#no one has a worse grasp of my posting schedule than i do trust

[parkitaco]

i have like. 6 or 7 wips rn that are all at roughly the same stage of writing which is fuckin crazy bc i literally do not know which one is going to get posted next. no idea. i’m working on all of them at the same rate. this is a roulette situation. send help

[cinnamonest]

Rewriting my Diluc housewife thoughts but I saved it in my notes this time, but I made it infinitely more sexist than it already was before bc 1) I was in the kink mood and 2) the spirits of writing gods possessed my body and told me that is the way all Diluc content should be, so, this is major 1950s-ish housewifey horrendously misogynistic shit, you've been warned. Like, even *I* looked back over this and was like "wow this is vile" which is kinda saying something for me so, putting the nastier parts under cut for the sake of my followers' eyes ----------- I was thinking about the post a while back about Diluc reforming a criminal darling - a thief around Mondstadt that's been on a crime spree and of course he catches wind of that and goes to defeat the perpetrator (surprisingly very easy? How is a thief this weak?) and haul the bastard off to jail except... What's this? Said criminal is actually just some girl and not a gross ugly bastard?? This changes things. Clearly, this was not an intentional act of malice or greed, but rather, he, master of criminal psychology™, rationalizes that the world is far too cruel for unwifed girls that have no one to depend on, a cold terrible place, so you must have been driven to these actions out of desperation. You had no provider, no caretaker, which are needs. How could you possibly be expected to provide a means of living for yourself?? This is just the consequences of the unfairness of the world. However, things all work out in the end. You need to be taken care of and restrained from these self-destructive choices by force (since you cannot recognize how bad it is, not that you're expected to, it's natural that you have poor perception, that's why you need a man to make choices for you), and he needs a wife. This solution benefits all parties.

He is, however, a rather dense man, and doesn't really think to like, tell you that. Or tell you anything. He's too lost in thought in his planning -- gonna get you new clothes to replace your ragged ones, gonna have to rearrange the guard schedule so they can watch the house better, all that -- and just kinda slings you up and over his shoulder without a word. Ignores you kicking and hitting because it doesn't really hurt or anything, you're too weak for that. Just says he’ll explain in detail later, but don’t worry, you’re not going to jail. He’s just taking you home. This is better, he says. Stop struggling so much, what, you want to go to jail? No? Then be still. And you don't recognize that it's good for you yet, but again, that's expected. In a better time or society, you would have been married off sooner, and prevented from ever falling victim to your own decision making to begin with, but the world isn't perfect and you can be forgiven for it. You're not responsible for your own actions since you can't comprehend them. It's frustrating and he sighs a bit over it, but that's just the way things are. You'll be happy in the long run, even if it takes a while, you're naturally programmed for a better lifestyle he has in mind. And, really, he's glad you weren't married off, because if you were then he never would have had you, so even though it was technically unideal, the stars align and the universe works out things perfectly. It's all the more of a sign that this was fate and you were made for him. The issue is that a hardened criminal darling is... Not the ideal candidate for a housewife. To some extent, he's right that the criminal underworld hardens a person, you can't survive in that realm if you're submissive or weak willed. And criminal darling certainly is not. Loud mouthed, opinionated, argumentative, bad attitude, defiant and aggressive and very much unafraid. A complete loose cannon. All very unfavorable traits. Worst of all, very much unaccepting of and ungrateful for the privilege of a second chance and being graciously granted the opportunity for a better life. Lots of bad behaviors.

The cursing is a problem. It's not very... Wife-like. Gives off a bad image, you know. Especially since said cursing is usually directed at him at a very loud volume with a snarl and getting all up in his face to tell him he's fucking insane and a bastard. To be honest, the worst part isn't the words themselves, it's the fact that you are so unafraid to be defiant and so fiery that is the primary issue. You disobey very deliberately. Little acts of pettiness. Being mean to the maids who are so graciously trying to teach you how to cook (at his direction), since you had no idea how to (and nearly burned his house down as a result). The first time you were mean and bitter and that's how you learned they report back to him about how you behaved. It did not go over well.  

Intentionally burning food. Once you somehow found a bottle in a cabinet somewhere in the mansion and put rat poison in his food, made him sick. Muttering a sarcastic whoops and shoving a vase off to crash and shatter on the floor. Early on you refused to wear all the nice dresses you were generously given and even tried to go through his clothes to find something to wear, which was kinda cute since it was way too big, but still. You mutter and grumble under your breath every time you're given a command. The most important thing is sex, though. You know, your job. One of your only real responsibilities. He has a very stressful job. It's only reasonable that he can expect to come home to his sweet, loving little wife with open arms and equally open legs. You've probably fucked around a bit right? For money, for favors, for intel, you get the idea, lots of ties to criminal gangs to earn their trust. So, if you do it for something so insignificant, how much more does he deserve it for taking care of you fully? You should -- and you will, with time -- drop to your knees the second he walks through the door. But instead, sigh, you fight and whimper and cover your face in shame after you spasm and cum, and worst of all, you actively try not to cum. You shouldn't feel ashamed of that, it's good, he says. Sure, you may not be officially married (since the laws of Mondstadt unfortunately require that whole "consent" thing for both parties, ugh), but, he's basically your husband right? So, it's perfectly normal, you're supposed to cum for him. Maybe once you're all knocked up you'll be even hornier, and less shameful. He actually wasn't expecting you to be this bad. Incredibly stubborn and prideful. Literally the exact opposite traits of a good wife, you know, submissive and humble and obedient. He kinda thought that it was like... automatic. That once he just kinda shoved you in the right environment, it would be like flipping a switch right? Apparently not. But no matter. It can be changed, with effort and time. You're worth it. See, you're not supposed to backtalk him, you're supposed to smile and do what you're told without question. You're supposed to submit and obey, and instead you seem hellbent on pissing him off out of spite - and frankly, you're doing a good job of achieving that. Every time you defy him it sparks an irritation he can't describe, worse than he'd normally get from just being snarled at by anyone - no, something about being disrespected by someone he feels is beneath him makes him much, much angrier than it would be if it were, say, one of the business partners who get snappy and argumentative very frequently. He could break you and it would be easy, don't you know that? You stomp and you hit him and you yell, but clearly you process that you have to look up to look him in the eye, you have to realize how much smaller you are. You hit him even though you have to know by now he'll just grab your wrists, and like always you'll be unable to even hope of pulling out of his grip, the strength difference between you two is so great. There's no way you don't realize all that, yet you continue to behave the way you do. The inferiority is so blatantly obvious, but you act as if it's not. He spends a lot of time contemplating the source of this, the cause of your behavior, it occupies his thoughts. It's like... You resent him for something. Could it possibly be kidnapping you and keeping you as a glorified sex slave? No, no, that's not it. It's something else, yes. Are you just bitter about being inferior in, you know, every conceivable way? Is that it? The criminality for you was compensation to make you feel powerful, perhaps. You have a complex. You resent him not for anything he's done, but because you know he's stronger and smarter and generally superior to you. You don't want to accept it. You're prideful when you shouldn't be. You're supposed to be humble and content with your inferiority. Yeah, that's it. You just have a negative perception of the lifestyle you're supposed to have. Maybe some event in your life or someone else warped your view of things. You don't realize how happy you'd be if you just accepted it. Yes, if you submitted to it, if you swallowed your pride and actually accepted your place, you'd find you would be very happy, you just don't know that. Or maybe, your brain can't grasp something like that. After all, that's the reason you're supposed to be the submissive party of the two of you, you're not as bright or perceptive (says the densest man alive). You have to be... Led. Guided. So he says it. He is, again, a dense man. He does not really think about the fact that perhaps blatantly confronting you with the epiphany he thinks he's had and specifically using the words inferior and weak and small is probably not going to make you very happy. You get bitchy and bratty and try to hit him and he sighs because, see, this is exactly what he's talking about. You reacting the way you did only confirms you do have a complex, he says. So, how could he go about... reconditioning? He is not the most creative man, but thankfully it's a rather easy problem to solve. If you're reminded of a reality often enough, you have to accept it. For starters, using physical strength against you. Maybe that will metaphorically open your eyes. Holds you down in place when you're hitting him like you do, firmly bending you over a counter or whatever and just holding you in place. Come on, try to get up, try to push him off. You snarl and claw at the marble and push will all your strength, but he doesn't budge, not until you politely apologize and ask him to let you up. If you're being difficult and not going where he tells you to, well, he can just sling you up over his shoulder and carry you. If you're fighting being fucked he can just flip you over and press your face into the mattress and hold you still, and you can't help but take the brutal reality that you're basically a ragdoll to him, that is, physically overpowering you doesn't even require trying. It helps to knock you down a peg, remind you of your place and maybe get you to swallow that pride a bit. The orgasms and fucking have a similar effect -- every time you can't help but feel like he has a power over you. And really, he kinda does. Every time you lay there still panting and shivering in aftershock, the shame comes swarming in, all the obscene noises you made and the way you came undone under the person that treats you like property. Even if the rational part of you knows better, you can't help but feel like in a way it's like you let him win, allowed yourself to more or less prove him right. Maybe you'll learn better if you're in more humiliating positions. Stuck getting rammed from behind, hand forcing your face down and ass up. Actually correcting bad behaviors requires more direct approaches, so he takes the... Old fashioned route. After all, it's pretty much guaranteed to work. You don't listen to words, you don't listen to reason, but you'll certainly listen to handprints and belt welts on your ass. It's the first time you really, truly break, and that brings him a lot of satisfaction. The first time you really cry and whimper and beg and apologize so profusely it feels like you mean it for once. Granted, for a while you just persist in your bad behaviors and even try to run when you see him sigh and take the belt off, but you never get far. And, most notably, you actually fix your behaviors, with enough reminders. At one point, the next time you start being bad and get to bitching and snarling and putting up a fight, you catch the look on his face and, for once, you shut your mouth and look down and mumble an apology by default. See, you're learning. Speaking of, you still have that major issue with backtalking him. You're supposed to submit to him and acknowledge his authority over you. So he gets firm. Grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look him in the eye and reminds you that you will *not* get an attitude with him. You *will* show some respect. You say yes sir and no sir and do what you're told. And if you forget, he can give you a reminder, if you want that. But you shake your head with fear in your eyes, say you don't want that. It makes you mad. You want to lash back, but you swallow your pride and mutter a fine - before realizing the mistake, violating the rule you were just reminded of. You stammer out a yes sir but it's already too late. He has to control himself too, not let his anger get the better of him. He speaks in a way that isn't snarling and mean, but rather firm, cold, a flat tone that asserts dominance and demands respect. But... still wants you to like him. So he has to be nice, too. After all, you'll learn better if you're rewarded for being good, right? So you can get little rewards. Words of affirmation. A pat to the head. He'll buy you something you want, let you drink a bit (since, as a thief, of course, you had a problem with that before you came home, but that had to be corrected too, since drunkenness isn't very befitting). And sooner or later he does have a really good little wife. He's proud of you. You smile and obey commands without complaining. He can come home every day, and rather than hearing a long report from the staff about how much trouble you caused that day, instead you have food and smiles and sweet affection waiting on him, you hug him when he walks through the door. You're polite and sweet to the various business partners and guests that come through -- you don't speak to them without permission though, of course, and you look down at the ground so you don't make eye contact with another man. People say he's lucky and how they wish they had a wife that was so outwardly affectionate to them as you are to him, always clinging to him physically. And you don't complain or every object to anything, you just smile and say yes and do it. It makes him happy in a weird way he can't quite articulate. A warm swell of pride, a feeling of success. You have vague memories of a time when you were breaking into houses just to scrape by, not knowing when you'd eat next, not knowing where you'd sleep. It's kind of a fuzzy memory now. You don't have to worry about those things anymore, and you're a lot happier this way.

[letarasstuff]

A touchy Subject

(A/N): This is requested by an anon. It is based on this post.

Summary: Some people don’t like to be touched, which can interpreted into the wrong thing.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, but it’s only a false accusation

Wordcount: 1.2k

✨Masterlist✨ ________________________________

“That’s why I’ll write to the NYPD they are looking for a-” Hotch wants to explain, but is cut off by a phone ringing. Everyone at the round table looks at the source aka their resident genius.

With his face turning red Spencer looks at the caller ID, immediately recognizing the number. “Uh, it’s (Y/N)’s school. I have to take this?” It’s more a question directed to Aaron, who gives him a nod. Quickly the lanky man scrambles out of the conference room while accepting the call.

“Hello, Dr. Spencer Reid speaking.” “Hello Dr. Reid, this is Miss Pickett from your daughter’s elementary school. There is something I want to speak with you regarding (Y/N)’s behavior. Would it be ok, if you come in in half an hour, so we can talk?”

At that he is taken aback. His daughter’s behavior? Spencer always tried to raise a friendly and sweet girl, who is ready to help if needed. What could be possibly wrong with her? Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have a mother in her life?

A few months after (Y/N)’s birth her mother decided to move herself out of the picture, deeming herself unable to fulfill the role of a mother. Since then Spencer tries to be both a mother and a father to her, but this works not always. That’s why he is so happy she gets along with the women of the BAU, accepting them as her Aunts and female role models. (Y/N) knows she is able to go to them if there is an issue Spencer would not understand. He told her several times to not be afraid to go to them, that he won’t be mad at her.

“I’m sorry, the school wants me there to talk about (Y/N). I’m not sure what the issue is, but I think I will take her with me back, if it is ok?” The doctor looks at his boss for permission.

“It’s fine, Reid. You don’t have to come back in, your daughter is your first priority, we can manage to write the profile without you. Though I think Garcia would be happy to see her, the last case was pretty intense for her. It’s best if you decide depending on the problem.” He understands Spencer’s problem, being a single father himself.

“Will do, thank you Hotch!” With encouraging words echoing out of the room he grabs his satchel and makes his way to his daughter’s school. On his path worries about his child plague his thoughts, leaving him unable to think about something, anything, different.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I have an appointment with Miss Pickett, my daughter’s teacher?” The agent tells the secretary. The friendly looking man points him to the teacher’s classroom, which is where she wanted to meet the father.

Nervously Spencer waits for the “Come in” after he knocks on the door. “Ah, Dr. Reid, thank you so much for coming on short notice. I know you have a pretty tight schedule with your work and I’m really sorry for pulling you away, but there is something important I have to talk with you about.” The more Miss Pickett, a nice woman in her mid thirties with long brown hair, talks, the worse the father feels.

“I don’t want to rush anything, Miss Pickett, but what are you talking about? What is wrong with my daughter’s behavior?”

“Dr. Reid, is there any possibility (Y/N) gets abused?” She looks him dead in the eye. Her whole demeanor tells the profiler that she takes the whole situation seriously, otherwise he would have laughed out loud. This is the most absurd thing he heard all day long and Garcia ranted to him about a fantasy video game earlier.

“With all due respect, but do you really think I would hit my daughter? No, there is no way. You know that it’s only the two of us and there is nobody else, who could do anything to her without my knowledge. What are you thinking? On which proof do you make these accusations?” There is nothing for Spencer that could indicate his daughter is being hit at home. She is a naturally curious girl, friendly, smart and sweet.

“Whenever her classmates try to give her a high five, she ducks away. When I pat her shoulder as a way to show my appreciation for her comments or work she flinches. Dr. Reid, I’m by far not a profiler, but I know as good as you that an apprehension towards touching is one of the major signs for abuse. So I need you to be honest with me: Do you abuse her?”

There is no way this is real, is the only thought Spencer can form right now. Being directly accused is something different than the underlying implication.

“Miss Pickett, I’m honest with you: Let the profilers do the profiling.” While talking he leans towards her in a threatening manner. “My daughter was never hit, is never hit and will never be hit by me or anyone else as long as I breathe. (Y/N) is apprehensive to touch like many other people, introverts for example. Just because she and her behavior doesn’t fit into your extroverted world doesn’t mean I lay a hand on her. And for your information: She loves to cuddle with me and anyone she has a deep bond with. You are only her teacher, not a person she trusts or knows well enough. I appreciate your concern, but making an accusation like that has to be funded by more than only one indicator. Now excuse me, I will sign my daughter out and take her to people, who don't pressure her into doing something she isn’t comfortable with.”

Angrily Spencer stomps out of the colorful classroom, which is the whole opposite of his current mood.

“Me again, I want to sign out (Y/N) Reid, she has math in room 23 with Mrs Muller. Should I go get her or how do you do it here?” He asks the receptionist.

“I call her teacher, she sends your daughter here, Dr. Reid. Just a moment.” Not long after this an excited “DADDY” echoes through the long hallway. A sudden force throws itself against the father’s leg.

“I didn’t know you would pick me up early!” (Y/N) tells him joyfully, happy to see her dad again. As soon as he crouches down, she throws herself into his arms. “I missed you.” It’s still hard for a second grader to grasp the concept of time.

“I missed you, too, Sweetheart. What do you think, do you want to come with me to the berau? Auntie Penelope is kind of sad and there’s nobody better at cheering her up than you!” At that she nods vehemently.

The father picks his daughter up, carrying her out of the building. On his way out he spots Miss Pickett out of the corner of his eye, who watches them closely. While (Y/N) tells her father about her day, she plays with his hair, unknowingly defeating anything her teacher said earlier.

“Daddy, do you think Auntie Penny needs a normal hug or a bear hug?”

“I think she needs two bear hugs, just to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s good. Just to be safe.”

[adorethedistance]

Doomsayers - Owen Joyner x Artist!Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, existential dread, pretty mild content overall.

Words: 1110

Summary: Owen had to practically harass you to get you to relax on your mutual day off, but the quality time together takes an unexpected turn when you exhibit a small sense of self-doubt.

A/N: I’m sorry I’ve sort of disappeared but I’ll offer an explanation in the footnote. Other than that, requests are still being filled right now. Let this self-indulgent piece hold you over in the meantime. I wanted to get something out and due to how the process went with finishing this one, I think I’m slowly easing back into a writing spell after such a long period of writer’s block.

“Y/N!” Owen yells, dragging out my name despite being a mere ten feet away.

“Oweennnnn,” I whine back in an insincerely mocking tone. My almost too loving boyfriend is lying in the unmade sheets of my bed, groaning at me from a supine position. I’m switching in between sitting and standing as I work on a new painting for a client. It’s a magical realist take on an Italian cobblestone street view, and I’ve spent so much time on the painting this week that I’m way ahead of schedule. Owen knows this and is consequently moaning at me from his spot where he’s nestled on my bed.

A lazy Saturday is exactly what we both needed, but when I decided I had a little time the morning before he showed up, I’d gotten so invested in my workflow that I didn’t even break to answer the door. This isn’t the first time Owen’s had to let himself into my place with the key I gave him for our one-year anniversary. Essentially: when I have a warm drink in one hand and a paintbrush in the other, there’s no telling when I’ll break next.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing. Why are you working on our lazy Saturday?”

“I’m not working.” I brush a loose strand of hair out of my face, careful not to dab a glob of yellow oil paint across my cheek.

“You are painting a commission. It’s literally work, babe.”

“Hush. I’ve got a good workflow going.”

“If you don’t put that brush down in the next 10 seconds… I’ll… I’ll break up with you!”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” he sighs defeatedly. “But I will start crying.”

“Owen-” I stand up straight after being hunched over the canvas for so long.

“Please?” When I look at my boyfriend he’s giving me the most pitiful pout in the world and I can’t help but smile. His pout morphs into a full grin when I set my paintbrush into a plastic cup of water and oil solution.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“I love you!”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“Hush.”

I crawl up the length of my bed to join Owen who awaits my arrival with open arms. He’s resting on all my different pillows which are strewn about the bed via his nesting tendency. Once I’m laying down, Owen wraps both arms around my waist and rests his face on the nape of my neck. He presses a kiss to the bottom-most cervical vertebrae and inhales my scent delightedly.

“You enjoying yourself back there?”

“You smell good,” he mumbles shyly. Hugging his arms around me tighter, he traces soothing circles on my hip bone with his right index finger. His head comes to a static position as he’s finally comfortable, and slings his left leg over the side of my left thigh. I can’t help but laugh at the assumed position, and pull out my phone to entertain myself, knowing damn well that Owen will be asleep in a matter of minutes.

When I open instagram my face falters a little bit. The most recent post is from my coworker Kelly, and it’s a video of her 6 month old baby. In the video, her husband is holding the baby, making funny faces at her to get her to laugh. The sight is adorable and kind of saddening all at once. They seem like such a happy family and I’m sharply reminded by a thump in my chest of how Kelly got the promotion we were both up for last week. Her life seems magnificent, and mine feels like it hasn’t started yet. I know she’s three years older than me, but still. Three years isn’t that much. I still feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, or going to do.

“Owen?” I don’t trust my voice to lift over a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

“I am now that you’re finally relaxing with me-”

“No,” I cut off his pointed comment with a breathy laugh, “I mean with life in general.” Owen’s finger stops tracing circles, and there’s no more movement of him making small adjustments. The only proof I have of him being alive is the faint tickle of his breath across the exposed skin of my neck.

“I mean, not everything is fantastic per se, but I’m content with the balance of good and bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I still get in my own head with auditions a bit, but I have acting and a new pad and you,” Owen emphasizes his statement by hugging onto my waist a bit tighter. “Why? What’s up?”

“I don’t know. I just get consumed by the thought that--yes, everyone wants to be happy--but it just doesn’t happen for some people. Everyone has dreams and goals and aspirations, but how many people can actually say that they have their dream career or dream life?” I let out an involuntary sigh from subconsciously holding my breath. “What if I’m not one of the people who gets to be happy?”

“Woah… where is this coming from?” Owen holds onto me tighter at the lack of a response. He presses a lingering kiss to my back and doesn’t move away until he feels my shoulders physically relax in his grasp.

“You deserve to be happy. And you will be even if you aren’t right now. Even if the bad outweighs the good right now, you have me. I’m here for you… I love you, Y/n.”

“I know. I love you.”

“Besides, aren’t you a little young to be having so much existential dread?”

“Oh, that is so rich coming from you.”

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Owen scoffs in defense of his honor.

“You are the biggest doomsayer I have ever met.”

“It could be worse. I could be this existential and look like you.” It’s my turn to play up defensive with an exaggerated gasp.

“You can cuddle with yourself then while I-”

“No! I’m sorry, please don’t leave!” His hold on my body grows impossibly tighter as he pulls me into his broad chest. I give in and stop struggling against him. Owen peppers the bare skin of my neck in staccato kisses to restore my tranquility. It’s not long until the two of us settle into a comfortable silence, simply desiring to be enveloped in one another’s presence. The syncopation of our breathing is the only sign of life in the room, and I’m consumed by a moment's clarity: as long as I have Owen, the good will always outweigh the bad.

***

A/n: Okay so for you nosy fuckers who care to read this: the reason I kinda disappeared... is so fuckin dumb. Idk how I got here but atm I’m #obsessed with Mat Barzal. Yeah. The hockey player. I don’t want to become a hockey blog tho so I figured I’d just go through this on my own and then resurface once I’m back on my JATP headassery. Slowly but surely, I can get through it. I go through periods of time where I exclusively read fics and then exclusively write fics. This has been a time of reading recently as I’ve purged the majority of Barzal content on here.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1​@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz​ @talk-on-the-street​ @phantompogues​ @konciousdreamer​ @sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul​ @celestialmolina​ @lilyjoyner​ 

[so-langdon]

Never Enough - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Michael relaxes Y/N in the shower after a long week.

Warnings: Fluff, sensual situations, teasing, fingering, oral (female receiving), soft! dom! Michael

A/N: This takes place in the same AHS: Apocalypse universe, just before the bombs, but with Michael having the Outpost! Michael physical appearance.

*ALSO hi wow it’s been like a decade since I’ve posted any writings... I don’t know how popular Michael Langdon fan fics are now and if anyone will even read this??? But posting it anyway bc I’m still obsessed and in love with Michael fucking Langdon 🙃

Hope you’re all doing well and staying safe and healthy! 💙💕

Tagged!: @hecohansen31​ @greenmanalishi​ @michaelsapostle​  @blakewaterxx​ @saltyshaggymeme​ @rocketgirl2410​ @xavierplympton​

(Also not sure if any of you wanted to still be tagged in my writings, but just in case.. Let me know otherwise if you want to be removed!)

The warmth of water cascades over Y/N, soothing her body, relaxing her muscles and releasing any tension and stress the busy day has given her. She slides her hands over and through her hair, leaning her head back, allowing the warmth of the steam and water to unwind her mind along with her body. 

It’d been a long and tiring week, causing Y/N to feel overwhelmed and overworked with all the tasks and deadlines that had to be met at her job. Alongside that, Michael Langdon, her partner, had been busy with his own work, seeming to be living at the Kineros Robotics company where he had been planning a number of things. 

The two were so busy with their own jobs, their schedules never lining up, they hadn’t been able to spend any real time together recently as it’d been at least a week since they were able to sit down and actually be with one another.

They’d each be at work all day, then come home and go to bed, hardly having any time to de-stress and talk. Especially since Y/N was always going to bed by the time Michael was getting home, him following to sleep then too. But being adults, with their work needing to get done, each understood and knew they’d get time together one way or another eventually.

However, Michael could sense and feel the stress and tension in Y/N, whether he was with her or not. The two had this connection, a strong bond formed over the love they have for one another, and with Michael’s abilities, Michael could always tell when Y/N was feeling too stressed out, even when she tried to keep a smile on her face and not burden Michael. 

Knowing that Y/N had been particularly overly tired and stressed this week, Michael made sure to leave Kineros early that day so he could spend time with her and give her a relaxing evening. He had been missing her a little too much anyway.

Michael walks into their home, carrying a few bags that contain Y/N’s and his favorite take out, wanting to give them a good dinner that evening and so Y/N didn’t have to worry about cooking, along with a few other items to make the rest of the night fun and relaxing too.

Y/N doesn’t hear Michael coming home early of course as she’s in the shower washing away the day down the drain. She doesn’t hear the bathroom door open and close either, much less take notice of Michael’s appearance on the other side of the shower glass door. 

Michael smiles to himself, finding her as alluring as ever and proceeds to undress, discarding his clothes to the floor and opening the shower door. Y/N hears and notices him by that point, but doesn’t react, only wiping her face clear of water.

She feels Michael’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, causing her to smile. She places her hands over his wrists on her, turning her head back to him.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” she says as she looks at him, her tone sweet and happy, the warmth of Michael around her causing her a tranquility already more than the warm shower was. 

Michael grins, resting his chin on her shoulder. He presses his lips to her neck, mumbling against her, “Hi baby.”

“Hi,” she smiles more. “What are you doing home already,” she asks curiously.

“Decided to take off early,” Michael starts. “We’ve hardly had any time together this week and I’ve missed you too much, so I decided to come home and spend time with you.”

“Really,” Y/N raises her eyes as she turns around to face Michael fully, staying in his hold as his arms stay around her waist. “I’m sure Jeff and Mutt had a field day with that -- you leaving early just to come home to a girl,” she teases.

“They know better than to make any idiotic remarks,” Michael states, knowing how immature and annoying the two morons at his work could be. “But doesn’t matter. I’m the boss, what are they going to do? They worship me anyway.”

“Maybe they won’t do anything,” she begins, “but your girlfriend may make fun of you for being so whipped,” Y/N jokes, smiling as if she’ll laugh.

Michael lets out a soft chuckle, leaning in and pressing his lips against her inner neck, humming against her as he kisses against her. “So I’m whipped because I wanted to come home and spoil my favorite person?”

“Spoil,” Y/N repeats, looking at him questioningly as Michael lifts his head and looks at her with an amused expression.

“Yes, of course,” he speaks fluidly. “I left early and picked up our favorite food, along with some other things, and figured we could have a relaxing evening together.” He raises a hand from around her waist to her face, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin gently. “We’ve both been so busy this week, and I know you’ve been more so overworked and stressed. I want to help you unwind,” he leans in, “help you relax,” he kisses her sweetly, making her heart flutter. “And take care of you,” he mumbles against her lips before pulling back with the same amused look, mixed in with an adoring expression.

Y/N wraps her arms around his neck as she smiles shyly at him, flushing a bit from his words. “And what about you?” She asks.

Michael grins, dropping his hand from her cheek to stepping her back to press against the side of the shower wall, the water hitting the both of their sides. A slight shiver runs through Y/N from the coldness of the wall behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist after, “I want this evening to be about you. I’ll be fine.”

“I think we can make this evening about both of us just as easily,” Y/N states.

“You don’t understand that me taking care of you takes care of me.” He leans his lips into the crook of her neck once more, kissing against her. “So let me start this evening out right and take care of you properly,” he whispers gently along her skin.

“What do you mean,” Y/N asks, oblivious to Michael’s ulterior motives.

Michael smirks a bit and drops one hand from around her as he brushes the back of his fingers down along the side of her body. “What do you think,” he asks, almost taunting her as his hand slows down, trailing his fingers from the side of her hip, to the front of her and lower.

Y/N bites her lip as Michael’s hand movements gets slower, teasing her by hovering his hand over just where she would like him. At an aching pace, Michael reaches down to her heat, the anticipation building quickly due to the built up tension from all week, and he cups her, his palm pressing against her, causing her breath to hitch.

He begins with his fingers rubbing down her slit, allowing the excitement to grow inside of Y/N. The wavering of Y/N’s breathing already causes him to grin almost cockily, feeling a pride from always being able to turn Y/N on so easily.

Michael’s other arm that’s wrapped around Y/N brings her closer to him, making Y/N press her lips together as she looks at him, not bothering to hide his obvious smirk now. Y/N’s hands grasp his shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed as she feels the pads of Michael’s fingers smoothly brush through her folds and to her clit, rubbing circles against her.

Y/N’s heart begins to beat faster bit by bit as her breathing gradually becomes more shallow. Michael’s fingers rub from her clit and down her slit, towards her entrance, feeling the wetness of her beginning to grow.

“You’re already so wet, baby,” Michael speaks softly, a huskiness showcasing in his tone too as he presses his lips against her forehead.

“Maybe it’s the water,” Y/N breathes out, trying to cover up the fact of how aroused she’s getting so quickly.

“Sure, darling,” Michael smiles. “Whatever you say.”

He gathers her wetness against his fingers as he teases against her heat, spreading it up to her clit and rubbing again, earning a quiet moan from her. He focuses on his consistent pace as he rubs her, knowing just how to work her up.

