks but if you give me a chance I can make it up to y-“ Eliana cuts him off with her hand.

“That’s what you said before... I’m not sure if I can believe it again.” She sighed “Listen. I need some time to think... I know it’s sudden but I’m just gonna get a hotel for a while and process things. It just seems logical right now.”

Ethan’s eyes widen at her words. She wouldn’t just leave.. right? He looks at her as she packs a small suitcase of her clothes and toiletries.

Why am I so stupid...she shouldn’t leave me... god I’m such an ass...

After a few minutes she walks back into the living room with her bags. He frowns at her. “How long until you come back.” Ethan hoped she would realize she doesn’t need to leave. And that he loves her more then anything.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Awhile... I’m not to sure but if I find out I’ll text you. She said looking away from him. Not wanting to make eye contact

Shit.shit.shit.shit. I’m so stupid! Why do I always push her away?! Do something you idiot!

“... please don’t leave. I love you and I would do anything to make it up to you.” Ethan pleaded.

“I’m sorry Ethan, I need this space before we ruin this beyond repair. I’m doing this because I love you too.” Eliana looked genuine and Ethan just hung his head, not looking at her.

“..... ok, I love you. Please be safe. And text me.” He said. Eliana nodded and walked out, looking behind her shoulder as she turned down the hall.

Guilt spreads through Ethan’s chest... Why am I so stupid! He looks across the room, his eyes settle on pictures of both him and his lover...

Why do I push her like that...?

————————

Eliana’s POV

As soon as she got into her car her tears started to spill down her cheeks. I can’t live without him. I have to fix this and taking a break is the only way. She thought to herself.

Eliana drives around aimlessly trying to clear her head. After awhile she gets checked into her hotel and just plops down on her bed with a groan.

The room wasn’t anything fancy, it’s the last thing she could get for a last minute reservation. It had a mini fridge for food, a nice sized bathroom with a walk in shower. Their was one bed that took up most of the room.

I should unpack but...

I need to go to bed... she hesitates to text Ethan and tell him she was at the hotel. It’s just gonna be awkward, he can wait.

After she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas, she gets nestled into bed, her mind drifts off wishing Ethan’s arms were around her. She missed his little snores and the rise and fall of his chest. It was comforting. I miss that grump...

She smiled to herself and repeated the phrase.. I miss that grump. She stayed up thinking for awhile but ultimately drifted off into a deep sleep, still missing his warmth.

Ethan’s POV

Part of him was hoping that she would run right back through that door and fling her arms around his neck and tell him she didn’t mean it. But of course, she hasnt.

She has a right to be mad... but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Ethan stared at the door for what felt like hours after she left. He felt more upset then he has in a long time.

She’s gonna forgive me, right? He wasn’t sure how she felt. She had calmed down after his short apology that was still, even then, cut off.

Ethan’s hands ball into fists. I’m not giving up on us. I’m going to do everything I can’t to show her that I love that impeccable goofball...

He smiled to himself with a chuckle.

Impeccable goofball...

The next day...

Eliana’s POV.

She was pacing around her hotel room, not knowing what to do. I have to pull myself together... Eliana throws on a skirt and her blouse with her doctors coat on top. It was her signature outfit and she loved it to pieces.

She sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror after doing her daily morning routine. She reaches for her hairbrush in her bag...

More digging

Where is it?

More digging

Ugh it’s somewhere

More digging

Eliana sighs and flops down on her bed, think of the night she left their Condo...

Last night...

I have to do it for us... Eliana says to herself as she scrambled around to grab the things she needed to leave.

This is for the best right? Yeah of course...

Eliana continues thinking on the problem at hand that she forgets her hairbrush on the bathroom vanity...

Shit

I can’t go to work like this...

Eliana thinks back on all of the smaller stuff she left whilst in a hurry to leave and get her emotions together...

She groans as she throws her head back. I’m gonna have to get my ass out of bed and go over there to get my stuff.

She stares at her phone, then at the clock, and then back at her phone and she sighs while calling Doctor Emery about letting her take a half day and be in at 8:45 instead of 5:45. She grinned as she agreed and hung up to gather her things and walks to her car.

She pulls into a parking lot to text Ethan so it won’t be as awkward if she showed up without warning.

Ethan’s POV.

He hears a ding from his phone and he pirks up seeing Elianas contact name pop up.

Eliana: Hey, I forgot a few things last night... can I drop in for 5 minutes and grab them?

Ethan looked at the desk knowing it was her work day and he had the day off and nothing else to do... nothing else to do.... aha! Ethan’s brain sparked with a brilliant idea. He quickly replies.

Ethan: yeah of course, you have the key so feel free to come right in and grab your stuff.

Ethan hops off the couch and gets to work right away to prepare for her arrival.

Eliana’s POV.

She sighed looking at his text. It’s gonna be awkward... she turned on her car and plugged her GPS into her radio speaker and her mouth drops a little.

I really drove a lot last night. She thought as her GPS showed how far their condo was from the hotel.

She groaned and pulled out of the parking lot, beginning her drive.

5 minutes later...

10 minutes later...

15 minutes later...

“You have arrived at your destination” the voice rang out through her car. Sending a shiver down her spine at what’s to come.

She pulls in the driveway and sighs as she steps out of the car. She grabs her empty bag she was going to fill and walks towards the door.

She inserts the key into the lock and turns the doorknob counter clockwise until it pops open.

She walks in and and makes her way to the living room.

Oh my god...

Her breath hitched at the state of the living room. She noticed it was dark but didn’t think much of it at the time she was walking in. Wow. She said to herself at the sight Ethan had set up.

“Hello beautiful.” Ethan said wrapping his arms around her waist as she stared dumbfounded at him and their living space.

15 minutes before hand...

Ethan’s POV.

This has to be perfect. Ethan thought for the 10th time since his call ended and he got to work. He quickly put together a fort he and Eliana already had “blueprints” for and he knew it by heart. He smiles to himself as he put pillows on the floor of the fort, thinking what was to come. He grabbed as many of her favorite snacks and placed them into the cushioned area of his fort.

He then thought about his plan and what he was going to do to tell Eliana that he wasn’t going anywhere and she shouldn’t either. I love her and I want her to realize I would do anything for her. He said to himself.

He had a few minutes before she was supposed to arrive. He walked around, to nervous to focus his mind on anything else but her. He found himself picking up their old photos together. Most taken by Eliana much to his distaste at the time. He sighed picking up a photo of him and Eliana watching House M.D on amazon prime. The photo showed Eliana’s expert selfie skills as her middle and index finger pointed up into a “peace sign” whilst winking with a slight show of her tongue sticking out at the camera. He was glaring at her in the background, clearly trying to focus on the show and not her shenanigans. But was also clearly failing. He sighed at the memory.

Binge watching night...

“Smileeee!!” Eliana said while taking several selfies of the pair.

“Rook, you gotta focus on the show...” Ethan said motioning to the screen.

“Oh please, you just wanna watch so you can say that you figured out the case before anyone else did...” she said with a smirk.

He glared at her, capturing the moment Ethan now held in his hands...

Present...

Eliana’s POV.

She continued to gape at the set-up. Her gaze wondering the giant fort with the tv hidden under, her favorite snacks, even her favorite pillow was stuffed in her spot she usually took when they built this same fort.

She looked back at Ethan who was smiling warmly at her from around her shoulder, his hands where still rapped around her waist and he spun her around to face him.

“I love you.” He said, not even a moment later she crashed her lips to his and they’re faces smiling wide as they parted. She threw her arms around his neck and he lifted her up and spun her around, eliciting a fit of giggles from her.

“E... I don’t even know how to tell you how sorry I am...” Ethan said while setting her down.

“Hey, I’m sorry too. I should’ve talked to you more about our situation and I might just be saying that because I practically died without you.” They both laughed and he took her hand and led her over to the fort and they both sat down. He handed her a glass of her favorite drink to ever exsist.... grape juice. She laughed as he handed her a wine glass of it. They clinked the glasses together.

“To new beggings?” He asked.

“To new beginnings.” She replied

“I have to be at work at 8:45 ya know.” She said raising her eyebrows while taking another sip “I can’t binge watch all day.” She said. “I also have to grab my stuff from the hotel...” She added shyly.

Ethan tapped his chin and quickly got up, placing his glass down and leaving her in confusion. “What are you doing?” She said before he disappeared around the corner. He looked back at her and smiled. “I’ll be back in a second.” She raised an eyebrow as he left. He returned a minute later with a grin on his face.

“What did you do?” She asked with her brows furrowed in confusion.

“I convinced Emery to give you the day off” he said proudly as she gaped at him. A second later her surprised face turns into a smile that matched his. “We can grab your thins tomorrow.” He added before kissing the top of her head.

“I can’t believe you convinced her, she never lets loose, I’ll also probably get beef from Zaid when I walk into work tomorrow..” they both laughed in usion.

(Switching To Ethan’s POV kinda randomly...)

Ethan grabs the remote as they both get comfortable in the fort and Ethan smiles as she snuggles into his side.

He tilts her head up to meet his gaze. “I’m going to spend this day very wisely my dearest.” He kiss her softly and she smiled up at him.

“And however are you going to do that?” She said with a teasing tone. He kissed her hand, looking into her eyes.

