#the first time i realised it was ok for me not to shave was sharing a room w a nb female friend and noticing they had unshaved pits

[butchviking]

if someone said some shit like "i love being butch i love that i dont have to shave or wear makeup or conform to femininity" and someone was like "um. you don't have to be butch to do any of that" and they were like "yeah but you will be punished for nonconformity as a woman so its freeing to me to have an identity that reminds me i dont have to be what im expected to be and i can have a community that accepts me for that" i think radblr would be like yeah fair enough.

so explain why i always see this with some snarky comments attached

[gingiesworld]

Love Is Fickle

Part 3

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst. Fluff

Taglist: @username23345 @fxckmiup @marvelogic @dark-hunter16 @moistblobfish

Wanda had waited for a few months now to see when Y/N would return home. Although she also recieved a lot of letters, all dated from when Y/N had joined the military and dropped out of school.

Wanda,

I know that you're probably wondering why I am not there, hell if Vision has anything to do with it, you probably won't even notice I'm gone. But I had to leave Westview, I couldn't stay in a place I don't really belong anymore. My heart doesn't belong there.

I hate that I never really said goodbye to you. I hate myself for not giving you an explanation, but I hope that maybe one day in the future if we do cross paths again I would have the balls to tell you. Tell you everything.

I love you Wanda Maximoff. I always have and I always will.

Y/N Y/L/N

Wanda couldn't help the tears as she read each of the letters. Reading over Y/N's words which they most likely never intended for her to ever receive.

Wanda,

I came home for the first time since I left and I was kind of sad that I never saw you. I guess you're having the time of your life at NYU as you should be tearing that place up with your awesomeness. I wish I could have been there with you, although you probably know I lied to you about getting in. I know my mom won't ever be able to hold her own piss.

I just want you to know how incredibly amazing you are and you are destined for amazing things Wanda.

I love you so much

Y/N Y/L/N

She smiled at some of their words, laughing at some of the stories they had to tell her.

Wanda,

Nat told me about what happened between you and Vision. I'm sorry I can't be there to reassure you that everything will be fine, but everything will be fine in the end Wanda. You will find happiness again.

But the funniest thing happened to me that might make you laugh. The guys thought it would be funny to shave my eyebrows and now I look weird. I even posted a picture so you can have a laugh at it.

Y/N Y/L/N

Wanda laughed as she held the picture in her hands, tears falling as she couldn't really control herself. That was until she heard Peggy and Steve yelling.

"I can't lose you too Steve." Peggy cried out as she held onto his arm.

"I need to find them Peggy. They're our baby." He told her softly. "I need to do this. Bring them home."

"Please." Peggy pleaded with him.

"I will find them Peggy. I will bring them home." He kissed her before he left in the taxi. Peggy clutched at her chest as she cried as Wanda came running out.

"What's going on Peggy?" She questioned as Peggy shook her head. "Is it Y/N?"

"They've been officially declared MIA." She sobbed as Wanda held onto her. Tears of her own falling as all she had left was the memories she had shared in their childhood together.

"I'm going to marry you one day Wanda." 10 year old Y/N stated as the two played in the park.

"I can't wait Y/N/N." Wanda beamed as she kissed their cheek. "My knight in shining armour." The two chuckled before they raced for the swings.

-------

Wanda lay on her bed clutching her stomach, waiting for the painkillers her mom gave her to kick in. Soon to be greeted by a smiling Y/N who held an assortment of sweets, chocolate and soda in their arms.

"Your mom told me that you have got stomach pains so I thought we could watch your favourite show and binge eat." They beamed as Wanda smiled. "I also brought some heat pads." Wanda hugged them before she pulled them down onto the bed with her after setting up the Dick Van Dyke show.

"How do you know it's my period?" She questioned as she held up the countless packs of feminine products.

"You very rarely get ill and we are going through puberty." They told her. "Plus I may have done some research since I don't have a uterus and wanted to make sure you would be ok."

Wanda never realised how she had never noticed that Y/N had been in love with her, even before she started dating Vision. She was too oblivious to the possibility that she could have had something better than the mediocre love that she had with her ex.

"How stupid am I?" Wanda asked Nat as the two sat in her room. Mrs Maximoff was over with Peggy who was broken up. "If I had realised in that moment that I was in love with them, that they were my forever. They wouldn't be missing right now."

"Wanda, no one knows if things would have changed." Nat told her. "As much as they were in love with you, they looked up to their parents. Especially with their father being in the military."

"But." Wanda tried.

"I know you finally figured it out." Nat told her softly. "That's why they asked me to send you the letters they had written to you over the years, even the latest ones."

Wanda sighed as she grabbed the latest ones, looking at the one dated from the day after she went to their building. Opening it with care and shaky hands.

Wanda,

I'm sorry that I left like that, and I hate myself for it. I just hope that you can forgive me but I don't think I am ready to open myself up to you just yet. Even though I am still in love with you but I just can't because I am afraid that this is some sick joke.

I guess that maybe we can use this time apart to figure everything out between us, because I have missed you so much over the years Wanda. I hated that I never done all of the things we dreamt of doing together. And I want to make new memories.

I love you too Wanda

Wanda couldn't help but sob as she held their letter to her chest, Nat wrapping her arms around her as she cried loudly. Her heartbreaking at the thought that she may never see them again.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Really silly/cute idea for a post-Hero is Back story.

At the end of Monkey King: Hero is Back (shown more clearly in the game), Sun Wukong/Dasheng seems to give up part of his powers to revive Liuer.

So my silly idea is;

Dasheng literally gave part of his life energy/Dao to revive Liuer, leading to an unexpected side effect.

Liuer: "Dasheng! My back hurts." Dasheng, pretending to be annoyed: "Ok. Probably just your injuries acting up, let me check." Liuer: *has a freshly-grown black-furred monkey tail* Dasheng: "What the... Humans aren't supposed to have those." (•ˋ _ ˊ•) Fa Ming: "It seems in that giving Liuer part of your life energy, he's inherited part of your... monkey-ness." Dasheng, conflicting dad emotions: "...oops." Liuer, rambling at a mile a minute: "I have a tail!?! Thats amazing! Dasheng look! I can move it like its an arm! Do you think I can stand on it?" *falling-over sounds* "Ow. Not yet."

Pigsy is laughing his butt off, pointing out how thats how some supernatural adoptions work. Makes jokes about having to teach Liuer how to shave early.

And ofc Liuer is estatic. First he meets his hero: The Monkey King, and now he's a monkey!? And by demonic legal standards his SON!? Liuer faints at least once.

Liuer isn't a "full" monkey demon though. His fur is really sparse and patchy, and his feet are still human. He does develop a light, distinctly SWK-esque face marking tho.

The biggest change in Liuer is in his instincts. He's quicker to run to the adults when startled. The barking of dogs panics him. Trees look so much more fun to climb. Etc...

Dasheng silently thinks its pretty adorable; like an infant monkey testing out the world for the first time.

Until one day the gang is jumped by a violent demon and Liuer lets out a scared Chirp!

Dasheng's parental instincts go haywire and within seconds there's one less demon. Dasheng is clutching Liuer to his chest tightly, making worried trills/chirrups of his own. Everyone else is very confused, including Liuer; who made the chirping sound without even realising it.

Tears roll down Dasheng's face as he refuses to let the boy leave his arms.

Dasheng, eyes wild and speech fractured: "No! Not again. Can't lose him. My cub. Not again."

Sharing a knowing look, the elders of the little troop decide to let Dasheng hold the boy for a while longer until the sage calms down. Even as they all set up camp, have dinner, and start settling down for bed...