Michael’s movements are slow and almost too soft, knowing Y/N is desperate for more, but wants Y/N to savor each touch and sensation he gives her so she can enjoy the full pleasure and gradual build.

“Michael, please,” Y/N breathes out as if on cue, becoming needier, biting her lip again. She was used to Michael teasing her, but it accompanied a more rough setting. This was more focused and controlled, almost worse due to the ache of the slow and gentle build, making her want more more quickly.

“What? You don’t want it over too fast, do you?” He speaks, his hands movements matching the pace with his slow and hushed but teasing tone. “You want to take it all and feel the complete pleasure, right,” Michael speaks enticingly, leaning his head into the crook of her neck, kissing against her.

“Don’t tease me,” Y/N sighs out, feeling as the pads of Michael’s fingers continue at the same pace as he rubs against her clit.

“Trust me, darling, I’m only loving you,” Michael mumbles, lips brushing against her ear and kissing her, causing a shiver to run through Y/N.

Another smirk grows across Michael’s face, lips kissing against her ear and along her neck consistently as his fingers continue working along her.

Michael circles against her clit a few more times before bringing his fingers to her entrance, feeling how she’s pulsing lightly against him. He teases her more, rubbing against her softly, causing Y/N to whine and rest her forehead against Michael’s shoulder.

He pushes a finger inside of her, his own cock twitching but doing his best to control himself as he wants to only focus on her. He pumps his finger a few times, curling, a soft whimper leaving Y/N’s mouth.

Michael’s lips press against Y/N’s neck again, giving a soft suck and small nip following, kissing against her tender skin after. Y/N’s hands tighten on his shoulders, feeling how her body is getting more hot, from Michael’s touches, the steam of the shower, the pleasure spreading through her.

Y/N moans lightly when feeling Michael’s finger curl again inside her as his thumb rubs over her clit too, adding to the pleasured sensation. Still greedy for more, unable to help it when she breathes out a heavy, “More Michael, please.”

Since Michael understands Y/N’s tension and had planned for a relaxing evening for her, he listens to her instead of continuing to tease and drawing out her yearning like he normally would when they fool around and would punish her for her needy behavior. He did, after all, start it anyway.

Michael lifts his head from her neck and removes his hands from her. Y/N looks up at him with a small pout, Michael grinning as he leans in and kisses her slowly, then lowering his head as he kisses against her collarbones, down to her cleavage.

Looking up at her as he lowers himself to the floor and onto a knee, still kneeling tall enough that the water from the shower isn’t drenching his face, he grabs Y/N and pulls her forward, wrapping an arm around her lower body, his other hand grabbing her knee and lifting her leg over his shoulder. One of Y/N’s hands rests on the top of Michael’s shoulder, the other placing back against the wall of the shower.

Michael’s eyes stay focused on Y/N’s as he leans his head forward and licks a slow stripe through her folds and to her clit, closing his eyes and letting out a low groan from her taste. Y/N lets out a shallow breath, her stomach contracting already, merely from the sight of Michael alone.

He circles his tongue around her clit, enclosing his lips after and sucking slowly. Y/N’s eyes close again, her hand on Michael’s shoulder grasping tighter. Michael pulls Y/N closer, holding her to him as his plump lips and tongue work at her bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” Y/N moans out, her mouth dropping open, her chest rising and falling at a faster level.

Michael unwraps his arm from around Y/N and brings his hand up to between him and her. He lets his finger rub against her entrance again as he sucks on her clit still. He pushes his finger inside her like before, adding a second right after and pumping his fingers inside of her at a slow pace.

He gradually pumps his fingers faster, his other hand coming to her clit and pulling back her hood to lick his tongue fervently against her more without anything in between for her to feel the full sensitivity. 

Y/N jerks feeling all the sensations together, her lower body moving forward as she grinds against Michael’s tongue. He pumps his fingers, curling them as Michael opens his eyes and looks up at Y/N, his thumb that holds her hood back, moving lower to rub over the sensitive nub, and adding his tongue as he licks around and over it too at the same time for more pleasure.

Y/N begins to thrust her lower body forward more, practically riding Michael’s face as she feels the contract of pleasure inside her body beginning to grow, deeper and deeper. Her body starts to tremble, her toes curling as the build gets bigger.

Michael sucks on her clit harshly as he thrusts his fingers inside of her faster, curling every other second, knowing how close she is and feeling desperate to taste more of her.

Y/N’s hand moves to the upper back of Michael’s head, grasping at the roots of his long locks as the pressure inside her tightens more, feeling how close to the edge she is.

Michael keeps at a consistent pace with his lips and tongue on her clit, his fingers pumping inside her, humming against her from enjoying the taste of her, the way her body grinds against his face, her body jerking lightly.

The coil snaps finally, the release of undeniable complete pleasure flooding through Y/N’s body, the tension from the week disappearing in waves as a relaxation and gratification overcomes her.

Michael is sure to suck and lick up every bit of her before standing up, including sucking on his fingers to taste as much of her as he can. Y/N’s chest is rising up and down heavily as she catches her breath and comes down from her orgasm, looking at Michael with a lazily content expression.

“Feel better,” Michel asks rhetorically, smirking and grabbing her waist as he holds her to him. “I know this week has been overwhelming, but hopefully you’re feeling more relaxed now.”

“Getting to spend time with you helps me relax,” Y/N smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck as Michael’s arms around her waist hold tighter. “But, that was quite the treat, too,” she bites on her lip, smiling again after.

“Was quite the treat for me, as well,” Michael leans in, grinning, his nose lightly brushing against Y/N’s, making her smile more, and he kisses her. “Now, let’s get out so we can enjoy the rest of our evening together.”

“But what about you? You haven’t given me the chance to relax you yet,” Y/N says, unwrapping her arms from around Michael’s neck to resting on the front of his collarbones, slowly dropping her hands down his fit chest.

“I told you, taking care of you takes care of me. Besides, I’m not done with you yet,” Michael informs, his words holding a husky and sensual tone.

“Oh? What else do you have planned?” Y/N asks curiously, her eyes filling with a curious excitement.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Michael leans in slowly, letting his lips brush over Y/N/s teasingly, making her lean up to close the space between them, wanting to kiss him. But Michael leans back more, smirking as he senses the growing want in her again for him.

He kisses her a second later, knowing he can’t hold his own self back from kissing her for too long. He grasps her cheek, knowing no matter the amount of time they have together, it will never be enough with her.

~

Hope you enjoyed!! All feedback is appreciated <3

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 19 - THE KING’S GAMBIT

Good evening all. So now that we are all caught up with the previous two chapters, I am posting the most recent chapter called The King’s Gambit. This one also is NSFW. It will be the last of this type for a while, since are many other things these two babies need to do, like go back to work. 

Why did this chapter take so long? I don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t get it right. So thank you to @scubalass​ who kept on me until it become something worth posting.

I appreciate any thoughts, comments, suggestions, recommendations that anyone may have. Any questions anyone has fire away.

So without any further delay, I give to you, for better or worse:

Edinburgh to Scotland

Chapter 19

The King’s Gambit

The pale cold light from a winter sun came through the bedroom window. It was the type of light that illuminated but did not lend warmth. It was, however, warm and cozy in bed next to Claire. Jamie didn’t want to get up by a long shot, but the reality of life would intrude today and there was no sense in postponing it.

He quietly got up rummaging through a drawer finding an old pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt; he dressed quickly turned and looked at Claire sleeping.

Her hair was a wild mess, like a dandelion puff that exploded. She’ll hate it, he thought. He, on the other hand, rather liked it as he thought it suited her, ferocious and untamed. Maybe that was what he loved about her. She reminded him of the Highlands, fierce, unrestrained, yet warm, loving, and tender as a spring flower. And beautiful. He gently brought the blanket up to cover her properly and silently left her to her slumber.

Claire turned onto her side searching for Jamie only finding a cold empty bed. Cracking one eye open she scoured the room for any sign of her Scot. To her dismay, he was nowhere to be found. She wiggled her bum intending to burrow down into the inviting bed for a few more minutes of sleep when the enticing smell of fresh coffee wafted under her nose pulling at her like a doomed sailor to a siren’s song.

Standing up, Claire smiled at the pleasant soreness between her legs remembering their amorous activities of last night and earlier this morning. Thinking she would find him in the kitchen, she wrapped her robe around herself and padded off in search of her Scot and coffee. 

She found him seated at the island, a coffee mug in hand staring intently at his laptop. Leaning over, Claire wrapped her arms around him resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” she murmured, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek.

Jamie took her hand lovingly kissing her palm, “Ye slept well then, lass?” he inquired. 

“Very well. Better than I have in a long time,” Claire replied sounding pleased.

She turned her head to observe the screen realizing he had logged in to the hospital’s portal to review their upcoming OR schedule.

“I see you’re busy checking our calendar.”

“Aye, I have. There’s a CABG followed by a mitral valve repair/replacement as soon as we get back. The remainder of the week is just as busy.” He was crestfallen at not being able to help her. “Ye ken I canna help ye. So I was looking tae see who was free.”

Claire poured a cup of coffee and sat next to Jamie to review the surgical roster. “Look, I think Pound is free all week. He’s getting ready to graduate and could use more hands-on time. And he is quite good. I trust him. I think we have our problem solved,” Claire said as she sipped her coffee. “Do you think you could cover my other duties while I’m operating? That should ease the burden on the two of us.”

“I can. Now I just need to tell the Chief,” Jamie rolled his eyes and grimaced with the prospect of having this conversation with the pompous old windbag.

“Then I shall leave you to it,” Claire grabbed her cup and stood as if to leave wanting to give Jamie some privacy for the phone call.

“No, I dinna want ye to leave,” he reached out grasping her hand.  It was strange how he had come to rely on her in such a short time. Claire became his pillar, his strength. 

“I dinna like the man. He may be Chief but…there is just something about him that’s no’ right.”

She looked at him with sympathy. “I know what you mean. I have thought him to be rather Janus-faced, friendly and kind but insincere and unscrupulous. I have heard rumors about how he treats other surgeons,” provoking a shiver to run down her spine. “But, he likes you. I don’t think there should be much of a problem.”

“Aye, that's what I fear. “I dinna like his attentions,” he huffed. 

“You are very talented and a much better surgeon than he is. He knows it and I have a suspicion he doesn’t like it.”

Jamie blushed at her praise. That kind of praise coming from Claire Beauchamp meant something.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled Claire closer. He looked up at her beseechingly. “Besides, mo nighean donn, this affects you as well. We have been partners long before we became…more.”

He didn’t know how to define what they are. Boyfriend and girlfriend? That sounds rather like high school. Lovers? That they were. But it did not encompass everything. Companions, partners? That still did not cover what their relationship was. He was at a loss to explain what their relationship should be called. What would explain it enough without demeaning its significance? Did it really matter how they referred to each other? She is the love of his life. And that’s what mattered. 

“Ye need to be part of the discussion and the solution.” He looked at her encouraging her to stay. 

“You’re right, Jamie. We need to face things together.”

“Aye, there’s the two of us now,” he smiled with the thought. Whatever they faced they would present a united front. 

Taking a deep breath, Jamie placed the call. 

“Good day to ye Ainsley. Dr. Fraser here, would the Chief be available?” Jamie inquired almost hoping that he was not. Get it over with Fraser. If not now then it will be later. Jamie heaved a large sigh.

“Aye, Dr. Fraser. Let me connect you.”

Soft nondescript music played as he waited for his boss to pick up the line. He puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with impatience, anxious to get the call over with.

“Jaamie,” the honeyed voice drawled. “How is my favorite surgeon? Hum? Ready to come back with all these new techniques that will improve our department?” The avarice was apparent in his voice. His greed extended not only to money, but to position, fame, but most of all power.

“Weel, sir that’s the reason for my call. I had a wee accident while in Boston injuring my right hand and I’ll no’ be able to operate for a few weeks.”

Claire placed her hand on Jamie’s thigh giving it a gentle squeeze in support.

“You what!?” The Chief sputtered. “Where was Beauchamp while all of this was going on??” He muttered under his breath, but obviously not low enough not to be heard, “Damn the woman! You think she could control one man.”

Claire’s hand went to cover her mouth to smother her laughter. She expected nothing better from him. “Utter arse!”

Jamie scowled at her, for laughing. Claire shrugged her shoulders, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“She was no’ there when the accident happened. I should be fine in a few weeks. In the meantime, Dr. Beauchamp and I have assessed the situation and devised a plan that will allow for our caseload tae go on unimpeded. I believe that Dr. Elias Pound is available to assist Dr. Beauchamp with the surgeries while I assume the teaching, rounding, and clinic duties. We believe this is a satisfactory solution.”

“It seems you two have everything sorted. I can always count on the two of you to rise to the occasion.” There was a brief pause in the conversation accompanied by some soft muttering from Sandringham’s end. “Jamie, I want you to see our hand surgeon, Dr. Hildegarde de Gascogne to manage your care. As you are aware, she is world-renowned and I want only the best for you, my lad.  You are a very valuable asset to our department, ” he wheezed. ”Ainsley will call you with an appointment.”  Sandringham’s feigned attempt at concern was easily heard in his voice as it was hollow lacking sincerity for Jamie’s well being.

His tone became unctuous and slick, “Are you in much pain, dear boy? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Ah, no. Thank ye, Dr. Sandringham. Dr. Beauchamp and I have this well under control. I’ll be expecting Ainsley’s call.” 

“Very well then. Oh, and Dr. Fraser do be more careful, hmm?”

“Aye, sir. Good day tae ye.” He exhaled heavily now feeling able to draw a deep breath.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” Claire said with a smirk.

“Easy for you tae say. Ye dinna have tae speak tae the man.”

“No, I didn’t. But, he thinks I should have prevented you from injuring yourself.” Little did Jamie know that Claire did blame herself for his broken fingers and that he re-injured his hand a second time.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I promised ye I would beat Frank into a pudding if I ever saw him. ‘Tis an honor tae care for ye, protect ye.”

She looked up at him as if he were her knight in shining armor, “I don't know if I ever thanked you for coming to my rescue that night, but thank you.”

Claire sat on his lap snuggling up against him resting her head in the crook of his neck. Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist bringing her closer to him. She relaxed into him feeling safe and loved in his strong arms. Her fingers wound their way through his ginger curls. His hair had grown and was longer than he usually wore it.  “I like your hair a little longer, especially when it curls. I don’t want you to cut it.” 

“As ye wish mo leannan.”

They sat enjoying the peace between them listening to each other's breath.

Jamie leaned down placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do ye ken how much I like to hold ye?”

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” sighed Claire.

“I do it because I like the nearness of ye.”  He smiled at her shyly as if he were going to impart some great secret. ”There is a hole here in my chest,” he said letting one hand go from around her waist and pointing to his heart. “’Tis been there my whole life. I dinna ken what it was or what caused it, this hollowness there. Now that I found ye I kent what ‘tis. ’Tis a chasm that only ye can fill, Claire. Ye are the missing piece of my heart. And when I hold ye close tae me, ‘tis no’ empty. It doesna hurt anymore when yer near me.”

She kissed his eyelids, the tip of his nose, cheekbones, finally finding his mouth. She kissed him lightly. Growing bolder, she allowed her tongue to trace his lush sensual lips savoring the taste of him. 

Jamie groaned deeply. “Claire,” he whispered her name reverently as if saying a prayer. He looked at her as if she was the embodiment of all that is holy. As if she was sent to him by the gods for him to cherish and love.

Leaning forward her mouth pressed near the tender lobe of his ear as she breathed, “Do you want me, Jamie?”

“Ye dinna ken what ye do tae me mo chridhe. How am I tae resist ye? My body is here tae serve ye as ye wish.

Jamie lowered his face, bringing his lips to hers. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips, seeking entry. Her lips were soft, warm, and yielded to his desire. She opened to him like a flower in full bloom. Their tongues twinned together engaging in a ritual courtship dance.

His cell phone rang and vibrated on the table. He saw it was Sandringham’s office and pushed the phone away with annoyance expecting the message to go to voicemail.

“So, where were we?” He queried as his tongue licked the sensitive skin at the juncture of Claire’s neck and throat. Using his teeth he bit her causing Claire to erupt in chill bumps as she moaned in pleasure.

His hand slid between the folds of the gossamer fabric that covered her. Her skin was warm, silky. And her breasts ah...they were full and heavy. He ran a finger over a nipple making it harden and round just like a perfect pearl. How he longed to take it in his mouth and suckle like a babe at her breast. 

His mobile began to chime and vibrate. It skittered on the slick granite top, pulling their attention to the offending little device. Sighing Claire picked it up showing Jamie the home screen alert. Clarence Sandringham. 

“I think you should take the call. He’ll keep calling. We can always pick up where we left off later.”

Jamie grudgingly answered the call. It was Ainsley with the information about his appointment.

“Thank ye kindly, Ainsley. I will be there,” as he placed the information on his calendar. 

“I’m seeing  Dr. de Gascogne Monday at 1 pm. Do ye think ye will be free tae come with me?”

“You want me to come with you? Why ever for?” She wanted to tease him asking if he was afraid of going to the doctor, but held her tongue.

He looked at Claire with soft sweet imploring eyes, “I would feel better with ye by my side ‘tis all.” The tips of his ears pinked as he thought of his need for her by his side supporting him.

“Well if you wish that I come with you, of course, I will.”

Jamie let out a breath he didn’t know that he was holding, “Thank ye Sassenach.” He didn’t want to admit he was nervous and afraid. Afraid his hand would not heal well and he would never be able to operate again. Worse yet, he feared he would not be able to care for Claire, love her, or serve her as she deserves. And she deserved a whole man, not a broken one.

Claire sensing a change in Jamie’s mood cleared her throat feeling that the moment between them had broken. The fire in their bellies had been smoored but not extinguished. She gave Jamie a light kiss on his lips, “Shall I make us breakfast?”

“Nay, lass. ‘Tis my turn to make breakfast. How about I make ye some of my famous parritch with berries? I can do that one-handed.”

“ Alright. Then I guess it’s my turn to make a phone call.”

“Tae who, Sassenach?”

“My dog sitter, Mrs. Bug. I think I should let her know when I’ll be home and pick up Ginger.”

“Aye, that would be a good idea. Ye go on and make yer call. I’ll let ye know when breakfast is ready.”

Claire dialed the number and the phone was picked up quickly. In the background she could hear the cacophony of a television playing, children laughing, and a dog barking. Her sweet girl.

“Ethan, ye wee gomeral, put that down afore ye break it. Hello,” shouted what sounded like an exasperated Mrs. Bug.

“Hallo, Mrs. Bug. It’s Claire. It seems I have caught you at a bad time. I just called to let you know I would be by to pick up Ginger on Sunday evening if that’s alright with you?”

“Claire, ma dearie, och ‘tis not a bad time.”

“Caleb, dinna make me come over there. Be a good lad and eat yer parritach. Dinna put it in yer brother’s hair.” 

“Sunday would be fine. Shall I make ye some soup? I’ll wager ye dinna eat properly while ye were away.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Mrs. Bug,” Claire sighed with exasperation. Mrs. Bug was always trying to feed her up.  

“Yer too thin, lass. Ye need to put some meat on yer bones. Gives a man something tae hang on tae. Ye ken what I mean?” Claire swore she heard Mr. Bug snicker in the background.

Before she could respond to Mrs. Bugs’ latest attempt to meddle in her life, there was the sound of pottery crashing accompanied by loud wailing in the background.

She seized the opportunity to end the call. “I think you are needed at the moment. I’ll see you on Sunday, Mrs. Bug. Give my regards to your husband. Take care.” Claire clicked off the call and exhaled a deep breath. She did not know how the elderly couple managed to babysit children, pets, and find the time to pry into other people's lives. She was exhausted just listening to the carrying on.

“Is everything alright, Sassenach?”

“Yes, fine. The Bugs are a sweet elderly couple. They are really grandparents to the entire neighborhood. But they take on so much that I just don’t know how they manage.”

“It seems they enjoy it. Everyone needs to feel useful,” Jamie pointed out. “Now, come and eat. Breakfast is ready milady. ‘Tis no’ as fancy as you make it, but it will fill ye up.”

He pulled out her chair waiting for her to take her seat. 

Claire lowered her eyes and a small smile flitted across her face. No man had ever done that for her before.

Jamie served her the parritch topped with strawberries, sliced almonds, and drizzled with honey.

“‘Tis no’ gourmet, but ‘tis no’ lumpy. I dinna like lumpy parritch,” he grimaced with the thought. He stood next to Claire anxiously waiting for her to taste it. Anxious being the operative word. 

Claire dove in tasting his offering. It was delicious. Creamy with a bit of cinnamon in it as well.

Jamie watched intently as she ate it. He didn't know why he was so worried if she liked the parritch, but he was. Well if he was honest with himself he knew she was a better cook than he and he wanted to please her.  He felt foolish worrying so, after all, it was only parritch. But he couldn’t help himself.  “Do ye like it Sassenach? Is it too hot? Maybe ye would like a bit of cream. I dinna want ye tae burn yer tongue. Would ye like more honey? I could make ye something else if ye dinna like it,” he worried chewing his lower lip.

Claire smiled, the tip of her tongue slipped out and caught a golden drop of honey on her lip, “Jamie, it’s delicious, really. Please sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

Pleasure lit up his face at seeing her enjoyment. Hurriedly he sat down and began to eat with great enthusiasm.

They chatted amicably enjoying their meal and each other’s company.

“Why don’t ye take our coffee into tae sitting room, Claire, while I clear the table?” Jamie stood at the sink rinsing the dishes then stacking them in the dishwasher.

“Alright.”  Carrying their mugs of coffee into the sitting room, Claire placed them on the wooden trunk he used as a coffee table. She wandered around the room looking at the objects that occupied the space as if they would reveal the secrets of the man she loved. She came upon a striking antique mahogany table that stood near the fireplace that was inlaid with white and black marble squares. Two elegantly carved chairs were situated so they sat opposite each other at the table. She ran a hand lovingly across the tabletop admiring its fine craftsmanship.

“‘Tis magnificent, is it no’?” he inquired, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist nuzzling at her neck.  “‘Tis a family heirloom. It belonged to a great, great, great uncle who lived in Paris in tae 18th century. He was a wine merchant and a Jacobite as weel.” 

“It’s  truly beautiful. Do you have the original chessmen that go with it?” asked Claire.

“Aye, I do,” he replied, opening a side draw revealing the chess pieces. He pulled out the black Queen handing it to Claire. 

She stroked it lovingly appreciating the fine detail of the carving. “It is an exquisite piece, a work of art.”

Jamie looked at her hopefully, “Ye wouldna happen tae play would ye? ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me.”

Claire brightened, “I do play. Lamb taught me when I was a child.” Her face misted over with the memories of nightly chess games with either Lamb or Firouz by the campfire. Each man taught her what moves to make, strategies to employ, and tried to instill in her the value of competition, of being a good winner. But more importantly, the virtue of losing gracefully.  “Lamb believed that it would make me a logical thinker and develop strong problem-solving skills.  And he was quite right. It’s been invaluable to me as a surgeon.”  But Claire knew that playing chess had increased her already present competitive spirit. She liked to win.

His heart gladdened with the news. “Might I entice ye tae play a game with me?”

“I would love to. It’s been so long though, I might be a bit rusty.” Claire stopped remembering what he said. ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me. Curiosity got the better of her. “Um, Jamie? Why can’t you find anyone to play a game with?”

“Sit Sassenach, make yerself comfortable,” he offered. A sly grin spread across his face. “Ladies choice, which do ye prefer, the black or the white?”

“White. No, I’d prefer black. I don’t like making the opening move.”

“Having the opening move can give ye an advantage and ye will need it. I was Captain of my chess club in high school and in Uni. I’m no’ being bold when I tell ye I have won many competitions. I am offering ye a chance tae win.”  A cocky look spread across his face as he went about setting up the chessboard.

So that’s why no one will play with him. He was a chess prodigy. “No, I didn’t know that.” Tapping a finger against the table, Claire carefully weighed this new piece of information deciding how to use it. She played well but simply was not in Jamie’s league.  Her competitive nature rose to the surface with his challenge. If she wanted to win, and she did, she knew she would need an edge. Just, not the one he was offering.

 ”No, I stand by my choice. I’ll take black,” she smiled coyly. There’s more than one way to win this game, my lad, she thought.

The first mistake, he mused. By allowing him to open it would allow him to play aggressively. He wanted the game over in twenty moves or less. And to do that he would make use of the King’s Gambit. Bobby Fischer defeated an opponent in eight maneuvers. Jamie knew he was good but not that good. 

He opened by moving his pawn to e-4. 

Claire countered by placing a pawn to e-5.

A white pawn moved to f-4.

Smiling smugly, Claire accepted the challenge by taking this pawn. 

Just what I want, he thought as his lip turned slightly upward. Not wanting to appear aggressive and moving too quickly, Jamie sat rubbing his chin in concentration.

Looking up he watched as Claire’s fingers lightly stroked her arm up then down. Her fingers eventually traveled up, over her shoulder then down to graze over the edge of her breast. Slowly. Touching herself just with the tips of her fingernails the outline of her breast became visible beneath her silk robe. She followed the same pattern over and over. His mouth hung open hypnotized by her. He shook his head like a wet dog to dispel his thoughts. And oh what thoughts he was having.

“Knight to f-3,” he announced.

Claire smiled taking in his chosen placement.

She licked her lips jutting out her plump bottom lip as she considered her next position.

Surreptitiously, Jamie looked at that sweet voluptuous lip peeping out at him. What he wouldn't give to suck it into his mouth and tease it with his teeth and tongue. Christ, the woman was driving him mad.  Get yer mind back on the game, he told himself.

“Pawn to g-5.”

Jamie looked pleased with her play. He bit the inside of his cheek while considering his next strategic move.

Claire studied the board intently waiting for Jamie to place his piece. Her index finger gravitated to her lips gently gliding over it. Lips parting, her fingertip entered her mouth and she began to lightly suck it. Her finger floated across her lips making them glisten with the dew from her mouth. She smiled coquettishly as she dropped her hand to caress the black Bishop. Her movements were sensuous, sliding over the chess piece from top to bottom, bottom to top. She made a slight twisting motion as she stroked the piece. 

Jamie’s eyes never left her hand. His mouth went dry.

“It’s still your turn” she whispered demurely. 

“Pawn to h-4,” he choked out his words. Small beads of sweat appeared on his lip.

“Pawn to g-5” she stated sweetly. 

Jamie refused to look up at her, “Knight to g-5.”

“Hum, interesting, Pawn to h-6.” Jamie’s hand rested next to the board. She placed her hand over his and began to trace patterns over the back of his hand.

He burned from the contact of her skin on his. Gently he removed his hand, immediately regretting the loss of her caress. Rubbing the side of his nose he tried to clear his head from the sight and feel of her. He meant to win this game and she was doing her best to distract him. Weel, he wouldna let her.

“Knight to f-7,” Jamie countered hoping Claire would expose her King.

Claire brought her King forward taking Jamie’s Knight.

“Queen to g-4,” Jamie grinned, setting up his advanced attack.

“Knight to f-6,” Claire defends her King. 

Jamie smirked, after this move, he was three moves away from winning. “Queen to f-4.”

He looked at Claire, finding her absorbed pondering her next move. Her hand followed the V of the neckline of her robe. Leaning forward, her hand gracefully began to trace her décolletage exposing more and more skin with each pass of her hand. Soon the curve of her breast was exposed. 

His eyes darkened with just a sliver of blue iris exposed. A deep rumbling noise rose from the back of his throat, dangerous, predatory. 

Stretching, Claire reached for her King placing it on f-8 enabling Jamie to see her hardened nipples straining against the filmy fabric. 

He rose walking to the side of the table bending over as if to examine the position of the pieces in play. Straightening up he turned and snatched Claire’s arm pulling her impossibly close to his heated body. 

“Let’s play something else,” he growled, capturing her mouth as he had planned on seizing her King. His mouth was hungry for hers. He licked, nipped, and tasted her mouth with kisses slow and erotic. One hand reached up and cupped her head while the other drew her closer against him, jealous of the space the air between them occupied. His kisses deepened, searing her lips. His hand buried deeper into her curls, as his kisses became more demanding.

 Claire melted against him, her mouth open to him as her robe gave way leaving her exposed. He palmed her breast roughly feeling the puckered nipple under his hand. He rolled it between his fingers causing her to whimper. 

“Yer a right dodgy player Claire. Ye dinna play fair teasing me, distracting me throughout the game,” he snarled. “And for that, yer coming with me. We’re gonna play a new game.”

He lifted her, threw her over his shoulder, and strode with single-mindedness toward the bedroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fraser? Put me down this instant!” Claire bellowed kicking her legs, hitting him in the back in between fits of laughter. 

“Haud yer wheesht, woman!” 

Jamie unceremoniously dropped Claire onto the bed. Standing at the side of the bed he loomed over her. His breath harsh and his chest heaving. His eyes were glazed over with lust. She lit a fire in his belly that needed to be put out. He licked his lips anticipating what was to come next. 

Claire scrambled to her knees backing away from him just a little.

Raising her chin in defiance, “What do you plan on doing to me?”

His lips curled into a smirk, “I’m going to kiss ye.”

She blinked. “We’re going to play a kissing game? Isn’t that childish?” she asked in confusion.

“Oh no, lassie, ‘tis a verra good game. ‘Tis one where I get tae devour ye and leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy.”

Claire studied him, trying to puzzle him out. She eventually gave it up as a lost cause.

“Um, well I do like kissing you.”

“I ken that.” His eyes gleamed.

Jamie crawled up onto the bed. His body radiated so much heat it could be felt from several inches away. He was a blazing inferno.

He sat back on his haunches fixing her with a piercing look. 

Claire’s spine tingled under his scrutiny. It was unnerving her.

“Give me yer mouth, Sassenach,” he requested sweetly.

Claire leaned forward and placed a quick peck on his lips.

“Ok, so we’re done, right?” she asked nervously not quite knowing what to expect. 

“And ye call that a kiss? Tsk! Nay, we haven’t even started yet,” he grinned wickedly.

Jamie removed his shirt then sat back to remove his sweatpants. 

He shifted himself to sit so his back rested against the headboard. “Come here, sit beside me,” he requested, patting the space next to him.

Claire hesitated for a moment then moved to sit beside him.