“I have many things planned, starting with rewatching that one episode of Hosue M.D and showing you how much I love you a little later.” He waggles his eyebrows and she snorts, leading them into even more laughter and she pops an M&M into her mouth. He knew it was her favorite and soon enough they where watching the same episode they where watching when she took the picture. But this time glaring didn’t even cross his mind, he only thought of how lucky he was to be with her in that moment. He made a vow to himself to do better and never to jepordize their relationship for no reason in the first place. He loved her now, her loved her before, and will continue to love her for many years of happiness to come. He thanked his lucky stars for the beautiful goddess laying in his arms. And couldn’t ask for anything more.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Other Writing Prompts

This is just a compiled list of prompts I’ve collected from Pinterest and other random places, but don’t particularly fit anywhere or just would only fit into the Marvel or Star Wars fandoms.  I have other prompt lists that get more specific or more vague as well.  If you want to use one in a request to me, just use the following ‘Character Name and Prompt No. 35 from the Other Prompt list’ for example + some details if you’d like.

I didn’t organize this list by mood since it’s about 200 prompts.

Key:  

‘*’ Denotes something that could be used as dialogue.

[*] Denotes a swear word that I removed.

One evening, a portal to hell opens at the foot of your bed.  A demon strides through, rips off your covers, and begins to drag you through the portal by your ankles saying, "you're going to help me settle a bet."

"But what is power?"  "Loyalty"

The girl wrote in the journal as fluidly as fish swam in the sea, or birds rode the wind.  It was beautiful, how gracefully she crafted her spells.

"You do know that when you wipe my memories, it doesn't actually work, right?  One of the perks of being me."  The villain froze at the hero's words.  They'd just attempted their grand entrance four times in a row, trying to anticipate the hero's response.  Blanking their brain when they didn't quite get it perfect.  First impressions were important.  PR won battles as much as soldiers did.  "Don't worry," the hero grinned, looking the villain up and down slowly.  "You're doing great.  Very impressive."  Now they definitely had to die.

The villain prowled closer, gaze intent.  "Mm.  The last time someone looked at me like that, we didn't get out of bed all weekend.  Good times."  "Cute bravado, it won't save you."  "You're blushing."

"You could be so brilliant if you only turned your mind to creating things instead of destroying them."  The hero murmured.  They paused to tighten the villain's restraints, before glancing up to catch their eyes.  "I've never seen anything like you.  You're stunning." It was so earnest that, for once, the villain didn't quite know what to say.  The hero wet their lips, practically on their knees.  "Just let me help you, please.  You'd be a terrible waste to the world rotting."

"Oh, I could just take you apart.  See how long that cold, untouchable reputation of yours lasts then.  You're trying so hard to pretend you're not even human, but look at that..."  The hero pressed a hand above the villain's heart. They both felt it pounding far too clearly.  This was not supposed to happen.  There was a reason nobody was supposed to get close.

"If you want me," the hero panted, "come and get me."  The villain paused, languidly sweeping a hand up and under their chin.  "Want you in which way, Darling?  Don't get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it's an important distinction to make before we proceed."

You're a villain that fell in love with a hero.  Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain; one too strong for them to beat.

Stab options:  Slowly raise their hand to the wound and/or pull out the weapon impaling them while everyone stares in horror before collapsing to the ground from shock and/or blood loss and being caught just in time by a friend/lover.

Hide the wound beneath a dark item of clothing in preparation for the dramatic reveal later where another character touches them and their hand comes away bloody or they overexert themselves and they stumble and wince but still try to insist that they're fine,

even though they are clearly in pain and struggling to stay on their feet.  And as the other character peels back their jacket it becomes clear that they're badly hurt and have been for awhile.

Character A tilting Character B's chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight.  Character A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by Character B's mouth, saying nothing as they examine it.  After a brief pause, Character B's heart skips a nervous beat as Character A looks them dead in the eyes.  Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained.  "Who did this to you?"

"I will deny you death until you beg me for it."

"Hold on you died."  "Yeah, well it didn't stick."

As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their 35th birthday.  Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has till then.

The hero shows up at the villain's doorstep one night.  They're shivering, bleeding and scared.  There's also a slightly dazed look in their eyes--they were drugged.  They look like they were assaulted.  Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they are close to passing out they mumble, "...didn't know where else to go..."  Then collapse into the villain's arms.

"I loved the woman you were before.  Not this monster."

"I dare you to touch her again."

"By the Gods!  You love her, don't you?"

"Come here."  "Why?"  "Just come here."  "No, you're gonna hit me."

"Shh, shh."  The villain wiped the tears from the hero's face and pressed a kiss to their forehead.  "Don't struggle, you'll only make it worse for yourself."

"Hey, hey, hey.  Baby, what's wrong?"  The hero shuddered from the dram--startlingly vivid.  Of fighting and faces, and the the icy clench of betrayal in their chest already fading into unconsciousness.  And yet, they couldn't stop crying.  Shoulders shaking, uncontrollable sobbing.  The villain gathered them close, tucking the hero's head against their chest and making safe, soothing sounds.  "Bad dream, huh?  It's alright, nothing will touch you while I have you."

"Nobody touches you other than me, do you understand?"  The hero looked at the other villain, dead on the floor.  Dead before they even touched them.  And they hated themselves for the flicker of gratitude, of feeling protected, when everything was all wrong and there was nothing safe in this game at all.  Their villain was not kind.  Only possessive.  "Can we go home?"  The villain liked it when they called it home.

They hadn't wanted this.  Of course, they'd wanted the hero to stop fighting them.  Wanted them broken, despondent, but...  The person staring blankly at the walls, terrified of their own power, wasn't what they wanted.  "Darling, you're beautiful.  You don't need to be scared with me, I promise you that.  Look--try and attack me and I promise I can stop you.  You're safe with me.  You couldn't hurt me if you tried.  I'm just like you."

"You killed someone.  Do you really think they're ever going to want you back?"  The hero looked up at the villain, desperate, shattered.  "I'll always want you, even if they don't."  The villain said.  "I understand what it's like.  It was an accident, wasn't it?"

"You're not as evil as people think you are."  "No, I'm much worse."

"I was a King!"  He bellowed, spitting at the girl's feet.  She smiled at him, her eyes sad and yet full of mischief.  "And I was a god."

He pulled against the ropes with all his might, but they wouldn't give.  "Don't bother," a voice said."  He looked up to discover a thin girl bound with the same rope.  Although it was dark, he could see her bruised eyes and wrists.  "I already tried."

"Don't ever try to get inside my head," he snarled, slamming me against the wall.  For several beats we stayed there, his grip crushing my wrists.  Finally, his eyes softened.  "It's too dark for you."

"You think you have a choice, and that's sweet and all, but it's time you take up the knife and do what you were made to do."

"You-you are--"  "Beautiful, a genius, immensely talented--"  "Dangerous."

"Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish assassin on my lap.  I'll call you back when I've convinced him that a cold doesn't mean he's dying."

The villain pressed their lips to the hero's, silencing their sobbing pleas.  "Shh."  The villain murmured, angling their knife at the hero's throat.  "It's better this way."

He was leaning against the wall, trying to support his own body weight, and his gasps of pain were like music to her ears.

"You just killed five men, what do you have to say for yourself?"  "Oops?"

For a second, I thought she could actually see me.

Every person on the planet is born with a tattoo on each arm.  One matches your soulmate, and one matches your worst enemy.  However, most people have no clue which is which. You do, because they are both the same.

In a superhero-supervillain story, you're the hero's love interest, and as such, in classic use-their-loved-ones-against-them fashion, the villain keeps kidnapping you as leverage against the hero.  However, an unfortunate complication has arisen; having spent so much time with the villain, you begin to realize you're falling in love with them.

You never kill the spiders in your home.  You just whisper; "Today you, tomorrow me."  When you set them outside.  Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back.

"I feel nothing for you.  Absolutely nothing!"  "Is that so?"  His tone was amused, which irritated me more.  "Yep.  Nothing."  He took one towards me with a smirk on his face.  I swallowed, refusing to back up.  He laughed at me discomfort.  "Relax, Princess.  I am not going to jump on you."  That relieved me somewhat, until he added, "not until you ask me to anyways."

The hero shows up at the villain's house, hurt, broken and defeated.  But it wasn't the villain and they are extremely angry that someone hurt their hero.

The phone rings.  The voice on the other end says "we need you again."  Then hangs up.

"What's the word for that infestation of tiny creatures over there?"  "Those are children.  That's a school."

Everyone has a guardian angel except you.  You have a guardian demon.  He deals with things in a much more violent, but more effective fashion.

"You have to go, you have to run away!"  "Run from who?"  "From me."

"Small fire!  I said to set a small fire!  This is not small!"

Two people running away from a blind, arranged marriage, in which one is supposed to marry the other, meet on the road by coincidence and fall in love with each other.

*Not every prince is charming

When people are born, they are assigned a soulmate.  They have an original song in their head that only them and their soulmate know.  A person just broke into your house and you're pretty sure they are here to kill you.  They're humming your song under their breath.

"What?  Do you think I enjoy this?  This infatuation of mine?  This horrible need to know you are okay?"  To realize you can hurt me in a way no one for the past thousand years has been able to?"  "Well, stop it then!  If caring about me is such a nuisance to you, stop it!  It doesn't do much for either one of us."  "I CAN'T.  That's what kills me.  The fact that you can even ask that of me shows how ignorant you are about the power you have over me."

"I want to take a shower, so you should probably join me.  It'll save water."

"It's midnight!  Where the hell were you?"

"What the hell is your problem?"

"I might have slept with your [clothing article] when you were gone."

"No one has to know about us, I know this could ruin you."

"Just pretend to be my date."

"You should sleep."  "I'm not human, therefore, I do not require sleep."