Liuer has no complaints about being held like an infant monkey. Its nice to be the one being carried for a change. But he is wondering why Dasheng is so reluctant to put him down.

The monkeys on FFM are the ones to explain later on. The chirp Liuer made that day wasnt a generic "I'm startled/frightened!" noise - It was a call infant monkeys make to their parents.

Liuer starts to wonder if there's more monkey stuff he has yet to learn...

And the Heavens are wondering why the Golden Cicada is a monkey now??

[bushdivingbushranger]

What was going to an all girls school like, if you don't mind me asking? :)

OK anon im so sorry this is so long and so convuluted I actually got so carried away jdbKJBGKSDBGH. i'm not even sure i properly answered your question i just got overwhelmed with Love for my same-sex schooling DHGKJSDFBHG anyway, if there's anything more you want to know lmk and I will try to be concise next time 💀

Essentially, my own experience at a single-sex secondary school was fantastic—however, I know my experience isn’t universal, especially since my school was a little bit different to most, I think.

That being said, I still think that sending your daughters to female-only secondary schools is something every parent should strive to do if they can. No other learning environment will ever be as good for girls as a same-sex school.

In terms of school staff, mine was about 95% female, and 5% male. The few male teachers we had were genuinely competent men and decent teachers, they were also watched like hawks. Our principal was female, all leadership positions in the school (such as House Leaders, Year Level Co-Ordinators, Department Heads, even the chaplain) were held by women. Our school psychologists, our nurses, our library technicians, our café ladies, our career advisors, our tutors—all were women. Our school houses (think like Harry Potter houses) were named after important women in our country’s history.

I went to a co-ed primary school. And whilst at twelve you might not have the words to describe it, graduating from a co-ed space, into an all-female space is really a giant weight off of your shoulders. You don’t realise how suffocating co-education is until you’re no longer having to bear it. It feels so much more natural, so much more free! You are welcomed as you are. You can be loud and unashamed of it. We joked frequently with each other and our teachers, laughed loudly and cared not whether our laughs were ‘ugly’. I found that teachers were far more supportive than they were in my co-ed school. For example, in a co-ed school I had been told frequently to ‘pipe down’ or to ‘reel it in’ from teachers, and more vexingly to ‘shut up’ from boys due to my boisterous personality. In high school? My teachers encouraged me to audition for the play because I had ‘great projection’. In every school programme (more on those later) that I was involved in, I was the one asked to give speeches about them at assembly. I was asked to be the lead of our house chants during our sports festivals. I was asked to join the debate team because of my passionate nature, which in primary school, had me known as ‘difficult’.

Likewise, I had a friend who was by nature quiet, and loved to draw. In primary school she’d doodled on the back of a work booklet, and when her teacher returned it, she’d taken off two points and had written a comment saying something about teachers in high school not accepting work that was drawn on.

Do you know what happened when she got to high school? Our English teacher had seen the eye she’d drawn on the back of our Romeo and Juliet test and had written, ‘beautiful!’ above it. The next test, she drew a two-headed cat with witches’ hats on both heads (I remember the left head was called Turpentine and the right head was called Esmeralda). Our teacher wrote, ‘wonderful!’ above it, with a smiley face.

The next day she got an email from our art teacher that had a PDF flyer of information on both in-school and local art competitions.

Anyway, she had questions and that teacher answered every single one of them. She also personally helped her select the works she wanted to submit. She ended up having two pieces shown in the school gallery, along forty pieces made by other girls. About five years later for our final year, on that art teacher’s recommendation (and tutelage!) she took all of the visual art subjects on offer. When she graduated, her final piece was shown at a public exhibition in our state’s capital city, that honoured the best pieces done by select graduating students in the state.

So yeah. Our teachers were pretty amazing. Of course, there was the odd teacher or two you would butt heads with but that’s just a universal school experience. Our humanities classes, like history, for example, often had a unit that would focus on the female experience of a certain time period. For example, when learning about WW2, we did projects on female resistance fighters et cetera.

We had health classes that were actually focused on female health. We learnt about female anatomy (even the clitoris! Though we were all about thirteen/fourteen at this time so we found it incredibly awkward to talk about), as well as symptoms of PCOS during our menstrual unit. We learnt about contraceptive methods and devices (however, as a Catholic school they did have to tell us that whilst these methods are available, the church-sanctioned method is of course, abstinence).

Whilst the majority of the girls shaved their legs and wore makeup, as someone who did neither of those things I rarely felt judgement about it (albeit, I think there was a little for my lack of makeup, but this only lasted the first two years). A good portion of our staff also did not wear makeup, I don’t recall this ever being commented on. And, by the time we’d reached about our third year, a good portion of my year level and the ones above did not wear makeup on a daily basis. Leg hair was not looked down upon by any of us I don’t think by this year either. In fact, if you were particularly hairy often your hairless friends asked to rub your legs!

We were never short of female role-models, our staff made sure of that. We had multiple days per year when guest speakers would come and talk to us, mostly these were women who were experts in their fields—whether that be neuroscience or computer science, linguistics and literature or mathematics, politics, et cetera. The only times we really had male guest speakers was when police officers (one male one female) came to give us an assembly about sexual peer-pressure and laws around sharing nudes that was basically, “these are common (male) manipulation tactics used to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, don’t fall for them”.

We were encouraged to take STEM subjects, and those of us that had taken interest in computer programming were sent to coding programmes in the city during school hours! That’s how keen our teachers were to get more women into the field! This was the same with the girls interested in politics, who got to go to Model UN events, as well as mock parliaments in the country’s capitol.

We had a lot of programmes generally. A few overseas ones for girls who were in LOTE (languages other than English) classes. A few interstate ones, too. And of course, local programmes and excursions. Most of them (aside from the LOTE ones which focused on immersion) were volunteer programmes aimed at helping women and girls. The rest were about furthering our own skills or learning new ones. Majority of these were year-level based, but a few depended on the clubs/groups/classes you were in. For example, I was part of the Writer’s Club, and we took an excursion to the state Writer’s Festival and listened to female writers as well as feminist panels. We also had self-defence programmes every year.

In terms of peers I generally found everyone to be quite amiable by the time we’d reached our third/fourth year. There’s a common myth about all girls schools being filled with ‘catty’ girls who are constantly bitching about one another, but I really did not find that to ring true. There were a few fights and arguments in the earlier years, I was part of quite a lot lol but that’s honestly… just something that happens at school, at any school. Largely, we were good to each other. If someone was crying there was always someone who’d ask her what was wrong. If you missed the notes on the slide, there was always a girl willing to share her notes with you.

I think going to an all-girl’s school, and not having that much interaction with the opposite sex generally for that six-year period truly does something, I think, to your psyche. We are socialised to look down on our fellow woman, socialised to look down upon ourselves. But actually being constantly surrounded by women, and almost ONLY women, really helps to undo that. Even now I could not describe the fierce love I have for all those women and girls I came in contact with during my time there—even the ones I bickered with. Each and every single woman I met there enriched my life in some way or another. I think that is the effect of consistently spending time in any female-only space: developing a true appreciation for women. It is the only reasonable conclusion to come to.

I have been out of high school for two years, and in university for one. Among the many men I have met since, none of them have even been able to hold a candle to the any women and girls I know.

Anyway. TLDR: it slapped, send your daughters to same-sex schools!!

[space-blue]

Jinx & the Hound dark AU...

I was talking to a commenter on F&D, and was struck by an AU idea I then discussed over on discord and... I just wanna share, because I'm not going to write it :

Episode 3's ending changes a little:

Silco flees, Vi is still taken by Marcus unbeknownst to Powder, Claggor and Mylo are dead... But the shimmer saves Vander's life, and he regains his (mostly) normal form.