His arm came up wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“See, that’s so much nicer, is it no’?”

“What are you up to Jamie?” she asked one eyebrow quirked in question.

“I told ye, a nighean I just want to kiss ye.” 

He cupped her face, turning it toward him. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. Slowly he lowered his face until their lips were a breath away. He placed a kiss so light it felt like the wings of a dove floating across her lips

“‘Tis pleasant?” he whispered into her mouth.

“Yes,” Claire replied breathily.

“Good. May I kiss ye again?”

“Mmhm.”

Brushing an errant curl away from her face, he tilted her head back seeking out her mouth like he did that morning. Still sweet from the honey and berries he ate for breakfast, he fitted his lips to her’s. Slowly he increased the pressure on Claire’s mouth molding them together creating delicious friction. 

Jamie pulled away momentarily giving her a sinful grin. His eyes engulfed her, finally settling on her mouth. He felt like a man drowning and only her kiss and her breath could save him.  Her mouth was his lifeline. Jamie lowered his head and began to rain kisses across her mouth lightly at first then deeply, possessively.

Jamie broke away, resting his forehead against hers. Tenderly he brushed his lips across her cheek, then to her ear to nibble at the shell. Finding her succulent earlobe, he drew it into his mouth caressing it suggesting things yet to come.

Claire dropped her head back whimpering, making an offering of her alabaster neck to him. She pulled at his hair, dragging him closer.

Jamie plied his attentions to the long column of her neck, nibbling, sucking her sensitive skin. Using his mouth he gently nudged her robe off her shoulders letting it drop off her shoulders, and slide down her arms pooling around her hands and bum. 

Claire sucked in her lower lip gently biting it.

He grinned. Softly, he placed tiny kisses along her shoulder working his way down her arms until he reached her hand. He kissed her wrist, her palm. Raising her hand so she could see, he took each finger into his mouth and sucked each digit in its turn.

Claire began to shudder and breathe heavily by the time he finished with her thumb.

Jamie repeated his ministrations to the opposite hand, arm and shoulder. Dropping his head, he lowered his lips brushing them across her chest down to her breast. Finding her nipple he began to suckle one then the other making each one harden and pebble. He scraped his teeth gently against the tender nipple as it slipped from his mouth. 

She became restless, shifting her body arching her back needing to come closer to him.  Claire gasped at the sensations running through her.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine,” Claire whispered. 

“Quoting Scripture are ye?” Jamie smiled broadly knowing what he was doing to her.

His mouth and tongue trailed kisses down over her belly, slowly, languorously. “Beautiful, yer so beautiful mo nighean donn.”

“Jamie, I... I... ah...Oh, god.”

He chuckled, as he felt her melt with each kiss he pressed on her. She deserved every slow torturous one he would give her. After all, fair’s fair.

Jamie continued his downward trek, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, behind her knee, down to her toes. Using the opposite leg he began his ascent toward his ultimate goal.

“Jamie, please, I need...I want...more. Please, Jamie.”

“Do ye no’ like my kisses? Do ye want me tae stop?” he asked, giving her a soulful look. His voice was full of hurt and disappointment.

 Leaning up on her elbows to look him in the face, “No, no. I mean I want more. Christ, I don’t know what I mean.” And she flopped back onto the pillows, biting her lip and began uttering odd throaty sounds.

He smiled smugly, “Then ye shall have it.”

Reaching her core, he blew softly over it causing Claire to buck. 

“Hush now, Sassenach let me kiss ye.”

His mouth settled into its work, beginning to kiss her most intimately. Lightly at first then pressing deeper lavishing all his attention on her sensitive flesh. 

Claire moaned and whined. Her hands tangled in his hair sliding down to cup his face. Close, she was so close. “Jesus H. Roooosevelt Chrissst,” she hissed.

And then he stopped and rose up to sit next to her. He was hard as stone but was determined to see this through. She needed to learn it wasn’t nice to manipulate someone especially someone who loves them. “What would ye like to do now, Sassenach? Watch a movie? We could read a book, perhaps? Maybe a nice brisk walk instead.”

“Whaaat? What do you mean what do I want to do? I want you to finish what you started,” she snarled with frustration.

“Oh, but I did, my own,” he said as he leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. I said I wanted tae kiss ye and I did. I also said I would leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy. And I did that too.” A satisfied grin plastered over his face.

“Mac na galla,” she shouted at him as she picked up a pillow and swung it at him beating him ferociously wherever she could reach him.  

He laughed at her use of Gàidhlig to swear at him while trying to deflect the blows of the murderous pillow.

“I surrender madam, I surrender, ” he laughed. She looked so fierce his wee Sassenach lassie. Eyes flashing, skin flushed with anger, all pink and rosy. She was glorious.

“That isn’t very nice of you, Jamie Fraser. To leave me all worked up wanting, needing…” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Now ye ken how I felt during the chess match.”

She looked abashed as she clutched the pillow to her chest. “Well, I wanted to win,” she muttered petulantly as she gave him a sidelong look.  “I mean you were bragging about what a great chess champion you are, so I resorted to using my womanly wiles. I had to do something to even the playing field,” she retorted. Claire turned her head away as she picked at an imaginary loose thread on the pillow slip, “I shouldn’t have done that. It was very poor sportsmanlike behavior on my part,” she blushed. “But you set me up, Jamie Fraser. You didn’t tell me you were some great chess champion until after I agreed to the match. That wasn't fair either,” she glared at him.

“Aye, yer right, and I’m sorry for it. Forgive me, Claire?”

Her facial expression softened from annoyance to tenderness, “Yes, forgiven. Forgive me too?”

Jamie tipped her head up and looked into her eyes that reminded him of liquid honey fresh from the hive. “Forgiven, mo ghràdh.”

“We could have a re-match if you like.” 

“I dinna think so, ye’ll cheat. Ye canna help it,” he glowered at her. “Let’s just leave it as a draw, hm?”

“You’re right about that,” Claire laughed. “I don’t like losing. A draw it is.”

“Come here mo chridhe, ” he beamed holding open his arms to her.

Claire eyed him suspiciously, “What are you planning to do?”

“I want tae kiss ye, ” he chuckled.

“Oh no, you don't. You're not going to get me all riled up again and not finish the job. I'm no fool you know.”

“Never thought ye were. I just thought we could start at the beginning and see where it takes us,” he proposed as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sound like a plan?”

Claire launched herself into his arms, ”Aye, that sounds wonderful.”

***************************************************************************************

CABG - Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting - Treatment used for blocked coronary arteries. Open heart surgery.

Mitral Valve Repair/Replacement is a treatment used to repair if possible the mitral valve. If it is not repairable, it is replaced either with a tissue valve made from the lining of a pig or cow’s heart or a metallic mechanical valve. It is possible for any heart valve to be repaired or replaced, not only the mitral.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine - Song of Songs 1:2 New International Version of the Holy Bible

[an-absolute-travesty]

Royal Screw-Ups

(it’s a bit of a different format for chapter 3 but I hope you’ll like it! I don’t know if I ever posted chapter 2 here so I’m posting it now along with chapter 3 but you can also find it and the rest of this story on my Wattpad @ohwowhatethis. Also, you can find chapter 1 under the tags “kotlc fic” and “keefex” on my blog if you haven’t read that one)

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or taken off as a whole or for this fic specifically): @you-are-the-vacker-legacy @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlykeefitz @percybetn  @holesinmyfalseconfidence @vibing-in-the-void @sewersewersewercouch

Chapter 2/3:

Word count: 2,285 combined

Warnings: relatively mild swearing

Ch. 2:

“Keefe?”

“Yes Miss Oralie?”

“Is there any particular reason that you have dirt smudged all over your tunic?”

“Why Mademoiselle Oralie, I’m sure I simply have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t want Oralie to know that he had been outside. He had a schedule and he wasn’t allowed to stray from it. It was easier to play dumb than to say ‘actually Oralie, funny story. I completely disregarded my father’s, the kings, orders! Which is basically treason if you really want to stretch it, and dear old daddy always does!’

A gentle rapping came at the door and Oralie opened it. 

“The king has asked to see the prince...again.”

Oralie looked at Keefe.

“Give us one moment, sir.”

After she closed the door she turned back towards Keefe.

“Keefe…”

“Neiti Oralie, there’s nothing to-”

Oralie led him over to a chair in the small class room and sat him down before crouching in front of him. 

“I know that your father isn’t the kindest person in the world-”

“You can say that again.”

“But, you have to respect him. If nothing else at least don’t run away when he calls for you” She took a pointed glance down at his tunic. “Or go outside when you’re not meant to. You turn 16 in 4 months and then you’ll be the one to take over the country. You must be responsible.”

“I’m too young to rule, my father is in perfect health and so is my mother. There’s no point.”

“Keefe, your father has ruled Eternalia for 200 years. We need a new, responsible, leader. That leader is you and the responsibility starts with going to talk to your father. Now, what are you going to go do when you leave this room?”

“I’m guessing that run away into the gardens isn’t the right answer.”

Oralie gave a small laugh.

“No, it’s not.” She stood up from her crouch and Keefe followed as she walked to the door. “Go on now, you know what you need to do.”

Keefe walked out the door and almost considered running right back to Dex’s house, but he decided to put up with his father just this once. 

He dragged his feet as he walked to the King’s study at the end of the hall. He knocked gently, honestly hoping it would be so quiet his father wouldn’t hear it.

A sharp voice came from inside, “The door is unlocked.”

As Keefe walked into the large, almost disturbingly pristine, room, his dad gestured for him to sit without even a glance up.

“I have some great news, Keefe.” He said it without the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

“You’re moving to Ravagog?”

“No.” He snarled. “I’ve found you a wife, as you didn’t seem to want to choose one, yourself.”

Keefe stood and slammed his hands down on the table. “But you only gave me a month! Please, Dad, just give me one more I promise I’ll find one myself-”

“No!” His father stood up to match him. “I gave you all the time you needed and my word is final.”

He slowly sat down and smoothed his hair, even though there wasn’t even one hair out of place.

“Her name is Sophie Foster, she has a slightly complicated past but what matters is that she’s a noble by blood, if not by name.”

Keefe sat down, defeated. “What’s she like?”

“Pretty enough, you’ll have good children.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You’ll meet her in 2 weeks. Now, get out of my sight.”

Keefe walked out and slammed the door behind him, hoping that just maybe something fell off his stupidly perfect desk. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ch. 3

Keefe flopped down on his bed face-first. It had been 3 days since he was told who his wife would be and he wasn’t any happier about it.

Maybe he just needed a walk, some fresh air would clear his head. Maybe help him understand why he had to have a wife rather than a husband.

Walking through the grounds, he found himself slowly drifting towards the servants homes. He wasn’t even supposed to be outside right now, much less hanging out with servants.

But he couldn’t stop himself. Soon enough he was standing outside Dex’s door. 

With a look in the window (well, actually it was more like a hole in the wall but Keefe wasn’t one to judge) he saw the family sleeping on their beds. The whole house was about the size of his bedroom. 

Suddenly, one of the figures got out of bed. The familiar red-headed boy shuffled to the small bucket of water in the corner and took a sip from a tin cup. 

Keefe knocked on the window gently.

Dex turned, confused, and his eyes went wide at the sight of the prince. 

Keefe waved with a wide smile on his face. Dex furrowed his brow and shook his head in a ‘what the hell are you doing outside my house at midnight?’ kind of way. 

Keefe motioned him outside and he hesitantly creeped towards the door and walked outside. 

“What the hell are you doing outside my house at midnight?”

“Couldn’t sleep, you’re the only person I thought might let me bother them.”

Dex sighed. “Yeah, ok, you’re right.”

Keefe beamed. “Fantastic, in that case, follow me.”

After around 5 minutes of walking in awkward silence, Dex’s voice filled the void.

“So...where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, I think you’ll like it.”

As they turned a corner, there stood two guards talking by the castle wall. Keefe quickly grabbed Dex’s arm and pulled him back so they guards wouldn’t see them.

Even though it wasn’t his intention, the contact revealed his emotions to Keefe. 

Flustered, a touch embarrassed, and mostly anxious. 

No, don’t get hopeful. It was probably just a weird fluke.

Another peer around the corner revealed that the guards were now walking off to complete their rounds. Keefe ran ahead and waved Dex forward. 

Dex panted as he ran along beside him. 

“Why are we running?”

“The last guards just got done with that part of their round. That means the next set of guards are coming soon.”

After only a minute more of running Keefe saw what they were looking for.

“There it is!”

~*~

Dex rolled out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was the middle of the night so as he crept out of bed he had to be quiet. 

As he made his way to the corner of the room and took a sip of water from the bucket in the corner, he heard a light knocking by the window. 

He wasn’t expecting a prince to be peering in. 

As he went wide eyed, he was met with a handsome, lopsided smile and a wave. 

Dex only shook his head, confused. 

Keefe motioned him to come out of the house.

At first he didn’t want to, but there was just something about the Keefe that he couldn’t say no to… and not just because he was the prince. 

“What the hell are you doing outside my house at midnight?”

“Couldn’t sleep, you’re the only person I thought might let me bother them.”

Dex knew he was correct. “Yeah, ok, you’re right.” he sighed. 

He was rewarded with an even wider smile from the golden haired prince. 

“Fantastic, in that case, follow me.”

As they walked, Dex could only think about the odd circumstances of his situation. 

Three days ago he accidentally ran into the prince. With most rulers that would probably get him executed. Instead, he same prince was now leading him somewhere in the middle of the night. 

“So...where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, I think you’ll like it.”

He was paranoid. What if Keefe was taking him to be executed? What if King Cassius was even crueler than the legends? What if his family woke up in the morning to an empty bed and a notice from the royal guard?

Or worse, what if Keefe touched him and felt how the butterflies in his stomach were doing loopty-loops as he walked closely by his side?

As they approached a corner, Dex was yanked back and a finger was in front of his face telling him to stay silent. He complied. 

Keefe soon ran ahead again and motioned for Dex to follow. 

“Why are we running?”

“The last guards just got done with that part of their round. That means the next set of guards are coming soon.”

Dex was panting hard, despite his long limbs he wasn’t a runner. Yes, he was strong from physical labor but running never really came up a lot in that. Especially not running from guards. 

“There it is!” Keefe explained as he halted. 

From where they stood, it seemed to be a large wall that stood about 6 feet tall and closed completely around what was a long abandoned part of castle grounds. 

Keefe approached it excitedly but Dex hesitated. 

Keefe heaved himself up on the wall without issue despite its height. 

Jeez he was strong. 

Once he found his seat, he turned back to Dex and gave him a ‘why aren’t you coming?’ look. 

“Are you sure we’re supposed to be doing this?”

“Techmaster, we aren’t supposed to be doing any of this.”

“Techmaster?”

“Yeah, it’s your nickname now, you like it?” He immediately started talking again, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyway what I was saying was, we’re not supposed to be doing any of this. But, with my help you’re not going to get in trouble. I’d recommend you decide fast though, the guards should be coming around this way soon.”

Dex thought about it for a second. 

Keefe reached his hand out. 

“Don’t you trust me?”

His smile was irresistible, after only a moment of hesitation he grasped the prince’s hand. So much for fearing him reading Dex’s emotions. 

Keefe helped him up to sit on the wall with two hands. 

“Wow you’re heavy, must have a lot of muscle packed on that body.”

At that moment it became painfully apparent that the boys were still holding each other’s hands. They quickly dropped them but it was obvious Keefe felt every emotion that Dex did at that compliment. 

Keefe glanced over Dex’s shoulder and gasped. 

“Guards!” he said in a harsh whisper and quickly pulled Dex down into the walled area. 

They landed with a hard crash into some bushes.

“Ow…” Dex said as he slowly sat up. Only then did he see what resided in the wall.

It looked like it was a garden, or rather used to be a garden. It seemed long abandoned now. Where there used to be white marble statues, vines obstructed the figures. What looked like it used to be a fountain was now dry of water and covered by foliage. The garden beds were overgrown with weeds and rustled like a creature had made their home in them. 

“Wow” Dex said as he took it all in. 

“It used to be my mom’s private garden. Then she got married to my father and, well, she didn’t exactly have the time for it anymore.”

“I bet it was beautiful.”

“Yeah, I mean I wouldn’t know but...yeah.”

Keefe started down the path that led through the garden and Dex followed. 

“I figured that...well you’re a gardener so maybe you’d like it? I don’t know, it probably just reminds you of work-”

“No, I love it. It’s amazing.”

~*~

“Guards!” Keefe said, quickly pulling Dex down and diving into the bushes. In reality there weren’t any guards there, if he had his timing right then there wouldn’t be any more guards for another 5 minutes. But after feeling how embarrassed and flustered Dex got he just didn’t know how to respond. He had taken it too far, obviously Dex didn’t like him. 

“Ow…” Dex groaned as he sat up. Keefe was worried he hurt him when he yanked him down for a second. 

He wasn’t worried anymore after Dex said, “Wow” at the sight of the long abandoned Queen’s Gardens. 

“It used to be my mom’s private garden. Then she got married to my father and, well, she didn’t exactly have the time for it anymore.”

“I bet it was beautiful” 

“Yeah,” Keefe was more focused on how beautiful Dex looked in the moonlight. “I mean I wouldn’t know but...yeah.”

The Queen’s Gardens were abandoned well over a century before he was born. He had only seen artwork of when it was still neat and kept. 

Keefe started walking down the path that he knew led to the prettiest spot in the garden. He only knew about it because he and Fitz would always explore this place when they were little. His mother had gotten on to them about it more than once but they always came back. 

“I figured that...well you’re a gardener so maybe you’d like it? I don’t know, it probably just reminds you of work-” 

“No, I love it. It’s amazing.”

Keefe let out a relieved sigh as they came upon a small pond right at the center of the garden. It was still relatively clear despite the lack of upkeep and reflected the bright stars in the sky. It looked like a tiny portal to a far away galaxy contained in the ground. 

“Woah.” Dex said as he sat down on the bank. Keefe sat next to him. 

Keefe couldn't focus on the scenery. All he saw was the kind, funny, cute, boy sitting next to him. 

Dex noticed him staring. 

...fuck.

He was expecting something awkward, maybe he would swear at Keefe, or even just ask why he was staring. 

Instead, he was presented with a gentle smile. Dex then looked back out to the water and reached for Keefe’s hand. 

Keefe interlocked his fingers with Dex’s and looked out at the pond, too. He specifically tried not to read the redheaded boy’s emotions. 

They sat that way until they could barely keep their eyes open anymore and headed back to their homes. 

They both slept well that night.

[cryoculus]

Lunaris [4/11]

Navigation

Chapter Title: Waxing Gibbous Pairing: Yokai!Akaashi Keiji/Reader Word Count: 3,021

***

“Oi, are you even listening?"

The feeling of someone jostling you by the shoulder was enough to zap you back into consciousness. You blinked in nonplus for a few seconds before remembering that, ah, the coach was talking to the team. The track meet was scheduled in a few weeks. Itsumi was staring at you like you were a specimen from another dimension.

"If Coach Yamamoto catches you sneaking in some Z's while he's talking, I bet he won't let even you off the hook," she reminded, concern lacing her tone. "Seriously, (Name). What've you been doing lately? You've been out of it since Monday. Are you sure you didn't get a concussion?"

The accusation earned her a light smack on the leg as you shifted your sitting position on the grounds. The sun had long sunken into the horizon, and the only available illumination were the lamp posts scattered around the oval. Coach Yamamoto was standing underneath one of them as he gave Fukurodani's track team a much needed pep-talk before the hellish training regimen began. 

"Third years, if you're still pursuing track in college, you best give it your all next week," he imposed, voice gruff with flaky encouragement. "Collegiate level competitions don't have room for athletes with subpar records. That reminds me..."

And you felt your eyelids drooping again, each word the coach was saying sounding farther and farther away, until you heard nothing at all.

***

"I didn't expect you to come."

Akaashi stood by the entrance to the cemetery, still wearing his training clothes as he brandished you with a disconcerted look. You frowned. He was the one who told you to meet him here, yet it was like he seemed disappointed that you showed up.

"There's a yokai wandering around the shrine's designated territory, of course I'd be concerned," you huffed, tugging on the hem of your sweater. It was colder out tonight, and you felt somewhat more safe if Akaashi didn't directly look at the charm on your wrist. 

The demon stared at you, as if expecting something more. "Hm? If you really were alarmed by my existence, wouldn't you have told your grandmother already? Or any of the monks, at least?" 

His retort made you swallow the lump in your throat. Were yokai naturally adept with appraising the ulterior motives of humans? But why would you even think that you could  one-up a demon, of all creatures? You sighed, realizing the futility of keeping up appearances as you cleared your throat uneasily. 

"There's a couple of benches near the cliffside," you told him, gaze shying away from his blue-eyed stare. "I'd like to...know more about you." 

Akaashi breathed out a soft laugh, amusement painting itself on his face. "A human whose first instinct isn't to kill a yokai? Or at least run from it? You really are something else." 

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" 

As the two of you made your way past the run-down cemetery, you watched the way moonlight drew forth the sharp angles of Akaashi's face. You wondered if he'd only stolen the identity of another human, or if he really did look like that in his true form. Nonetheless, he had flawless taste for his disguises, that's for sure. Right now, you didn't feel the warning pulse of the charm on your wrist. He must have toned down his presence to pass as human. 

"It depends on who's asking, really," he said as the two of you settled on the crumbling stone benches nestled between two faded gravestones. You muttered a quiet apology for the intrusion, hoping whoever was buried underneath wouldn't mind a yokai trespassing on their final resting place. 

"So," you began, eyes trained on the overcast sky above. No stars were out tonight, nor did Tsukuyomi take a peek at the land below. "What's your deal? Why aren't you going on a killing spree like yokai usually do when they're smart enough not to get caught by the monks."

He groaned, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Do me a favor and don't compare me to fledgelings like those. If we live long enough, carnage eventually bores even the worst of us."

You nodded in understanding, taking each word to heart. There was something soothing about his voice—like it could lull you to sleep if you weren't careful. 

This is how idiots get killed in horror movies, you reminded yourself. Villains were supposed to make you let your guard down so they could take you out when you're most vulnerable.

But for some reason, the word villain didn't quite suit Akaashi. Not because he wore the face of a meek-looking human. No, it was more of a gut feeling. Your grandmother did tell you to trust your gut when all was lost. 

"Where do you live?" you asked him. "Here? On top of the hill?" 

He shook his head, resting his palms on his knees. "I'm staying with a human family who thinks they have a son." When you shot him a pensive stare, he gave you a tight-lipped smile as he backtracked with, "No harm will come to them, I promise." 

You knew that you shouldn't take his word for it, but still, your shoulders relaxed with the assurance. "What are you doing here, then?"

"I told you," he said, stretching out his long limbs as he stared upward. "The moon shines brightest here."

His words didn't hold the same impact as they would have if the sky was clear tonight. You gazed up to the heavens, where clouds still obscured the wonderful view behind it. If you asked what's so special about the place where the moon shines brightest, you already knew he was only going to give you the vaguest of answers. 

"You're still avoiding the million dollar question, though," you sighed, shifting in your seat as you gazed at the city of Tokyo from your generous vantage point.

"You did ask me a lot of those," Akaashi pointed out. "Which one do I answer first? Who am I? Why don't I have a heart? Or what's my deal? Pick wisely. I think I'm in the mood to answer only one."

Huh. It seemed that some yokai have a sense of humor after all. A soft laugh rumbled in your chest as you mindlessly kicked away a pebble on the ground, having made up your mind before he even asked.

"...Why don't you have a heart?"

The silence that settled between the both of you rang in your ears. Akaashi's eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn't quite identify as he heaved a long breath. It took him a moment to respond. You were about to tell him that he didn't have to answer but he beat you to it when he told you:

"Simple. A human stole it from me." 

***

"Is there something you're not telling me, (Name)?" 

You knew that the only reason why Itsumi was being this inquisitive was simply because she was looking after you. She hadn't been wrong when she'd pointed out earlier that you were drifting in and out of focus since the beginning of the week. It was Wednesday now, and your condition hadn't improved. Probably because of the lack of sleep you were getting. 

But Itsumi didn't have to know about that. 

"It's just gotten a bit busy at the shrine lately, Sumi," you explained, which technically wasn't a lie. With the festival pushing through tomorrow evening, you took it upon yourself to help out as much as you could. Your grandmother even put you in charge of coordinating with the food stalls and game booths that were going to do business at the foot of the hill. 

Itsumi hummed in contemplation, affixing you with a dubious stare before slinging her bag over her shoulder. "If you say so..."

"Oi, (Surname)!" 

He couldn't have picked a worse time to drop by than now. With a sigh, you turned around to face Bokuto, who seemed fresh out of training just like you and Itsumi. But even if he's been worn down by rigorous volleyball practice, he still had it in him to grin at you like his wellspring of energy was yet to run out. Behind him, trailed his eternal plus one, Akaashi, who had a mask of neutrality secured on his face.

He was also the main reason why you couldn't sleep at night. 

In your last meeting, his answer to one of your many questions only gave rise to a dozen more (Who did it? How long has it been? How are you still alive?), all of which the yokai was unwilling to answer. 

You couldn't exactly corner him at school either. It would be too obvious if you suddenly just approached the second year, whom you've never interacted with outside your strange circumstances, out of nowhere. So that resulted in the previous nights spent tossing and turning in your futon, your mind grasping at answers it couldn't reach. 

"Bokuto-san, hello," you greeted with as much cheer as you could manage. "What's up?"

"Your shrine's holding the lunar festival next week, right?" he asked, eyes as expectant as a child's on Christmas.

"Um, yes. Why are you asking?" 

If it was even possible, his grin only scaled wider. "I think I attended the festival as a kid back then. I kind of want to remember what it's like, is all! You mind showing me around?" 

You could practically hear Itsumi internally squealing right next to you when your best friend turned around to bury her face in her hands. Though, you weren't in any better condition. 

"Bokuto-san," you began, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. "Are you asking me to go with you to the lunar festival?" 

"Eh? Was I not clear enough?" The ace cocked his head slightly, puzzled. 

"She'll go," Itsumi answered before you could even process his words. "Wear a red kimono—it's good luck!"

"What? Really?" Bokuto gaped, nodding profusely at Itsumi's words. "Furukawa, thanks for the tip! I'll—I'll go shopping right away. Akaashi, let's go!"

"Bokuto-san, do you really have to drag me everywhere you go," drawled the setter, shooting him a distasteful look. You found it quite amusing, really. How a yokai like Akaashi was being strung around so easily by Bokuto. It was like the ace had a higher power over—

Wait a minute. 

"See you tomorrow, (Surname)!" the wing spiker announced, waving a hand goodbye towards you and Itsumi. Your best friend returned his greeting with a nod, but you were too stunned with your new-found realization to do the same. 

"Sumi, I'll go on ahead," you mumbled half-heartedly as your feet began moving more out of instinct than anything else. 

Your best friend called out from behind you, but you couldn't spare Itsumi any explanations; not with the burning need to confront Akaashi before Bokuto completely snags him away was gnawing at you. The duo were walking at a leisurely pace ahead, just a few meters from the gym's entrance. Akaashi retained his neutral facade as Bokuto chattered about something you couldn't quite catch because—

"Akaashi," you spoke, seizing the setter's wrist. He blinked in surprise, turning to you with a question in his eyes. "Can we talk for a minute? It's important." 

Bokuto was alternating his gaze in between you and the team's setter, brows furrowed at having been left out with whatever you were discussing. "Akaashi, what's (Surname) talking about?" 

A conflicted look flashed across Akaashi's face for a sliver of a moment, so brief you would've missed it if you weren't staring at him dead in the eye. He was studying you intently, possibly surmising all the ways he could murder you and get away with it in his head. Wait, no. Akaashi wasn't like that. 

Yet...

"Bokuto-san, you'll have to head on without me," he conceded with a sigh. "I'll accompany you for kimono shopping some other time." 

The ace visibly depleted at Akaashi's decision, lip swelled into a pout. You could feel a pang of guilt rippling in your chest at the sight, but this was for his own good. You were doing this to protect him. 

Once Bokuto was out of earshot (after five minutes of convincing him that he didn't have to worry about anything) and you've moved someplace more private, you brandished Akaashi with a hard glare. "It's him, isn't it?"

His brows were knit with confusion. "I'm afraid I don't follow." 

"Don't play games with me, yokai," you hissed, the word tasted like venom on your tongue. "I've got you all figured out."

Despite your display of aggression, Akaashi didn't even seem the least bit threatened. He merely stood in front of you with folded arms, the lacking illumination making his already indecipherable expressions harder to read. But you heard the low rumble of a laugh emitting from him before he breathed out a long exhale. 

"I've been alive for centuries, but not one human has ever had the guts to tell me they've 'got me all figured out'," he said, an amused smile grazing his face. You could feel rage bubbling in your chest as your fists shook with irritation. Was he even taking you seriously?!

"You did all this to—to get close to him. You went out of your way, even stooping down to our level, because Bokuto-san has your heart, doesn't he?" You made a beeline for the point of the matter, your gut insisting that you won't get anywhere if you wasted more time. "I don't know how that could have happened but..." 

Your voice trailed off, giving him a silent leeway to explain himself. Why were you even giving him a chance at redemption? The truth was baring its fangs at you right there!

But still...

You couldn't picture the boy that sat down with you by the cliffside just killing Bokuto out of cold blood to get his heart back. The fact that he hadn't permanently silenced you for simply knowing his identity was a testament to his intentions, as well. The yokai you've heard about in stories and legends weren't as lenient like Akaashi was being with you and, frankly, his charitable behavior was scaring you more than it would if he acted in-character. 

Akaashi spared you a lopsided smile, staring upward at the moon overhead. The gibbous was yet to reach completion, and for a moment, you wondered if the full moon would land on the day of the lunar festival itself. 

"You have the right idea, at least," the setter relented. "My heart is breathing life into a human being right now and they don't have the slightest idea about it." 

"So—"

"But it isn't Bokuto-san."

That was all it took for the ire in your veins to die down. You stared at Akaashi unblinkingly, letting his words sink in. It wasn't Bokuto. It wasn't him, yet you went ahead and accused him so boldly. Horror painted itself on your face before you bowed your head in sheer embarrassment—apologies spilling from your lips right after the other. 

"But...why are you by his side all the time if he doesn't have what you wanted?" you wondered. 