"You broke me and now you expect me to follow you out onto the battlefield?  NO.  The answer is NO."

"You take me instead, do you hear me?  Give her back and take me instead."

"Wait, something doesn't feel right."

"Did you hear that?"

"Stay here and don't move.  I'll be right back."

"You told me you were okay!   You promised!"

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"How long have you been covering this?"

"You've been trying to deal with this yourself?"

"We could have prevented this!"

"If you didn't want to be a burden, you should have gotten it treated right!"

"You didn't think it was that bad?  Are you looking at it?"

"You are not fine!"

"You look really cute in that sweater."

"No, like...  It's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes."

"You know I hear you talking, but I still don't have my coffee."

"Do you want to know the hardest thing about having a soulmate?  It's not the separation in the beginning, not the endless nights lying awake, hoping and praying tha someone was made for you.  It's... It's the love.  It's too strong, and you can't fight it.  I've tried. Believe me, I've tried...  But I'm always going to love you.  And I need you to know that."

"You would risk the lives of millions for one person?  Why?"  "Because it's not just one life...  It's yours."

"This might sound selfish, but I don't care about the world.  I only care about you."

"I still believe there is a good person in you."

"It was necessary."  

"Did you think I really cared about you?"

"This was my plan all along."

"There was no other way."

"How cute.  Struggle all you want, you won't be leaving this place."

"This is what you get from trusting me."

"It's too late to go back."

"I'm sorry this had to go down like this."

"That's right, I lied."

"It's all for a good cause."

"You were so stupid.  You should have known."

"Just so you know... I don't regret anything."

"Shame.  I kind of liked you."

"This is my responsibility."

"You will no longer love me if you see who I truly am."

"I'm a monster."  "No, you're not."

"You'd better put that knife down."

"But I did all of this for you?"  "I didn't want you to kill anyone."

Person A wins a big stuffed animal for Person B at an amusement park and offers to carry it for them.  Person B says they'll carry it themselves and carries it around smugly.

While on a date, Person A very shyly touches Person  B's hand and Person B reassuringly (and tightly) holds Person A's hand.

You press your ear against the wall, just in time to hear the scream.

AU where everyone is born with a very unique tattoo on their ankle, nobody else in the world has that tattoo.  Every time you fall in love, their tattoo appears somewhere else on your body. (i.e a new tattoo appearing on a celebrity's body in new photos and a very lucky fan (who'd just met them), realizing that it's their tattoo.)

 He/She kissed his/her brow as the world around them burned.  "See you in the next life, my love."  He/She whispered.

 "Is everything supposed to go dark?"

 "You'd better not die on me."

 "They just got a lucky shot."

 "Next time, don't call me over only to find you in a pool of your own blood!"

 "You need to keep pressure on it."

 When a character doesn't realize they've been shot or whatever and their hand brushes against their side and comes away wet with blood, and they're just staring at it like WTF is this and then their knees just totally give out on them and they sink down, maybe gasping a little as the reality finally hits them.

 A character that knows they've been shot, but waits until the rest of their crew is out of sight to put their hand against the slowly spreading stain of blood on their shirt, then trying to steady their breathing so they can follow without letting on how injured they are.

 Or the character who doesn't realize they've been hurt trying to see if everyone else is okay only to slowly realize that everyone is looking at them with mounting horror.  Then they touch their side to find it's wet and oh no.

 "Pull the trigger.  PULL IT!"  He screamed as he took the gun being held in his enemy's hand and pressed it against his own stomach.  "I can't!"  His enemy screamed.  "I can't kill you!"

 "You were more fun when we were kids," the villain sighed.  "You worshiped me then.  It was so cute."  "When we were kids, you weren't such a colossal prick."  The villain laughed and traced the weapon along their cheek.  "Now, you know that's not true.  You changed.  Not me."  The laugh dropped, to something more contemplative, softer, and yet no kinder.  "Why did you have to?"

 "Isn't that what people do?"  The villain asked softly.  "Learn to love each other?  Could you not learn to love me?  You-you who seem to have such a heart to love the world and everything in it?"  The hero turned their gaze away, jaw clenched, pity and anger tugging at them in equal measure.  "I would not be unkind to you," the villain persisted.  Cupping the hero's face, thumbs stroking their jaw.  "I would never."  "Kidnapping people is unkind."  The villain's grip tightened.  "Making people fall in love with you and refusing to love them back is unkind."  Oh, hell no.  The hero knocked their hands away, expression ablaze with rage that they even dared say that.  Their heart slammed, anger overtaking pity, teeth bared in a snarl.  "I will never love you.  Never."

 "This isn't the way to make people love you!"  "Love?"  The villain laughed at that, fondly even, as they looked down at the hero kneeling before them, heat in their eyes.  "My sweet thing, this isn't about love."

 "All that time locked away, and not a note from you.  No visits, no letters, nothing."  The villain trailed their fingers along the hero's sides, relishing the sight of them all chained up for them.  "You're lucky I'm nicer and won't just leave you here to rot, inmate."  The hero snarled at them, making an indignant noise.  "Aggressive behavior, now that would be a shot."

 "I enjoyed your visits."  The villain said, "but it's just not the same with a thick glass wall between us.  I know you felt the same way."  They didn't look at the hero, making cooing sounds at the hero's child in their lap.  The hero's mind raced, desperately trying to think of some way to fix this.  To calculate how long it would be before back up came.  The very sight of the villain holding onto their baby left them sick with dread, even more so as the child gurgled and laughed.  "You never told me about this little one, no they didn't, no they didn't."  They smothered a kiss to the child's forehead.  "They look like me."

 "Shh, shh."  the antagonist settled themselves comfortably on the protagonist's lap, looping their arms around them.  One hand cupped the back of their head and stroked soothing fingers through the protagonist's hair, guiding their head to rest on the antagonist's shoulder.  "It's alright, calm down..."  The protagonist's wrists strained against the chains binding their limbs to the chair, heart feeling like it might jack-knife out of their chest, nerve-endings jangling.  "Just match your breathing with mine."  The antagonist continued, concerned.  "We both know I'm going to hurt you regardless so there's really no point in having a panic attack about it.  Come on, deep breaths.  No

need to cry now, that's good.  You can do it."  They continued to make soothing sounds, crowning the protagonist's head with kisses.

 "I really thought you could save me."  The hero cradled the villain close, for now, too many things reeling through their head.  "Yeah, so did I."

 "You said if I did this, that we'd be done."  The antagonist smiled, brushing the protagonist's hair back from their forehead.  "You must have known that would never happen.  Look at what a great team we make--we're unstoppable!"  Their smile softened and the protagonist hated that it still made their stomach flip.  "You're incredible!"  "Incredibly done."  "If I let you go, you'll die.  The world can't maintain you the way I can."

 "You were everything to me."  And now, this.  Betrayal and longing, relief at life and despair at monstrosity, sunk like a fish hook in their chest.  Painful, inescapable.  "How could you?"  The antagonist's brow furrowed.  They reached out a hand, gently catching the protagonist's tears on their fingertips.  "You say that as if we've met before."  The protagonist's heart dropped out.  "What?  You don't remember me?"  The antagonist continued to stare at the tears for a moment before their hand clenched to a fist.  They nodded to their guards.  The protagonist struggled as the security seized hold of them again, dragging them up and backwards.  Their desperation pitched.  They grew sure.  "You don't remember, do you?  What's the last thing you remember?"  "Oh, and gag them," the antagonist said, looking away.  "They're boring me."  "[NAME]--" the guards cut them off.  The antagonist didn't look at them once as they were hauled out of the room.

 They tried again, and again, and again.  Each time, they were deftly deflected, tossed aside, pinned, knocked back as if their attacks and all their training was nothing.  The villain was good.  They tried for over an hour, ears ringing, nose bleeding, ribs cracked, fingers broken, until they were too exhausted to put any strength into a punch and the last lunge ended up more with them sobbing and shaking in frustration against the villain's chest.  The villain caught their wrists firmly and twisted them into a more secure hold.  They manhandled the protagonist, stumbling in front of the mirror so they could get a good look at just how pitifully outmatched they looked.  "This is what you wanted?  I'm sure your parents would be delighted to see this."

 "Teach me."  "What?"  The villain started.  "Teach me how to fight like you."  It was the most incredible thing they'd ever seen.  "...You want me to teach you how to kill me?"  The villain let go and let them crumple to the floor.  "[*].  I need a drink to deal with you."

 "I said that's enough now."  The villain caught hold of the hero's wrists as they tried to keep fighting, tossing their weapon aside before drawing them close.  Arms wrapping around them in an embrace that might have been comforting if it didn't have the unyielding restraint of shackles.  "There we go, easy now."  You've been hurt enough for one day."  Thrashing against the hold did nothing but exhaust the hero and eventually they sagged.  They sank together to the ground in a tangle of limbs, rocking slightly.  'You hurt me,' they wanted to scream.  'This is your fault.' "Shh," the villain murmured--warned, they didn't even know anymore.  "It's enough.  You've done more than enough, you'e fought so bravely, but just listen to me.  There's no shame in surrendering and living another day, right?"

 The villain was curled up in their bed.  Fast asleep, in their bed.  No broken windows, no broken locks--just there.  A bolt of rage shot through the hero before they got a better look at them and... Oh wow.  They let them sleep,  Tucked over another blanket and went into the kitchen and made food, something warm to drink and fished out some painkillers.  Their eyes flickered over when the villain made a clammy appearance.  "Sit down," they ordered.  "You're not going anywhere until I've taken a look at your wounds."  The villain sat, huddled up in one of the hero's old hoodies.  "You're not interrogating me.  Or angry."  "Oh, I'm furious.  But shockingly enough for once not at you.  If I ask you what happened, you're going to run aren't you?"  The villain didn't deny it.  This was different, somehow.