He takes Powder home.

Now, they're both dealing with this very poorly. Overwhelmed dad Vander grieving his friend, his three kids, trying to handle Jinx's fraying sanity... It's rough.

He starts projecting Vi on her, because he's only got Jinx left now, and the way he handled Vi is really the best way he knows. Besides, it makes sense to teach Powder how to fight, right? Because she HAS to survive, she's all that Vander has left. She has to know how to protect herself.

Meanwhile Jinx is projecting and trying to both be her sister and outdo her. She has big shoes to fill.

Now this Vander would be darker. He's learnt his lesson too, at the hands of Silco. The Hound is what they truly need, so the Hound is what they'll get. After a while, he starts hunting Silco down, sending people after him.

Can't have a threat like that running around, and Silco proved he's willing to go after his kids.

Years pass. 2, then 3, then 4. Finally, Ekko tracks down information via an ex-convict that Vi was in prison all this time. Vander grabs Marcus off the streets and "convinces" him it's in his best interest to release his daughter from Stillwater. Like, yesterday.

But you see... You see, all this time, Marcus was still owning his position to Silco. He's sheriff because Silco helped, and Silco didn't rat him out. All this time Marcus worked alongside Vander, but Silco secretly had him by the balls.

Now Marcus has to fess up : Vi was released from Stillwater 2 years ago. Into Silco's care.

And this is where we get even darker (but it's ok, no one can accuse me of being a Silco hater lmao). Because Silco didn't have Vi freed to gain goodwill from Vander or anything like that. No.

For the first couple of years, Marcus tells Vi how Vander is growing increasingly violent in Zaun. The new arrivals in Stillwater definitely corroborate this. He also tells her that he refuses to trade for Vi. That he's replaced her with her sister.

After a couple of years of this, Silco freeing her would cast him into a saviour's light, but it's hardly enough for Vi to trust him, after he killed Benzo and created the incident that sparked her brothers' death. [Mind you, Vi has had a couple terrible years to cook in her cell, and she's deep into blaming herself. If she hadn't brought them, if she hadn't done the job, if she hadn't—]

But hey, it's fine, Silco only has to take Vi down to Zaun, to witness for herself how the Hound is back, and how Jinx has turned into this violent, bomb loving bruiser, with a single braid and half her head shaved, her name at the top of the score board in the old game room...

WORSE, Vi could try to reach out to "Powder". Vi wouldn't know about her ghosts, and Jinx, fearing nothing more than Vi's "return", that would take Vander's attention away from her again, reacts very poorly. And I mean, she fully believes this Vi is a ghost/vision, not her real sister. But the idea alone freaks her out completely.

She screams at Vi to fuck off, that she can't take Vander from her again.

Vi returns to Silco, devastated, and the two of them ship off to Noxus to regroup/use his contacts/be mercs or whatever.

Time goes on and neither Jinx nor Vander realise this interaction happened "for real". By the time Vander learns the truth from Marcus, it's far too late.

While in Noxus, Vi and Silco were tracked down by the assassins Vander set on Silco's tail, further solidifying the antagonism against "the Hound".

Of course Vander didn't know Vi was with Silco when he ordered him killed. And Silco might have gotten Vi because she was the perfect tool and would hurt Vander more than anything when turned on him, but he grows to love her as a daughter too.

How fucked up of a family reunion would that be, when Vi and Silco deem their new plan ready enough to return to Piltover?

You know what, I have no idea. Please feel free to reblog or comment with suggestions and finish up the thing. Heck, feel free to write the AU.

[sweetkingdomstarlight-blog]

they were roommates

Warnings - non consensual sex, anal sex, somnophilia, forced drug use

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words - over 2k

A/N - READ THE WARNINGS - I can’t stress this enough. Also if you are under 18 just shoo, bugger off. I wrote this from a prompt on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ stalker writing challenge, the prompt was your roommate isn’t who you thought they were. I’m still super new to writing and this is new territory for me, as always a huge massive thankyou to my beautiful wife @buckyownsmylife​ she helped me a lot and continues to hype me up.

It’s been six weeks since your friend got a new job upstate and moved out,. You’ve had an advert out for a new roommate but so far everyone who’s applied has either been rude or hasn’t shown up. You’re running low on your savings and would probably accept Satan himself if he could pay his fair share. That’s when your latest applicant knocked on your door.

James was polite and charming, he offered to pay a month up front to secure the room and could move in as soon as possible. You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when he moved in later that week, it was a bit odd that he had no friends to help him but he didn’t seem to have a lot of stuff and had himself sorted while you worked in your home office.

The first night he offered to buy pizza and beers so you could get to know each other better, it turns out you two had a lot of things in common and he was easy to get along with. You must have had a few too many beers because your head felt fuzzy, deciding it was time to go to bed. You said goodnight to James and stood up but felt so dizzy you had to immediately sit back down. James was so sweet though, looking after you, he actually picked you up and put you to bed so you didn't have to walk the short distance to your room.

Waking up the next morning you realised you were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t recognise but you didn’t remember getting changed, your mouth felt strangely dry so you got up for a drink. That’s when the soreness hit you, in between your legs, rushing to the bathroom you were confused that you weren’t getting your period and nothing seemed to be different. You assumed you were getting sick and went for hot tea to soothe yourself.

Sitting at the kitchen counter drinking and nibbling on some dry toast, James walks in looking like he’s just been for a run. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to you giggling “you can’t possibly be hungover you only had three drinks last night” you look up at him smirking and sarcastically respond, “yeah, well, maybe I’m just a lightweight”.

As you get up to clear away your mess he clears his throat making you turn. “Should we have a system for when we have people over in the future?” You look at him confused. “I’m sorry what do you mean? Do you want to bring someone over tonight?”

He chuckles at you, “Well no, not tonight but if you want your friend from last night to come back I can make sure you have some privacy,” he offers you, smirking at the confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry, I don't understand, I went to sleep last night. I didn’t have anyone over.” Taking a step closer, he leans on the counter separating you both. “Then who did I hear you with last night and who did I kick out this morning?” You stare at him open mouthed and scurry off to your room to check your phone for some clues, you feel your chest tighten when you see that you matched with someone last night and invited him over. How could you not remember? You were absolutely mortified, what is James going to think of you now?

Sitting in your home office talking to idiot customers on the phone all day, you try to take your mind off what happened last night. How can you have invited someone over, had sex and apparently stolen his t-shirt without even knowing? You vow there and then you aren’t drinking ever again. However, the end of the week rolls by and it's been the absolute worst, your boss is a dick, your customers are all idiots and to top it off your best friend hasn’t responded to your calls all week and you don’t know why.

You have a quick shower and decide to spend the night binge watching whatever you can find on Netflix when James sits next to you handing you a gin and tonic. “Thanks but I’m not drinking for a little while.” You go to put the drink down but he pushes it up to your mouth

“Don’t be silly, you’ve had a hard week. One drink won’t hurt” smiling at him you take a sip and he’s right, you instantly relax and get cosy on the sofa, ordering chinese and laughing at the show you both decide on. Waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth again, you find yourself laying on your bed but this time you have your own clothes on which is a relief. Standing up, you feel a bit weird round the back like you’ve been stretched out with one of your plugs but that’s not possible, they’re hidden in your box under the bed.

You drink a big glass of water and sit on the kitchen counter, a little uncomfortably, but quietly and relax. Something has been off the last week and you can’t put your finger on it, it's always weird when you get a new roommate and you’ve put it down to that but you just sense something isn’t quite right. You lean your head back on the wall behind you and get a surprise when James walks round the corner. “Hey doll, you feeling ok? You looked a bit sickly earlier and went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You nod at how sweet he was and drink some more water before hopping down. “I’m fine just going to sleep it off.” He takes your glass for you, offering to wash it and says goodnight, watching you walk away very closely and licking his lips as his eyes roam over your body.