"I'm glad you asked," Akaashi chuckled. "I think you've observed how energetic Bokuto-san is on the regular, yes? That aura translates into the realm of spirits as well. Imagine his aura as a force field of sorts—if I cloak myself in his energy, my presence will be even more muted than it already is. Take it as an extra precaution, if you may."

You titled your head to the side. "But why would you need protection when—"

"Is someone back there?"

The sound of the night-shift guard's voice had you on high-alert in a split second, and you ducked behind one of the nearby trees, pulling Akaashi with you. The trunk wasn't a very good hiding place, since you had to press Akaashi closer to your frame so neither of you would get caught. You silenced your breathing as much as you could, straining your ears for the sound of the guard's footsteps. When you were sure he'd left to patrol the other areas in school, you heaved a sigh of relief.

That's when you noticed how close Akaashi's face was to yours. 

"Why were you acting like a serial killer was out to get us," he asked, mouth twisting into a sneer. His pearly white teeth glinted in the moonlight, and you felt yourself becoming ensnared with his navy-eyed gaze for a moment. 

"U-Uh, no. Sorry. It's just that the guards are really strict with PDA, and we were kind of in a compromising position—two teenagers doing god-knows-what in the dark, and all," you explained, springing away from Akaashi as you hoped that he didn't notice the stutter in your words.

Your reasons had some weight in them, too. You've learned your lesson from the time you brought Kazuto here to talk to him about his previously rocky relationship with the rest of the team. The night shift guards never let you hear the end of that.

"I see," the setter replied. "Well, is there anything else you would like to accuse me of before I go?" 

"I would like to accuse you of being a smartass," you bit back. 

Akaashi smiled as he began walking away. "So I've been told."

As you watched him go further and further away, the question that rested at the back of your throat itched to be articulated. Gulping, you ran towards him without another thought, hyper-aware of how loud your shoes were hitting the pavement. Akaashi turned around to face you with curiosity brimming his eyes, and you stopped right in front of him. 

"When you find the person who has your heart," you began, your own heart thundering in your rib cage. "What are you going to do?" 

The look he gave you was somber for a fleeting moment before Akaashi assumed his mask of neutrality once more. He avoided your gaze, looking up at the sky instead. 

"Take it back, of course."

[antichristsxbox]

We Don’t Play - Part Three

Weird story: I tried editing this from mobile and it deleted the entire body of this post, but it kept the actual post itself! What the heck? This is the fic again but sorry if there’s any weird typos or anything else messed up/not from the original version I posted, I just copied and pasted this from the folder where I save all my writing. That was so strange, I guess I’m never editing on mobile again!

Summary: Part three to Hawthorne!Michael x Cheerleader!Reader fic! Find parts one and two on my masterlist. 

From the writer: In case you don’t know what a toe touch is (a jump mentioned in this fic) here’s a picture of me doing one! :)

Word count: 1,524

A soft rustling noise is what rouses you from your deep slumber. Michael is sitting up on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. It’s only seven o’clock, according to your watch, but class starts in an hour and you need to get ready. Spending the night over at Michael’s was nice, but it’s back to reality now. You reach over to feel for your phone, only find Michael’s.

“What are you doing, Babe?” you say, sitting up and shifting to be next to him. He’s staring at your lock screen, empty except for a notification from Kyle that reads ‘see you tonight,’ with a red heart emoji. It also doesn’t help that there’s a blue heart emoji next to his name in your contacts.

“Why are you seeing him tonight?” Michael says, looking up with sad, puppy dog eyes. His voice is hushed. There’s no note of anger or defiance in his tone as he hands you back your phone. He seems defeated, although you wish you could convey how you feel Michael is superior to anybody you’ve been interested in, period. He stands up and takes a sip from his water on the bedside table, setting the glass down with a soft clink!

“We have a game tonight,” you say, standing up and coming behind him to wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close. It’s nothing. It really is at this point, although you know saying that would not help Michael feel any batter, and would possibly make him feel worse about the situation. Still, there must be a way to keep Michael happy as well as your spirit buddy.

“Just go in and delete the heart from his name, and add one to yours while you’re at it,” you say, handing him back your phone before standing on your toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. There’s nothing in your phone you’d be uncomfortable with him seeing, so there’s no hesitation when the phone is released from your grasp and entrusted to Michael’s firm grasp. You hope that Michael could sense that you trust him. It still may be too early to make things official, but if things are looking up, Michael may mention it before you do.

The familiar brisk air of opening the doors to the court— it wraps around you and sends shivers down your spine. Today is a big game. A team from Los Angeles took a trip up here to play the Locks, and they brought a fan bus with them too. There’s a good crowd for both teams, but the opposing team has many rowdy people in the bleachers already, and the boys are only warming up. Michael isn’t here yet, but he’ll most likely be here soon.

Kyle is ready to take the pre-game hype pictures, and you’re checking to make sure Michael isn’t here to witness you with his one-sided rival. Kyle picks you up bridal style and you wrap your arm around his neck and smile for his Snap story. Leg popped in the air, poms in hand, and gleaming smile. Only the best for your boys that dunk.

“I’m having a little party in my room tonight, do you think you’d wanna come over?” he asks as he gently puts you down.

That sounds fun, and you immediately accept his invite. It’s for the rest of the senior players and cheerleaders, which are all a really nice crowd. Hopefully Michael won’t be too upset you won’t see him for long tonight.

Players flood the court, and the game starts off smoothly. The boys already have a score of 20-5 by the time the first quarter is over. Those Los Angeles boys should have just stayed home.

“You traveled! You walked! You took too many steps! The next time you walk will be to the B-U-S!” you cheer, beckoning your poms towards the door. It’s a penalty on the opposing side, so you make your way to the edge of the court and do a toe touch while Kyle shoots his free throw. As you land and look up, you see Michael sitting on the top row bleachers. He gives a nod of approval and smiles, so you take a small step forward and wave with your poms.

As the game comes to a close in the fourth quarter, the boys have an overwhelming score of 72-16. Los Angeles got absolutely demolished. Freaking crushed. Why didn’t they forfeit earlier? Anyways, you spring up from your seat and make your way towards the door to cheer for the players as they exit. When Kyle passes by, he gives you a firm hug and soft smile. As the last player exits, you make your way to the cheer room and grab your belongings before heading for your dorm.

“Hey, Babe,” Michael says, and you turn around to greet him. His blonde curls frame his face perfectly, although they look a bit astray and wild— that’s what makes it perfect, though. Your cute, bed-headed Antichrist-warlock-boytoy.

“I can’t stay for long, I’ve got to go to a party,” you say, pulling your hand away and motioning towards your dorm room. You’ve got to change out of your uniform and into something more comfortable.

“Can I come with? It’ll be fun,” he says, catching up with you as you walk. Although you’d like him to come with, drama would likely ensue if he realized it was a part thrown by Kyle, and in his room no less.

“It’s invite-only, Babe, I wish though,” you say, giving a little frown face as you turn around and and continue on-course to your room.

The music is already bumping, and the door is propped open with a sideways-turned can of Four Loko. No chill, apparently. There would be hell to pay if an administrator walked by, so you quickly pick up the Four and replace the door jam with a lone shoe. There’s nothing worse than a warm Four Loko, so you down a shot of Tito’s poured from an Evian bottle. Although alcohol is strictly prohibited here, off-campus lunch allows for people to sneak around and buy some to bring back to campus. It’s a Friday night, and you’re going to live it up like any other normal teenager would, boarding school or not.

As you walk over to the dorm desk turned mini bar to reach for a chaser, a hand moves the bottle of cranberry juice out of your reach. You look up to taunt whoever it was, but you quickly see that it’s Michael.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he says, raising an eyebrow and clicking his tongue.

“You, outside, now,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him past the many other people that were now in this tiny room.

“Why do you do this to me? Saying it’s just a party and ending up in his room?” he says, a stern look on his face as he looks down at you. He is so possessive. It is so unwarranted, especially because you two aren’t official yet. Something in you snaps, and you’re tired of him being so overbearing.

“I am not your fucking girlfriend! Snap-maps tracking my ass down, finding out where I am because you can’t stand to be alone, fuck off!”

A wave of your hand and a stomp on your foot is all you leave him with before kicking the door jam sneaker inside and slamming the door in his face.

“Who was that?” Kyle says, pushing through the crowd of people and placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Nobody,” you say, turning around to face the now-quiet room of people. The music had stopped as you slammed the door shut. The music resumes as Kyle steps back forward in the room of people, and you follow as approach the desk again to mix your chaser with another shot.

As two shots turned into three, you realized it was now getting late, and you should be heading back to your room for some rest. Although you never tended to accomplish much on Saturdays, keeping a somewhat regular sleep schedule has always proven to be a good idea. Your feet stumble under you as you exit Kyle’s room, and a quick goodnight is all you could muster before closing the door behind you. Before you graduate, you vow to learn to handle your liquor a little better than you have recently.

The soft, blue glow from your phone lights up as a notification from Michael comes through.

“Text me when you’re up, we can go to breakfast,” his message reads.

It takes a solid minute to think of a good reply to this, so you settle on the pink heart emoji before finishing your journey to your room and going to bed, fully clothed in what you’re wearing now, shoes and all. Having a party after a long game like that is really too tiring— that won’t be happening again anytime soon.

[amythingys]

You’ve Got to Be Kidding

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3073

Warning: some bad words I think??? and hella cliches Summary: College is always better, always easier when surrounded by friends. And, when it came to Bucky Barnes there weren’t many that were better for the job. He was a magnificent and funny best friend (and so much more). Plus, he makes a killer breakfast - what more could you ask for?

A/N: Hey folks - this is a doozy. So this is a secret Santa (I know) for the amazing lovely, patient and understanding @trashybutnottootrashy who has been the absolute best when it comes to this. And, as well as a shameful secret Santa it is the first fic I am posting after my m a j o r slump and hopefully the first of many with a regular posting schedule where I will be catching up on the rest of my majorly overdue challenges. As always thank you to the beautiful people who put up with my nonsense and read the first thousands of drafts, @quantumarvel, @courtmr, @includeangieinthesequel - y’all are lifesavers. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this piece and as always feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading!

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

“You have got to be kidding,” Bucky said, irritation evident in his words, But not at her. Most definitely more directed towards memories from his childhood. Days filled with screaming, not talking to each other for hours, maybe even days if it got bad enough. Money was used and wasted, often being burned or thrown in the others face. Property meant nothing, you too what you wanted no matter what the cost may be. And, of course, the cheating was unbearable with how often it occurred.

 So, “No.” he simply stated, staring his problem down as he set her coffee on the table. 

 “Come on, it won’t be that bad, I promise.”

 “It always ends in fighting, I’m not doing it.”

 “Oh, I think you’re being just a tad dramatic, Buck,” she murmured, mischief in her tone as she slowly pulled the box across the table towards her, lifting the lid and setting fee what seems to be the cause of all of his woes; Monopoly. A game that had been around for goodness knows how long, wrecking relationships ever since. Game night was his idea after all. So, she thought he was in no place to complain about her choice. And, of course, she told him that straight away.

 “You should have taken responsibility for the games then and let me get the coffees if it really bothers you that much…” She raised a brow, gave her sulky friend the look (you know that look) before taking a sip of the coffee he had placed before her. He gave a sigh, sat down opposite her and she knew then, 

 She’d won and the game hadn’t even started yet. 

  And she would only continue winning, move after move, property after property, the board was hers and she was loving every second of it. Bucky? Not as excited about it, funnily enough. But maybe, just maybe he thinks he can make it through as long as she keeps laughing in the way that causes her nose to scrunch up for just a second or the way she’d murmur ‘pay up’ every time (of many) that he landed on her property. It was infuriating, definitely, but these things softened the blow just a little bit. The tiniest bit. The blow was really softened when the luck began to turn his way. He didn’t know how she let this happen but what he did know is that about an hour into their game it was her who was dishing out the heavy rent prices for his two- three- four houses on the board and that number is only on the rise as the continued to play. 

 “No, no, no, no… no!” She cried, rising from her chair as she moved her piece along the board and clearly didn’t get the results she was hoping for. Bucky, now having the perfect evening simply laughed. But after a scolding from the campus librarian they promised to quieten down. 

 They definitely did not quieten down. Which greatly explains why they were now walking throughout the campus after the librarian had quite clearly had enough of the noise they emitted and continued to emit throughout their game. Whether it was his laughing or her screeching that did the trick they would never know, but it’s safe to assume that it was most likely all of the above and more. 

 “I can’t believe you got us kicked out,” She’d say. 

 “Can you really not believe it? Because you seem to be saying it a lot for somebody who can’t believe such a thing happened.” He spoke with amusement in his tone, because it was just fun, after all, eyebrows quirking along with the cadence of his voice as he jogged just ahead of her in order to turn around and steal a gaze. Not a gaze, more a glance, a glance with no meaning than utter amusement. Obviously. Bucky turns on his heels, walking backwards through the quad as the bickering carried on.

 Bucky continued, “Besides, I wouldn’t say it was completely my fault, you were just as bad - if not worse!” 

 “Nuh-uh!” She called back, face going red from her lack of a truly hard-hitting response. Something he loved, just by the way.

 He let out a barking laugh, nearly dropping her game from under his arm in the meantime. “That what you got?” His endless teasing was maybe too much for some but it would never fail to bring a smile to her face. “Nuh-uh..” He repeated, head falling forward, looking to the ground for only a moment before lifting his head with a grin. “Might have to use that some time. Yeah, I think, next time Sam gets on my ass about the mess of the dorm or something. I’ll claim ‘nuh-uh’ and blame it on Stevie.” 

 Okay, by then she was cackling, the whole scenario playing so clearly in her head that she couldn’t help herself. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that.” 

 “You know what-” As their walk continued and the air turned colder he opted to sling his arm over her shoulder, her responding with an arm around his waist. Purely for the warmth, of course. “-You know what I think? I think he would like it very much, actually. I mean, you know how Sam can’t resist a pretty face.” His tone was almost inquisitive at this point, seeing if she’ll bite for the bait he just threw out. And, bite she did. Not verbally but the look she gave him was harsh enough for him to wish he just kept it reeled in. 

 “Woah, what’s the harsh face for? You disagree or something?”

 She just laughed again, “I didn’t mean it like that!” And with a grumble and the dropping of his arm, she was quick to the rescue. “You know I think you’re very pretty, Buck, I just don’t know if you’re his type is all.” 

 “Oh?”

 “You seem surprised?” As they came to a stop at the front door of her building he began to search his pockets for his student ID, knowing she always forgot hers, meanwhile she stood, brows furrowed as she awaited his response. 

 “Oh no, it’s not that part I’m surprised about…” He produced the card as if it were a true ‘ah-ha!’ moment before running it over the sensor and pushing the door open for the both of them, allowing Y/N to go ahead of him. There was something unsettling her about the small smile that was threatening to break across his face… but he was holding back and she had not a single clue why. 

 “Well… do enlighten me.”

 “So I’m your type then?”

 “That is not what I said,”

 “What you implied though.” She could hear the grin that was on his lips as she walked ahead of him, she tried her hardest to ignore that and the blush that rose to her cheeks upon hearing it but when they arrived at her door she had to face her fears: Bucky Barnes. 

 “I didn’t imply anything, all I said is that you’re a good looking guy but you’re not Sam Wilson’s type. This doesn’t mean that you’re my type and with that…” She turned to her door, unlocking it and pushing it open, ready for a quick escape. To feign nonchalance she looked back to him giving a nod and mumbling a “...goodnight, Barnes.” But alas, just when it seemed like a place to freely freak was in her grasp, 

 “Just out of curiosity-” Here we go, “Am I your type?” 

 “Bucky-”

 “Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, promise that my feelings won’t be hurt.”

 “You could be.”

 “What?” He seemed surprised that she actually answered his question at all, let alone given that answer. “Sorry, was that a yes?”

 “Please don’t make me say it again.”

 “Okay, alright I won’t.” He chuckled at this, looking down to their feet for a moment. He looked up with a new task on his to-do list, “Follow up question if you don’t mind?”

 “Go for it. I mean how much more embarrassing can my night truly get?” 

 “Can I kiss you?” 

 “Can you what?”

 “Kiss you. May I?” He said, this time his grin becoming more boyish than she thinks she had ever seen it, a certain kind of light and excitement that shone through his features. She always knew it was there, but it wasn’t something he usually outwardly projected.  

 “Kiss me?”

 “Kinda stole my line there.” he quipped. The longer she took to answer, the smaller his smile became. It never left though, still pulled at the corner of his lips as he looked down at her. She would do what she knew was best whether that be agree with him or completely shoot him down. The choice was all hers as soon as he put himself out there, and he trusted her with all he had to make the one right for her. 

 She paused, a million and one thoughts running through her mind as they stood in the hallway. But, after only a second more of deliberation and another thousand thoughts she spoke up again, “You can have it back then.” Before he could even open his mouth to question it she went on, “The line, you can have it back if you want.” And with that he grins, head dipping with the intention of his lips meeting hers but before they could barely brush she had a finger pressed against his chin and mischief once again in her voice. “Go ahead, Barnes, say it.” 

  “Kiss me.” With two words it all changed. They were still them of course, jokes and taunts included but now maybe with the clarity of gazes that lingered just a little too long and arms slinked around the waist may have been a little more than simply ‘friendly’. 

  And boy, did she kiss him. 

  It was perhaps a little shy at first, what with the weight of years of friendship in the balance and the threat of being tainted with ‘y’know you could have at least used a lil’ lip balm jeez’ to hold them back. So, it was shy, and it was gentle. The odd apology mumbled as his nose bumped against hers but she’d simply giggle and shush him, calming them both significantly. And then? God, then they just sort of sunk into it. 

 After an initial feeling of this is new, it became his hands resting against her cheeks, one moving to hold the back of her head when Y/N tugged on his denim jacket, welcoming a new feeling of we should’ve been doing this the whole time. Lips moved, almost dancing against the other with the accompanying beat of the still active campus around them. But they couldn’t bring themselves to care at that particular moment. Until that moment was brought to a premature end. 

 Life continued on as normal despite them being tucked away in their own little pocket of time, and in life people need to get passed in the narrow corridors. The others tried their best, trying their best to edge past without being noticed at all. Though only a few were successful. 

  A quiet, “Excuse me,” pulled them apart, a shy freshman clutching to a folder for dear life as Bucky stepped out the way. He rested against the wall by her side. With flushed cheeks and chests heaving slightly as they each caught their breath, they simply stood for a second. Reeling from all that just happened, happiness radiated, laughter from mouths that tried hard to remain hushed until the Freshman was down the hall, fully embracing it as soon as they were. His head fell back against the wall, turning just slightly to catch her eye. 

 “You know I’ve got an early morning lecture tomorrow, and you’ve kept me out way past my bedtime. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

 “Oh, very.” And with that, he knew he was done for, completely and utterly, not that he didn’t have some idea before. 

 “Well,” He started, pushing himself off the wall, looking each way down the hallway and proceeding with caution this time. “I suppose I must leave you for the night..” His hands scratched at the back of his neck as a boyish smirk once again appeared. His hand raised to the air and with a flourish, he gave a rather grand bow. “Goodnight, Madame.” And, then he moved to set about on his way back to his own building just a few blocks down the path, leaving her with nothing more than a smile and a quick wink before turning on his heels. As Sam always told him, Leave ‘em wanting just a little bit more.  

 “Unless you want to come in for a while?” Cool guy act already firmly dropped, he spun back around, already poised and ready with a million and one questions all compressed into a furrowed brow. But, the grin that Y/N wore gave him all the answers he could have possibly wanted and more. Just one smile and he folded. 

 He stepped forward, shaking his head slightly with a small smile growing, “God,” He whispered, leaving no time for her to properly respond before his mouth was on hers and she was reaching blindly for the door handle that pressed again her back. 

 You could say he was glad he never listened to Sam’s advice. 

 ‘A while’ lasted a little longer than they had originally planned. 

  The night went without a single hitch, smiles and kisses were exchanged between them so freely it made the need for sleep loathsome. They wanted the night to last until they were ready for the exchange to stop and for morning to come, alas, that is not how the universe planned for it to play out. So, the conversations ended and they slept, legs tangled and a hand in her hair - another thing that came to its conclusion far earlier than either of them would have liked; 8:25am.  And, with the mumblings of having a lecture at 9, Y/N managed to just barely coax Bucky from the bed. It was feat and a half she’d admit, but they each knew the real challenge would be getting him to part from her at the doorway. 

 “Bucky…” It was a quiet something. Not even she knew the full intention of letting his name fall so sweetly from lips that he continued to lazily brush against his own, their own little bubble once again appearing in the realm of her open doorway. Just-barely-there kisses continued to be exchanged, pausing every so often for conversation. 

 “Hmm?”

 “I really, really have to get ready.”

 “I know you do.” 

 “Which means-” His lips hushed her this time, pulling her deeper and closer to the conclusion that perhaps missing one class wouldn’t be the end of the world. A dangerous conclusion. So she gently pushed against his chest and the smile on his stupidly pretty face proved her previous hunch; he knew exactly what he was doing.  “-You’ve gotta go, Romeo.”

 “Romeo, huh? Oh, that’s real sweet of you to say.” Y/N was also quickly learning he was far too reluctant to leave her on that morning. But, who could blame him, certainly not she. 

 “Yeah well, I’m just nice like that I suppose.”

 “Rich of you to say after you kick me out before 9am-” He paused, eyes trailing from her face as he eventually caught sight of the orange cotton that sat cosy upon the skin of her neck. “-all the while standing looking like that in my hoodie no less.” This was the utmost disrespect in his book. 

 “You know I had it,” she fired back, cotton covered hands sinking into the pockets just below her hips, a satisfied smirk on her face as she met his gaze again.

 “Your point? Doesn’t mean you don’t look absolutely…” The way he spoke was too perfect, perhaps even slightly suspicious as he looked at her then. She caught it too, narrowing her eyes at him. And, then, quicker than a flash, far quicker than she could stop his fingers found the drawstrings of the hood pulled them tight.  “...Enchanting.”

 Obviously, she was thrilled by this, the “You’re a jerk,” she said would have made that infinitely clear had it not been muffled by the hood now covering her face.

 “Yeah, yeah, I know; I’m the worst.” He said, not an ounce of remorse or regret in his voice but a grin on his face, enough to cause a smile of her own as she struggled to free herself. 

 “But, despite me being the worst, you want to come over after your lecture? I’ll make you some breakfast and everything.” As Bucky spoke he, after watching her struggle a while, nudged her hands away before gently fixing the hoodie.

 “Ooh, breakfast? Tell me Buck, you make breakfast for all the girls?”

 “Only my favourites.”

 “Favourites? Plural?” 

 “Yeah, one and a half exactly.” His lips met her forehead then, a usual goodbye between them, though this time due to the recent… discoveries he lingered a moment. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as she did the same around his middle and they remained that way until she realised the error in what he just said and leaned back to look up at him, her brows knitting.

  “One and a half?” She was pretty hesitant to ask, knowing there was absolutely no way this was an innocent mistake. There was rarely an innocent mistake when it came to Bucky Barnes, and Y/N knew that.

 “Yeah, Steve is the one and then you're half because you’re so small.” See?

 “Weren’t you just going?” Her hands unwrapped from around his waist, pushing against his torso now as he laughed, muttering a thousand apologies she knew he didn’t mean a bit. He never meant them but in other cases where the roles reversed, neither did she. Eventually, he gave in and parted with her, backing off. Goodbyes continued as he went down the hall, smiles thrown over his shoulder and sarcasm flooding the corridor.

 “Mhmm, yeah I’m going. Have fun at your lecture.”

 “I’m sure I will.”

 “See you for breakfast.”

 “Maybe I don’t-”

 “Already told Sam, can’t break the poor guy's heart like that.” 

 A moment of silence passed and he was sure she had ducked back inside to get ready, but then: “I would never dream of it!”

[cyanpeacock]

that comic is big hueg mood and i value it a lot.

mental illness really isn’t about “oh just be thankful for what you CAN do!”

it’s sometimes (always?) about “i know i’m capable of doing Even Better, if i just had some help! i’m not well! i’m thankful every day that i’m not worse, but it fucking burns me to know how much better i COULD be doing with more support!!”

and if you appear to be high-functioning, even if that level is like, abysmal compared to what you know your mind and body would actually be capable of in better circumstances, you sort of get... abandoned? like, “oh, that one is doing well enough.” and seeking out the necessary support to improve your functioning level requires SO much time and energy that it is literally killing people. 

like i have so many suicide attempts i can’t count them under my belt. i’ve got self harm scars on every limb and they number, like... well, it’s in the hundreds, for sure. i’ve got no IRL social network. a lot of my daily energy goes on regulating emotions and processing trauma. i can’t drive, i can assemble some food sometimes but can’t reliably cook, etc etc.

and because i’m in university - still there by sheer force of will, because this is the ONLY thing that might land me in reasonable comfort in the future - and not in trouble with the school, i’ve been written off again and again by mental health services. it’s always, “come back in six months,” or “here’s a referral for a 12-week group, in two years’ time,” and “oh, has it been two months? i’m sorry, we haven’t got around to allocating you a community psychiatric nurse yet” 

i’m here like, what... the fuck? i feel like, it’s been assumed i’m a person of average ability, with minor problems, and i can just Get On With It. when actually, i’m well aware i’m a person of exceptional academic ability, with really quite significant social, emotional, and mental health problems, particularly like... in terms of trust. and it makes me fucking furious, and at times ashamed, that i’m coming up to 22 years old, my secondary school peers are graduating, and i’m only just going into second year. i was ahead of my peers for So Long. i should still be there. but because nobody believes i need fucking help, i’m getting delayed more and fucking more!!! it burns me!!!!!

like, of course i can fucking Get On With It. that’s all i CAN do, it’s my Priority, My Degree Is My Life This Secures A Future I Could Accept. i can learn semantic information without ever fucking touching my trust/interpersonal issues. and i don’t think anybody just skimming my case notes can grasp how much this fucking course means to me, how much sheer fucking aggression i’ve had to channel to get here, to stay here.

like they don’t see how i haul myself out of my apartment when i’m fucking suicidal to show to the lectures. how I take notes from the lecture recordings for every. single. lecture. i miss because i’m too exhausted or overwhelmed to make it to the hall. how i never chat in the lab because i’m scared as hell and have to get into a mindset that goes I’m Here To Fucking Learn Not To Make Friends, although i’d really like to make friends. how exam revision takes priority to the exclusion of eating and sleeping, how I have to set myself timers and force myself to eat and sleep, how my walls get covered in webs and webs of colourful revision post-it notes and i spend hours and hours arranging them Perfectly so i can remember the whole thing as a 3D spatial map inside my brain. how i give myself eyestrain and migraines from staring at books and screens for so long, how i don’t fucking wash myself, or clean my apartment, or say a word to anyone but myself for days or weeks. how i’m so fucking hurt that it took me two years to do first year, how i’m having to go part time for second year. like, this is not healthy learning. this is, I’m Going To Die If I Don’t Cling The FUCK On To This Opportunity, This Lucky Fucking Break That Is Going To Save My Life. and i’m NOT fucking giving it up. 

they don’t seem to see that AT THE SAME TIME i’ve been off on my fucking own learning and practicing DBT skills, how i taught myself to meditate when my mind is still screaming Kill Yourself Kill Yourself Kill Yourself, how i’ve been seeing a private counsellor who i can’t afford from the wallet but who i have to afford so i don’t try to kill myself even more fucking often. how i’ve been looking around to try and find like, a faith that might give me more reason to keep fighting, how i do all that shit like taking walks in nature and working out and maintaining a good sleep schedule, and yet, i’m Still Not Well. 

like here i am with the SAME trauma spinning around my head and the SAME terror of social situations and the SAME goddamn increasing fear every time i push myself to “just join a group!! just talk to people!! it gets easier the more you do it!!!”

that’s the FUCKING PROBLEM! i’m DOING all the easy shit, all the “just make lifestyle changes! :) x”!!!!!!! there is still shit that gets HARDER the more i do it!!!!!!! i get MORE anxious and MORE scared and MORE defensive and MORE avoidant the more i push myself to Just Talk To People and the better somebody knows me, because the more they know, the more they have to use as a fucking weapon! this is why I shut down and say “Oh you know I’m okay :)” in my fucking appointments!!!! because they send me to SO MANY different people, who BARELY skim my case notes, and i have no opportunity to develop enough trust with them to tell them the whole truth! which is, “dude, i feel like shit. i’m behind where i Should be given my age and ability. i have no friends, i’m terrified of people who start to get to know me. i’m constantly trying to process trauma, but it’s always the same pain, and then i remember something else painful, and it’s all more fucked up the older i get, and there’s a limit to what i can do about this alone, and i’m overwhelmed. i’m used to it, because i’ve been living this way for so fucking long, but i’m furious, because you people should have KEPT me from getting used to living like this. and i Don’t. Want. To Live. This. Way. Forever.” 

they haven’t even given me the fucking opportunity to build ANY significant, long-term therapeutic relationship with ANY NHS mental health practitioner. i haven’t seen anybody for more than like, three appointments, except my goddamn private counsellor, who is a blessing and lets me pay him in artwork when the cash runs out. and he always looks so angry and disappointed that the NHS are doing so fucking little for me, but never that way in me, which i have seen from so-called mental health “professionals,” including crisis team workers, on the NHS. 

like, the last time i saw a psychiatrist, he had a face on him like NBC’s Hannibal fucking Lecter and he said word-for-word “I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you.” what kind of fucking health professional comes out with shit like THAT? and shortly after that appt I got increasingly unstable, went psychotic, trashed my apartment, tried to commit suicide again, then spent all my fucking money running all over the country and ended up here, in a flat in halls my uni are paying for while i bit-by-bit clean up my apartment, alone because i don’t trust anybody else to touch MY THINGS, until it’s livable again.

i think i’m gonna print a lot of these recent text posts and take them to my case review. i’ve always been too ashamed to take anything significant that i write to Brain Appointments, because, like... well. mother is to blame for that. “melodramatic/theatrical/overemotional/I think you’re just tired/making things up/imagining things” and so on. and the fact that when it was found out by my school i was self harming and they told her, shit got so much worse at home. like, that pretty effectively taught me Hide Everything Or You’ll Be Punished, Even By People Who Say They’re Just Trying To Help You. 

man, seriously, fuck this shit. fuck this shit. fuck how hard i’m having to fight for this. fuck all this terror and aggression, sure I can pilot the ship on fear and fury, but i wanna pilot it just like, gently, with love and enthusiasm. i’ve been finding ways to start doing that, alone. but this whole, social stuff? i can’t do that alone. the social space inside my head is healthier, i’m not screaming and fighting with the voices, or constantly blocking them out with music and drugs and trances, but Other Bodies? i need help with Other Bodies.

ok im getting a headache so it’s time to call this post Done

[sculptorofbeginningslibrary]

Black Eyes & Bloodlust - Chapter 10

THIS IS A RE-POST SINCE THIS CHAPTER WAS POSTED RIGHT BEFORE THE PURGE. FROM THIS CHAPTER FORWARD THIS STORY AND ALL MY FICS WILL BE POSTED FROM HERE AND REBLOGGED (POSSIBLY POINTLESSLY) TO MY MAIN BLOG UNTIL TUMBLR UN-BLURRIES ME.