  "I loved you at your darkest."

 The fighter frowned when I stepped into the ring, his stance slackening a little as he took in the sight of me.  The roar of the crowd was deafening as they grew rowdy, waiting for the fight to start.  But he said, in a low growl of a voice, "I don't fight girls."  My lip curled as I replied, "too bad, because I fight boys."  And knocked his legs out from under him.

 "You took a bullet for me."  The villain stared at them, numbly almost, as the protagonist gasped for breath that didn't want to come down.  "That was stupid of you."  They wished they had some excuse, some clever plan, but it had simply been instinct.  They wished they had some witty comment, but it hurt too much to think.  The villain stepped closer, standing over them.  Watching them pant, propped weakly on one elbow, the other hand clamped to their side.  "I wish you hadn't done that," the villain said.  "So do I, [*]."  They squeezed their eyes shut.  They snapped open at the touch of hands, and the antagonist's face was right there.  Close.  "Are you scared?  Do you want me to make it quick for you?"  [*].  Really?

 "You can't just keep me!"  "You'd prefer I fight you and your friends?"  The villain returned.  "I wouldn't.  And you are an excellent piece of peace-keeping leverage.  A noble cause.  I would have imagined you'd be all aboard.

 "Don't do this," the antagonist entreated, anguished, wary.  "You don't have to do this."  The protagonist stared back, heart drumming in their ears, a dozen longings swelling beneath their tongue.  "I don't want to.  You're all I ever wanted."  It hurt to, finally, admit it aloud and the antagonist's breath hitched.  "But this is--this is wrong.  Can you really not see that?"  "Loving you can never be wrong."  Their chest ached.  "The things you do for love can."

 "Not what you expected?"  The villain smiled, frosty.  "I had plans other than you too.  I suppose we'll both have to make do."  The hero drew back, wide-eyed, because no.  This was not what they'd expected at all.  A little awkwardness, a little chill, not a dead body on the bedroom floor.  "What are you?"

 "Don't worry."  The villain caressed their partner's cheek, down the oh-so-vulnerable line of the hero's throat.  "I won't hurt you.  Suspicion always turns to the spouse first in these things."  "I'll tell."  "And then where would that leave you?  Like it or not love.  I'm all that you have in the world now.  We need to look after each other."

 When someone's heart breaks, so does a piece of our world; this creatures fissures,

valleys, and even cracks in the pavement.  Tell the story behind the Grand Canyon.

 "You're such a complete disaster."  Groans the villain, scooping the unconscious hero off the sidewalk.  "Like, holy hell, how does anyone let you out of their sight?  Stop picking fights with people you aren't ready for."

 "Fix it."  "I can't."  The protagonist dropped to their knees, a sick feeling curdling in the pit of their belly.  "Please--see, I'm begging and everything.  Fix it."  They swallowed hard.  "Please."  Their voice cracked.  "I can't."  The antagonist said.  They tugged one hand through their hair, jerking the other in a gesture for the protagonist to get up.  "I'm not saying it to spite you, I literally can't.  This is beyond my power.  I'm sorry."  The protagonist stared at them in numb disbelief.

 "Hand over the girl."  "Not going to happen."

 "Does it hurt?"  The hero asked carefully, looking at the huge scar that trailed from the other person's shoulder, down their chest to their stomach.  The scar was pale in colour and bumpy; raised above the skin ever-so-slightly.  The other person looked away, blinking fast.  "It did.  Years ago, when I first received it."  "I can't believe someone could do this to you," the hero whispered.  That got the other's attention, their head snapping towards the hero.  "You did this.  YOU did this to me and you don't even remember."  They hissed.

 "You need to eat something."  The hero scowled, wrapping both arms around their grumbling stomach.  "You need to mind your own business."  The villain stepped forward slowly, arms held out in front of them, palms up.  "You fainted on me last week, and I can hear how hungry you are.  If you won't take my money, at least let me buy you some food.  You help everyone, let someone help you for once.  Don't let your pride stop you from taking the help you need to continue saving lives."  The villain smiled crookedly.  "To continue stopping me."

 "Your city is in ruins.  You are--"  The villain stopped, gloves half off, and raised an eyebrow.  "You're wrapped in my cape."  Swaddled in the thick fabric, only the hero's face was visible, their expression trapped between a scowl and a pout.  "It's cold down here, and you left it in reach.  If you weren't too tight to heat your lair while keeping me prisoner down here, I wouldn't have had to resort to thievery."  "You look adorable," the villain said, forcing a sneer into their voice.  Because they did.  They looked adorable and warm and perfect.

 Character B bleeding heavily while Character A tries to staunch the blood, but Character B is more concerned about the fact that stoic Character A is sobbing and panicking.

 When help is a few hours away and Character B has to stay awake, Character A rambles loudly about random stuff, trying not to break down and cry and to keep them awake.

 "Show me your scars," he said.  "But...  Why?"  She asked quizzically.  "I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

 "You go ahead, I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

 "Don't talk to me.  It's 6 AM and I haven't had coffee yet, so anything I do or say cannot  

be held against me."

 "Dude, that jacket is mine, give it back."

 "YOU USED MY TOWEL?!"

 "Where is he?"  "My lady...."  "Answer me."

 "Wait, when did I take off my clothes?"

 "I"m fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."

 "I'm not here, actually, this is a projection from....  [planet].... I moved there recently."

 "You have no idea how to make toast?!"

 "I haven't showered in four days."

 "You're more zombie than human."

 "Fix her."  "No."  "Because you can't or you don't want to?"  "Because she'll break again.  And you'll be back here, on my doorstep, begging me once more to fix something that wasn't meant to be fixed."  "So you don't want to?"  The healer's eyes were cold.  "No."

 "You made me love you."  The hero said.  They stared out of the window, quietly, watching the rain spit down across the streets.  The villain froze in the doorway, studying them, the cup of love-potion spiked tea still cradled in their hand.  "I've known for weeks," the hero continued, idly almost.  They didn't glance over.  "It's obvious.  Too sweet in the tea."  "You're still drinking it."  "I wanted to see what you would do.  Waited."  The villain swallowed at that.  They hadn't done anything--aside from give the tea.  Perhaps that was the most damning thing of all.  

 "She's crying, what do I do?"  "Go comfort her."  "How do I do that?"  "Start with hugs."  "With what?"

 "I always knew I'd take a bullet for you," I say as pain ebbs through my chest.  He/She crouches beside me, clutching at my shirt.  Sobs echo from him/her as my lids grow heavy from the weight.  "And I always knew you wouldn't take one for me."  I whisper and shut my eyes.

 First she realized she was pregnant, then she realized her baby would only be half human.

 An all female crew is picked for the first [planet] mission.  They all come back pregnant.  

 Imagine a villain getting injured and losing their memory and the hero finds them and takes them back with them, taking care of them and the villain gets their memory back after like a week but doesn't say anything because the hero is being so nice to them and nobody has been that nice to them in so long and they don't want it to end and they're maybe getting fond of the hero, but don't tell anyone.  But eventually something happens and the hero is in trouble and they're trying to get the villain to run away because they still think they're an amnesiac with no idea how to defend themselves and they've grown to like them and don't want them to get hurt, but the villain just pushes past them towards whatever is trying to hurt the hero and just goes guns blazing and destroys them.

 "I wish I had a camera."

 The shackles grazed her wrists as she changed positions in an attempt to get comfortable.

 You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise.  

You are fighting in a war when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off of you.

 The rain came down in heavy sheets.  He pulled his soaked [type of hat] down to protect his eyes and moved forward.  Where was she?  Would he find her in time?  A dark shape against the bridge railway caught his eye when the lightning flashed.  He rushed forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.  He couldn't tell for the rain if she was crying or not, droplets streamed down her face.  Her mouth opened to let out a cry, but when she saw it was him, she pleaded with her eyes.  He only nodded and put his arm around her.  He'd protect her.

 My head pounded as the toxin flooded my veins, but when I looked at her I could tell what it was doing to her was much worse.

 A woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out.  She's unaware that she's actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who's fallen for her and is certain that this time he'll get it right.

 "What have you been doing?  Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know."

 "You're hurt!"  He pulled the arrow out of his chest.  "Oh, that's nothing."  She stared at him.  She'd thought she'd seen the arrow pierce his heart.  How was he even alive?  He laughed.  "Don't worry, dear.  It takes more than one little arrow to kill me."  She was pretty sure she'd seen his eyes glimmer for a second.

 "It's 2 AM.  I think that's enough of that."

 "Watch, this is the best part!"

 "Why are you doing this?!"  The villain grinned, their malice as tangible as the ground beneath the hero's feet.  "Because you fell in love.  And you needed to learn that love won't save you when there's a gun to your head."

 It's not like she meant to trip and spill coffee all over him.  It was just the way of her people.

 The villain gently lifted the hero's chin with a fingertip.  "Don't you see?  We're the same, you and I."  The hero narrowed their eyes and smacked the villain's hand away.  "You and I will never be the same.  I'll make sure of it."  The villain grabbed the hero's wrists in an iron grip before they even knew it was moving.  "Darling," the villain chuckled, "you don't have a choice."