It’s been a few weeks now since James moved in, he’s got to be the best roommate you’ve ever had. He pays his bills on time, keeps the place spotless and he’s such a good cook, always making food and drinks for you. It's lucky that he’s so kind because none of your friends seem to be in touch anymore, you message them and even try calling them but no one ever replies.

You sit watching your usual Friday night film with drinks and Chinese takeout, talking to James about both your weeks, tonight though he sits closer than usual and his face seems to light up when you talk to him. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in real life, you’ve never looked at him that way before because not only is he your roommate but he’s so far out of your league it's laughable. You tell one of your stupid jokes and he laughs with his whole body, his arm goes around the back of the sofa and he pulls you in close, hugging into him, you relax biting your lip when he kisses the top of your head.

That was the beginning of it for you both. You had daily movie nights, he cooked for you every day, listened when you got upset that your friends seemed to have dropped you and even encouraged you to start running with him. Everything felt perfect, you still occasionally woke up sore with a dry mouth but James told you it was just your body getting used to all the exercise you were now doing. Both of you had really found each other, loners who just needed someone to listen.

You went down to collect your mail one day and stood talking to your elderly neighbour when she told you how familiar James looked, she couldn’t work out where she knew him from but she praised you on finding such a nice young man who apparently had carried her groceries up the stairs for her when the elevator was broken. Smiling at her you told her to have a good morning and went back to your apartment looking at the thick brown envelope addressed to you, you never really got anything in the post except the occasional leaflet. James had made you a coffee and you smiled at him taking the package in your room to open while you got ready to have a shower.

In the shower you decided tonight would be the night with James, you shaved yourself from head to toe and used your best lotions. Winking at him as you walked to your room, he had a weird look on his face and couldn’t seem to look at you. In your room the envelope had been moved, it looked like it was open too. Bending down to pick it up you hear James behind you but before you can turn around you feel a pain in your neck and everything goes dark.

You wake up with a blinding headache and go to move but your body feels too heavy. “Ssshh sweetheart, don’t move, I had to tie you up for your own safety.” You look at him confused, trying to pull on your wrists but you can’t move.

“James, what’s happening?” Sitting next to you he slips some ice chips in your mouth to ease your dry throat and takes a deep breath.

“You can blame your friend, we were so happy and she had to try and take you away from me.” A tear runs down your cheek, you’ve never heard him talk like this and it’s terrifying. “I told your little friends to leave you alone or I’d take care of them all but they just didn’t listen.” He throws the envelope down and slowly shows you the newspaper clippings and articles they had sent you, apparently he was on the run and considered dangerous, something to do with what happened with the helicarriers that crashed a few months ago.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he says with a smirk, wiping your tears away and tutting. “Don’t be scared of me, I’m doing this for you, for us!” Pulling on the restraints on your feet and arms again he shouts, “Enough!” You stop immediately, scared of what he‘ll do if you don’t. “You were so nice to me on the phone when I first got free, you helped me hire that car that brought me to New York. I hacked into your company's database and found you. Your roommate was easy to convince with a little bit of money and I hired all those people to come and see you so when I finally got my chance you’d want me as much as I’ve wanted you”

“Why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?” You managed to stutter out, trying not to sound too pathetic.

“You never leave the house, you stay home all day working then sit watching TV all night, I saw you through the webcam. You really should be more careful.” He smirks before running his fingers over your naked body. Feeling how smooth and soft your skin is he smiles. “Did you do all this for me? Sweetheart, I’ve already had all of you, you don’t have to do anything special for me. I love you just the way you are”.

The realisation hits you and you sob loudly. “Have you been touching me while I sleep?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at you with so much admiration.

“You’re so smart, I’ve been preparing you to be mine. I didn’t know how long it's been since you’ve been with a real man, not those silly little toys under your bed and I wanted our first time to be special. I even set up that fake dating account so you would think you had a guy over on that first night.” He strokes your cheek and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

“James I’m cold, can you untie me and we can talk properly, please.” He studies your face for a brief moment before leaning forward and chuckling in your ear.

“You can’t think I’m that stupid baby, oh and you can call me Bucky now. If you’re going to be mine forever we need to get better acquainted.” He drops his sweatpants and straddles your hips. “We’re going to have so much fun”.

[shinygoku]

i can't seem to get this to let me send a nice image again... but (at your leisure) can you do Duck for the character ask? ♥

First impression

Huh, with a name like Duck, I expected him to be more avian. And maaan, what is up with the shape he has??

Impression now

Ah right, that's a Pannier Tank Engine, and they just Look like that lol. Still unsure about the alleged Waddle motion, maybe cause I ain't seen enough of these babies in motion.

Anyhoo, while I can absolutely see why he's a big fan favourite, I'm a bit more ambivalent, personally. I still Like him, but I wouldn't put him in my assortment of Most Beloved.

Favourite moment

His arc with Diesel, natch! Again, more than a singular moment, but the whole shebang with buildup, fallout and resolution is one of the series' biggest Turning Points and Duck himself is on top form. Though I gotta shout out to A Close Shave for being him centric and damn cool 🦆😎

Idea for a story

Hmmm.... the order of these points may compromise the mild surprize that's possible, so I'll answer this in the last section ;3

Unpopular opinion

Other than my rather "yeah he's fine lol" mild reaction to him? :P

I vastly, and I do mean Pretty Dang Vast, prefer how he looks in the book illustrations where he has a black smokebox bordering his face. On the whole I adore the TV show's models, but his circular face on the massive green slab ends up kinda offputting. Maybe that's also a factor in my lower key reception of him too, haha

But seriously, compare these book illustrations, which is more harmonious with the other characters to you?

Favourite relationship

Ahh geeze, I ain't given it much thought.... unleeessss [see Headcanon Section]

Also shout out for (initially at least) being Diesel's Arch Enemy, even if that kinda drifts away with the TV show and time.

Favourite headcanon

Ok, here we go... this is all pretty much your own doing, Jobey!

It may not have been your intent, but I'm starting to think Duck is one corner of a Platonic Love Triangle, with the other end being Thomas, and the mutual object of their ....friendship[?] is Percy. I better draw a Diagram lol (Also no, it's not a shipping thing lol)

So like... Duck was brought in specifically to help Percy out, they get along well and have a lot of stories/episodes together. Eventually Percy is put on the Ffarquhar, or "Thomas' Branch Line" and the amount of time Duck spends with Percy promptly plummets. Related is that I genuinely can't think of any stories where Thomas and Duck interact in a meaningful capacity. It seems whenever those two are in the same scene and it's not a swift drive by cameo, it's because Percy is there.

It makes me start to wonder if Duck and Thomas have any particular thoughts on the other, or just the low key 'yeah he's not actively a dick to me so we're cool'. Is it out of character to Headcanon Duck as being somewhat jealous of Thomas, simply for whisking Percy away? It sounds rather more silly written out than in my head asfsjkd

But like, I'm thinking of eps like All At Sea, where Thomas doesn't feature until right at the end (irl prolly a Studio Mandate lol) but it makes me wonder if Duck himself is thinking "Oh smeg, it's Thomas. Can't he stay up by the quarry for once? He's always everywhere!"

And weirdly, cause it's from Season Six of all things, is the ep Scaredy Engines. I flip flop on whether I like how it plays the exact same Moral from Percy and the Dragon again, but with Percy and Thomas' roles swapped from the other ep, or if I think it's inferior to said Dragon ep. However, the role Duck plays in Scaredy is very interesting...