My Masterlist

Black Eyes & Bloodlust Masterlist

Summary: Dean has never met his Omega, never even thought there could be one waiting for him–but she’s out there, and they’re connected in ways they could never have imagined.

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Cas, a few OC’s

Warnings: SMUT so typical A/B/O warnings, Slow burn (and I mean it. SLOW BURN GUYS.) Language, depictions of mental illness, Gore and Violence. (Warnings will apply to all chapters just to cover all the bases.)

Chapter Warning: This one has a bit that could be considered necrophilia. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED.

Word Count: ~5600

A/N: There’s a decent amount of canon in this chapter. :)

Unbeta’d for reasons, if you find mistakes feel free to message me!

AS ALWAYS,

ENJOY!

__~*~__

“Oh my god…” Lane’s hand covered her mouth in shock as she opened the door to Y/N’s apartment. The escorting officer took one look at the blood on the floor and called for backup before producing his gun.

“Ma’am wait, please,” Officer Bishop called quietly as Lane took a step though, her foot landing right into a tiny puddle. “I need you to step back.” His voice was soft but urgent, catching her attention. As she looked up he placed his finger over his lips, silently shushing her.

“Wha–” Officer Bishop moved quickly, cutting her off as he maneuvered her into the hallway and stepped into the apartment in one movement.

“Colorado state police, is there anyone here?” Lane jumped slightly at his booming voice, so caring before, but now full of authority. He was met with silence and stepped into the living room,  carefully avoiding the mess of broken items scattered across the floor. “If there’s anyone here I need you to come out with your hands up!”

Again, silence was the only response and he backed his way out, pulling the door closed behind him.

“What are you doing? I need to go in there.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t let you do that.”  Officer Bishop had the decency to look remorseful as he shook his head. He planted himself in front of the doorway and produced a plastic bag. “I need you to put your shoes in here…you stepped in the…you stepped in some evidence.”

Lane cried noisily for a few minutes, standing in her socks and feeling as though everything good had been stripped from the world. The blood stains on her shoes glared at Lane from their plastic prison, mocking her until a team of officers and a forensic unit were clomping up the steps. They had no trouble herding Lane against the wall as they opened the door, immediately sweeping the apartment.

Y/N’s home was officially a crime scene.

After the initial sweep, a tech handed Lane a pair of plastic booties, signaling to Bishop that they were allowed to enter once she’d slipped them over her feet..  

Lane’s tears renewed as Officer Bishop escorted her through the rooms. Each space held as much damage as the last, as if a tiny tornado had had swept through upending everything her sister owned. The events of the past week tumbled into a harsh reality, .

Y/N had been pissed… maybe even hated her, because Lane had made an executive decision she’d known Y/N couldn’t make for herself…and now Y/N was missing while a serial killer was still on the loose.

Lane collapsed to the floor in her grief, a choked sob escaping as she buried her face in her hands and imagined all the terrible things that could be happening to her only sister. She pictured Y/N lost, mentally broken, and physically tortured…cut open and bled out like all those other Omegas. A soft hand caressed the span of her shoulders. It was Officer Bishop, awkwardly trying to offer comfort as she broke down. Each thud of booted feet traipsing through her sister’s house was a bullet to the gut, each broken item a remnant of their shattered trust, and suddenly it was all too much.

Lane shot to her feet, ignoring Officer Bishop’s pleas for her to stop as she raced toward the front door, zigzagging around small yellow evidence markers, broken glass and blood stains. She didn’t stop until she was halfway down the steps.

“Ma’am,” the young officer panted as he reached the landing, “Ma’am you can’t leave…we have to take you back and get your statement.” Lane stared up through watery eyes, trying to find some semblance of understanding in his earnest gaze. Instead, she found the worry he was trying to hide. The tears still hadn’t stopped, and she sniffled as she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her gut told her something really bad had happened, never mind the mess in the apartment, and she contemplated calling Doctor Cameron. He’d been very understanding while dealing with Y/N so far, and she was his patient. He’d want to know…

“I’m not going anywhere…I just couldn’t be in there anymore.” The officer nodded, looking skeptical. Lane watched the struggle in his eyes. She could see his vain attempts to pretend like he didn’t already know where this was headed.

“How about I go ahead and take you to the station, you’ve seen enough here. The faster we get the paperwork done the faster we can find your sister.” Officer Bishop tried to smile reassuringly, but it fell flat in the face of her pain. He waited for Lane to head down the stairs before frowning, his real feelings making themselves known. He couldn’t tell her, but he had little to no hope of finding Y/N alive…the smell of death permeated every inch of her apartment. Officer Bishop was glad Lane had agreed to leave so quickly. His short experience in the force told him the team would find Y/N’s body soon, another victim of the brutal slaughter they couldn’t seem to stop…and he didn’t think it would be right for Lane to be there when that happened.

__~*~__

The long, concrete hallway was well-lit, save for the bulb that flashed out as you suddenly appeared. You had no control as your feet propelled you forward, lights overhead flicking into darkness one by one as you reached them. On either side, locked doors to what appeared to be cells moved by, your hands lightly rattling chains that held smaller doors shut like some kind of old-school ghost.

Each room seemed to be empty…until you found the one that wasn’t.

In a blink you were inside, and inwardly you screamed. It was always something nuts with these nightmares.

You were thrashing helplessly against the bindings of you body, furious that you were trapped yet again.

Before you stood Tommy Tolliver, dressed in his white prison uniform. You recognized him from the endless news cycles discussing his pending execution for the murders he’d committed.

You were disgusted with yourself, with your illness, and with the satisfaction warming your chest.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded as he whipped around, obviously shocked at your sudden appearance. “How’d you get in here?”

It seemed Tommy wouldn’t be making it to his state scheduled execution as you started to speak.

“I’ve been called many things in this life. The father of murder is one of them.” What the fuck? Like always, you were left with more questions than answers as  the dream took you where it wanted. ”And by the State’s count, you’ve taken six lives yourself Tommy. Although by my count…it’s nine.”

The voice rumbling in your head and leaving your mouth was smooth, calm, and utterly terrifying. How you were even able to feel fear after everything you’d seen was a mystery, but it was there and you couldn’t escape it.

Tommy’s hand searched the desk behind him frantically, grasping for anything that would save him from you. Experience told you that wouldn’t happen.

“Oh come on, you aren’t one of those ‘it wasn’t me’ type fellas, are ya? Because i know you’re a killer…just like me.” You shuddered inside your foreign skin as Tommy’s fist balled up. He squared his shoulders and started to grin, his too large teeth making you cringe.

“Yeah, I did it,” he said, trying to appear like he wasn’t just as terrified as you.

“Honesty. That’s good.” You saw his move before he made it, catching Tommy’s fist before it collided with your face while growling, “That’s the spirit!” His hand was crushed as you twisted it downward. Tommy grunted in pain, but had enough sense to try again with his other hand.

Instead of grabbing it, your hand came up, thick fingers making a strange motion that forced his arm down without touching him.

Fuck. First a demon and now I’m magic?

“Now I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here. Did I come to punish you, or save you?

Well…” Your hand slid under the coat, grasping the handle of a knife sticking out from it. You leaned forward to whisper into his face, gagging mentally at the smell of his fetid breath. “The truth is, Tommy…I’m here to do both.”

You plunged the long blade deep into his gut, a wave of satisfaction starting at the mark on your arm and traveling your veins like white lightning.

__

You shot awake, flailing around the back of your car as you rolled onto the floor. A loud groan escaped as you tried to work your way back up into the seat. Your arm brushed the scratchy material as you moved, making you cry out in pain. The rash had been aggravated since you left Biggerson’s, and it was only getting worse.

You figured it was just the fever you’d been fighting as a small but painful tremor ran through your midsection. As you climbed between the seats and into the front you thought about the day’s goals.

Meeting up with Tex, the sketchy guy you’d found online who claimed to know about the Winchesters, was task one. You turned the car on before fixing your hair into some semblance of respectability. The sun was high in the sky, warming the inside of your vehicle against the chill outside.

You’d driven for a day and a half to get to Iowa, the last known location of the elusive Winchester brothers. In every city you’d been desperately posting in the personals section on Craigslist when you stopped for gas or rest in the hopes that someone would know something. It was a long shot, but finally Tex had emailed you with some ominous message about knowing who they were, and even possibly where they might be and your heart had leapt into your throat.

Honestly, you’d never expected it to work and you still weren’t sure, so you’d bought a straight edge flip-knife from a dodgy convenience store just in case.

You rolled the windows down and sprayed pheromone covering body spray in the hopes of hiding your scent. An Omega on the cusp of a heat was like open season for any jackass Alpha without a sense of self control. You were praying that Tex wasn’t one of them, but it was a risk you were forced to take.

No amount of risk was too high when it came to finding your Alpha.

__~*~__

Dean grabbed his shotgun from the wall and frowned at it. “When he gave me the Mark, Cain said that this day would come…that after I killed Abaddon, I would have to come and put him down.” And he had been right. Cain was executing everyone in his bloodline, and it was up to them to stop him. Since Cas had actually found Cain, he knew he had to pause his pining over Y/N and get a move on…but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Great. So you’re taking orders from a madman.” Sam snorted.

“No,” Dean corrected stoically, “he wasn’t mad then.”

Castiel watched the hunters from the doorway, wondering if he should tell them he’d heard Y/N praying again. It had been faint, but the darkness swirling around her was so similar to Dean’s he couldn’t deny any longer that it was her. That she was real, and something had changed for her. He decided to keep it to himself for the moment, not wanting to take their attention from the deadly situation with Cain.

There was much to do, and they could sort out the issue of Dean’s Omega later.

“Cain resisted the Mark for a long time, then I came kicking up trouble about the Blade. I sent him down this path. This is on me.” Castiel inwardly sighed, hating how his friend always took so much on. How he made himself responsible for the actions of others, things he had no business blaming himself for.

“It doesn’t mean you have to be the one to go after him,” Sam cried. Dean rolled his eyes. Wasn’t this exactly what Sam had wanted? What they’d been searching for? The sooner they took care of Cain, the sooner his brother and Castiel would take him seriously and help him instead of hindering him.

“Yes, it does Sam. And there’s only one thing that can kill him.” Sam’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

“The Blade?” He was ready to protest when Castiel stepped in, stopping the brewing argument between the brothers.

“Dean’s right,” Castiel offered grudgingly. There was no way to kill Cain without the First Blade. It was a calculated risk they had to take.

“Dean, wielding the Blade against Cain himself…” Sam trailed off uncertainly, fear for his brother overtaking logic. His eyes followed as Dean’s hand came to rest over the Mark, a pained look crossing his face for a second. “…win or lose, you may never come back from that fight.” When Sam finished, his voice almost a whisper. He searched Dean’s eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sense that he would be able to talk his brother out of this…but he found nothing.

“I know.” Dean’s resolute tone turned Sam’s stomach into knots as he looked to Castiel for help. There was none to be found. The Angel was staring sadly at Dean, but there was stone in his gaze.

__~*~__

“What’s a sweet little Omega like you looking for the Winchesters for? You a hunter too?”

Tex turned out to be a middle-aged Beta more interested in your story than your body. He’d bought you to a hole in the wall bar and tucked the two of you into a secluded corner when he’d felt the waves of stress rolling off your body.

“A what?” you asked, wondering what hunting had to do with serial killers.

“Guess not…don’t worry about it sweetheart. The Winchesters, girl…they’re dangerous. What do you want with ‘em?” His warm eyes so full of concern pulled you right in, making you feel safer than you had in months. He was handsome even though he had quite a few years on you.

Your arm tingled as you pulled your long sleeve lower to cover it, suddenly self conscious of the growing redness.

“Well uh…” you peered around suspiciously. An odd sense of being watched had come over you after praying and you couldn’t shake it. “I’m writing a paper, and all of the websites I found are conflicting on whether or not they’re actually dead. I mean…serial killers who keep coming back? That’s the stuff of horror movies, I just wanted to find for myself if there’s more to the story.”

The well rehearsed story had Tex raising a brow has he sipped his beer, making you feel like he didn’t believe you.

He didn’t, but he wouldn’t tell you that. He could see by the haunted look in your eyes there was more to the story. Your body was withered under the large clothes you wore, and he hadn’t missed the rash you’d tried to hide. As a hunter himself, he knew more of the truth than most people and it didn’t take a skilled one to notice the signs of the supernatural. It was up to him now to keep you safe from whatever crazy mission you were really on.

“Well, last I heard they died at the police station down the road a few years ago. I don’t think anyone’s heard from ‘em since, but I wouldn’t put it past ‘em to have slipped away somehow. I’ve got some contacts, whadda’you say you come take a nice long shower at my motel room while I put some feelers out?”

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion, all caution thrown to the wind at the slightest chance of finding Dean and a shower.

“You’d do that for me? Help me find them?” Tears swam as Tex flashed red before your eyes, and you saw a vision of him slumped back against the seat, throat slit and blood leaking from the wound to soak his shirt.

Just as quick as it came the image was gone, and you wiped the tears away. They didn’t even bother you anymore, you just wanted to find your Alpha.

When he had you wrapped in his arms everything would be fine again.

“Sure thing little lady. But I’m gonna be with you the whole time if we find ‘em. Not lettin’ you around serial killer Alphas without protection or you’ll end up just another victim. You can get your story and we’ll get out…if they’re even still alive that is. Seen enough innocents get chewed up and spat out by this world. Especially Omegas.”

“I’m not your responsibility Tex,” you chuckled softly, “but thank you.”

__~*~__

Dean was nervous. It started with the soft music in his head like it always did, but now his heart was pounding to the beat of the symphony screaming in his skull.

After all this time…after everything, it was time to kill Cain. The man he’d destroyed as surely as the Mark was destroying him. Everything happening was his fault, and he was ready to accept the responsibilities that came with that.

His eyes lingered over Castiel and Crowley before landing on Sam.

Sweet Sammy, the boy who’d grown into a man under his watch. The man who’d had his back in a thousand situations and the little brother who just wanted his family to stay whole. Dean didn’t think staying whole was an option any longer as he felt the pull between the First Blade and the Mark coursing angrily through him.

Rage roiled against his resolve as he tried to hold himself calm enough to accept the cursed knife from Crowley without plunging it into the Demon King’s gut and ending him forever.

“Dean, look, we want to help–” Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“No. No, with you in the ring, it’d just be a liability.”

“Dean?” Castiel frowned, stepping forward. This hadn’t been part of the plan. He didn’t want Dean to be alone.

“I’d be too worried about what he could do to you… Or what I could. Plus, I need you three out here to take out whatever comes out of there. And I’m serious, I mean whatever comes out.” Dean’s eyes implored them to understand, but he saw the struggle Castiel and Sam were having with his decision.

“Happily,” Crowley offered, an honestly solemn look on his face as he held up the First Blade. Dean steeled himself against the urge to rip it from Crowley’s hand. “What guarantee do I have that you’ll give it back when you’re done?” The King asked, wanting to hear the words. Wanting Dean to make the promise he’d return it instead of murdering them all.

“If I survive and I come out of there and I don’t give it back, you’ll all have a much bigger problem on your hands.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was one Crowley could accept as he handed the blade over. He could see the waves of Dean’s curse wafting from his aura; knew how badly Dean was faring in his fight against the Mark…but Cain had to be killed, and Dean was the only one who could do it.

Dean’s eyes clenched shut as his fist closed around the bone handle. Everything in his head went silent, the only thing left being the primal drum-beat of his urge to kill something.

“Dean?” Sam asked uncertainly, snapping Dean out of his trance. The urge was still there, but with Sam looking at him like that, he knew he could hold on for a while longer.

Dean eyed the barn doors, inhaling deep. The smell of lemon and honeysuckle came from nowhere, coating his raw emotions like a salve and giving him the strength he needed to do what he had to. With a final glance at his assembled crew, he dipped his head. “I’m good.”

__~*~__

Showering had been amazing. You’d spent an hour and a half under the freezing spray, letting it wash away the grime of the road and the sweltering heat teasing under your skin.

After dressing you had sat down on the edge of Tex’s bed, adjusting the knife in your bra until it sat comfortably under you left breast. Talking to Tex was easy, and you found yourself opening up to him about the crazy dreams you’d been having for months, how they’d ruined your perfectly normal life and giving him the half-truth that they had inspired you to find the Winchesters so you could learn how to start a new life.

You could tell he thought you were full of shit, but you’d listened to him make the calls he’d promised to make, and even found a witch who claimed she knew how to get in touch with the Winchesters…for a fee.

A witch! You’d laughed heartily at that, almost unable to believe that he was playing into your insanity. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d faked all of the calls and was really waiting on the police to come pick up the crazy girl he’d found searching for serial killers on Craigslist.

Something told you he was being honest, but that didn’t stop you from wondering anyways.

A witch. You snorted, shaking your head and eyeing the man that was being so helpful for no reason.

“Why are you helping me, Tex?” You asked softly. His soft brown eyes met yours from the chair as you stood, crossing the room to stand over him. As you walked, a small cramp locked in your gut and you collapsed.

He caught you under your arms and hauled you halfway into his lap. It was incredibly intimate for two strangers, but Tex didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He hadn’t ridiculed or laughed at your dreams. He hadn’t called you crazy…

You were so tired of feeling crazy.

Your eyes glanced up and caught the lust in his. Your upper body was across his legs and you took advantage of that by twisting down and settling to your knees. He stopped your hands as they ran up his jeans towards his hips.

“Alright girl, that’s enough of that.” You pouted up at him, flinching as another cramp twinged and your arm pulsed with increasing intensity.

“I just want to thank you for being so helpful…” You couldn’t help the sudden lust clouding your thoughts as your temperature spiked again. “because now I need a different kind of help.”

He took a nervous breath in, scenting your heat in the air without all your body spray to cover it.

“I’ve been fighting it,” your hands slid up again as his hold loosened. “And the suppressants are barely working…maybe if you help me, I won’t be in so much danger when we find m–the Alphas I’m looking for. Don’t you want to help me?” The shift in your attitude didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he decided this might be okay. It would be okay to help you…wouldn’t it?

It was the right thing to do.

He wasn’t an Alpha by any means, but your scent was strong enough for him to be affected by it, for it to make him want you in a way that hadn’t crossed his mind before.

You couldn’t remember how it happened, but your next memory was of him under you, both of your upper bodies still clothed while his hard cock pounded into your pussy and his thumb circled your clit frantically.  His eyes were closed as you bounced on him, moaning like a porn star.

He felt good, but your body was demanding more. Demanding a knot. Your hips slammed down as you tried to pull him deeper, push yourself higher, rolling against his fingers and fighting the guilt of sleeping with someone who wasn’t Dean.

Your right arm was tingling as a deep drum started in your ears.

It felt like someone had cut a line from your rash to your palm as you bucked wildly against Tex’s ministrations. You were reaching desperately for an orgasm that was right there, but just out of reach when your palm started to burn.

Your hand clenched, and you expected your nails to bite into the skin, but they didn’t.

In place of that pain, you felt the satisfying contour of the bone blade that had been haunting you. It felt right, so perfect, as your thumb traced the surface. Your eyes squeezed tighter as your clit started to pulse and the drums raised in volume.

It was so close, but rage was building alongside the pressure of your climax and your right arm was arcing before you could stop it. Tex’s hand spasmed against you, finally sending you over the edge. You cried out as your eyes snapped open, letting the pleasure consume you even as you saw what you’d done.

Your left hand came down, grabbing his and pressing it back to your mound as you used it ride out the twitching bliss, reveling in Tex’s gurgles as the open gash across his throat stole his life.

__~*~__

The First Blade slid from Dean’s hand and straight under Cain’s foot as Dean watched from the floor.

How had he let that happen?

Flashes of Y/N fucking some stranger were distracting him from the deadliest fight of his life, that was how.

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to focus, to ignore the visions and figure out a way to get the blade back.

“Oh, it’s been too long.” Cain’s reverent tone helped bring Dean back to the moment. “That old feeling makes me wonder how I ever had the strength to resist.”

Dean let his rage take over. He ran at Cain, but the man snatched him up by the throat easily, tossing him to the ground and knocking the air from his lungs.

“This may be hard to believe, in light of what I’m about to do to you, but I care about you, Dean. I truly do. But I know I’m doing you a favor. I’m saving you.” Dean glared from his spot on the ground, searching for his moment as blood roared in his ears.

“Saving me from what?”

“From your fate,” Cain stated, as if it were obvious. “Has it never occurred to you? Have you never mused upon the fact that you’re living my life in reverse? My story began when I killed my brother, and that’s where your story inevitably will end.”

“No. Never,” Dean growled. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would never hurt Sammy.

“It’s called the Mark of Cain for a reason!” Cain yelled, circling Dean slowly. “First … first, you’d kill Crowley. There’d be some strange, mixed feelings on that one, but you’d have your reasons. You’d get it done, no remorse. And then you’d kill the angel, Castiel. Now, that one…that I suspect would hurt something awful. And then your Omega!” Cain lunged to the ground, snagging Dean’s shoulder as he pinned him with the First Blade at the hunter’s throat. Dean felt the pull, he felt the blade singing to him, begging him to bleed for it.

“I can see her, you know…begging for you. Calling out for you. Shedding blood for you. When you find her, you’ll kill her too.” Cain grinned, no shred of mercy in his violently blue eyes. “You’d think that would destroy you but no, that just opens the door for the murder you’d never survive. The one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me.”

“No!” Dean struggled against Cain’s hold, the blade cutting slightly into his neck. His eyes fell to the knife sticking out from Cain’s coat as he fought the truth of Cain’s words, the confusion and hatred they brought. An idea formed as he stilled, fighting the tears of rage in his eyes.

“Your brother, Sam. The only thing standing between you and that destiny is this Blade. You’re welcome, my son.”

When Cain’s hand came up, Dean moved with all the swiftness the curse had given him. The knife slid easily from its hidden sheath, and in one swift movement Cain’s arm was gone, the First Blade clattering to the floor alongside the severed limb.

Dean stood on shaky legs as Cain cried out, staring at the place his arm had been. It had been a long time since he’d seen his own blood, and there was an oddly welcome sense of peace as he realized that, somehow, Dean had won. His now empty eyes followed Dean as he grabbed up the First Blade.

“What’s the matter?” Cain asked, dropping to his knees in defeat.

“Tell me I don’t have to do this. Tell me that you’ll stop. Tell me that you can stop!” Cain almost laughed at the hunter’s begging. They both needed this. He wouldn’t tell Dean otherwise.

Maybe Dean could survive after all. Maybe Dean would do what Cain couldn’t, and beat the Mark once he was gone.  Cain’s only regret was not getting to see how it all played out in the end.

“I will never stop.” Cain closed his eyes, welcoming the peace of death after a long, bloody, life.

Dean cried out in agony of his own as he plunged the blade down into the back of Cain’s neck, a surge of power racing through his arm and into his heart.

__~*~__

You sat completely still, straddling the dead body of a man who’d done nothing but try to help you. His soft cock had slipped out of you minutes ago, but you hadn’t moved. Your body was buzzing, power you didn’t understand ripping through flesh and into your soul.

There were no words to describe your emotions as you watched the blood flowing from Tex’s neck drizzle to a stop. You raised your right hand and were only mildly shocked to find the straight razor you’d bought clenched inside your shaking fist and coated with blood.

You’d killed him.

A sudden, random, fit of rage in the middle of an orgasm, and you’d killed him.

With a calm you didn’t feel inside, you removed yourself from his body and started cleaning. Somehow, you knew exactly what to do. It was automatic as you gathered a towel, soaked it with soap and water and cleaned his body anywhere your DNA would linger.

__~*~__

Dean’s hands shook as he handed the First Blade to a relieved Castiel. Crowley scowled at Dean’s blood spattered face.

“You lied to me.” Dean nodded with effort at Crowley’s betrayed tone.

“It’s not the first time today.” A sense of relief came over him at the feeling of telling Crowley the truth and showing him just exactly how the Winchester felt about him. “Cain’s list … you weren’t on it.”

In a blink Crowley and Castiel were gone, and Dean collapsed into Sam’s arms, exhausted beyond possibility as the rage from the Mark drained from him, leaving only her song softly tinkling in the back of his thoughts.

“Hey, hey, hey. You did it. Dean, you did it.” Dean closed his eyes at Sam’s words, wishing he could feel Sam’s relief. Wishing the darkness would stop trying to swallow him up.

__~*~__

Inside your head, you were screaming–panicking and raging–but outside, you moved with the precision of someone who had done this a dozen times before. Tex’s glassy eyes were locked to the ceiling, and you respectfully closed them before gathering the towels.

A dispassionate expression met you in the mirror along with pupils so large your eyes looked black, and you couldn’t figure out what was happening. You were in control, but you weren’t.

Your arm throbbed, a violent twitch rocking through it as your palm clenched around nothing even though it felt like the blade was still there. This felt like a nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t. Something terrible had happened to you, overcome who you were and made you into something new. Something you didn’t understand…

Maybe Dean would know.

You grabbed your things, Tex’s phone, and the trash bag of towels on your way out the door, and locked it behind you.

No one saw you slip into the night, and no one found Tex until the body started to stink.

__~*~__

“Dean, um, you know, what you did back there, it was incredible. You know, if you can do that without losing yourself…” Dean eyed Sam as he sipped his coffee feeling devoid of anything. Y/N’s face covered in blood was haunting him, and he couldn’t tell Sam or Castiel. They wouldn’t understand. They would lose the hope this event had given them. “…that’s cause for hope, even without a cure.” Dean smiled humorlessly.

“Yeah. Maybe.” His eyes shot to Castiel as the Angel entered. “So, where’s the Blade?”

“Somewhere safe,” Castiel said, knowing he couldn’t tell Dean. Not where the blade was, and certainly not the new information he had about Y/N.

“Good. Well, if you guys will excuse me, I think I’m gonna go sleep for about four days. Then, we find Y/N.” Dean patted Castiel’s shoulder as he walked by, not seeing the Angel’s concerned gaze.

“How is he?” Castiel asked once Dean was out of earshot. “Sam?”

“Cas…” Sam started, looking to his angelic friend with tears hiding behind his eyes. “Dean’s in trouble.”

“That’s not good…because I have news.”

“Not good news, I take it?” Sam’s voice cracked as he dropped his head into his hands over his coffee.

“It’s not…Sam, I, um…I think Y/N killed someone.”

__~*~___

Questions? Comments? Incoherent screaming?

Bring it on!

🖤

__~*~__

Story Tags:

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Dean Tags:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @bobasheebaby @paranoiadestroyah

[wolfie-dragon-rider]

Blind Spots 19: Blind Love

A/N: It has taken a long time. It has been nearly 3 years since I started posting Blind Spots. I've had long gaps in my posting schedule for this story in that time. There were months where I just burned out on Blind Spots, was completely sick of it, or unsure of how to continue. But I made a promise that I would finish it, and today I fulfil that promise. Here it is, at long last, the wedding chapter. Over 10 thousand words long, but I like to think it's the culmination of Hiccup and Astrid's journey in this verse. I hope you agree. More thoughts at the bottom, but please read it first!

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

"Ready to go over the final preparations for the wedding? Just a week to go now," Stoick asked his son, who didn't really look ready. Still, Hiccup nodded.

"O-Okay," he said with trembling voice, hands clenched.

"You know, son, when I was getting married, I was terrified. But then I saw your mother in her wedding dress. She was beautiful, and the way she smiled at me… I just knew it was meant to be," Stoick said, sitting down next to Hiccup. The boy frowned underneath his blindfold.

"I don't think that'll happen to me, Dad. Remember I can't see Astrid, or her dress," he said, making Stoick chuckle.

"I keep forgetting. You're doing so well, Son. It just slips my mind sometimes. But that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I know you're not a traditional Viking, and you have different needs, so I managed to convince the council to let you pick one part of the wedding day to skip or change. Well, anything apart from saying the vows, of course!" he explained, before grabbing his copy of the wedding schedule.

"Okaaay," Hiccup said, looking apprehensive.

"Let's see… there's the bride run. Running is difficult for you, so we can change it. Maybe you two can ride on Stormfly and Toothless! You still want to get married at the cove, right? That means quite a long run, all the way to the Great Hall," he said. Hiccup's face brightened a bit.

"That would be nice to avoid. But what are the other options?"

"There's the sword ceremony. You're supposed to stab the pillar with your sword, to show your… virility. After that there's the feast, which traditionally includes the newlyweds dancing. After the feast you're supposed to carry Astrid over the doorstep into your new home, and after that is the public consummation. And then it's done!" Stoick said, finger running down the list and face heating up at the end.

Though not nearly as much as Hiccup's. He became as red as his blindfold, fingers grasping the edge of the table.

"P-Public consummation?" he stuttered. Sighing, Stoick put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Yes. It's because you're the next chief. We need to make sure that, uhm, the Haddock line continues. And it won't be the entire village! Just me, and your mother, the Hoffersons, the Council, and Gothi," he said, trying not to think too much about having to witness his son doing… that. It had been bad enough with his own parents and Valka.

"Do you really think I would not… That Astrid and I don't love each other or something? Why do we have to prove- No, that's what I don't want to do. No public consummation!" Hiccup said loudly, pushing his father's hand away. Stoick flinched.

"But son, this is about more than just embarrassment! This is about legitimacy! And this offer… it's because you're blind, and have difficulty with things. But that shouldn't impact the consummation!"