 The villain snarled, "you will find the moment you hurt them is the moment I tear out your heart and shatter your bones.  If you dare destroy them as you have threatened, then they'll find nothing left of you."

 "You're not allowed to die, dammit!"  The villain's voice quivered, threatening to break as they shook the hero's limp shoulders.  "I promised myself you wouldn't die here.  I promised you I'd get us both out of this.  Dammit, I promised!"

 The villain's breaths were shallow and panicked as they laid the hero on the ground, blood staining both their hands.  "Damn it," the villain muttered as they ripped a piece off their shirt and pressed it flush with the hero's ribcage.  "Why didn't you tell me?"  "Didn't want you to think I was weak," the hero mumbled, their face an already alarming shade of white.  The villain grimaced, tears blurring their vision.  "Well, I'm afraid you're about to witness first hand just how weak I am."

 "The world is ruthless, unforgiving.  I came to realize that long ago when my wife was

stolen from me."  She lifted her hood to reveal her face.  "She wasn't stolen.  She left."

 The villain shook their head.  "What a pity..."  "Let me go!"  Begged the protagonist again.  "Please," she sobbed.  "Please.  "You could have been Queen.  It's a pity you chose this path instead."  The villain lifted their dagger.

 "I"m the daughter of a King who forgot my name."

 "Go to him.  He waits for you."

 *He became King because he wanted to marry you.

 One night, a dark King appeared and offered me his hand, his heart, and his Kingdom.

 Arranged marriage AU where I am the Prince/Princess who sneaked out to a tavern and while I was there I got into a fist fight with another patron.  Fast forward to the next day where I am meeting the person who has been engaged to me since birth and oh wow your eye looks horrible, what did I do.

 Your father is forcing you to marry someone you've never met.  The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window.  Halfway down, you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over.

 "If a god falls in love with you, you can never really die."

 Person A and Person B are in the kitchen.  Person A is short, while Person B is slightly taller.  Person A:  *Struggles to retrieve items from top shelf*  Person B:  "Do you need me to get it for you?"  Person A:  *Gasps* "How dare you insult the vertically challenged!"  Person B:  *Laughs* "Okay then..."  Person A:  (Moments later) *Defeated sigh*  "Help meee....."

 Person A:  *Completely serious* "I have to get something off my chest."  Person B:  *Fingers crossed* "I hope it's your shirt, please."

 Person A noticeably disheveled as they enter the room.  "Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff."  Person B, also disheveled and grinning smugly enters the room after.  "I'm stuff."

 The villain smiled, watching the anguish on the hero's face as their so-called friends handed them over.  "I guess," the villain sighed.  "You're nobody's first priority."  They reached out, pulling the hero closer by their restraints.  "Except mine, of course.  Don't worry.  There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you."  The hero shivered, turning their head away.

 "I'm all yours," the hero held up their hands.  "Just leave them out of it.  This is just you and me, right?"

 The villain panted for breath, hands bloody--a little dazed and starting to shake.  "They were going to hurt you.  I-I panicked.  I know it's bad that I--"  "Shh."  The hero held out an arm and the villain crumpled against them.  "It's alright.  You were only trying to protect me, weren't you?"  The villain nodded.  "Then I forgive you, it's okay.  But you know there are going to be people who don't see it my way, who wouldn't understand like I do."  "But you can make that go away.  You can do anything."  The villain said.  It took everything the villain had not to shiver with delight.

 "There," the villain carded their fingers through the hero's hair.  "Isn't it better to feel clean?"  No more blood or grime or gore on battered skin.  Instead, fluffy towels, steaming water, soothing scents and oils which soothed all aches and pains.  "It would

feel even better if you weren't in the room.  Bit creepy, that."  "You know you can't be trusted not to abuse my hospitality."

 "Stop it."  The command, the quiet authority cut straight through to the villain's brain.  "You're overthinking," their sidekick said.  "You know what you get like when you start  overthinking.  Come here."  The villain moved over thoughtlessly.  Their sidekick guided them gently down onto their knees, taking the villain's head in their hands.  Their fingers massaged soothing circles and the villain's eyes fluttered closed.  "That's right," their sidekick murmured.  Good.  Just focus on me.  Take some deep breaths."

 "You are so terrified that people will never love you, that they'll leave you," the protagonist murmured.  "That you would never give them the chance to do either."  The antagonist stilled in the doorway, just for a beat.  The protagonist looked at them, heart seized in their mouth.  "That's not love, you know.  Love necessitates choice."  "Just as well then," the antagonist replied.  "That I'm not looking to give someone the chance to love me.  Sleep tight."  The door slammed shut behind them.

 "I miss you."  "You miss an illusion."  But the villain paused all the same, hand rising as if about to touch.  Faltering.  Their hand dropped.  They steeled themselves.  "Take them away."  Cold.

  *And mighty we became.

 "That has got to be the lamest pick up line in existence."  "Don't worry that's just Plan A."  "So what's Plan B?"  "To take you hostage."

 "I'm fine," the antagonist said.  "Okay."  "I'm fine."  They'd just said that, and the protagonist was starting to look concerned.  "Just fine.  Everything's going to be fine."  Oh wow, they couldn't stop saying it, couldn't stop gabbling it, couldn't breathe over it, choking on that word.  Fine, fine, fine, always perfectly fine.

 The villains lungs strained for air as the hero slammed them up against the wall, face inches away.  Fear licked up their spine.  "You're sorry?"  The hero spat.  "Sorry doesn't even begin to cover what you're going to be for what you've done.  You don't get to cry over your guilt.  You're not the one who got hurt."  

 In the heat of the moment, whether this is a fight, chase, or the characters are under gunfire; they escape and get to cover.  However all is not well when Character A turns to see Character B leaning heavily against a wall, clutching at their side.  Character B slowly looks up and shows a blood covered hand before saying, "so.  Slight problem," before collapsing onto the floor.

 "I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking.  Stay out of my kitchen."

 Person B dancing around their home, headphones in, eyes closed, singing as loudly as they please to their favourite song while Person A stands in the doorway watching their oblivious partner with a loving smile on their face.

 Person A:  "How can someone say Person B is evil?  They're the most precious soft little soul."  Person B:  *Wiping blood off their face*  "YEAH, I'M ADORABLE!"

 Person A walked into the house, threw their bag on a chair, and laid down on the carpet with an air of defeat.  Person B walked in a few hours later, saw Person A on the ground and set to work.  They picked up a few blankets and pillows.  Then Person B walked

over to Person A, laid everything out, then proceeded to lay down with Person A.  Person A slowly curled up to Person B and fell into a restful sleep.  Five hours later, they're still there.  Just soaking in each other's presence.

 Person A was sitting up in bed, headphones on and staring intensely at their Ipad screen, which flickered brightly in the dim room.  Person B rolled over and slowly sat up, glancing at the clock and seeing it was well past 2 AM.  Person B leaned up against Person A, with their eyes still closed and asked why Person A was still up.  Person A popped out an earbud and quickly *states reason* and then turned their attention back to the screen.  Person B yawned loudly, grabbed the device and tossed it off the bed.  Right before Person A could protest, Person B curled an arm around them and forced Person A to lay down.  Person A fell asleep within minutes, tucked securely in Person B's arms.

 Imagine your OTP getting ready for bed and Person A is sitting on the bed.  Person B tries to sneak up on them with a hug or a kiss, but Person A has quick reflexes and thinks they're being attacked.  So they accidentally hit Person B in the face and they fall back onto the bed.  Person A quickly realizes who it was then, and keeps saying sorry really fast and hugs them and kisses where it hurts.

 Imagine Person A walking into the kitchen, only to find Person B in tears.  Person A immediately rushes over to Person B's side, fretting over them, consoling and asking what happened.  Surprised, Person B explains they were simply cutting onions.

 Person A is baking cookies and has to split their attention between the timer and fighting off Person B, who keeps trying to steal cookie dough from the bowl.

 Imagine your OTP making out on a couch, but then one of them accidentally rolls off and the other one is either frantically asking if they're okay, or laughing their head off.

 Imagine your OTP ice skating and one of them falls so the other tries to help them up, but they lose their balance and fall on top of the other.

 What if he held you tightly in his arms as you lay on his chest, drifting into sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.  Feeling the slight vibration of his lungs as he hummed softly.  His hands brushing lightly in your hair as his lips pressed against the top of your head, but stayed there for awhile.  Then he let out a faint sigh, taking his lips away, seeming to be deep in thought.

 You shift around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position.  No success.  You hear your boyfriend stretching.  "Can't sleep, my love?"  He asks, letting out a sleepy sigh.  "Come here," he whispers.  You move over to him and he snakes an arm around your waist and wraps his leg around yours as you rest your head on his bare chest.

 As you lay in bed alone, struggling with reaching sleep, you toss and turn before huffing out in annoyance at still being awake.  A small fraction of light creeps into your room until the door closes and the edge of your bed dips down underneath his weight.  He carefully climbs under the covers, reaching an arm out for you, pulling you closer to his body, your back to his front.  "You can sleep now, love.  I'm home.  I love you."  He gently whispers in your ear, lightly kissing your cheek and then laying his head on the pillow next to you, leading you to fall into a dream-filled sleep of your boy being back home.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only Your Touch

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Sometimes the ghosts from the past are in control. Sometimes, you just need to scream. (This is in the Only For A Moment universe but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Warnings: Trauma, flashbacks, allusions to rape

A/N: If you’ve read, oh idk, any of my series at all you know any fluff is usually tempered by a dose of hurt. My brain pumped out that sweet Valentine’s fluff and immediately pivoted here. Part because I’m a monster and part because it’s something that was touched on in Part One of Only For A Moment and we didn’t circle back to it. And also because I find it important to remember that healing isn’t linear. 