So Thomas was being kinda a dick in the ep, teasing Percy about being scared, so Duck takes on the Karmic Trickster mantle that had been left behind for several TV eps by now, and arranges for Thomas to get scared back. The thing is, while he's pleased with a job well done, Percy is still concerned when Thomas doesn't reappear at the Fireworks show, so he leaves Duck and finds Thomas back at the sheds instead.

Yeah, I could very easily read into this lol. Duck's plan to avenge Percy by proxy worked, but also backfired, as Percy himself went off towards the guy who, certainly from Duck's Point of View, should have been left licking his wounds alone and feeling the weight of The Lesson soak in. Duck has again been jilted by Percy in favour of Thomas, even though Duck in particular sees Thomas' actions as Jerkish. Percy is much more willing to forgive this and see a lack of malicious intent, this is the kind of ribbing they share, and Thomas actually hiding scared is enough to get Percy to seek him out.

I may just be overreading, of course, but the tl;dr of this is that I think Duck and Percy have a pretty conventional Nice to Each Other Friendship, but Percy spends more time with Thomas and they have a relationship that can look screwy to outsiders (I again refer to You, Jobey, and that you said Thomas and Percy bring out each other's worst traits lol) but they pretty much muddle along as best buds anyway. I can see Duck being jealous but determined enough to stay civil and professional, even if internally he's always a bit annoyed when Thomas rolls in somewhere and takes Percy's attention.

Man, that got long!

And I still have the Fanfic Idea for here! But don't worry, it's related:

Basically something that examines this a bit more, but the meat of it being Thomas and Duck actually directly talking about it and maybe coming away with a better understanding of each other. Could be one'a them Locked In A Room Together type of situations, like a particularly poorly planned path by the sea that gets covered by high tide or whatever. Bonus points if Percy catches some of this without them realising and is like "what in the hell are those two dumbasses rabbiting on about. Me??? Oh god"

Bonus: Duck says Thomas is welcome to have Diesel as his arch enemy instead lol

That's all I have now, sorry Duck stans for not talking about The Great Western! 🦆🦆🦆🦆🦆

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC (Female and Male POV)

Word Count: approx 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, smut,

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 19

Part 20 Final Chapter

Liam and I took it easy for the next couple of days. We spent some time with Perrin and Cole, taking them for walks and making sure they were getting along.

We watched Inglourious Basterds in Liam's theatre room, which was amazing. It was like being in an actual movie theatre. The dimmed lights and sound system made the experience great. Liam cooked me dinner. We even played Scrabble a few times. We were pretty evenly matched, so the games were competitive. We worked out. We fucked. We made love.

On Saturday morning, I woke with a sore neck. I prayed it was just a strained muscle from working out but the stress I was under during the week tended to catch up with me on a Saturday. By about 4 pm, the left side of my head started pounding, and my eyes became sensitive to light. Every sound in the house felt like screaming in my ears, and I wanted to throw up. I would have cried if I didn't already know how much worse it would make it my migraine.

I told Liam I had to go to bed. Even though my migraines were terrible, I was lucky I could usually treat them with some codeine and a few hours of sleep. They rarely last more than six hours. Liam was lovely about it. He insisted on helping me get changed for bed, and he even went and got me a cold washcloth for my head. He laid in bed with me until I fell asleep.

I woke up around 11 pm feeling groggy, but the migraine had gone. I got out of bed and went looking for Liam.

I found him asleep on the lounge under a blanket downstairs. It looked like he had planned to sleep there all night. Perrin was curled up on the blanket between Liam's legs, and Cole laid on the floor in front of the couch. Cole looked up when I came in, rubbing himself against my legs like a cat and nudging my hand for a pat. Perrin's ears came up, and his tail wagged but didn't move. Lazy old Dog.

I knelt in the spot Cole had been. Liam looked so much younger asleep, almost like a boy, since he had started shaving. Apparently, his character is clean-shaven a lot of the time, so he will be switching between being shaved and unshaved depending on filming. I didn't want to startle him, so I ran my fingers through his hair until he started to wake. Liam stretched a bit before opening his eyes, and he looked so cute doing so I almost pinched his cheeks. Perrin finally got up, realising his warm spot was compromised.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said and looking at his watch. "Are you ok? do you need anything?"

I smiled at him and shook my head. "Just you," I said.

Liam smiled one of his full Hollywood smiles. He takes my breath away when he does that. "How's your head?"

"I haven't had any complaints," I said, winking. I think I've watched Drag Race too many times.

Liam chuckled and shook his head at me. "And you certainly won't get any from me." He said, getting up. Kissing my forehead, he said, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

I took his hand and pulled him towards the elevator. Like the gentleman he is, he pretended I was able to pull him.

We get in bed, Liam on his back and me with my head on his chest. He stroked my hair, trying to lull me to sleep. I always find it difficult to sleep at night if I have a nap in the afternoon. I was content to breathe my calming breaths and not worry about forcing the sleep I knew would eventually come.

Since sleep was alluding me, I asked Liam, "are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Meeting your family?" I nodded. He shrugged, "a little. It's been a while since I've been introduced to the family. A couple of years, actually. But I'm mostly looking forward to it." He gave me a quick kiss. "What about you?"

"After Thursday, I don't know if I'll be nervous about anything again." Liam chuckled. "I'm a little concerned about my mum. But I'm excited about you meeting the kids. I wonder if they will recognise you."

"Sometimes, kids do. Other times they say that's not him. He doesn't have a cape." I chuckled. Liam didn't speak for a while, so I tried letting Liam's breaths rock me to sleep. Then he spoke again, "Do you want kids?"

"You know, I do," I replied. We had spoken about it when we first started talking. Not wanting kids had been a deal-breaker for both of us. It was one of the first questions he had asked once we had gotten past the superficial talk. I looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"

"When you first told me about your contraception, I thought with my dick, so naturally, I was excited about not having to wear a condom." Liam's lip twitched, "Having said that, I wouldn't mind seeing you put a condom on me again." I rolled my eyes and indicated he should keep talking. "But then I thought you got that thing put in when you were still with Andy. If it's none of my business, that's fine. I had just been thinking about it, is all."

"You're wondering why I would use such a long-lasting contraception when I was married and wanted kids."

He nodded. "That sums it up."

"Well, several reasons. I had to replace the one I had. It had expired. Second, I have Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome, and one symptom is very irregular periods. I was always scared I was pregnant. I could go months without a period, and when I did, they were hell. I would get migraines for weeks, mood swings from being happy to almost suicidal throughout my cycle. When the period came, there was bad cramping and back pain, joint pain, fatigue. So, I had my first implant when I was 20."

"That sound's awful, Sweetheart."

"Yup. I got the last one put in instead of trying for kids because I was 26. Yes, Andy and I wanted kids, but we wanted to wait a few more years, pay more off the house, grow up a bit." Liam nodded.

I was surprised that talking to him about Andy in such intimate detail didn't make me start crying. I still felt sad and missed him, but it was different now. There was a fondness to the thoughts rather than the fear and guilt that would usually arise. Anthea had been right. I had to talk with Andy and be honest with him about how I felt. As if verbalising how I felt to Andy, wherever he was in the universe, eased the guilt I was feeling. It made me realise that it wasn't wrong or selfish to seek love again. It was what made life special, sharing your life with someone else.

Liam was looking with furrowed brows. "Are you ok?" He asked.