"Of course it impacts it! I-I will never be able to see Astrid… in that state. And I can live with that. I accept that. But… But I can't stomach the thought of everyone else being able to see that. For once in my life I want to have something that I alone get to see. Especially the first time..." he said, turning away. Stoick felt ashamed, and sighed deeply.

"You're right. I hadn't thought of that. I'll… I guess it's okay if you just take her kransen off in front of the witnesses. Then we'll leave and you two can, well, get on with things in private," he said, putting his hand back on his son's shoulder. This time Hiccup left it there.

"Thanks, Dad," was all he said, but Stoick could tell it meant a lot to his son.

"Alright then. Let's rehearse some things. And see if the armor fits! We want every part to go perfectly! The entire village will be judging every second of it, so we don't want any bad omens or signs you're not meant to be!" Stoick laughed, remembering his own wedding where the sacrificial goat had escaped.

"Okay, let's do it!" Hiccup said with surprising enthusiasm. Normally the boy would do anything he could to avoid lessons in diplomacy and protocol. Ah, young love and what teenagers are willing to go through for it.

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

"Okay Astrid, I know you're tired of all the preparations, and I know I may have gone a little overboard with it all, but there's just one last thing we need to do," Kirsten said as she lead her daughter to an ornate chest. Astrid sighed, clearly tired.

"Ugh, fine. But I'm not gonna do any more sewing. I made enough banners," she muttered, though perking up when she saw the chest. Astrid had never been allowed to open or even touch it.

"No, I'll do the sewing on this one. It has to fit perfectly after all!" Kirsten said as she opened the box and pulled out a dress.

"What?" Astrid said flatly, confusion clear on her face.

"It's your wedding dress! Oh, you'll look so beautiful!" Kirsten cooed as she carefully unfolded the dress and brushed some dust off it. "Better wash it quickly as well!" she added with a chuckle, but her daughter didn't laugh. In fact, she stared at the frilly and intricately detailed dress with slight disgust.

"It's… interesting," she eventually said, and Kirsten's face fell.

"You don't like it?"

"I… It's not me. It's all frail and ridiculous and all these unnecessary gold thingies! Plus Hiccup won't be able to see it anyway! What's wrong with my armor? Or a simpler dress?" she said, fingering the silk. Kirsten sighed deeply.

"Astrid, this was my wedding dress. And my mother's before me, and her mother's before her. It's from when my family was nobility in Denmark. This is a countess's dress. This dress, and the other things in that chest, are all I have left of that. Of my family history. Our family history. This is part of your story just as much as Hiccup's chief armor is of his." Kirsten said, folding the dress carefully.

"And I know you'll become a Haddock, as I became a Hofferson, but that doesn't mean that it isn't family. Noble blood flows through your veins. You're just as much a ruler as Hiccup is. Don't you forget that. And don't let your children forget that either. Your father made you a warrior, but you're so much more than that," she finished, noticing that for once Astrid didn't flinch when she mentioned children. Maybe because she realized this was not a joke or teasing.

"I understand, Mother," Astrid eventually said. "But don't talk like I'll disappear forever after the wedding! I'll still be right here on Berk, just in our new house! I'll see you every day!"

Kirsten felt her eyes get wet, and she pulled her daughter into a hug. "I know. But it's still… You're getting married! You're all grown up and moving out and you're not my little girl anymore! Maybe one day, when your children get married, you'll understand," she said.

"I… I hope I'll be able to understand one day," Astrid said, the first time she actually admitted to her mother she might want children with Hiccup. They held each other tight for a few more moments, before Kirsten pulled back.

"So, let's get this dress fitted!" she said, pushing it into Astrid's hands before grabbing her tailoring kit.

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

Toothless warbled loudly, clearly confused by what was happening. Why was his nice calm cove filled with people and decorations? Why was his best friend so nervous, and wearing these weird shiny clothes?

Hiccup did his best to reassure him that everything was fine, that the people would leave soon, and that this was a happy day.

Honestly he was trying to convince himself as well. Hiccup's hands were shaking, nearly making him drop his sword. Today was the day. They'd be married in less than an hour. He was happy. He was ecstatic.

He was freaking terrified. What if something went wrong? What if he forgot his vows, or tripped, or did some stupid embarrassing thing?

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

"Nervous?" Valka asked, and he nodded. Hiccup didn't really trust himself to speak. His stomach was bouncing in his chest, and he felt like he could fly and like he was going to throw up.

"It'll all be fine. I promise. You look so handsome. Oh, my son all grown up. I'm so glad we found each other, so I could see this day," his mother said as she fussed over him, brushing some dust off his shoulder and righting his blindfold.

"It's time," Stoick said, moving to Hiccup's other side. "We'd better get a move on, I don't trust these clouds. Bucket says it's gonna storm soon. I'd rather be inside for that."

Hiccup took a deep breath, before nodding. Just take steps. One foot at a time, until you reach Gothi. Just like Astrid was doing. Oh gods, just the thought of her made his stomach bounce even worse. But he still walked forward, flanked by his father and Toothless. Gasps erupted from the crowd when he left the tent and carefully walked to the center of the cove, right next to the lake. He suspected most of the gasps were for Astrid, however, approaching from the other end of the clearing.

Although he couldn't see her, Stormfly's heavy footsteps and the rustling of her dress reached his ears, and he couldn't help but smile. Astrid grabbed his hands and pulled him a little closer to her, and suddenly there was nothing but them. She was there, and she was beautiful and strong and amazing, and in just a few minutes she'd be his.

"Friends. Family. People I honestly don't really know but I'm sure are very important to the couple. We are here today to bind these two people in marriage," Gobber started as Gothi scribbled loudly in the sand. Hiccup wondered if the wind was blowing away her words.

"Our bright heir, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, and our greatest warrior, Astrid Hofferson, have decided to wed, so that the Norns will weave their threads as one in the great tapestry of fate. If anyone has any reason to object, speak now," Gobber said, and a silence followed. However, just as Gobber took another breath to continue speaking a chorus of ravens erupted from the trees. It sounded like dozens of them flew overhead, cawing and screaming loudly. The crowd gasped and whispered, and it felt like the sun wasn't shining as warmly as it did before. Toothless growled, and Hiccup reflexively put his hand on the dragon's head.

Angry ravens were a bad omen. Odin used ravens as his most trusted messengers, sending his very thoughts to Midgard on black-feathered wings. And if those birds were angry… No, Hiccup couldn't let himself think like that. They were just startled by something else. Maybe the weather. The wind was picking up, making the banners and tents rustle.

"Just get on with it and let them get married! They've waited long enough!" Camicazi shouted loudly, and he couldn't help but smile despite the worry. Her statement seemed to lift the bad mood, and the crowd chuckled as Gobber continued.

"Well then. Hiccup, you first. You know the oath, and you may add your own vows." Hiccup took a deep breath, remembering what he had memorized.

"Astrid… The past few years haven't always been easy. I, and my… disabilities haven't always been easy. But throughout all of that, you were there for me. You were my eyes when I couldn't see. My legs when I couldn't walk. My mind when I couldn't think. But above all, you are my light. The reason I come out of bed in the morning. And… And I never want that to end. That's why I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, vow to help and to hold you, to protect you from harm, to provide for you and respect your property. To be true to you, to never raise my hand against you. I vow to love you, as Odin loves Frigg. I will be your husband, if you will have me."

Hiccup shuddered as he finished, terrified and happy and in awe, all at the same time. It was happening.

"Very well. Astrid, your vows and oaths," Gobber said.

"Hiccup. You know I'm more a girl of actions than words. 'Why talk when you can cut it to pieces,' I used to think. But you make me stop and think about what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it. You opened my eyes, showed me a whole new world I could never have dreamed would be possible. In the past years we have discovered and done so much together, and I can't wait to see what we'll accomplish in the future. And that's why I, Astrid Hofferson, vow to help and to hold you, to aid you in battle and peacetime, to manage your home and finances, to be your voice if needed, and to bear you children. I vow to love you, as Frigg loves Odin. So I will be your wife, and accept your vow."

Hiccup didn't think he had ever smiled so wildly. He resisted the urge to duck his head, sure his face was so red from blushing the entire crowd could see it.

"Thus, as Odin and Frigg, you are now-" Gobber was interrupted by a loud clap of thunder. Little gasps echoed through the cove when lightning flashed across the sky.

"You are now husband and wife-" Rain started falling heavily, big cold drops pelting Hiccup like he was standing under a waterfall.

"Let's just speed this up. Exchange of the rings and swords!" Stoick shouted.

"Uh, right. Hiccup, your sword and ring," Gobber said. Hiccup hastily drew his sword and took his ring from his pocket. Carefully he placed the ring on the pommel and held it out to Astrid.

"I give you my family sword in safe-keeping, so that you may pass it on to our firstborn son when the time comes. As a symbol of this, I will bear this ring," he stated. Astrid slowly took the sword from him, taking the ring and putting it on his outstretched finger. There was mild applause, though Hiccup could barely hear it over the pouring rain.

"Okay. Astrid, your sword and ring," Gobber said, and Hiccup sensed her drawing her sword, putting her ring on the pommel, and holding it out to him.

"I give you my family sword in safe-keeping, so that you may pass it on to our firstborn daughter when the time comes. As a symbol of this and all our bonds, I will bear this ring," Astrid stated. Hiccup's fingers shook, from cold and nerves, as he tried to find the sword. Suddenly his palm brushed steel, and he jerked. Through some miracle he managed to grab the handle with his other hand, but when he fumbled for the ring he sensed a thin band of metal slip through his fingers and fall into the void below.

"No!" he shouted, dropping the sword and diving down, desperately searching for the ring in the muddy ground. The crowd whispered worriedly, and Hiccup's panic only grew.

"Hiccup. Here it is," Astrid kneeled next to him and gave him the ring. It was muddy and icy cold, but he knew he had to complete the ritual. So Hiccup awkwardly stood up and put it on her outstretched finger, then took Astrid's now dirty sword and put it in his sheath.

"It is done! They are bound, and so it's time to feast! As we all know, the bride and groom will race, along with the women and men respectively, to the Great Hall. The family of the couple's half who arrives last has to pay for the feast! So let's get to it!" Gobber shouted, and the audience eagerly stood up and prepared to head indoors as quickly as possible.

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

Astrid looked out into the rain, trying not to reveal the worry in her heart. Although the rain was slowly lightening, she could barely even see to the bottom of the stairs to the Great Hall.

"Come inside, Astrid! The men will be here soon, I'm sure! We don't want you getting sick!" her mother called, trying to shoo her into the warm Hall where the feast was being served. But Astrid shook her head. She had just taken vows that she would always support and protect Hiccup. She couldn't abandon her husband.

Husband. The word still felt strange, foreign, to her mind. But it also felt right, made her feel warm and glowing despite the rain running down her hair and soaking her dress. Kirsten had long since given up trying to keep it dry, instead just telling her not to get mud on it. The ring on her finger was freezing cold.

Camicazi was standing next to her, looking worried too. The girl looked out of place in her nice dress, though her hair was as untameable as ever. The rain made it even frizzier than usual.

Where were they? Hiccup couldn't run fast, but even if he had walked the entire way, he and the other men should be here by now. A shiver that wasn't just from the cold ran through her body, and she was about to run down and search for him when she heard Toothless croon. Eyes narrowing, she spotted the men at the bottom of the stairs, Hiccup sitting awkwardly on Toothless' back. His arms were around the dragon's neck, barely holding on without the saddle.

Her mother called after her, but Astrid didn't hesitate, running down the steps two at a time despite the delicate shoes she wore, hiking up her dress to avoid the mud. Camicazi was right behind her.

"What happened?" she asked when she reached them, seeing Hiccup being lifted off Toothless' back. A small gasp escaped her mouth when she saw her husband was covered in mud. From his hair to his fine trousers, his entire front was caked in brown gooey mud. Some of it seemed hastily wiped off, but he still looked like he had rolled through a yak pen. He avoided her gaze as Stoick put him down gently.

"He tripped over a rock and fell into a mud pool. Really bad luck," Tolfdir explained as Hiccup leaned heavily on Toothless, and only now did Astrid notice that he wasn't wearing his prosthetic. Stoick noticed her shock.

"The leg broke in his fall. Gobber is at the forge now, grabbing a spare. Once we have that, we can continue with the pillar ceremony. You should go inside for now, Astrid. As should most of you!" the chief said, raising his voice to address the countless men gawking at them.

"I'm not leaving him when he's hurt," Astrid simply said, grabbing his hand. Hiccup flinched, nearly falling when he jumped in surprise.

The people around her muttered as they retreated inside, out of the rain. Astrid couldn't ntot hear their whispers about bad omens and angry gods, about the marriage being cursed. It was just some bad weather, dammit! She wasn't going to let some rain and mud ruin her wedding day!

"You okay?" she softly asked Hiccup. He looked very small in that moment, pressed against Toothless like he wanted to hide under his wing. Before he could answer her, however, he shrieked.

"MOTHER!" Astrid shouted as Kirsten emptied a bucket of soapy water over Hiccup's head before starting to scrub him with a rough brush. Toothless jumped in alarm, but didn't interfere.

"I'm not letting him get any mud on your dress when you dance. He might be your husband, but that is still our dress, and it's worth a fortune!" the older woman said, scrubbing the mud off Hiccup's hands, leaving red irritated skin behind. Moments later even the parts she hadn't scrubbed yet, like his face, were turning bright red as well. At least there weren't that many people to witness Hiccup like this.

"He does need a clean up. It's a shame, he bathed just this morning," Stoick said. Thankfully the discussion ended when Gobber ran up, holding the spare leg. Hiccup eagerly took it and strapped it on without a word.

"All good now?" Stoick asked the now relatively clean Hiccup, who frowned.

"It's too short," he said, moving the prosthetic experimentally. "But it'll have to do, I guess."

"Hey, this might be the first time the groom lost his leg at a wedding. You just keep creating new legends!" Camicazi laughed, pushing Hiccup's shoulder lightly. Astrid smiled. It was good to have Cami here. She was always able to cheer up Hiccup in a way Astrid never truly could. Especially when he was this embarrassed and distant.

"Sure, I just... " Hiccup's voice trailed off, and his face dropped again. Astrid grabbed his hand, making him smile slightly again, and she gently nudged him towards the stairs.

"Together," she simply said, and he nodded. His back straightened, and the two of them walked up the stairs side by side. It went slowly, the stairs were slippery and Hiccup's kept tripping on his shorter prosthetic, but a minute later they were at the top, walking through the huge doors to applause.

"There they are! I was starting to think you guys had eloped!" Snotlout shouted, and Astrid rolled her eyes. But then her gaze fell on the large pillar at the center of the hall. The next part of the ceremony was coming.

"The time has come for Hiccup to prove his strength and skill with the sword," Stoick declared, handing Hiccup the family sword. He looked a little sick at the prospect, but still walked toward the pillar. All he had to do was stab the pillar with the razor-sharp weapon. The deeper it went in, the better he was able to 'provide' for her. Astrid knew very well the sword stabbing was a thinly veiled metaphor for marital activities, but resisted looking too annoyed at the crude comments echoing through the hall.

Hiccup took a deep sigh. He held the weapon in both hands at his side, pointing forward. To her horror, Astrid realized it wasn't actually pointing directly at the pillar, and she knew what was going to happen. Somehow she froze, not knowing if she should intervene or not.

A second later Hiccup unknowingly made the decision for her, charging forward… and missing the pillar with the sword. The rest of his body didn't, however, and a painful smack echoed around the room, followed by 'oooh's'.

"I'm feeling sorry for Astrid. Looks like that's not gonna be a nice night," Tuffnut said, and she glared at him, taking her eyes off Hiccup who was rubbing his arm where it hit the pillar.

"Or life," Ruffnut said with a laugh, and other bawdy jokes started flying. Hiccup seemed to shrink a bit, lowering the sword and dropping his head. And then Astrid couldn't take it anymore. She walked forward and grabbed his free hand.

"You're gonna do it again. Prove that you can use that sword," she said loud enough for the Hall to hear. That made them shut up.

Hiccup hesitated for a moment, but the air of anticipation in the room seemed to be too much and he nodded. She led him back to the center of the room and turned him gently so his raised sword faced the pillar exactly.

"Hah, looks like he needs his wife to wield his sword for him," Snotlout said, but Cami slapped him.

"Hiccup is doing a brave thing here. How many of you would do this? Any volunteers? Anyone who'd wear a blindfold and try to figure out where everything is?" Astrid asked while glaring around the room, daring anyone else to mock Hiccup.

No one did.

"Come on. You can do this. I believe in you," she whispered in his ear before drawing back. Hiccup looked like he wanted to say something, but then he stopped and faced forward again.

A deep breath, and then he was charging forward, sword at his hip. A loud thump echoed through the silent hall as the sword entered the wood, penetrating several inches.

"Woooo!" Cami shouted, and that was enough to break the ice, the hall erupting in cheers. Still, Astrid noticed the hushed discussions and dark looks from some of the older guests.

She ignored them, forcing a smile to her face and walking to Hiccup, who looked more cheerful now.

"Good job," she told him, but before he could reply Stoick's voice boomed.

"With my son's strength proven, it's time for feast and celebration! There's plenty of food and drink for everyone, so you won't have to hold back! But there's one more thing we need to do. The ceremonial drink of mead and blood, representing the happiness and the darkness in any married life, must be drunk by the couple to truly bind them together!"

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

Hiccup felt a little sick as he sat down at the head table, Astrid beside him. He knew the things that had happened today were just dumb accidents, unavoidable with his blindness. But he couldn't ignore the whispers, the talk of bad omens and angry gods and cursed marriages.

Hopefully the food and drink of the feast would distract the villagers and give him a few minutes to collect his thoughts and process the day's events. With him breaking his prosthetic and losing the ring he had barely even realized he was married now. Astrid was his wife. Well, she wouldn't truly be his wife until the consummation. Until then either of them could still back out. But she wouldn't do that. Hiccup was sure of that.

"Speech! Speech!" Camicazi started yelling, and the crowd joined in. Hiccup shrank back a bit, not seeing this coming, but when Astrid squeezed his hand he found the courage to stand up.

"Okay… I'm so glad you're all here today, though I never saw any of you," he started with a joke, hoping it would make the crowd forgive his awkwardness. He had actually prepared a sort of speech last week, but he couldn't remember a single word of it now.

Well, improvising worked out for him in the past.

"I know for many of you it was a long journey, only worth it for the promise of a plentiful feast with ale for everybody!" he continued, sensing Gothi walk up beside him with the goblet of ceremonial drink. The very scent of it made his stomach churn, the sweet mead and metallic blood mixing to something that rivalled Astrid's yaknog in foulness. But that was part of the struggle of married life, apparently.

"I know that it seemed unlikely in the past that this day would ever come for me, especially with such a wonderful woman as Astrid," he said, hearing her take a deep sip of the drink. After this speech it was his turn.

"Despite the foul weather, my heart feels warm and comforted that she is now my wife," he continued, gesturing to his left.

Hiccup's hand touched something unexpected while gesturing, something cold that tipped over before he even realized what was happening. There was a bang and a splash of liquid on his pants.

The deadly silence told Hiccup what he had just done. The speech forgotten, he dove down and tried to capture some of the drink in his hands, searching for drops flowing from the table. His hand came back wet, and he lapped up the nauseating essence as the room surely gazed at him in shock. Did this count as drinking? Were he and Astrid bonded or not?

"Is there any left?" Stoick whispered to Gothi behind his back, and Hiccup sensed the headshake. Oh gods. Oh gods.

"What now? What does it mean? Is the marriage valid or not now? Did he just insult the gods?" the Hall whispered. Hiccup sat back down with shaking hands, shivering when his wet pants touched the chair. He wished he could sink through the floor.

Kirsten pressed something in his arms, a piece of cloth, and whispered sharply at him.

"Clean it up. Now!"

Although his brain felt detached from what was happening, his hands moved to wipe the stain off the table. The stench remained.

"My friends, we see here that although Hiccup makes mistakes and messes up sometimes, he'll always make it right again. And that's the most important thing in married life!" Kirsten announced, and a sigh of relief swept through the Hall.

Sighing, Hiccup covered his face with his hands, immediately recoiling when the wetness stained his blindfold. Astrid took the cloth from him and quickly cleaned his hands and face while Stoick opened the feast.

Hiccup felt empty, like this wasn't really happening to him but to someone else. Like he was listening to one of Kirsten's stories. He could barely comprehend he was married.

He could barely comprehend how badly his wedding day was going.

"Hiccup! Hiccup!" Astrid's voice tore him from his thoughts, and he jolted.

"What?" he asked, realizing food was being served. Someone put a plate in front of him, probably specifically prepared for him because he couldn't easily grab his own food.

"Are you okay?" Astrid asked, and he honestly wasn't sure. He felt sick, but the emptiness in him made him want to eat as well. He took a quick sip of water to rinse his mouth of the foul taste of blood.

"I'm fine," he said without believing it. Astrid had been helping him all day, covering for his screw-ups and cleaning up his messes. She shouldn't have to deal with his insecurities as well. This was their special day, her special day, and he couldn't ruin it any more.

Astrid started to say something, but Cami walked over to congratulate them, interrupting her. Hiccup smiled and laughed at her jokes while feeling his plate with his fork, trying to figure out what was where. Cami left, but before he could take more than one bite a villager came up to offer congratulations as well.

The next hour was a constant train of congratulations, receiving small gifts, and awkward small talk as his stomach rumbled and his food grew cold. The guests seemed genuinely happy for them, though many talked about the many mishaps of the day, 'joking' that the gods weren't favoring them. Hiccup could almost sense Astrid's glare when they said such things, as the jokesters often left immediately after.

Music started, and Astrid grabbed his hand. He knew what that meant. The dancing was starting, with them having to go first. Reluctantly he stood up, abandoning his barely touched plate and following her to the center of the room.

"I know this is hard for you. Just ignore them, okay? This is our day. Just follow my steps," Astrid whispered in his ear as she pulled him closer, making him sway with the music. It had started with a slow song, so he managed to (mostly) avoid stepping on her toes, but then the music sped up to a popular party song. It was a jig, a song where everyone joined into one dance, switching partners and moving around in a set pattern.

Suddenly Astrid was gone, whisked away into the female line while Hiccup's arms were grabbed by men as they formed a line in turn. Hiccup managed to keep up for a few minutes as the lines moved back and forth as one, the men chasing the women and the women chasing the men in turns. Laughter was as much part of the music as the flutes were, and Kirsten shouted instructions and directions that were mostly ignored as the mood grew more gleeful.

Suddenly the lines broke up and Hiccup was whisked away again as the men and women ran past each other. For a moment he could hear Astrid's voice shout something at him, but he couldn't catch it as lines reformed, this time a mix of men and women. The lines formed circles and started rotating.. Hiccup just moved with the arms linked with his, happy he hadn't fallen yet on his bad prosthetic.

It was a common dance on Berk, always performed at parties, but Hiccup hadn't really joined in before, too socially awkward before everything that happened with Toothless, and too, well, unable to dance because of blindness and a bad leg to join after.

But at his wedding he could not avoid it. The groom and bride were at the center of the dance, designed to be basically tossed around, dancing with as many people as possible. So Hiccup let himself be lead as the circle he was in broke up and someone grabbed his hand and waist, making them twirl around until she was suddenly gone, replaced with another girl.

"Having fun, Hic? Doing pretty well," Cami shouted, barely audible over the loud music as she led him through a rapid spin.

"I'm surviving," he said with a chuckle, but before she could reply she was gone again, replaced with Fishlegs. It was a sudden change in pace, Fishlegs stepping hesitantly through the steps as they moved much slower than the people around them.

"Congratulations!" the other boy said. Hiccup could barely say a thanks back before his arms were grabbed again, the lines forming again as the chorus played.

The banging of dozens of boots stamping the floor as one made Hiccup's ears hurt. His prosthetic didn't quite join the rest, catching up as he was dragged forward and back by the people beside him.

Thankfully no one seemed angry at how out of sync he was, a heavy hand slapping him cheerfully on the back as the line broke again. He stumbled but managed to regain his footing as Kirsten took his hands and righted him.

"Try to keep up," she said with a laugh. If Hiccup had a moment to breath he would have told her he could never keep up with her. With a grace and ease he had never seen before she danced, her heels clacking on the floor way faster than his. Singing softly to the music she twirled around him, pinching his side and booping his nose. Before he could even process the silly gesture she flung him away again, right into arms he didn't recognize.

A giggling woman danced with him, slower than Kirsten had but still within the steps of the music. The song was speeding up, heading for the climax. The instruments grew louder by the second, everyone clapping along as they circled around him. Hiccup knew this would end with him and Astrid together again, so he prepared to catch her in his arms as soon as the song was over.

But as the final note played, accompanied by a big hoorah from the crowd, his dance partner hesitated, pushing him away a second too late when he was already taking another step. He stumbled, the too short prosthetic slipping on the stone floor. He flung his arms wildly in an instinctive attempt to regain his balance.

That was the exact moment when Astrid wrapped her arms around him, making them sway precariously before finding a stable position.

"My foot!" Astrid whispered sharply, as loud as she could without the crowd hearing, and he suddenly realized his prosthetic was planted firmly on her foot. He jumped back a bit, nearly making them fall as Astrid sighed in relief. The sound was drowned out by the cheers and applause from the crowd, and Hiccup couldn't help but smile. The first thing today that went (mostly) right.

"You okay? Can you walk?" he whispered as the crowd quieted down. Another song started, a much calmer tune meant for couples.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You did great!" she said, putting her hand on his waist as they started swaying to the music. He smiled and ducked his head.

"I don't know, I just let everyone toss me around. It's hard to focus when there's music distracting me," Hiccup said, and she giggled.

"Well then, you did a great job as a projectile. But seriously, I know you don't like to dance because of… everything, but I'm enjoying this," Astrid said, moving them a little faster.

"Me too," he simply said. The simple truth. It felt like the crowd had disappeared and all that mattered was this amazing woman in his arms.

They danced for a while, but eventually his leg just ached too much to continue. Astrid kept dancing, on her own and with others, as Hiccup sat down and tried to massage his leg as casually as possible.

"It's sad, isn't it? They're obviously happy together, but the gods don't approve. Surely the marriage will fall apart soon," a male voice Hiccup didn't recognize spoke, moving past his chair.

"I know! All these signs! The gods are making it clear it should stop! He's just gonna embarrass her more. You know what they say: the wedding day reflects the rest of the marriage," a woman replied loudly, apparently dancing with the other person. Hiccup wanted to speak up, let them know he was right there. But it was like an icy hand had grabbed his muscles and prevented him from moving.

"Hey Hiccup, dance with me," Ruffnut said, appearing from out of nowhere. Before he could even answer she had pulled him out of the chair and was dragging him to the dance floor. He went along with it, the cheerful song giving him energy.

"What an eventful day. Loki would be proud of all this chaos!" she said, and Hiccup wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not.

"I'm more worried about Thor and Freya," he chuckled, nearly stumbling when Ruffnut pulled him closer to her.

"You worry too much. Sure, all these old folk care what the boring gods think, but I'm pretty sure you're already in their good books. Remember how Astrid was Thor's messenger?" she asked, and Hiccup laughed.

"Haha, true, but… I don't want her reputation to be ruined by today," he said, voice growing quieter near the end.

"Pff, like that wasn't a risk for her from the moment she kissed you in public. Get it through your thick skull. You two are so freaking sweet together and you need to bang already. In fact... " Ruffnut said, letting him go as loud footsteps approached.

"It's time for the consummation, Hiccup," Stoick said. Astrid grabbed his hand in hers, and a shiver ran down his spine. He wanted to feel happy and excited, but somehow all he felt was dread, like he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

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Astrid lost track of how many people she danced with after Hiccup, so many people wanting to talk. Boys and girls, men and women all took their chance to catch her alone quickly for everything from a heartfelt congratulations to condolences for her 'cursed marriage' to lewd tips for her wedding night.

And yet it felt like barely any time had passed at all when her mother nudged her and told her the sun had long since set and it was time for the feast to end for the night.

Time for her and Hiccup to go to their new house and spend the night together.

Spend their lives together.

Astrid wasn't sure how she felt. Excitement, nervousness, love, happiness, embarrassment all fought for dominance over her. But the moment she saw Hiccup dancing with Ruffnut a calmth settled on her. He was handsome despite his blindfold and awkward moves. Stoick walked up to him, no doubt telling him the time, and Astrid couldn't take being apart for one more moment. She grabbed his hand, a shiver going through her at the feeling of his warm fingers. In no time she'd feel so much more of him…

Hiccup looked nervous, but he seemed to steel himself when she squeezed his hand and drew a heart with a finger.

They descended the stairs together, followed by the witnesses: The council, their parents, and Gothi. Their dragons stayed in the hall. In the future Stormfly and Toothless would live in their new house, but for this night Hiccup and Astrid wanted to be alone. Astrid knew Hiccup had chosen the public consummation as the one thing he wanted changed, and she was very grateful for that. Her fears of all these people seeing her like that were verified by the jeers and lewd comments echoing from the top of the steps where the (mostly drunk) guests were.

Astrid couldn't help but think that for someone who grew up on an island with no men, Camicazi certainly seemed to have a lot of knowledge about their bodies.

Hiccup shivered, and she leant over as they took the last step.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it'll be great," she whispered in his ear. Hiccup gulped at the words, looking like he was going to throw up. "You're Hiccup the Dragon Conqueror, Capturer of Alvin, Tamer of the Night Fury! You can do this. You're my hero," she said, and that seemed to reassure him. He took a deep breath before straightening his back.

"You're the big strong hero," he whispered, and she jabbed him lightly with her elbow.

"No putting yourself down on our wedding day," Astrid chuckled before grabbing his hand again. Then they walked through the village, past Hiccup's old house to the little house built for them next to the hot spring. The old house was too small for them and Hiccup's parents, especially since perhaps in 9 months there'd be even more Haddocks.

Not to mention this new house was designed with Hiccup's disabilities in mind. Heavy furniture that wouldn't move easily when he couldn't see it, plenty of markers and defined places for tools and objects and cutlery. Their bedroom was on the ground floor so he wouldn't have to climb a staircase on a bad leg day. And, to Toothless' great delight, wider doors and open spaces for the dragons.

It wasn't very big, and they would probably have to expand it depending on future children, but to Astrid it was perfect.