This is heavy so please read with caution. (Does end sweetly though.)

Every time the home you share with Bucky comes into view you can’t help but smile. 

The lake, your collection of small thatched roofs, the smell of earth and hay--all coming together every day, no matter how tired your body, to welcome you back. But there was something missing this afternoon, Bucky wasn’t out working. 

Odd. You think as you pull the bike to a halt. 

You step inside, breathing in the smell of cardamom, cinnamon, and rich earth, listening for him. Just barely you can make out breathing from the bedroom to your right. He must have laid down for a nap or to read. 

A mischievous smirk lifts your lips. Regardless of the reason, you were always happy to join him in bed. Quietly you slip out of your clothes before heading into your small bedroom. 

Bucky lay on his right side, facing away from you, the defined muscles along his back practically begging to be touched. You crawl into the bed and under the covers, pressing your chest to his warmth.

“Hey there Mr. Barnes,” you breathe into his ear. You kiss his neck as your hand goes to grab his cock, already aching to feel him. Before you make contact his hand grips your wrist so tight you suck in a quick breath as the bones bend ever so slightly. 

“Please… don’t,” he says in a hoarse whisper, grip loosening just enough. Your heart falls into your stomach. 

“Are you ok?” You ask, knowing the answer. 

He shakes his head against the pillow, breath ticking up, “No.” You can feel him fighting to steady his breath beneath your touch, and feel him fail. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he releases your wrist and bolts for the bathroom. You follow him, worry humming in your veins. 

He hits his knees before the toilet, heaving. Immediately you gather his hair in your hands, holding it back. Gripping the bowl with his hand he purges until there’s nothing left, his body trembling with the force. 

“I’m gonna get you some water,” you say. It takes only a few seconds to go to the kitchen and back. He takes the glass, looking up at you with red eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says before taking a sip. You nod, plucking your cream-colored robe from the hook and slip into it, not bothering with the tie. 

Sighing he sets the glass aside, moving to lean his back to the wall. His head falls back with a thud, brows creased as he tries once more to slow his breathing. 

All you want to do is hold him, cradle him in your arms until his muscles stop their incessant twitching and his soul settles. You know this isn’t the time though. Instead, you just sit on the floor close to him, taking care to leave enough space for him to breathe but not too much that he’ll think you’re scared. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky, I didn’t-”

“Oh god, doll, no,” he shakes his head, looking at you with those haunted eyes. “You didn’t-” He reaches over, fingertips just barely touching your knee before pulling his hand back. 

Bucky touches his left shoulder as he does from time to time. A reminder that they no longer have him, he is not their weapon anymore. 

It doesn’t seem to bring him the reassurance he’s seeking. He covers his face with his hand, a small sob breaking free. Your own eyes burn, your teeth digging into your bottom lip. Every fiber of your being wants to help him but you just don’t know how.

He lowers his hand, pressing the palm flat against the cool polished concrete of the floor to ground himself. You watch as his chest stutters with his attempts to calm himself. 

Bearing his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut he tilts his face up as his back arches, breath hissing out as if he’s in pain. 

“Bucky,” you gasp, unable to stop yourself, body moving toward him. 

“Ju-j--just,” he stutters through clenched teeth. “Just tell me they’re not here.”

The missing piece clicks into place. 

Shuri had said that the trade-off of fixing what Hydra did to Bucky’s mind meant that he may remember other things more clearly, things he may not want to remember. There had been quite a few rough nights as those memories came back but nothing like this. 

“There’s no one here but me, baby,” you say in a solid but soothing tone. “No one.” He nods before a groan doubles him over, arm wrapped around his middle.

“Don’t,” he barks as your hands hover over him. “Please,” his pleading tone sending a wave of pain through you. He rests his head against his knees, body shaking with tremors. 

“Please don’t touch me. I-” His voice breaks with a sob. 

There’s no stopping your own tears now, they slide silently down your cheeks. A small whimper of pain from him takes your breath. In the same moment, you can hear the glass of the mirror shake just a bit, your power threatening to lash out. With effort, you pull it under control. 

“I can feel them,” he manages at last. “I know it’s not real but I can feel their hands…” 

His back straightens, you can see his jaw flex as he tries to hold in a scream. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, head once more pressed into his knees.

Forcing calm into your voice you say, “Talk it out if it helps. Whatever it is-”

“No,” he says softly. “Not this. I-I c-can’t.” 

“Look at me, Bucky.” Slowly he does, the terror on his face filling you with rage at anyone who made him feel this way before. “Whatever it is, you can share it with me. I’ll help you carry it if you want me to.” 

He swallows a sob, fixing his eyes on the floor between you before speaking. 

“I can-” he grimaces. “I can feel them touching me. Goddamnit-” his breath comes in ragged gasps.

For several minutes neither of you say a thing. Each sound of suffering from him breaks something inside of you. Still, you wait, sitting back on your heels your hands in white-knuckled fists resting on your knees.

“I can feel them-” he pauses. Looking up at you he continues, “I-I,” his eyes slowly close, “I can feel them in me.” When they open once more they’re begging you to know what he means, because he may want to try and share but it’s clear he can’t say more from the way his mouth opens and closes. 

He doesn’t have to say more. 

The two of you had shared so much with one another but this, this you had both locked away inside yourselves. Sometimes it surfaced, like the first night you spent together when he struggled to let you touch him, or others when you needed to sleep alone because the thought of someone touching you was too much. But to say it, to admit out loud--even to the person you loved most in the world--just how much those monsters had done… It was just too hard. Until now. 

“Oh, Bucky,” you breathe out. “I understand. Believe me, I do.”

His face contorts, “No.” HIs head shakes, “I don’t want you to understand this… not this.”

“But I do…” Far too well you knew the touch of phantom hands.

Another flash of pain colors his features but he doesn’t make a sound. With gutwrenching clarity, you realize that he’s not keeping quiet for your sake or even his. You can hear the orders of silence as clearly in your ears as he must be hearing them in his own.

“Just scream,” you say. The desperation in his eyes shatters your heart but you will not let it show. “Do it. Let it out. Whatever you need. Scream, cry, break shit--it doesn’t matter, just don’t hold it in.” It’s easier said than done you know. 

You watch as his body reacts, telling him there is pain where there is none, reminding him that sometimes the past is in control. A bead of blood forms where his teeth bite into his lip, desperately trying to silence himself, follow orders, save himself from more pain. 

“There is just me here, Bucky,” you say in an attempt at encouragement. 

Maybe that was the push he needed or maybe his body and mind had reached a breaking point. Regardless his arm unfurls from his abdomen, fist slamming into the floor. You can smell the coppery tang of blood from his busted knuckles. 

“Fuck!” He bellows. His body lurches forward as though pulled by some unseen force. 

On his hand and knees, Bucky screams. Over and over, punctuated only by his sobs. 

For decades he’d been forced into silence, a prisoner within his own body. He’d endured more than any man should, and now the sound of a lifetime of suffering fills the space around you. His body shakes, muscles rippling with tension as he purges every unuttered cry of pain, of protest, of hatred. 

You do not look away, do not cringe back from his rage. You sit, your silence a safe harbor for him when he’s ready. Though a part of you does wonder if there is a sea of such sorrow waiting in your own soul, and if so will it break free one day too?

After a long while, he begins to fall silent. At first in fits and starts, then there is nothing but ragged breathing as he tries to pull air into his undoubtedly tired lungs. Soon, he falls to his side on the cold hard floor, knees drawn up toward his chest, body shaking all over from exhaustion. 

Without hesitation, you lay on your side beside him, a comfortable distance between you. His lids flutter open and you swear his eyes are less haunted than before. 

“What do you need?” You ask in a whisper. 

“You,” he responds, voice almost gone. “But… I can’t… I don’t want to think your touch is theirs.” He looks so sad at the thought. You only smile. 

“I can touch you without touching you.” His brow knits in confusion, too tired to understand your meaning. “Would you mind if I try?” After a beat, he nods. 

You start small, sending your power out to cup his cheek. He lets out a small breath, eyes closing. Slowly you allow your power to cover him down his shoulders and around his chest until you’ve cocooned his upper body in an invisible blanket.

“Is this ok?”

“Yes,” his voice cracks a bit. “Only you could touch me like this,” he smiles as fresh tears trickle from his shuttered eyes. “It could only be you.” 

Blinking away your own tears you cover his whole body in your power, squeezing ever so slightly. He releases a sigh that could almost be read as contented. 

“Do you want to stay here?” You ask. His eyes open, a flash of concern in them. 

“I… I don’t know.” He was past the point that he could make many choices now. 

“Let’s move to the bed. We’ve both laid on enough hard concrete floors for several lifetimes.” 

“Ok.” You feel your chest constrict as that desperation rises to his face again. “Just please don’t let go.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, baby.” 

His breathing becomes more even and you can feel his muscles relax under your hold as the minutes tick by. You even manage to get a piece of bread in him and another glass of water before laying down beside him. 

For once, you actually make use of the space your bed affords, you were both so used to sharing a small mattress that most of the bed often went unused. Now it allowed you enough space to be near but keep him comfortable. 

“Y/N?” He mumbles, voice hoarse from strain and exhaustion. 

“Yes, love?” You’re surprised, you’d thought he’d drifted off a bit ago. 

“Will you hold my hand?” His eyes don’t open but you can see the corners of his mouth lift just a bit. 