I wondered if I should tell him what I was thinking. Would he be interested? Would it be weird for him to hear about Andy? In some ways, Andy had always been the elephant in the room. He was mentioned in passing, but other than last Friday, I hadn't told him anything meaningful about him or how I felt. He had been right when we argued, Andy was a shadow that loomed over the relationship, and that was my fault. I decided to be honest.

"Yeah, I am." I gave him a half-smile and said, "I spoke to Anthea, my mother-in-law, on Tuesday." Liam's face was unreadable. Too late to stop now. I kept going. "I wanted her to hear from me that we were dating before it was official. It turns out she already knew. She was cool about it, happy for me. I was surprised by her response, and I thought she would think it was a betrayal. But she said I should talk to Andy, and I would feel better."

Liam still wasn't showing me what he was thinking. His face was stoic. I thought again, I should stop. "Keep going," he said, his voice not much louder than a whisper.

"So I visited Andy and told him about how I was feeling. I told him about you and how I felt about you. It seemed to work like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I felt free."

Liam was quiet for a while. I could almost see him arranging his thoughts. After a while, he said, "it seems the only one who makes you feel guilty is you."

"I think that was true, but not anymore," I said. "Are you upset I told you that? Is it... I don't know... tmi?"

Liam gave me a half-smile, "no, Lana. I'm glad you told me. I'm glad you did that. Not just for me, but for you."

"Then why were you looking at me like that?"

Liam's smile was full now. "Because I thought you were going to break my heart. Instead, you told me something private and because you wanted to. Not because I forced you or put you in a position where you had no choice. It makes me believe you may care about me as much as I care about you."

I cupped his face in my hands and looked deeply into his eyes, so he knows what I'm saying is true. "Liam, I do care about you. I don't think anyone else could have opened my heart. I was ready to go the rest of my life alone. If it weren't for you, I would never have taken those final steps to move on. For being the catalyst I needed, I will always be thankful for you and care about you."

Liam POV

Lana held my face in her hands. Her green eyes shined in the dim light of my bedroom as she spoke to me. "Liam, I do care about you. I don't think anyone else could have opened my heart. I was ready to go the rest of my life alone. If it weren't for you, I would never have taken those final steps to move on. For being the catalyst I needed, I will always be thankful for you and care about you."

My heart stopped a moment before it started to thunder in my chest. Lana so rarely bared her soul to me. She dropped hints sometimes, said little things to make me believe she could love me. But too often she was closed off when things get too intimate or too real.

She had changed so much since I first spoke to her, yet somehow she was still the same. She was kind and generous. I picked up on that early. That she was so funny and witty was something that she was slow to reveal but was a joy to watch. Watching her start to open her soul to me was beautiful. To see her courage and strength as she pushed through her grief was inspiring. That she saw enough in me to want to go through all she went through was humbling.

I loved her. I was desperate to tell her. I almost told her so many times. But my fear kept me from saying it. I didn't want to scare her off. I knew now she has to set the pace. She will be ready when she's ready and I will be there when she is.

Lana kissed me, and my body lit up. Her lips were like a match igniting a fire that travelled through my whole body. I instantly grew hard and needed her. I kissed her back, my tongue licking at her lips, urging her to open for me. When she did, I was lost, and all control left me. I needed to be in her.

My tongue entered her mouth, and her taste reminded me of apples and honey. She tasted so sweet to me. I wanted to taste her everywhere. I rolled her onto her back, reminding myself not to throw her around too roughly. She could take a lot of punishment, but I was still careful.

I sought Lana with my hands, pulling off the underwear that separated me from her. I put my hand between her legs, and my fingers parted her. I groaned when I felt how wet she was already, and I had to taste her. I moved between her legs as she opened them wide for me.

I put two fingers inside her, and my cock ached. "You're so warm, Lana," I told her, and she moaned, arching her back, her hips moving as I fucked her with my fingers. She was so responsive to my touch, and I loved watching her every movement. Her body moved in the most spectacular ways, writhing and seeking her pleasure.

I couldn't wait any longer for a taste, so leaving my fingers inside her, I let my tongue find her clit. When her taste hit my tongue, I hummed with delight. Lana's fingers slid into my hair as she pushed me into her and her hips rocked as she grinds herself on my tongue. God, she was so sexy. I wanted to stay here forever, watching her and listening to her moan. I ran my hand up her hips to her tiny waist. Feeling her hips under her soft skin was so erotic. I needed to fuck her, but she needed this first.

Lana started panting, her moans became short cries as she exhaled and I knew she didn't have long. I felt her walls close in on my fingers as she started to cry out my name, begging me not to stop. As if I would deny her this. As if I would deny her anything.

When Lana came, she was beautiful. Her eyes closed hard, her body convulsed, and her thighs trembled. Then she did this thing where she throws her head forward, and her body almost curls into a ball, and I know she's finished. Even when she's standing up she does it, I almost dropped her the first time. It's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen.

I lapped at her one more time, taking one last taste. She shuddered and tried to close her legs, giggling. She smiled at me, and my heart melted, but my cock was in pain. I needed to have her.

I kissed her, and she licked at me, tasting herself. She drives me wild when she does that. I felt like an animal, my careful control was gone, and I pushed my cock into her. She was so wet and tight, her body moulded around my cock, taking me all in, holding me so tight I almost came.

"Fuck," I swore into her mouth. Lana bit at my lip, playful, but I knew what that meant. She wanted me, and she didn't want me to be gentle.

I wasn't gentle. There was no way I could be. She had me too worked up, and all I wanted was to own her and claim her as mine forever. I started to thrust into her, her tits bouncing as she takes all I give her. Her lips were parted, and her cheeks were red. Her hair looked like a halo of fire on the sheets. Its vibrance thrilled me. I pushed my self off her and watched as my cock pumped into her. Seeing her stretched around me, I felt my orgasm rise again. Not yet. I wasn't done with her yet. I slowed down.

"Liam," She whispered my name, and there was no stopping it. My body took on a mind of its own, driving itself to release. She cried my name again as I felt my seed rise into me, and ecstasy flowed through me as it pumped into her.

I fell on my side next to Lana and took deep breaths. She gave a hum of contentment and I pulled her into me, hugging her tightly and I felt the surge of love again. She was so beautiful and sweet but so fucking sexy. She made me feel drunk. Even moments after orgasming, I wanted her again. I put my face into her hair, smelling her sweet pomegranate shampoo. Lana hugged me back as she played with my chest hair, and I smiled, she loved to touch me there, and it felt so good when she did.

My mind wandered as she caressed me with her pretty little hands and pink fingernails. The first time she had touched my chest, she had seemed so hesitant and unsure, even looking at me for permission. It had been such a turn-on.

It had been so hard not to fuck her that first night. I did try and seduce her. I knew what effect I had on women. It's hard not to know when you're famous and have women hitting on you all the time. I think I could have, there were a few times there where if I had played my cards right she would have let me. But knowing what I know now, I'm happy I didn't. I'm sure she would have run, and I would never have seen her again.

When she did let me, she had knocked me for six when she bit me. It was almost out of nowhere, and the way she opened up to me after about her desires was amazing. We still had so much to explore, only just getting to know each other sexually. I could tell she was getting more comfortable with it. She was probably going to teach me a thing or two. That thing she did with the condom, I think I almost told her I loved her then. I chuckled.

"What are you laughing at?" Lana asked. Her accent made it sound like she said, "whadcha laughn at?" I don't know why, but her accent excited me, especially when she swore at me. Her mouth was filthy. Maybe it was the combination of her outward elegance and her potty mouth that I liked. It was such an exciting combination.

"Nothing, Sweetheart." I kissed her long neck gently and held her. She seemed to accept it and squeezed me into her.