They stopped a few steps from the entrance, where Hiccup was supposed to carry her over the threshold and into their new life. His hands were shaking again. They clenched into fists as the witnesses gathered round, some of the guests coming up to take a look as well.

"It's okay. You can do this. You trained, you're strong," she whispered, before adjusting her dress and moving into position. Hiccup took a deep breath and muttered something she couldn't hear, before putting his arms behind her back and legs. For a second Astrid was sure he would fall, but he managed to lift her up without losing his balance, carefully cradling her in his arms.

"I love you," he whispered, and she was glad it was so dark out so people wouldn't see how hard she blushed and smiled.

"I love you too," she said, and then he was taking a hesitant step. Hiccup swayed for a moment, but didn't drop her.

Slowly he walked to the open door. Astrid pretended she couldn't feel his arms shaking with exertion. The crowd seemed to relax as Hiccup came closer without dropping her. Just two more steps and they'd be through. Into their new home, their new life. One more step. Hiccup stopped when she whispered how close they were, turned a bit so her head wouldn't hit the frame. Then he stepped through the doorway.

The first foot, his right foot, went through fine, landing on the wooden floor inside.

The other foot went less well. Astrid didn't know what happened, if Hiccup had miscalculated how close he was to the threshold or if it was the misshapen prosthetic, but for some reason the fake foot caught on the slab. Astrid felt herself fall out of Hiccup's arms as he fell forward.

With a scream she hit the ground hard, her shoulder taking the worst of the impact. Before she could even process that, however, Hiccup fell on top of her. The sheathed sword on his side dug into her hip painfully. But that ache was forgotten when suddenly a pain like she had been struck by lightning shot up from her shin, making her groan.

Astrid pushed Hiccup off her, crying out when more pain raced through her body. She looked down to see blood stream from her ankle. A drop of blood dripped from Hiccup's prosthetic to the floor, and she realized he must have kicked her accidentally, probably when trying to scramble off her.

"Up, now! Sit in this chair and lift that dress! I'm not letting blood get all over it!" her mother shouted as Astrid still tried to reorient herself. Someone grabbed her shoulders and lifted her into a nearby chair as Kirsten held the dress up near her knees while shouting for bandages.

"What a mess. Do you think you'll be able to walk?" her father asked. Astrid wasn't sure. Now that the wound was being cleaned it didn't look that bad, and it certainly didn't feel like she couldn't move her foot. There was just a lot of blood. Finally she tore her gaze away from her leg to see Hiccup getting back on his feet with his parents' help. Outside the still-open door the guests and witnesses were whispering and talking. Astrid could catch snippets of their words.

There seemed to be two kinds of conversations happening. The men were making jokes about how that wasn't the way Hiccup was supposed to make her curse and bleed on her wedding night.

The women, however, were talking in much more worried tones about the bad omen, how this was a direct sign from the gods that the marriage was cursed.

Astrid didn't know which of the two types of talk were upsetting Hiccup more. He stood next to the door looking like he wanted to disappear into the ground. His head was dropped, hands balled into fists. Her kransen lay on the floor, forgotten. It must have fallen off her head when Hiccup tripped.

"Okay, it isn't so bad. He just hit a big blood vessel. It looks a lot worse than it is. Look, it's already stopped bleeding!" Kirsten said, pulling Astrid from her worries. She tried to smile when she saw it had already been bandaged skillfully. Barely any pain left. Hell, her shoulder hurt more.

"Now all you perverts get out. The couple entered their new home, and with it, their new life, and we all witnessed it. Astrid's kransen is off, even if it fell off accidentally. Let them spend their night alone now," Stoick shouted. The people grudgingly left, and after showing her parents that she was fine and could walk by herself, they left too, though Tolfdir looked rather worried. Astrid didn't know what to say to her devout father to reassure him that this marriage could not be cursed.

Then she remembered her husband. A shiver ran through her when the word entered her mind. Husband. Hiccup was her husband now. And they'd make it official in just a few minutes.

She couldn't wait.

"Hiccup? You okay?" she asked as she grabbed his hand. He jerked up in shock, before nodding softly.

"Shall we… go to the bedroom?" she continued, pulling gently on his arm. Hiccup let himself be led, and Astrid figured he was nervous. She was scared too. But she was also excited. All her mother's tips and stories and advice would finally be useful now.

Hiccup sat down on the bed, and Astrid turned away from him to walk to the closet. Smiling, she reached behind her back to undo the ties on the dress. It wasn't the first time she had undressed in front of Hiccup, with his blindness it didn't feel embarrassing. Besides, she still wore an undershirt and short leggings on top of her underwear, so there was still plenty left to explore when she rejoined her husband. She just needed a moment to herself, to process the day and get out of the constricting dress.

Hiccup was quiet while she carefully took off the dress and folded it. Probably just nervous. She suddenly didn't want to turn around and look at him. It felt like she was under a spell, and if she saw him her nerves would get the better of her. It would feel too real, too sudden after nearly three years of just kisses and superficial touches.

So Astrid sighed deeply before grabbing the one of the large jugs of mead that was always a traditional part of the honeymoon. If they didn't drink all the mead before the end of the month, it was a bad omen.

They had had enough of those.

"What a day, huh? I feel like I haven't had a chance to breathe since I got up this morning. Or have a nice drink," she said while pouring herself a mug of mead. She was still turned away from Hiccup, who, as far as she could tell hadn't moved.

He didn't say anything.

That was odd. Hiccup reacted unpredictably to many things, but he usually said something. A joke, a sarcastic remark, a complaint about the gods hating him.

But silence was usually reserved for…

Oh no.

Astrid turned around to see her worst fears confirmed. Hiccup was sitting on the bed, hugging himself tightly, swaying back and forth as he muttered to himself.

"All wrong, it's all wrong, can't do it, gods are angry…" Astrid heard him whisper when she leant closer. Her heart broke, but her sadness was drowned out by a sudden fury and frustration.

Why now?! Why today of all days! Why did the gods have to be so cruel to give him a Dark Day on what was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives?! For all those years she had helped him through these. Didn't she deserve to have this one night without worry?

Her fist clenched as she tried not to scream, tears stinging at her eyes. Suddenly a bang echoed through the room when the ceramic mug exploded in her hand. Mead splashed over her fingers, but Astrid barely even registered it. Her senses were drowned out by the scream Hiccup produced. He fell back, his hands covering his face as if he expected to be attacked.

Astrid's anger washed away at the sight of her beloved in distress. She quickly wiped her hand on her undershirt, grateful the shards hadn't cut her, before sitting down next to Hiccup.

"Don't worry, nothing's gonna hurt you. I'm here, it's okay," she told him, putting her arm around his shoulder. He jerked away before muttering harder.

"It's a mistake! We gotta annul! The gods hate me and punish you for it! You shouldn't have to go through this! No, no, no, no, no!"

"Stop it! Hiccup, you're not thinking clearly! Just come here and let me help you!" Astrid shouted. Hiccup didn't reply this time, instead curling in on himself. His voice became softer until he stopped talking.

Astrid kept quiet as she watched him carefully, hoping he was calming down on his own. But it took her too long to realize what was truly happening. He stopped swaying, pretty much stopped moving completely. Just shivering and rapid breaths.

"Hiccup? Hiccup, are you listening? Can you hear me?" she asked, reaching out to him. This time Hiccup didn't respond at all to her touch or voice.

No, no, no, no, NO! Not this! Not one of those panic attacks where Hiccup became completely unresponsive! She had only seen it happen once, during an argument over his technical drawings. But Toothless had been there that time. The dragon knew how to help. Astrid didn't. But Toothless wasn't here now, he was staying with Stormfly in the Great Hall. She considered getting him, but she didn't want to be seen by all those people.

Plus, she really didn't dare to leave Hiccup alone right now.

So she sat down next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders and grabbing his hand with the other. She wanted to cry. This wasn't how she had imagined her wedding night. It wasn't fair. Hiccup was in such pain, and she didn't know what to do. How could she drag him away from his horrible thoughts? How could she tell him she didn't give a damn about what the gods or the villagers thought?

They sat in silence for a while, Hiccup completely unmoving. Astrid's thoughts wandered to the feast earlier. Had he been so distraught then already? She should have seen the signs. She had seen the signs. But after the dancing he had seemed so happy and calm again, so she thought he was fine.

What a difference one little accident makes, she thought as she looked at her bandaged leg.

Maybe they could dance again, that might cheer him up. But there was no way she could get him to move in his current state. But maybe… maybe there was something she could try.

"I…" she started, voice breaking in her raw throat. Dammit, she couldn't cry. She had to be strong. She promised him in her vows. She promised him every day for the last three years, even if she hadn't said it out loud.

Astrid cleared her throat and took a deep breath before starting over.

"I'd swim and sail on savage seas, with ne'er a fear of drowning.

And gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me."

She sang softly, her voice growing stronger near the end.

"No scorching sun, nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey. If you will promise me your heart…" she looked at Hiccup as her voice trailed off, waiting for him take over.

"And love…" Astrid tried, but the room remained silent apart from a faint echo. But just when she was about to give up she saw a muscle twitch in Hiccup's cheek, like he was trying to open his mouth.

It was a tiny thing, but it was a signal. Telling her he was in there, fighting. He was hearing her. She just had to help him gather his strength.

"I'd swim and sail on savage seas…" she started over, singing the male part of the song. Again, Hiccup's cheek twitched and his hand trembled.

Over and over she sang the first part until she lost count of how many times she had done it. Hiccup remained frozen in place, but she knew he was trying, knew he was fighting for her. For them.

"If you will promise me your heart…" she finished once again, pausing for a few seconds before opening her mouth to start over. But just as she spoke the first word she heard him.

"...And love me for eternity…"

It was barely more than a whisper, his voice shaky and unsure, but it made her freeze.

"My… dearest one, my d-darling dear. Your m-m-mighty words astound me. But I've n-no need of mighty deeds when I… when I feel your arms ar-around me."

Honestly she couldn't call it singing. Hiccup stuttered his way through the stanza, speaking it in a whispered slow monotone without melody. But his voice grew a little stronger when she pulled him closer against her during the last line.

"But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry. And I would keep you from all harm if you would stay beside me," Astrid sang slowly to match his pace, making sure every word was clearly audible. She hoped Hiccup could hear the love in it.

"I have no use for r-rings of gold, I care… not for your poetry. I only want your hand to hold," Hiccup took over with a little more confidence this time, grasping her hand and rubbing her ring with his finger. Somehow she knew that Hiccup cared about the poetry more than anything in that moment.

"I only want you near me," Astrid sang, letting go of his shoulder and putting her hand on his hand.

"To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming. Through all life's sorrows and delights I'll keep your love inside me."

They sang together now, slowly and clearly. It was at least three times slower than the song would be played at feasts, but Astrid didn't care. This way they could share every word. She looked closely at his mouth, letting her husband set the pace.

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life if you would marry me."

It didn't end on a loud and drawn out note like the song normally did. Hiccup's voice choked at the last word, and suddenly his arms were around Astrid, pulling her tight against him.

"Don't go," he whispered, and she smiled before putting her arms around him as well.

"I'm never leaving you," she whispered back. He swallowed another sob before falling apart in her arms. Trying to hold back her own tears, Astrid rubbed his back and whispered silly things into his ear about how much she loves him.

They sat like that for a while, until Hiccup calmed down and pulled out of her embrace. Astrid quickly wiped the tears from her face with one hand, holding onto Hiccup's with the other.

"I'm sorry for everything. For how today went, for all the embarrassment, for… just now," he said softly, voice raw.

"It's okay. It's not your fault," she said, squeezing his hand tightly.

"But it was! Whether it's because the gods hate me, or because I'm blind or my prosthetic, or these dark days, I'm… If it hadn't been me, you'd have had the wedding day you deserve," he said, and she smiled. Silly silly boy.

"And you saying this is precisely why I chose you and no one else. You care about me, you got so worked up about this, and it shows me why I made the right choice." Hiccup froze at her words, lips curling up in a shy smile.

"I don't understand," he whispered, and she shifted a bit so she could face him directly.

"Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Do you love me?" she asked clearly. He shrank back a bit.

"Of course I do. With all my heart!" he said loudly, clearly a little insulted she even asked.

"And do I love you?" Astrid asked him, squeezing his hand again. He hesitated.

"I… do you?" he asked with a suspicious voice.

"I'm asking you. Based on everything I've said and done, do you think I love you?" she asked with a little chuckle. Despite all that had happened, his little smiles and dorkiness made her heart burst.

"I… Yes. Yes, because you told me over and over again, and helped me through… through the worst times of my life when I was an absolute idiot or just…" his voice trailed off, and she could tell his brain was going into overdrive again trying to figure out where she was going with this.

"Well then. You love me, and I love you. Isn't that enough? It's enough for me, okay? Remember our first flight, when we found the Nest? We promised that we'd face everything together. We didn't know whether the village or the gods would accept it. Accept us. And I was okay with that. I realize that now. As long as you were with me I'd be happy. Even back then, way before I even understood what I felt for you. And now, having seen so much more of you, I feel that way even stronger, okay? So I don't give a damn about you 'ruining' my wedding day. Would I have preferred no dark day? Of course. Would I have liked it if people didn't speculate about the gods striking us down? No doubt. But I'd still rather have this day and this night than a wedding with someone that isn't you."

Astrid didn't know where her words came from, but she knew that they were true. Hiccup's face fell again, another small sob escaping as he buried his face in her neck.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he half-sobbed, half-laughed.

"You showed me a whole world I didn't even know could exist. You continue to show me new things, new ways of looking at the world every day," she told him. Patting his back before pulling out of the embrace a bit. She couldn't help but smile looking at him, couldn't resist kissing those lips.

"You're my light. I meant that. I don't know what I'd do without you. I'm sorry I don't have a big speech," he said, chuckling at the end.

"I know. Don't worry, I know," Astrid said before remembering something. "And don't you dare think you ruined the wedding night. We still have a lot of time until dawn. And… and even if you're not up for it tonight, we still have our honeymoon, and after that the rest of our lives."

"You're right. But I am up for it. I've waited so long for this," Hiccup said with shaking voice.

"Then let's not waste any more time, husband," Astrid teased before kissing him more deeply, pushing him back on the bed.

"You're very right, milady," was the last thing Hiccup said before Astrid blew out the candles, hiding them in a darkness as black as night.

THE END (FOR NOW)

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

A/N: Thank you, loyal readers who have stood by this story all these years, and new readers who might read every chapter in one go. This story has been such a large part of my life for such a long time, and I hope I was able to touch your lives in some way with it.

Now, if you're interested in what happened after Astrid blew out the candle, I wrote that in a separate story entry called 'Touches in the Dark'. it's E-rated, so make sure you're ready for that.

I know the question many of you want to ask: Is this the end of it? No more Blind Spots? The answer is a resounding NO! Starting November 1st, I will be releasing a series of drabbles, based on a 30-day-30-prompt list. These will allow me to write shorter stories and observations in this verse I was never able to incorporate in Blind Spots' relatively long chapters. I hope to see you there! 

[shestillhasherquill]

At the Heart of Darkness (2/11)

Thank you, thank you all for the great reception for the fic. I hope that you continue to enjoy the following chapters as well. I'm sorry there was no update last week, but I was out of town for a wedding.

Here’s my next installment for the @captainswanbigbang. Big thanks to the Mods for working around my schedule for this, and for just being overall awesome and supportive.

This chapter has TWO ARTWORKS, WHAAAT. @sambethe was kind enough to draw one of my favorite scenes from this chapter, a moment of respite for Emma and Killian. And, she also made the banner. She's just the best, and she's captured the lightness of the scene, but the eagerness from Emma so perfectly. Check out her original post for said artwork, and for the banner!

AND @downeystarkjr​ has made a video. I can't even. It's soooo cool. It gives you a peek into what the whole fic is about without too many spoilers until you actually read the scene and go 'OH I GET IT NOW' which was how I felt. It's bloody incredible and amazing and just - go watch it.

As always, I'm in great debt to my beta, @accio-ambition​ for being such an Ace. There's so daddy-daughter fluff that she likes, and I'm pretty sure this is one of the easier chapters she had to edit, just based on the level of angst. Love you, baeeb. Go check out her own fic for CSBB, No Good Deed

Without further ado...

Summary: Killian Jones lives in the Land without Magic, with no memories of his family. Until Emma Swan comes into his life like a whirlwind, reminding about everything he had lost. He embarks on an adventure to destroy the Darkness, only to discover that Emma might not be telling him the whole story.

Rating: M

Content Warning: Mentions of Miscarriage, Angst, Gothel

Chapter 1: tumblr ao3 ff.net

Current Chapter: ao3/ff.net

-/-

Chapter 1: I’m waving through a window

21 years ago : Enchanted Forest

“Papa, can you tell me again about the sea monster?” Alice begged, clinging to Killian with all her five-year-old might. “Please?”

Killian chuckled, knowing that if he wanted to, he could very easily slip from her grasp. He knew he ought to be sterner with her and not concede every time she begged him, but one look at her pleading, wide eyes and he caved. It was hard for his to resist his child when she asked for little. “Starfish, it’s well past your bedtime. If you don’t sleep now, you will be cranky all morning tomorrow.”

“But, Papa ,” she insisted, climbing on his chest, sitting cross-legged on his stomach. Killian huffed a little, but she hardly weighed anything. “I won’t let you go until you tell me the story,” she said, much too smug for so tiny a child.

Killian did not have the heart to point out he could quite simply lift her off of him and force her to sleep. She was forced to stay in this wretched tower all day, every day of her life - the least he could do was tell her another story. He grabbed one of her small hands in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Alright, my little pirate. You have me as your hostage. I will tell you the story about the sea monster.” He struggled not to laugh as she folded her arms, leaning back against his thighs, as he had had his knees raised. “Comfortable, are you?”

“Aye, aye, C’ptn,” she said, saluting him clumsily.

He laughed out right at that, tickling her belly and making her giggle. “Papa, stop,” she protested in between giggles. “I want story!”

“Alright, alright.” He was just about to start the tale, when he heard a scraping noise from outside, putting him on high alert. He strained his ears, hoping he had just imagined it, but when he heard it again, he sat up immediately. He lifted Alice off of him, despite her protests, and put her in bed. He reached for his cutlass from where he’d hid it, before turning to her. “Alice, I need you to listen carefully to Papa. Stay here and do not make a sound, alright?”

Alice stared at him wide-eyed before her eyes shifted to his cutlass. Killian turned her head gently with his hook so she was looking at him again. “Alice, love, listen to me. Do you want to have a real adventure?” he asked, forcing more than enough excitement in his tone.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. “Let’s play pirates!”

“Aye, aye, my little fish. We are playing pirates, and now Papa’s gotta beat the bad guys. You need to stay here until it’s safe, alright?” he whispered, leaning closer to her and putting his finger to his lip.

“Alright, Papa,” she whispered back, mimicking his action. Killian smiled at her, before turning to face the only window in the tower, getting ready to battle whoever it was that came through.

He adjusted his grip on his blade, slipping into his old Captain Hook persona. While he was expecting all forms of danger and evil, including the woman who gave birth to his child, he was still surprised to see a blonde slip through the window, dressed in trousers and a shirt. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him, her eyes widening, in surprise or fear, he was not sure.

“Identify yourself, thief,” he demanded, moving towards her, keeping Alice hidden from her sight.

The blonde’s confusion turned into irritation. “I am no thief. I’m Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

Present : Land without Magic

It hadn’t been hard for Emma to follow Mr. Castle’s instructions. Take a flight - and public transit - to a sleepy town in Southeastern England, and she will find him. If she wasn’t so eager to be reunited with her love, she would have laughed at how simple it all seemed. She had been in this land for over a year, and she had quickly realised that money could buy her anything - even fake papers and identity. For all that she wanted for in life - being reunited with Killian and Alice, breaking the wretched curse that forced them apart, and getting her hands around Gothel’s neck - money was not one of them. Killian’s supply of gold had been seemingly endless, but just a pursefull has been more than enough for her to afford the luxury of a new identity and means of travel in this metal craft that flew.

To say she was wary of this mode of transportation would be a gross understatement. And as helpful as the wine the helpers on the craft had been pouring for her was, it was only enough to dull her anxiety, not quell it. When the plane seemed to get more turbulent than usual, she gripped the handrests tight, trying to think of anything but being stuck in something that seemed to fly without any magic.

21 years ago : The Enchanted Forest

Killian’s eyebrows raised incredulously. “You’re raving mad, lass. Princess Emma is but a child now. Who are you, really?” He stepped up to her now, pressing his blade against her throat before she could draw the sword at her hip.

Emma rolled her eyes, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m not from this reality,” she huffed. “I am a Princess. I am from Misthaven. I’m just not from the same reality as you.”

Killian’s brows furrowed, uncertain if he should trust this stranger. “If you really are who you say you are, why are you here?”

“Listen, friend. I have been on the run from the savages in the villages, and this was the first place I could find. I did not know it was occupied.”

Killian did not want to lower his weapon, especially when she claimed to be on the run. “Well, it is occupied. So you would do well to be on your way, lass. Unless you want to meet a worse fate.” But before Emma could retaliate, he heard Alice speak up, coming out from under the blankets.

“Papa, I don’t want to play pirates anymore.” Killian resisted the urge to groan out loud, ignoring the surprised look on Emma’s face as he turned to face his daughter.

“Darling, I told you to stay in bed, and stay quiet.” But Alice ignored him, her eyes wide as she noticed the presence of another person. Before he could grab a hold of her, Alice ran over to the newcomer, a big grin on her face.

“Are you a friend? I’m Alice,” she stated, with all the tact of a five-year-old, holding her hand out.

Emma gaped at Alice, trying and failing to come up with an appropriate response. Killian ran his hand through his hair, walking over to his daughter and pulling her to his side. “Like I said, lass, this tower is occupied. Whatever your grievances with the villagers, they are your own. I will not allow you to bring my daughter into any trouble.” His voice was low and soft, but the threat was clear.

Emma eyed his hook warily before she squared her shoulders. “They think me a witch. I’m not - I’m just -” Emma paused, composing herself. “I’m gifted with light magic. My parents were Snow White and Prince Charming, like in this reality - but they were defeated by The Evil Queen in mine. I had to escape.”

Killian’s expression softened, but as much as he empathised with this woman, he could not risk Alice’s safety. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents, lass. I really am. But I cannot let you stay here - I need to put my daughter first.” He felt Alice squirm in his hold, and he held her back.

Emma looked defeated, nodding in understanding. She backed away, getting ready to leave, when Alice’s voice stopped her.

“Can you really do magic?” the little girl asked, her curiosity and wonder blatant.

Emma smiled softly, looking to Killian questioningly. He reluctantly nodded, still keeping his grip on Alice. Emma crouched to Alice’s height, holding out her hand, drawing from the magic within her. Moments later, a daisy laden flower crown was dangling from her fingers.

Alice gasped, reaching out to it instinctively, but she quickly remembered her place and pulled her hand back. Emma couldn’t help but smile at her, holding the crown out to her. “May I?” Emma asked Alice, chuckling when the girl nodded eagerly.

Emma placed the crown delicately on Alice’s head, grinning at the bright smile that overtook Alice’s face. “There. Now you’re a princess, too,” Emma declared.

“I’m a pirate princess,” Alice corrected, prompting a chuckle from her father.

“That you are, Starfish. Now say goodbye to the kind lady, and get yourself in bed. It is well past your bedtime.”

Alice nodded; she reached for Emma’s hand, shaking it. “Thanks for my crown.” She paused, watching Emma contemplatively. “If you can do magic, can you get me out of this tower?” Alice wondered out loud, not realising her father’s sudden change in demeanor.

Emma’s brows furrowed at Alice’s question, before she turned to Killian. He sighed, perhaps for the hundredth time that night, kneeling beside Alice and turning her to face him. He smiled painfully at her, brushing wayward strands of hair from her eyes. “Alice, I’m not certain Emma here can do that, darling.”

“But she said she can do magic, Papa. You said magic was keeping me here,” Alice protested, scowling at him. He knew that look, that deep frown. She was trying to force her tears back, and she was getting ready to start a fight. It broke his heart to keep disappointing her, but he had no choice.

“What is she talking about?” Emma asked, drawing the attention of both father and daughter toward her again. “Is she being kept here against her will?” she demanded, raising to her full height, and her hand placed on the pommel of her sword threateningly.

Her response irked Killian, as irrational as it was. Emma had no inkling of his or Alice’s history, but she already seemed to have jumped to an unsavory conclusion. That just rubbed him wrong. He rose to his feet too, lifting Alice with him. “I’m not sure you have any right to imply whatever it is you are, lass,” he warned her. “My daughter was cursed to the confines of this wretched tower, but if you dare insinuate that I am holding her hostage, I-” Keeping in mind the presence of his child, he held back on his threats. “It would not end well for you, princess or not.”

He saw Emma’s stance relax, her guilt evident as she glanced away from his gaze. He was glad that no matter how long it had been since he had given up being a pirate, he was still able to exude an air of authority. “I-I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn,” Emma replied, sounding remorseful. She seemed to hesitate before adding. “I know you want me gone, but I am trained in magic and the mystical arts - I could see what I could do about the spell keeping your daughter in this tower.”

Alice’s face lit up at Emma’s offer, and she was nodding before Killian could even process what Emma had said. Emma looked to Killian then, sensing his reluctance. “My word may not mean much to you, but I swear, I will not do anything to harm you or your daughter.”

Killian swallowed thickly, knowing that he had no choice but to agree. There was no more harm this woman could do. Alice was already stuck in this tower. If there was even a small chance that Emma could free his child, he had to trust her. “Aye, you’re right. I will pay you handsomely for your work, lass - if there is any chance at all to free my girl of her imprisonment, I want to know.”

Alice leaned tiredly against his shoulder then, making him realise how late it was. “That can wait till morning. I should put this little lass to bed,” he said, adjusting his grip on Alice. “You can take the hammock, Emma. I can sleep on the bed here, with Alice.”

Emma nodded, smiling and waving goodnight to Alice. “Thank you…?”

“Killian Jones, milady. I’d bow, but I have precious cargo in my arms,” he joked. Emma waved him off, smiling at a now sleeping Alice.

“Thank you, Killian Jones . I appreciate you letting me stay the night.” Killian nodded, walking to the secluded corner that served as Alice’s room, drawing the heavy curtains to afford them some privacy.

He place Alice under her cover gently, trying not to jostle her awake. He knelt at her bedside, smiling at the peaceful look on his daughter’s face, knuckles tracing her cheek softly, before he brushed a kiss goodnight on her forehead. He then settled on the armchair next to her bed, keeping watch. As much as he would like to trust this woman, he knew better. No matter how noble she might portray her intentions as, magic always came with a price. He could not afford that price to be Alice.

-/-

Present : Land without Magic

It was quite late in the evening when Emma finally reached her destination, and she was weary from both the plane ride and her commute to this little town. She could not wait to see Killian; if she had a little less restraint, she would have gone knocking on his door, his lack of memories be damned. She was half-tempted to do that, but she couldn’t bring herself to disrupt his life so abruptly. She did need him to help her find Alice, yes, but selfishly, she wanted just a moment with him before he remembered.

She sat heavily on the bed at the inn where she was staying. Her hand once again reached for the ring around her neck, feeling the warmth of the magic residing in it. While she could not strictly use magic in this land, it did not mean she couldn’t channel magical objects. She wasn’t a fool, coming here with no way to defend herself against Gothel. She was certain that vile witch had own arsenal for her dark magic.

Emma brought her feet up, sitting more comfortably on the bed before she grabbed her journal. She made sure to record everything that had happened in the past twenty years, all of Alice’s milestones and about their adventures together. The first few weeks after Killian left them, when Alice was inconsolable, writing had been Emma’s solace, the only way she could talk about her own anger and frustration, her heartbreak and pain. A part of her was uncertain if she would ever show it to Killian, knowing how much it would hurt him. She would gladly tell him anything he wanted to know, but for now, this journal was for her eyes alone.

There had been days, in the beginning, when she had snuck back to the ruins of the tower sometimes, selfishly wishing for a moment that they had never tried to break the spell. The next, she would remember how miserable Alice had been, stuck within those walls, and hated herself for ever wanting to go back to such times. Days like that, her dark days, those were the hardest - when she was filled with nothing but anger and hate toward Killian, Gothel, the whole lot of them. But the person she hated the most was herself, for it was her idea that led to their downfall in the first place. Emma diligently penned her thoughts down, the self-loathing rising and cresting within her. She would take this moment now, to dwell and cry; tomorrow would be a new day. She had a pirate to find and a family to reunite, and hoped desperately that she was still welcome in that family.

-/-

21 years ago : The Enchanted Forest

Emma blinked against the too-bright light falling through the large window, stretching her arms above her head. She almost toppled over in her hammock, catching herself before she fell and managing to land on her feet with all the grace of a drunkard. She squinted at her surroundings, trying to catch her bearings; it took her a moment to remember where she was. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, looking around the room, searching for Killian Jones and his daughter. At that exact moment, the man himself walked from the alcove that served as Alice’s room, carrying the half-asleep child in his arms.

“Good morning, lass,” he greeted, his voice hoarse and quiet. “Alice is not a morning person,” he whispered in explanation as he headed to the small kitchen area, getting a fire going and setting water to boil, all one-handedly while holding his daughter, as if he had done it a thousand times before. He probably had.

“Good morning,” Emma murmured. “If you want, I could hold Alice for you,” she offered, feeling useless as he went about his morning routine.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, refusing her as politely as he could. And if she noticed Killian’s grip on Alice tightening, she chose to ignore it. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Emma observed him quietly, a pang in her chest as she saw him interact with a sleepy Alice, whispering to his child with a soft cadence to this voice.

As if sensing her eyes on him and Alice, Killian looked up and their gazes met. She held it for a moment too long before she averted her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring. Killian cleared his throat, adjusting his hold on Alice. “The spell, ahem, how long would that take you?”

“It should not take me long to assess how strong the barrier that is keeping your daughter in here is. But do you mind telling me a bit more about how it happened? It might help me understand the original spell better.”

Killian, who had been pouring their tea, almost dropped the kettle at her question. He froze for a moment, looking down at Alice with a pained expression. He did not want to rehash it if she was awake, but fortunately, Alice was still asleep. He brushed a hand down his daughter’s locks, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and finally turned to Emma again. “A witch used blood magic to keep her trapped in here. I can leave the tower and come back - anyone can, as you know - but Alice cannot. She has been trapped in here from the moment she was born.”