You swallow hard trying not to let the tears in your eyes show in your voice.

“Of course.” 

He turns his hand up, the back resting on the mattress. You slowly slide your hand over his. The palm is warm and rough but his fingers are long, strong, graceful even. You loved this hand. Once your fingers are between his he holds on tightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice slurring a bit. 

As the light outside fades you keep vigil your hold on both his body and his heart, never wavering. 

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Pink in the Night

Hugo Wallace’s story continues! in this chapter, we learn of the baker’s real name, and finally settle this emotional debacle

tag list: @txmmy-rose @immabethehero @spoken-paper-plane @cryptic-phantom17 @iv0ry-keys tw: mild nsfw, brief description of broken bones read pt.1 here

The rain beats against the ground. Somewhere, thunder cracks and lights the world up for one moment. The trees rush past Hugo Wallace in a wild blur as he races through the forest, trying his best to keep his footing as hot tears muddle his vision and the ground becomes muddy.

"Stupid," he berates himself, "Stupid, stupid, stupid. The one you love doesn't love you back, even though you knew he wouldn't, so you run away, crying like a child. Stupid, stupid—" "Doctor Wallace!" yells the baker from somewhere behind him over the rain. "I told you, don't follow me!" His voice cracks on the you. "Doctor Wallace, please, listen—" The ground gets rockier and muddier and it’s harder for him to maintain his balance. There are more trees now, crowding the edges of his vision. He's stumbling in the dark because he left his lantern in the grove. Another stupid, stupid decision, all because of this Bird Man nonsense. He isn't even using his cane; it's swinging as his arm does, like he's ready to hit something, because he is more than ready to. His clothes are sopping wet. "What do you want me to say, doctor?" The baker persists, footsteps closer, followed by the sound of branches being moved aside. "Do you want me to tell you I don't love the Bird Man? Would that help things?" Hugo wants to say yes, but the confusion drips so strongly from the baker it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "Drop it, please, for the love of God, drop it!" Hugo shouts, "Clearly, you're in love with a silhouette!" "That's not—" he growls in frustration, "Where are you even going?" "I'm going home. I'm tired and angry, a-and upset, and I just want to go—" "HUGO!"