"I love you, Lana," I said, and my heart stopped. She froze. I don't even think she was breathing. My blood was like ice as my heart started to beat again. Oh, God, I fucked up. I'm going to lose her this time. I wanted to take it back. I was such a fool. Fuck.

Then Lana found my mouth and kissed me. The warmth that spread through my body was such a relief. Her kiss held such sweetness and passion. It was the promise that I needed. She wasn't mad. She wasn't going to run away. I held her close and kissed her back. She didn't have to say it for me to know that she loved me too.

End.

[werejusttouchingeachother]

Divine

Req:  would you mind writing a Sub!Ten smut where reader gives them a handjob and it goes from there? The scenario can be whatever you feel is best but the switch (dom+) in me has been quaking +  something with a really dom reader + any whiny subby nct or exo member that first comes to mind? + pegging

Summary: art student!Ten gets assigned a project with you for your Photography class and although his ideas for the concept initially make you wary, you eventually see the silver lining once he invites you back to his place

Pairing: sub!Ten x dom!reader (both are bi/queer/sexually fluid)

Genre: smut (m)

Words: 6015

Tags: nudity, cursing, handjob, edging, pegging

A/N: I combined quite a few repeated reqs I’ve been getting for sub!nct and pegging in specific so sorry if this took way too long! I haven’t gone full feral dom in this the way I like to (because wbk im a hardcore dom) since i’ve noticed many on here have boundaries with it/not used to it so since this is my first proper sub!member fic, I’m just easing into it ok--i’ll go harder or less next time depending on the response this gets

You raise your hand to knock on the burgundy door, hesitation creeping up your mind and effectively stopping you. Your fist hovers mid-air as you straighten your dress with your free hand and pull out your phone to check your makeup again.

When Ten approached you at the library yesterday, you certainly hadn’t expected him to call you back to his apartment.

Well, then again, you hadn’t expected a lot of what Ten had said at the library when he sat across from you while you were working on your assignment.

Chittaphon Ten is nothing less of popular at your university—with a double major in Art and Dance, a minor in Photography, it’s no surprise that both students and faculty were always constantly in awe of how he seemed to always have his shit together, scoring impressive grades, being extremely sociable and generally was the most well-rounded person that you’d ever seen.

His crazy attractive features weren’t a drawback either.

Like most girls, you admired him from afar without ever making a move. Not because you were too shy to do anything—Lord knows you weren’t, and so did a good majority of the students who you’d been with—but because he was always surrounded by people, the life of every party he went to, the one who never had a problem getting laid and the one whose attention required too much effort.

Which is why you were extremely surprised when Ten sought you out at the library yesterday. He’d called your name, which you didn’t even know he knew until then. It made you recall the first time he’d said it—one of the many faces that you’d been introduced to at the freshmen’s party during your first year at university.

He’d been the cool friendly popular sophomore, a beacon to all the lost freshmen and you’d been one of them as you exchanged names, later drinks and then, you were pretty sure, a tipsy dance together towards the end of the night.

That was the extent of your interaction—with the exception of the friendly smiles and casual ‘Hey’s as you passed each other in the hallway. What’s even sadder is that most of the memories from that night aren’t even clear to you due to all the shots you had downed—it’s only when you saw all the blurry pictures on Instagram the next day that you realised he’d danced with his hands around you but you couldn’t remember even feeling them, nevertheless the dance.  

Needless to say, Ten was probably the only guy to ever make you reconsider the decision to drink at parties.

Regardless of all this, you hadn’t expected to be paired with him in your Photography class that you two happened to share this semester. You never thought he’d attend much since it was only an elective—moreover, attendance wasn’t even compulsory—but you should have known better, of course perfect Ten was there.

And of course, on the one day that you’d skipped classes, you and Ten had gotten a paired assignment.

“The concept,” Ten said in a hushed voice as he leaned over the table at the library, making your gaze unknowingly rivet to his mouth. You had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his as he continued, “The concept for the assignment is Biblical influence on art.”

Still, you’d nodded. You’d shrugged it off in stride.

At least, you did until Ten said the following words:

“I have an idea. Everyone else is going to be at churches and cemeteries and cathedrals and basilicas. For the architecture and lightings. I was thinking, since we both are studying Art, we could paint on you to make you look like a Michelangelo sculpture.”

You’d blinked at him, wondering if you had misheard because he was whispering so lowly. You’d opened your mouth and closed it again, gaping like a fish. When he’d seen your obvious confusion, he repeated the last part, making your eyebrows furrow and then inhale sharply as you realised he was serious.

“Just hear me out,” Ten started before you could start yelling in the middle of the university library. “Think about it. No one would do such a unique concept.”

“Yeah, because it’s crazy?”

“Its art, Y/N. Crazy is kind of what gets you recognition.”

“This is an assignment that isn’t even accounted for twenty percent, Ten. It’s not even going to get published. Make it make sense,” you said in a flat voice.

“Imagine if it does, though, because it’s that good,” he muttered, widening his eyes at you to further emphasise his point.

You didn’t agree. You didn’t disagree either but the way you’d shaken your head and quickly stormed out of the library with an excuse that you needed to get to class let him know that you weren’t exactly in favour of the whole idea.

Then he’d called that night. It was later than you’d expect anyone to call—especially to discuss an assignment—but for some reason, it had worked.

You’re not sure why you agreed. Maybe it was because he’d actually made some good points over the call.

Or maybe because his voice had sounded so lulling over the phone, you’d found yourself nodding along without even paying attention to what he’d been suggesting. You agreed to meet him after your last evening class the next day at his apartment to ‘get it over with as soon as possible’.

Right now, you stood outside his door and tried to recall what all he had said last night. You were wearing a wrap-around dress that dropped only till your knees—the easiest thing to get in and out of—and had washed your hair so that it hung around your face. You’d scrubbed and shaved every surface of your skin until you were polished and squeaky clean, smelling like fresh soap and your mildly-scented lavender perfume.

You took a breath and checked your reflection for the millionth time in just half an hour on your phone’s screen before sighing and knocking on his door.

There was a shuffle of steps and then the door opened, Ten poking his head out and smiling at you.

“Hey,” he greeted softly and held the door open. “Come on in.”

You slowly entered, your mind racing with multiple thoughts as you closed the door behind you. You heard him mumble that he’ll be right back and to make yourself comfortable as he headed to a room at the end of the hallway.

You entered the first room to your left that he’d gestured at, your eyes quickly scanning the place. You immediately notice how he’d drawn all the curtains open and can’t help but smile at the very obvious attempt to have cleaned up—everything had been pushed to the corners of the room and things were thrown haphazardly to a side to clear the floor.

Biting back a smile, you turn right as he enters and hold your hands up to stop him before he starts speaking.

“Before anything,” you start, lowering your raised hands when you notice he’s listening. “Explain to me entirely what your plan is for the project. All of it.”

He nods and grabs his phone, scrolling through his gallery. You listen attentively as Ten explains how he thought it would be cool if he painted your entire body like a marble sculpture with a sheet draped over your body—painting over the sheet as well for a hyper-realistic effect while you posed like a statue.

You bit down on your lip at the idea of getting naked in his apartment with only a slinky garment to cover you, eyes moving from his phone’s screen to meet his. You can see the question in them and he even gives you a polite smile as if to tell you that you can always refuse if you’re uncomfortable with it.

But beneath that, you can see the challenging glint: he is daring you to back down because he knows you’re on unfamiliar grounds with him. He’d surely been naked many times in his apartment with several mutual friends of yours and so had you back in your own place but never with each other.

And maybe it was that or maybe this exciting air of ‘what if this went somewhere?’ and ‘what if one of us leaned in closer?’—but you didn’t want to back down.