Emma exhaled sharply, her heart hurting for the little girl. She knew well enough how unfair having one’s freedom and choice taken away could feel. She could not imagine knowing nothing beyond these walls from the moment she was born. “I am so sorry to hear that, Killian.” She hesitated before asking, “What about Alice’s mother?”

“She is no longer in the picture,” Killian snapped, startling Emma. He took a deep breath, calming himself before he continued. “She is not here. Now, I would appreciate it if you could get on with the spell, aye?”

-/-

Present : Land without magic

Killian woke up feeling extremely restless that morning. He spent an hour in the home gym working up a sweat. He wished he could work on his new book, but he had promised Will not to keep messing with it, to leave it be. It’s perfect as is, Jones. At some point, you need to stop editing , he’d said when Killian had called him last night with a few changes. All he had left was the dedication. After all these years of the same single line, he felt it was time to change it. He’d always dedicated his books to the people who struggle the same way he had with his alcoholism, and while that would remain the same, it just did not seem like enough this time around. He hadn’t told Will this yet, but this would be the last book in his series - The Davy Jones Chronicles. It felt like a good place to end Captain Hook’s story, as elusive as it was.

Maybe that was why he felt so restless. Or maybe you are still thrown off by Eloise , a voice at the back of his head said. Which he dismissed quickly, of course. There was nothing wrong with the woman: she just came on a little too strong. Maybe a walk into town would help clear his head, and help expel his restless energy. With the decision made, Killian had a quick shower, got dressed, and headed into town for the day.

After a quick stop for breakfast at his favorite little cafe at the bottom of the hill his cottage was on, he found himself wandering Main Street aimlessly. While he had been in this quaint town for a little over a month, he hadn’t taken the time to fully explore it. A Wednesday seemed like the perfect day to do just that - most people would be at work, and he could take his own sweet time. He ducked into a small alley, not unlike the one Eloise’s shop was in, surprised by the number of vintage and antiquities shops housed in the narrow lane.

He took his time exploring each one, with no agenda in mind. One of the stores seemed to have a nautical theme going on, intriguing him. He stepped in, looking around with a childlike wonder; he was hit with an odd sense of nostalgia, a certain longing for the life of a pirate that he only had written about so far. He hadn’t been out on the ocean in a long while, not since his brother passed. It never felt right to go without Liam at his side. He turned his back on that life a long time ago; it was only Captain Hook who now had adventures on the water, not Killian Jones.

He stopped short when he spotted a compass on the display case. It was a fairly ordinary one, but it gave him a strange sense of deja vu. He stood there staring at it for so long that the salesperson approached him, asking if he was interested in taking a closer look. For a moment, he was tempted, even perhaps to purchase it; but the moment passed and he decided against it. What could he possibly need a compass for?

He wandered out of the store, meandering through the same alley. It was only when he was passing a secondhand bookstore that something caught his eye in his periphery, making him halt in his tracks. He turned, eyes wide in disbelief, staring through the glass display window of the store at the person inside. It was the blonde haired woman from his dreams, he knew it. He had never seen her face, but he’d seen her from behind and this woman, whoever she was, was her. She had her back to him, so he made a quick decision, pushing his way through the door, his eyes never leaving her. She turned away from the person she was conversing with when she heard the bell, her eyes falling on his.

The moment his eyes met her sharp green ones, Killian’s breath hitched, and he could have sworn his heart had skipped a beat. She stared at him with the same kind of surprise, lips parted slightly, and Killian wondered if she was having a similar visceral reaction as he did. Before he could stop himself, he drew closer to her. “You...I…” He struggled to speak, not knowing how he could explain himself.

After watching him struggle for a moment longer, the woman finally spoke, a barely discernible tremble in her voice. “Are you alright, sir?” she asked, politely. With no recognition in her eyes. She didn’t know him and for some reason he could feel the disappointment swell deep in his chest.

When he realised the woman was still waiting for his response, he drew back from his thoughts. “Yes, yes. I’m fine,” he assured her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, you just look very familiar.” When he saw her shoulders tense, he felt the need to apologise. “I must be mistaken, forgive me. Killian Jones.” He held out his hand.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her hand clutching the chain around her neck briefly before she took his hand and said, “Emma. Swan. I-I’m sorry I wasn’t who you were looking for.”

Killian was not certain, but Emma seemed oddly upset at that. He noticed the book she had been holding, making him grin involuntarily. “ The Davy Jones Chronicles? Excellent choice,” he commented gleefully.

Emma laughed softly, clutching the book tighter. “I read the first book in the series and got, shall I say, hooked .”

Now it was his turn to laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. Did she know ? he wondered. Did she know that I am the one who wrote it ?

It seemed to have dawned on Emma at the same time, as her eyes widened. “Wait, Killian Jones? As in the writer? This is your book?”

He chuckled in embarrassment, nodding at her. “Yeah, it is. I-I’m really glad you like it, Miss Swan.”

“Emma is fine,” she replied, waving at him dismissively.

“Right. Emma.” He felt a strange connection to this Emma Swan, but he did not want to come off too strong, again, and frighten her. He was so certain that she was the blonde haired woman from his dreams; as crazy as that sounded, he believed that with all his heart. “Perhaps, we could discuss books that aren’t mine over a cup of coffee?” he suggested, all while berating himself for being too forward.

Emma seemed like she wanted to decline, but she surprised him. “I’d like that, Killian.”

-/-

21 years ago : The Enchanted Forest

Killian returned from putting Alice back in bed, soothing her sleepy questions with assured murmurs. “I’ll be right back, love,” he whispered, extracting himself from her hold.

When he returned to the front room, he found Emma pacing, holding a small, weathered notebook in her hands. “Are you ready, Emma?” he asked, startling her.

She looked up at him contemplatively, before she nodded. “Yes, I am. But I’m going to need a small drop of Alice’s blood.”

“Absolutely not!” Killian protested, his fierce protectiveness rising to the fore. “You will not harm her.”

“Killian, she is trapped by blood magic,” Emma tried to explain, but he cut her off.

“I don’t bloody well care,” he snarled. “Find another way.”

“It’s just a drop-”

“Another. Way,” he growled out. “I am not going to wake my sleeping child just so you can take her blood. I thought you were going to assess how strong the barrier was.”

“I was just trying to think ahead,” Emma snapped, losing her patience. “Isn’t that the logical next step, to break the barrier?”

“We will come to that when we do,” he argued. “First tell me if we can break it.”

Emma seemed ready to counter, but she held her tongue, scowling at him. “Fine.” She walked toward the window, holding her hand out as if to touch the barrier. Killian knew from experience that only Alice would be able to see and touch it. It was meant only for her, after all. Which is why, when he saw the slight shimmer of the barrier, he was taken aback.

“Was that you?” he asked, standing next to Emma.

“Yes, now keep quiet. I need to concentrate,” she hissed, her eyes closed.

He watched her while she worked, a small furrow between her eyebrows. Killian felt a swell of gratitude for Emma, knowing that she could have lied about her magic, or even refused to humour Alice and help them. But she went out her way to try and find a way to break the spell, even without him asking that of her. And he had been nothing but curt and cutting. Liam would disapprove greatly of his behaviour, tell him it was bad form.

He was brought back to the present when he heard Emma gasp. He saw her pull her hands back, cradling them against her chest. He went on alert, turning her by the shoulder to face him, not thinking about how forward he was being. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Emma nodded unconvincingly, biting into her lip quite hard. “It’s nothing. Whoever put up the spell is pretty fucking awful,” she swore, walking to the cask of water in the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and filling it with water.

“Emma, what happened?” Killian asked, following her. He stopped when he saw her hands, his breath catching in his throat. They were burned, badly. “Bloody hell, lass.”

Emma ignored him, pouring the cold water over her wounds, wincing in pain.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” he said, grabbing the bowl from her. If either of the them noticed the change in endearment, they did not comment on it. He washed her wound more thoroughly, holding her hand firmly with his hook.

“You don’t have to do this,” Emma murmured, trying not to hiss. Killian did not respond, instead grabbing a box off a nearby shelf, opening it and grabbing some fresh cloth and a salve.

“This will help with the burns,” he explained, indicating her to hold her hand out. “This will sting,” he warned, applying the clear substance on her hands, shushing her when she cried out. “My Alice gets into a lot of scrapes, the little monkey. I always have medicine at hand.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Emma asked, wincing when he pressed the cloth over her hand, wrapping it around her hand.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I try.” He shrugged. “Now hold still.” He finished wrapping the bandage, using his teeth to tie it, his eyes never leaving hers.

Emma swallowed thickly. She quickly looked away, letting him finish treating her other hand. When he did, she pulled her hands back, clearing her throat. “Thanks.”

“Emma, you just got burned doing magic for my daughter. Patching you up was the least I could do.” He pulled up a stool, making her sit, before he continued. “Now, what happened?”

“Well, the witch who put up the spell made sure it can’t be broken by another magic user. A great contingency plan, burn the magic right out of the other person,” she complained.

Killian sucked in a sharp breath. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me your magic-”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Light magic is not that easy to destroy. But that’s why I was burned. My magic is temporarily, let’s say, paralysed. I can’t use it for a while, but it’ll come back, don’t worry,” she said, much too flippantly for Killian’s taste.

“Of course I’ll worry, Emma. This- this happened because of me. I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Hey, it’s alright. If I had to, I would do it again.”

“Why? Why help us? You don’t even know us.”

Emma breathed out deeply, looking down at her hands and avoiding his gaze. “I never got the chance to save my parents. I hated my magic for a long time...but I have a gift. I couldn’t waste it. Helping you and Alice is the right thing to do. It’s what they would have done. This is the only way I can honour them.”

-/-

Present: Land without Magic

“Since you know what I do for a living, I seem to be at a disadvantage here, lass. Care to share?” Killian asked, looking at her over his large cup of coffee.

Emma panicked, unsure what would pass for a proper job in this realm. “I- I’m in the business of helping people in need,” she said finally, hiding her own nerves by taking a large sip of her milkshake.

“A volunteer? That’s wonderful, Emma,” he praised, his eyes lighting up. Emma resisted the urge to lean over and kiss him. It was extremely hard, seeing the man she loved - who, in their world, in a world where he had his memories and no dark curse, loved her back - sitting across from her, right within arms reach, after twenty years of separation, and not be with him. Not be able to hold him, and kiss him. Not be able to share her troubles with him, and have him just be there for her. This was Killian Jones, the essence of him had not changed with the false memories and two decades, but it was not her Killian Jones - her pirate, her love, the father of her favorite child.

However, he was physically the same. Same handsome, soft features; same stormy eyes; same sharp jawline. If she hadn’t suffered through these years, she would not have believed that it’s been twenty years.

“Emma? Are you still with me?” Killian asked, waving a hand in front of her face, drawing her away from her reminiscing.

She shook her head, smiling at him. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Uh, what were you saying?”

“I was just asking what kind of volunteering do you do?”

And frankly, being put on the spot, the only thing Emma could think of was… “Hospital. I volunteer at the hospital.”

Killian looked impressed, and seemed like he was about to ask her more about her job. She had to divert him from that, lest she blurt something suspicious. So far she had been able to blend in well in this world, and not attract any attention to herself. The longer she stayed hidden, the less likely she would alert Gothel to her presence. She reached for his hand without further thought, drawing his attention away from whatever he was about to ask her.

“So, Killian Jones. What made you come up with the pirate story?” she asked, her smile coy.

He huffed out a chuckle, his hand scratching behind his ear. The move was something her Killian did, especially when he was embarrassed or shy. It made her heart constrict. No matter what, he was still in there. No curse or memory spell would take that away from him. She was so caught up in her own thoughts, again, she almost missed what he said. “-came to me in my dream. It felt so real, like they were my memories, from a past life or something.”

Emma looked up sharply, wondering if he actually remembered something. “Dreams? What kind of dreams?” she asked, hoping her tone conveyed mild curiosity and not the desperation that she felt.

He hesitated, and Emma hoped that he wasn’t regretting telling her. “Oh, just dreams, you know? That I was a pirate captain, Captain Hook,” he huffed, holding up his prosthetic. “Maybe my subconscious was trying to make me feel better about my lack of a hand,” he tried to joke, but Emma could sense the pain in his words. And so she did something she often used to do back home. She grabbed both his hand, real and prosthetic, in her hands, holding them with equal tenderness.

“You don’t need to play it off, Killian. It’s alright to mourn a loss,” she whispered, hoping that she was not overstepping. She was not used to stepping on eggshells around him, it was so odd for her to be careful of how familiar she was with him.

Thankfully, he did not seem to be offended by her forwardness, instead smiling at her gratefully. “Thank you, Emma. That was kind of you to say.”

She squeezed both his hands, her own heart swelling. It had been far too long since she could touch him, that something as simple as hand-holding made her want to never let go. A voice at the back of her head told her to get it over with, to give him his memories back. That he would want that, knowing Alice was in danger. Despite what Alice had told her, she really did want to, But he had been selfish once, forcing this on them. It was her turn to be selfish, to have this moment with him, just for a while, and not worry about Gothel or the curse or anything else. Just for a moment.

He would hate her for it later, she knew. But she had to do what was right, for her, just once.

-/-

Emma and Killian had spent the rest of the afternoon, and most of the evening, talking, sharing a couple of bottles of wine between the two of them. Emma listened, enraptured, as he told her about his travels. And Killian in turn asked her about her volunteer work, and she told him as much as she could without sounding crazy. They parted ways, albeit quite reluctantly, with each other’s numbers in their respective phones, with a promise of him calling her soon.

She walked back to where she was staying, a large smile on her face. She was practically skipping! But much like all good things, her happiness too was short lived. She rounded a corner, and ran into the last person she was expecting to see.

“Gothel,” she gasped, her hand flying to her ring, and drawing power from it. But before she could react, Gothel drove her hand through her chest.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Princess Emma,” she taunted, squeezing Emma’s heart and making her wheeze at the pressure, her hand clutching Gothel’s arm, trying to get her to budge.

“Let- let me go.”

“I might not be able to take your heart, Princess. But for what I have planned, I don’t need to remove your heart. I just need to poison it.”

Emma struggled in her hold, her eyes tearing up. “You can’t stop me,” Emma panted, shouting in pain when Gothel’s vile magic entered her heart.

“Oh, this is just to subdue you, dear. I’ll find Killian before you’ll get a chance to warn him.” And with that, she pulled her hand out of Emma’s chest, leaving her slumped against the wall, struggling to catch her breath. “You should have taken the chance when you had it, dear. Didn’t your mother teach you not to dawdle?”

Emma clutched at her chest, feeling the poison do its work. Despite the pain she was in, Emma couldn’t help the relief that spread through her. She might have waited to tell Killian the truth, but she was not a fool. He was protected by a very strong cloaking spell, and it would take Gothel a while to break it. Emma just hoped that she would recover before Gothel managed to find Killian.

That was her last thought before the world turned dark and Emma lay slumped against the alley wall, alone and powerless.

-/-

Later that night, Killian’s dreams were plagued by the same blonde woman. But this one was much different that the other dreams. The little girl, Alice, who called him Papa was not there. It was just the blonde, with her back turned to him, still. But before he could resign himself to the fact that he would yet again wake up before he could see who she was, she turned, making him gasp out loud when he saw her face.

“Emma,” he said, breathlessly. “I knew it.”

“Run,” she whispered back. “Run!”

Killian gasped awake, a sharp pain radiating through his chest. But despite the pain, and abruptly waking up, he remembered his dream very clearly. The blonde from his dreams was real, it was Emma.

Which meant….Which meant Alice must be real too.

[roseymoseyberry]

The Prime’s Intended (2/?)

What’s up, its your girl Rosey with some more of this hot mess, now with a Friend(tm) and bedtime cuddling!

(also these chapters will generally be a tad shorter than my usual multichapter fics since I kinda want to keep each chapter to one general topic/situation. Also because it gives me more time to write more of it, haha. This one is especially so but it didn’t fit with the first chapter or with the next, so here it is. Just a little calm before the storm.)

Title: The Prime’s Intended

Series: TFP post-war AU where Optimus didn’t die

Ship(s): Optimus/Ratchet

Tags/warnings: Big Awful Public Wedding AU, Established Relationship, outing a relationship without consent, and just a lot of dealing with bullshit from paparazzi/media/etc. Mentions of sticky interfacing, but none on screen

Fic Summary:

“A photographer spotted us leaving your quarters this morning.”

In which paparazzi out Ratchet and Optimus’s relationship, their PR consultant plans them the biggest and most extravagant public wedding they never wanted, and Ratchet has to deal with suddenly becoming the Prime’s conjunx-to-be.

Chapter Summary:

“So, which one actually came first: the photos or the proposal?”

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

“So, which one actually came first: the photos or the proposal?”

“How did you get in here?” Ratchet grumbled, ignoring how Arcee was making herself comfortable on the edge of his desk to focus on the datapad in his servo. The two-wheeler shrugged.

“You’d be surprised the perks that come with reminding mecha that we were on Team Prime together,” Arcee replied. She managed to hook a digit over the top of the datapad and push it down so that Ratchet had to look at her, and Arcee’s gaze didn’t hold any humor despite the tone of her voice. “So. Do I owe you my congratulations or my condolences?”

Ratchet ex-vented slowly and finally laid the datapad down.

“Well, I’m hiding in my office and haven’t accepted any appointments, so I think you can guess at the kind of day I’m having.”

Arcee considered him for a moment before nodding and saying, “I figured it was the photos. You two never seemed like the ceremony type, and no offence but you’re just not fit to be a celebrity.”

Ratchet blinked slowly.

“You’re not surprised that we’re together though.”

“Are you joking?” Arcee rolled her optics and crossed her leg over her knee. “Ratchet, we all knew about you two. The way you looked at him was about as subtle as a punch in the face.”

Heat bloomed in Ratchet’s face as he scowled and snapped, “That’s not true.”

“Well, also, Bee did walk in on you once and confirmed our theories.”

Ratchet groaned with embarrassment while Arcee snickered, gracefully lifting her legs high enough to not hit anything as she swiveled around so she was sat on the edge of Ratchet’s side of the desk. “Relax, Ratchet. It’s sweet, and frankly you both deserve to have somebody. But all of this…” She trailed off, waving vaguely, and Ratchet nodded his agreement.

“It’s a steaming pile of slag, but it’s what we have to do.”

“My condolences then,” Arcee said, her servo patting Ratchet’s forearm.

“Thanks.” It was only half sarcastic.

Arcee’s servo grasped his arm then and her optics hardened as she added, “Don’t be afraid to call up the old team if somebody needs to be dealt with or something done, alright? You know we’ll take care of you. We’ll even make sure it can’t be traced back to you.”

Ratchet gaped a bit before saying, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Arcee smiled with an almost feral affection.

“Speaking of, you know who took those photos?”

And, for the first time that day, Ratchet felt his lips curl into a smile in return.

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

“Did you receive the schedule that Spinmaster sent?”

“Yes,” Ratchet grumbled as he tugged Optimus towards the berth. The medic had been waiting in the Prime’s quarters for hours, no longer trusting the security of his own. Optimus had finally arrived much, much later than he should have due to all his work being delayed by the announcement. Once all the Public Relations nonsense had been done, Optimus had returned to things that actually mattered since being a Prime didn’t make him a magician who could make the waiting paperwork disappear. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

And making their lives somehow even more complicated. With a tentative ceremony date a month away, nearly every day over the next week had at least one meeting about some detail or another to discuss and plan, and no doubt the weeks after would fill up just as much. Considering one of the meetings was labelled ‘Centerpieces’, Ratchet doubted his preference for something small and simple would even be heard.

Optimus tiredly hummed his agreement.

“We never had plans of our own and we both have more important matters to focus on,” Optimus explained as he fell heavily on the edge of the berth, vents wide open in a low ex-vent, “so I gave him the task of planning it. With our input and permission, of course.”

“Right. And I’m sure he won’t take that and run wild with it.” Ratchet pushed at Optimus’s shoulders until finally the Prime lay out on his back. “I’m surprised he picked such an early date.”

“That was my doing, actually,” Optimus admitted as he shifted so his legs swung up onto the berth before reaching out for Ratchet. “I assumed that it was best to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

With practiced ease, Ratchet took Optimus’s large servo and crawled onto him to sprawl out across his torso. Ratchet still sometimes missed Optimus’s old frame, with his narrow waist and gorgeous hips. But changing to a cybertronian alt-mode had at least streamlined the sharper corners of Optimus’s now hulking frame, and there was something comforting about recharging atop his lover, to feel the gentle whirring of slowly quieting systems and the vibrations of his spark.

And, truthfully, Ratchet had always liked large mecha.

Ratchet grunted in agreement as he settled himself. “And less time for Spinmaster to do anything too insane.”

Optimus’s chassis rumbled with an otherwise silent chuckle.

“Convenient, isn’t it? Almost as if I planned it that way.”

“Clever fragger,” Ratchet praised. Then, after a moment, he quietly asked, “Should I have been there? At the announcement?”

“No,” Optimus answered immediately, one of his servos moving to stroke Ratchet’s lower back comfortingly. “I mean no offence, but it would have been worse if you had.”

Ratchet ex-vented heavily as he gave a little nod. “I know. But that meant you had to do it alone.”

“But you’re here, aren’t you?” Optimus’s servo drifted up over the medpack on Ratchet’s back to stroke the back of Ratchet’s helm. “While this situation is particularly invasive, we have weathered far worse things together. So long as I know I will be able to return to the arms of my old friend, I will manage.”

Ratchet’s spark warmed, though he still pushed up enough to rest his chin on his arms and look down at Optimus. “You say that, but I know you, and you’re always taking on more than you should without asking for help.”

Optimus’s optic ridges lifted slightly as he replied, “A failing we share.”

There was no denying that, so with a huff, Ratchet just insisted, “Promise to at least try to tell me if you need something.”

“Only if you promise the same for me.”

“Brat,” Ratchet grumbled, even as he leaned into Optimus’s servo as it cupped his face.

“I think we’re both a bit too old for that.” Optimus’s free servo grasped Ratchet’s and slowly brought it to his face, pressing a gentle kiss against it. “But I do mean it, Ratchet. Becoming a public figure is difficult and it’s only because I’m Prime that you have to endure it at all. Let me take responsibility for that by supporting you as you have supported me all these years.”

“I don’t think being outed as your lover is comparable to becoming a Prime,” Ratchet insisted despite the lingering frustration and helplessness that would not leave the edges of his processor. Optimus’s gaze did not waver.

“Ratchet.”

With a frown that Ratchet would swear wasn’t a pout, Ratchet ex-vented and said, “Fine. I’ll try.”

“Good.” Optimus gave his servo one last kiss before releasing it. “And since we’re being honest, you don’t happen to know anything about what led to a certain photographer posting a public apology, would you?” That startled a snort out of Ratchet and Optimus’s lips curled into an affectionate smile. “Who was it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ratchet teased as he stretched out again, nuzzling into Optimus’s chest, comfortable against his lover and surrounded by the blanket of their familiarity. “Now come on, we have a Primus-forsaken bonding ceremony to discuss bright and early tomorrow, so you should recharge.”

Optimus huffed an ex-vent that nearly sounded annoyed. Nothing serious, closer to a pout than anything.

“Wheeljack?”

“Don’t know.”

“Arcee?”

“No idea.”

“Bumblebee?”

“You really think they’d tell me? Especially now that they know who I recharge with?”

“You say that as if they weren’t already aware.”

That had Ratchet bolting upright.

“You knew?” he asked, optics accusing. Optimus shifted slightly under him.

“It would have been near impossible to keep it hidden with such a small team in such a small space, so I had my suspicions,” Optimus started carefully. “And there was the time when Bumblebee walked into the medbay when we thought the base was empty--”

“How am I the only one who didn’t know about that? In fact, how did you know he walked in without me knowing?” Ratchet demanded.

Optimus’s optics strayed towards the ceiling.

“You were rather occupied at the time so you wouldn’t have seen him.”

Ratchet’s optics shuttered offline as he groaned, “I was sucking your spike, wasn’t I?”

“I recall it being my valve actually, but yes.”

And somehow, out of the mixture of emotional exhaustion from the day and embarrassment and the sheer ridiculousness of this revelation, Ratchet laughed. It was all just so absurd.

And then his frame was caught up in Optimus’s servos and arms and Ratchet found himself on his back, pinned under the sheer bulk of his lover as Optimus kissed his lips, his chin, his neck—

“Optimus! We have to recharge!”

“And we will soon enough.”

Laughter bled into breathless moans.

And when they finally settled down to actually recharge, Ratchet felt more at ease than he had all day.

It would be just one month. Surely they would make it through just fine.

[hamiltrashitty]

How The Heck Did We End Up Here? (John Laurens x Reader)

Y’all I suck i know. I hardly post and y���all still keep following me. Tysm for everything!❤️

P.s: @helplessangelica I’m working on your request, I’ve just been having major writer’s block with it and I’m so sorry! I’ll try to get that up asap! :,)

Request from: Anon

Summary: You meet John Laurens at Alexander’s wedding.

Time Period: Modern

Next Chapter

When Eliza told you that she was getting married, you were ecstatic. You helped her pick out her dress, organize the tables, send out the invitations; long story short, you helped her do everything. You did have your doubts because she did only know her fiancé, Alexander, for a short period of time. However, Eliza made it extremely clear that they were both ready for this big step, and you were more than happy for her.

The wedding was scheduled to be held in December, and with all of the chaos of planning a wedding, it came very fast. Before you knew it, you were being stuffed into a limo along with Eliza and her sisters and driven off to her father’s mansion to be wed.

“Are you nervous Eliza?” Peggy chirped as she bounced in her seat.

“You have been very calm about all of this, you must be nervous!” you piped in. Eliza gave the both of you a weak smile.

“Oh, I’m totally not nervous..heh..” Angelica shot you and Peggy an icy look before turning to Eliza.

“You’re going to be fine, Eliza. You look stunning and I know Alexander will fall even more in love with you once he sees you in this dress.” You rolled your eyes.

“Is that even possible?” The four of you laughed and continued talking excitedly about the wedding. It’s too bad that not everyone was happy on this exciting day.

John Laurens, Alexander’s best friend and best man, was miserable. The love of his life was being taken away from him. Oh if only he had confessed his love sooner, this may have been him walking down the isle today.

John had loved Alexander for years. Ever since they met, John was head over heels. His smile, his laugh, his intelligence, what was there not to love? Clearly Eliza noticed this too. As John took another sip from his bottle of vodka, he heard the door to the bathroom open. Thinking fast, he placed the bottle in the shower just as Alexander peeked in.

“You ready?” he asked. “The limo is here and we reeeeeally need to get going.” John smiled at his friend fondly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The wedding was wonderful. Angelica, who was the maid of honor, was brought to tears. Peggy was bouncing excitedly, trying not to drop the bouquet of flowers that she was holding. You were looking at Eliza warmly as she said her vows, wondering if you would ever be in her place.

Once the ceremony was over, everyone made their way to the ballroom and took their seats. Food was served, people were dancing and laughing, children running around. It was amazing. The time for people who were close with the newly weds to give their speeches came around and Angelica went first.

“A toast to the groom and the bride!” she declared loudly. “From your sister who has always been by your side.” Eliza and Alexander smiled and locked their hands together.

“I remember on my wedding night, you didn’t believe that you would ever meet someone,” Angelica continued. “And now, here you are. I am so happy for you Eliza, and no matter what I’ll always be by your side. I love you sis!” Eliza wiped a few stray tears and ran up to her sister. They hugged each other tightly before going back to their tables.

Alexander’s friend, John, went up next.

“I remember when we first met,” he smiled warmly at the memory. “We clicked immediately. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that I could trust more than you. Congrats bud!” John walked back to his seat and took another sip of his drink. Although he was smiling brightly, you could tell that there was something wrong. However, it was not the time to dwell on that because it was your turn to go up.

“Remember that bet we made years ago that whoever got married first got 50 bucks?” you asked. “Well, guess I owe ya that.” The crowd laughed.

“Even though I’d rather keep my money in my pocket, I’m still so happy to be here with you tonight. You’ve always been by my side and I’m so glad to be able to be by your’s on your special night. Congratulations to the both of you!” You raised your glass and the crowd followed suit, cheering for the newly weds.

Alexander’s friends Lafayette and Hercules went up next, rambling about the time Alexander was drunkly screaming “Join me in my revolution!” at some bar one time. You didn’t stay for the rest of the story because you decided to follow John. He was stumbling away to only God knows where.

“John!” you called. “Wait up!” John ignored you and continued to stumble through the hall and out the door. You picked up your speed and followed him out of the door just in time to grab him before he fell down the stairs to that led up to the front door.

You gently pulled him down so that he could sit and looked up him, concern in your eyes.

“Are you alright?” John looked at you and gave you a cheesy smile.

“Yup!” he giggled. You caught a whiff of his breath and gasped. He was drunk. No wonder he was acting so oddly.

“No John, you’re not,” you sighed. “I’ll take you home, do you know your address?”

“69 Hamilton Sexy Pants Avenue,” he answered, ending his sentence with a hiccup. You facepalmed.

“That’s not an address John.”

“It is too!”

“It’s not!”

“Is too!” he pouted and crossed his arms. You wanted to go back inside and ask Alex for John’s address, but you were scared that you’d ruin his and Eliza’s special night. So you decided that you would take him to your place, what’s the worse that could happen?

*45 minutes later*

“JOHN GET BACK HERE!” John stuck his tongue out at you and ran into your room. You sighed and followed him. Once you were in your room, you caught him trying to get under your bed.

After another twenty minutes of you chasing him around, you managed to drag him into your living room and tuck him in on your couch.

“Finally..” you muttered as you ambled into your room and face planted into your bed. You let out a content sigh as you snuggled into your bed. Just as you were about to fall asleep, you felt the bed shift and two arms wrap around you.

“IGKFJSKSK, JOHN!” you screeched.

“What?” he yawned. “The couch is uncomfortable.”

“Well-“ you were cut off by a loud snore. “Ugh, really?” You tried to get out of his grasp, but he only pulled you closer. You groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Y’all at first I wrote “we clucked instantly” and now all I imagine is John and Alexander clucking together ohmygosh I'm screechi ng Keep sending requests pls! -A-A-Ron