Hugo's stomach dips as he falls straight off the path's end. At first, he thinks that this is it, that this is his end—a less than satisfying death at the bottom of a cliff. Oh, well. At least this emotional debacle would be over. The pain that comes with his jaw smacking hard against the forest floor, rattling his teeth, his mask scratching his face, and the bruising along his body reminds him he is very much alive. The breath is driven out of him and he struggles to breathe, but he is alive for the most part. His cane falls beside him. Dirt and rain shower him. He's covered in mud and his robes stick to his body. He looks up. He had fallen into a ditch, maybe five or six feet deep, and can see the trees overhead. He could climb out. His head hurts like hell and what's worse is that he can't see a thing in the darkness. "Hugo!" The baker's face pops over the lip of the ditch, eyes bright with worry. "Are you okay?" "Baker?" He groans, sitting up. Two of the baker's face shifts in and out of his swimming vision. A severe flame erupts in his left leg as he tries to stand, and he swears loud enough to scare away all the animals. As a physician, he knows his leg is broken. He feels around his pant leg for blood. The skin isn't broken, thank God, but the bone—his fibula, by the source of pain, it seems—is still shattered. The skin around it is already swelling. There goes climbing out. "M-My leg; it's broken." "Shit," the baker breathes, then slides down the hill to meet him. He leans down on one knee. "Tell me what to do, Hugo. I'm no doctor." The pain is already fading into numbness. Not good. He's going into shock; the edges of his vision are already turning a fuzzy black. He drops onto his back, feeling weak, sending a puddle splashing up around him. "Hugo!" The baker's strong, calloused hands help him sit up. One of his hands is placed right against Hugo's heart, which is thumping rather slowly, despite his wish coming true. "Hugo, stay with me. Tell me what to do." Hugo's head lolls and turns to the baker. He can see the anguish in those beautiful hazel eyes. It hurts him to see the baker so worried. His red hair and beard are wet from the rain, hanging around his face, making him look like a sheepdog with long jowls. Hugo's anger dissipates in a matter of seconds, though it might just be the shock. "F...first," he slurs, "Get me out of t-this hole." The baker hesitates, then puts one hand under Hugo's legs, careful not to jostle the broken one, and the other on his back. He lifts the doctor up without strain. Hugo throws an arm around his neck. "You weigh no more than a sack of flour does," The baker observes, "You should really eat more." "I-Is now r...really the time?" He lifts Hugo onto the other side of the ditch. He then hoists himself up and Hugo can't help but watch his muscles bulging as he does it, giggling to himself in delirium. Thunder claps again, and he can see the way the baker's wet shirt leaves little to the imagination. The baker sits beside him, unperturbed by his giggling. "Y-You must set the bone," Hugo undoes the clasp around his jaw and lifts his mask just until his mouth is exposed. "C...cane, give me my cane." The baker goes back to the ditch, climbing out with the cane in hand. He wipes it against his shirt, staining the cotton black with mud. Hugo wrinkles his nose; he doesn't exactly have many options here. "This will hurt," The baker warns, as if Hugo doesn't know that already. The doctor puts the cleaner part of his cane in-between his teeth. The rain coursing down his chin makes it hard to keep a grip, but he just bites down with all the strength in his jaw. He gives the signal. He tries to hold onto both the cane and the feeling of the baker's hands on his exposed leg as he nearly loses his mind in the pain and screams into his cane. Once it's over, he lets the tool drop and nearly drops down himself. The baker's hand on his back is the only thing grounding him. He's become deaf to the sound of rain and thunder because if the world's mad, then so is he, so the world has no right screaming like this. "S...Splint," Hugo blinks slowly, trying to get the words out. "Sticks. Two. Wrap." "O-Okay." The baker forages for sticks and finds two of roughly the same length. He tears fabric from the hem of his shirt. Following Hugo's instructions, he splints Hugo's leg. Then, the doctor promptly passes out. -- Everything is warm. Too bloody warm. Hugo wakes up covered in a sheen of sweat. He tries to move the heavy blanket off of him, but his motions are sluggish, like his brain and nerves aren't communicating. There's something cold and wet across his forehead. He relishes it. Every part of his body hurts and even blinking does, too. He wants to say something, but the sound that comes out of his chapped lips is a rasp. He realizes, with a start, that he's not wearing his mask, or his uniform. He's wearing a cotton shirt that isn't his, plastered to his chest because of the sweat. The room itself is cold, even with the fireplace roaring pleasantly and casting light on everything. The window outside shows the chaos of a thunderstorm. Rain pounds the roof. The walls are painted red. The bed of his is comfy, pillows presumably filled with goose down. The blanket is woven and threadbare. His mask is hanging on a coat rack in a corner of the room, along with his hat. He tries to adjust his position, but his left leg is in severe pain. When it flares up, he remembers why; the chase through the woods and subsequent fall into a ditch, where the baker splinted his leg and carried him out...this was probably the baker's house. The thought warms his cheeks more than the fever does. He shivers. He startles when the baker walks in, sporting a similar cotton shirt. He's holding a bowl with a spoon. Hugo can see the steam rise from it, but he feels nauseous at the thought of digesting anything. "You're awake," the baker says softly, lacking his usual gruff. "How do you feel?" He pulls a chair towards Hugo's beside and sits down. "Like s...shit," Hugo replies, every word sluggish. He squints at the baker, the firelight behind him burning his retinas. He looks away. "I expected as much." The baker presses a hand against Hugo's neck and the doctor prays the other man doesn't feel his pulse quicken at the contact. The baker draws his hand back. He has to hide his sore disappointment. "You're burning up, doctor. Come on, I know just the thing." He props Hugo up to a sitting position and takes the cloth from his forehead. The doctor's head hangs, and to his embarrassment, leans into the baker's shoulder. The baker isn't surprised and keeps a solid hand on his nape. All this touch—it's so new and scary to Hugo and yet he craves more. More of calloused hands. More of being held. More of him. Even breathing hurts for Hugo, and his breathes come out shallow. He hates being so weak. He's been attending to plague victims for a straight year so far—he's never gotten sick until now.  Of course, it's not the plague, though. No one in Honeycliff has been infected...yet. "You must eat, doctor," the baker holds a steaming spoon in his other hand. "When I was a boy, my sister would have me eat this when I got a fever. Besides, you're too skinny. You can't fight the plague without some meat on your bones, now can you?" He holds the spoon to Hugo's lips, but the smell, as warm and comforting as it is, with hints of rosemary and thyme, spins his stomach over and he turns his head and buries it further into the baker's shoulder. The baker sighs, right next to Hugo's right ear. It shakes his messy hair. "I did the same, when I was younger," he chuckles, then grows serious. "Please, Hugo, you must eat." Hugo pauses. Then, he looks up at the other man, squinting at him with shiny eyes. His freckles pop out like stars. His beard is fluffier now that it's been dried. "Why do y...you do that?" He whispers, because anything above so hurts his chest. "Do what?" "You s-switch from 'doctor' t-to my name. You did the same thing in the forest...when I fell, you called my name. Every other t-time before this, it has always been d-doctor, or 'Doctor Wallace'..." He plops his head onto the baker's chest, gripping the blanket tightly. "...I don't understand you." A bead of sweat rolls down his nose. "I don't understand it, either, d..." He catches himself. To Hugo's surprise, he starts stroking the back of Hugo's neck, fingers tangling in his messy hair. "...Hugo. It just happens—spontaneously, then I remember that there's a pretense that comes with knowing you, so it—I correct myself..." "There's no pretense with the man you saved," Hugo picks at his shirt. "And whom you gave your shirt to. Did you..." He hesitates. "...undress me?" The baker is silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmurs, then adds, "But only your shirt. I kept the pants on. They dried well enough by the fire." "Oh. Good, good." He blushes a red bright enough to rival even the baker's wild locks. He's glad the other man can't see his face. Those hands being so close to his chest...it's enough to make his whole face red. "Will you eat now?" Hugo resists groaning and nods. It would be better to get it over with. He leans away and sits up properly. The baker's hand goes back to his back. He opens his chapped lips and takes a sip from the offered spoon. It's not entirely bad, and his stomach doesn't feel like a waterwheel, so he keeps eating. He was right, of course, about the spices; rosemary and thyme, with the slightest hint of lemon. They don't speak. The fire, the rain, and the clacking of the spoon against the bowl are the only sounds that make up a conversation. They leave things unsaid; this kind of thing doesn't just end in a ditch. He's much hungrier than he thought. The bowl gets finished much quicker than the plague spreads. "There you go," the baker says with a fleck of pride, and Hugo can't help the way it makes his heart flutter. The baker leaves the bowl on the mantel, then comes back to sit by the doctor's side, grasping his hands in his lap. He's about to speak, but Hugo cuts him off. "I...I don't think I know your name," he admits sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I lo...I love your bakery, so it's, um, strange I never got your name." "It's Thomas," Thomas says, "Thomas Gray. It's alright. I don't suspect you know the farmer's name either, nor his wife's. You've been here with us for all of—what is it now—three months, and you hardly know our names." Thomas's tone isn't accusatory, but observational, even humorous. Hugo's glad he finds it so funny, because he's embarrassed. He couldn't give a shite about the farmer or his wife or their kids, so he's more embarrassed about not knowing the name of the object of his desire than their names. Being a plague doctor isn't a highly personal job, after all. "Thomas," he tries the name, and it feels right, that it should be coming from him. "Thomas, you're Scottish, aren't you?" "Yes. The plague did start with our sailors. My family and I hopped onto the nearest wagon and made it here, in Honeycliff. We separated, however, so my father's serving as a plague doctor in another town and my mother as a seamstress in London. My three brothers have gone off to do odd-jobs in the villages." "You're the oldest?" "The youngest, actually." At Hugo's odd look, he laughs. "Yes, I am the youngest. My older brothers are all titans." Three other men built like Thomas. Hugo thinks that's the closest thing to heaven he'll achieve in this world. The silence returns, if only for a moment. "So, about last night—" The baker starts, but Hugo is quicker. "The soup was lovely. Y-You should give me the recipe, sometime." "I-I suppose. Hugo, last night—" "Would you look at that, the rain's stopped!" "It very much hasn't. Will you please let me speak?" Hugo opens and closes his mouth, struggling for a reason why they shouldn't have the conversation Hugo's been dreading since he woke up. He finds nothing. He motions with one sweaty hand for Thomas to continue. The baker takes the hand in his own. "Hugo Wallace," he says, "You were right when you said I was in love with the Bird Man. Because I was. Because I knew it was you." "W...what?" He looks up at the other man. His hazel eyes are honest. "Honestly, did you think I was just some big Scottish oaf who couldn't connect the dots like everyone else in this village? There is only one Bird Man around here, and it's the man with the very obviously bird inspired mask." Okay, he did used to think of Thomas as stupid, so color him surprised, but he still doesn't understand it. Hugo shakes his head. "I don't—then why did you answer me the way you did? That you 'didn't know' if you loved me?" "That," Thomas sighs, "I was very stupid to say. I didn't want to confess yet because it was all so...so sudden. I wasn't nearly prepared and I didn't even know if you felt the same way." You have no idea how much I love you, he almost says, but stops. How much does he actually love Thomas? In a wonderful display of hypocrisy, he's fallen in love with Thomas's image, with his body. He doesn't know the first thing about this man besides the fact that he is Scottish and has three brothers. "I do," Hugo admits, "but in the same manner I thought you had loved the Bird Man. I don't...I don't know you as well as I w-want to. And I do, I want t-to know you. I want to get to know you. We can start over. Will you...will you have me?" Thomas's other hand props up his chin, making the doctor look up at him. His thumb brushes Hugo's lips. The look in the baker's eyes is gentle, but serious. "There is no question of it, Hugo," he whispers, "I love you, Dr. Wallace. I have, ever since you moved into the village. I have loved you since the time you first came by my shop, looking in from the display window, and I knew how much you had wanted to go inside but you couldn't because of the plague, so I set up the delivery service especially for you. And...And I will love you, even if you don't feel the same once you get to know me." Hugo's eyes drift to Thomas's lips. He licks his own, and grabs the hand under his chin with both of his. Their freckles mesh together in one big pattern of stars. "I love you, too, Thomas," his voice cracks on the baker's name. There's a stone lodged in his throat. "Tell me you l-love me again, just once more." The baker chuckles. "I will make sure you don't forget it." Thomas tugs him forward and kisses him. Oh. He closes his eyes and leans into it. Oh. He has never felt such warmth. Their lips press together, pushing and pulling like waves. Hugo tastes thyme and rosemary, sweet on those lips, familiar on his. Something tugs at his fingertips, at his toes, at the bottom of his stomach. He curls his hands into the front of Thomas's shirt, trying to rid himself of the pins and needles that build up underneath his skin. They pull apart for a moment to breathe. Gasps. Soft breaths. Hugo's lips are not so chapped now. He's so eager that he's the one who pulls Thomas back into the kiss. He throws the blanket aside. He tilts his head, grasping at the other's lips, wanting so much more. A muscular arm wraps around his midsection, pulling him closer, and the other keeps a hand on his thigh, squeezing just that much. His touch is electric. It's like every nerve in Hugo's body is a firecracker. He's finally getting what he wants. So, why does the stone in his throat and the heat behind his eyes get harder and harder to ignore? He pulls away, trying to stifle a sob. "Hugo," Thomas murmurs in concern, cupping his cheek. Hugo leans into it. "Are you alright?" "I-I'm sorry," Hugo sniffles, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't k-know what's come over me. It's been a v-very long time since I've been...touched like this. I have been starved, so to say." "I understand." Thomas's smile is full of patience. "I k-kissed you," Hugo starts to smile despite the tears, "but I don't think I did it right. Can I try again?" "And again, and again, and again," Thomas presses a kiss to his forehead. "As much as you'd like to, doctor." And he does. He kisses Thomas. Again, and again, and again. "I love you, Hugo Wallace," the baker says while they're pressed against each other, gasping for breath, "I love the way your eyes are a different shade—blue and hazel, just like m-mine. I love..." Hugo tugs at his bottom lip and he growls, losing his train of thought for a moment. The doctor is trembling. "...I love your bravery, y-your strength. Even if you are snarky on the outside, your heart is tender." Hugo's hands, with hungry minds of their own, lift up the hem of Thomas's shirt. They touch the muscles there, then travel upwards. The other groans; he is just as needy as Hugo is, he knows it. He wants so badly to take off those trousers and empty this pool of warmth in his stomach. His eyes are distracted by the wonderful V that is formed by the baker's hips and the orange fuzz that peaks out from under. Thomas's lips press against his neck, leaving cold, cold kisses against his flushed skin. He nibbles a bit, before eventually biting down, long and tense, savoring the moment. He groans, the sensation setting off another few firecrackers, and grips Thomas's hair tightly as the other man's tongue laps at the spot. "A reminder," he hums against Hugo's neck, sending shivers down the man's spine. "And a gift." The baker's calloused hand holds his waist under his shirt, thumb rubbing into the freckled skin. The other is still teasing his thigh. "You are so precious in my shirt," Thomas whispers in his ear. The hand under his shirt wanders, and Hugo sucks in a breath. Just as quickly as it came, it's removed. Hugo hisses, partly out of frustration, because he just wants to be torn apart. Just as his hands are about to tuck into Thomas's trousers, the baker pulls away and stands, fixing his shirt and hair. Hugo blinks slowly, not understanding for a moment, before he gasps. "Thomas," he whines, breathless, grabbing the hem of the other man's shirt. "Don't leave it at that. I...I want t—" "I know you want more, my love," Thomas says, amused, patting Hugo's messy hair. "But your leg is broken and you've got a fever. I don't want you to strain yourself." "T-This old thing?" He gestures to his left leg, which is in a rather well made homemade cast. "It won't stop m-me, Thomas. Please." "You are sick," Thomas shakes his head firmly, hands on his hips. "You need rest." Hugo pouts, then flops onto his back. The disappointment and warmth are already starting to ebb. Thomas draws the blanket around him and brushes the hair out of his face. He kisses his forehead softly. "Goodnight, Hugo," he murmurs, "I'll see you in the morning." "Goodnight. I love you." "I love you, too." The baker leaves the room. The doctor touches his neck, pressing his finger into the bruise the baker had marked there. It stings pleasantly. He grins. As he drifts off to the sound of rain tapping against the windows, he thinks of the kiss between two silhouettes, and thinks of the ones that are yet to come, when they start over and become people, become more than just lips and breath. He thinks of the canvas-like palms of the baker holding him close—not destroying him, like he had wanted. Thomas is far more than muscular arms and hearty laughs. He is gentle. He is kind. He is not afraid of contact. That is all Hugo can ask for.