So you gave him a firm nod, relishing in the way his eyes slightly widened at your affirmation as you turned to head for the bathroom that you’d seen when walking in. You turn at the last second, right as you’re near the door to see Ten staring at you as if baffled that you’re actually agreeing to this and you ask as nonchalantly as possible, “Ten? The sheet?”    

“What?” He blinks before realising. “Oh, right, right, sorry.”

He grabs an ivory-coloured sheet that laid neatly over the back of a chair and hands it over to you. You still as your eyes fall on the silky satin material you held in your hands, the fabric almost slipping from your fingers because of how smooth it was.

You slowly raise your eyes from the sheet to ask him what exactly you were supposed to do with it and stop when you notice that his eyebrow is raised, expression apprehensive as if to wait for you to drop the sheet and leave his apartment.

Plastering on an overly sweet smile, you nod in thanks and turn to the bathroom.

Once inside, you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you give yourself a pep-talk.

You weren’t backing down. There was just no way—especially when there was a good chance that this was all in your head and you were just making it into a bigger deal than what it actually is. It could just be about the project and Ten’s perfectionistic tendency wanting the highest grade.

So you slowly disrobed from your floral wraparound dress, hanging it over the hook on the back of the bathroom door. You hadn’t put much makeup on except for some gloss on your lips and some mascara—not wanting to be completely barefaced but at the same time, not going fully out.

Taking a deep breath, you take the satin sheet and stare at it as you contemplate how to wrap it around yourself.

You settle for wrapping it around your body, under the arm similar to how you usually do with a towel. You try to wrap it twice but the material is hardly enough to envelop more than once fully around your frame.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and have to force yourself to not get back into your comfy dress and jump out the bathroom window. The material clings to your body like a second skin and despite being layered twice around your front, your nipples still poke through due to how thin and supple the satin is.

Sighing and straightening your back, you turn to make sure that the knot at the back is fastened tightly and feel glad that you’d had the sense to shave your entire body spotless earlier today before coming here.

You meet your gaze in the mirror one last time, narrowing your eyes slightly as you take a deep breath and get your game face on. You walk to the door and step out, immediately feeling goosebumps rise on your skin at the sudden change in temperature from the cool bathroom.

You re-enter the hall and immediately notice Ten fight every instinct in his body to react at your appearance as his eyes swiftly rake over your entire form before quickly flitting back to your eyes.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you stand in front of him and he hesitates before finally saying, “Uh. You. That’s not actually how I thought you’d wear it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fighting against the urge to cross your arms over your chest defensively because you knew that would only draw more attention towards your breasts.

“What did you think then?” You ask in a deadpan tone and Ten grabs his phone from the table, showing you an image of a marbled woman sculpture that had a similarly thin cloth adorning her body except it fell over one shoulder and was held tight by pressing down the other arm. Moreover, she was postured by leaning her hips against a short pedestal and arching her back with her head raised upwards.

The garment covered her chest and stopped short at the very top of her thighs—barely covering anything but exposing her curvy hips, thighs and sides in their full glory.

You unknowingly release a loud sigh of frustration before nodding. Determined, you reach back to unknot the cloth but Ten stops you with his hand, saying, “Wait, its fine.”

Your hand is caught underneath his, and you look at him with confusion. “What?”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, lowering his hand from your shoulder. “This is better cause I have to paint your shoulders anyway and they’re both revealed this way. We’ll paint your entire body first before putting the satin over it and paint that last.”

“Um,” you say softly, nodding as he gestures for you to sit on the chair. You slowly sit down and contemplate crossing your legs but decide against it as that would cause the material to hike up further than it already is. “Okay.”

Ten stands above you, dipping a brush with thick bristles into a palette. You keep your eyes on his face, watching him carefully and don’t fail to see the way his breath slightly catches when he notices your intense gaze on him. You try to bite back a smirk as he leans over you and presses the cool brush against your shoulder, lightly stroking it over the skin in an experimental brushstroke.

“Could you lean your head back?” He asks you, his voice considerably lower.

“Mhm, sure,” you softly hum in agreement as you arch your neck back, noticing the way his grip falters on the brush as he presses the brush more firmly against your shoulder. The contact with your skin mixed with the air that had suddenly grown thick around the two of you made slight bumps rise along your arms and you feel Ten’s gaze dart to your face, having noticed the effect.

Yeah. This wasn’t about the project. Your senses were tingling and even if you knew nothing else, you could smell sexual tension from miles away.

You deliberately sigh softly, your chest heaving with the release of air and feel the brush still against your skin again. You sneak a look at Ten and notice that he’s completely stopped faking it, watching your face carefully.

You lower your head and turn it in his direction, feeling both your breaths intermingle from how close your faces are. You’re just about to lean in when he says, “It’s not working.”

You blink, momentarily taken aback. “What?”

“The paint.” You glance down at your shoulder to see that the colour was slightly faded and almost runny, not in the thick layers that they should be with the amount of strokes Ten had just made.

“Your skin,” he said, thinking as he leaned back slightly, promptly breaking the moment that you just had. “There’s something that’s not allowing the paint to settle. Did you put something before you came here?”

You think for a moment before answering, “Uh, yeah, moisturiser. Lotion. Is that it?”

Ten swallowed thickly, nodding at your words as he stepped back. “Do you think you can remove it with body wash or soap? I can’t paint your skin otherwise and it needs to be layered thickly for the marble effect.”

You stare at Ten, eyes narrowed as you tried to figure what game he was playing here. You’re almost tempted to just stand up and grab him, press him against the desk and kiss him hungrily.

Did he just want you to shower here? Was he going to walk in? Or was this to just have you smelling like the same sweet-scented soap that he always smelled like?

Or was this really because he was concerned with the project and didn’t want your Vaseline bodycream to stand in the way of a perfect grade?

Did he even want to sleep with you in the first place?

You stand up abruptly, unable to take the million thoughts flooding into your head. Turning around, you made a beeline for the bathroom again while mentally cursing him.

If he was playing hard-to-get, this was the longest you’d ever held out for someone you were interested in sleeping with, despite how much you loved the game.

You’re Y/N. Sure, Ten had a reputation as the campus heartthrob with nights of guaranteed fun and pleasure but so did you—you had entire groups of people who would attest to your skills in the bedroom.

Except you didn’t know right now. The signals you’d been receiving all night were mixed and you couldn’t tell reality anymore from your own fantasies of taking Ten and having him in your own way.

You wished you were right—that he was really interested in sleeping with you. Because you couldn’t get the pretty images of Ten whining and mewling softly out of your head, reminiscing the way his Adam’s apple had bobbed nervously every time he swallowed when he noticed your gaze, loving the way he’d slightly faltered as you’d breathed softly.

You wanted to ruin him so bad—you could feel your core clenching with desire just from the thought of it.

You don’t realise you hadn’t closed the door behind you and it’s only when you turn around, catching Ten standing at the door that you realise.

You stare at him, feeling a slight tingle run through you as you gazed at him. You could see your own reflection on the mirror from your peripheral as Ten leaned on the wall beside it, his eyes transfixed on you.

“How is it that we’ve never ran in the same circles?” He asks, cocking his head.

Is he finally taking the bait?

You smile at his words, crossing your arms on purpose this time. “What do you mean?”

He falters slightly and you know it’s to fight the urge to lower his gaze from your face. He clears his throat, saying slowly, “I mean, we're both...”

“Hoes?” You offer, raising an eyebrow.

Ten blinks, surprised at your word choice. “I was going to say ‘the same’ but uh, sure, I guess that applies too.”

You chuckle, leaning your hip against the sink as you grin at him. “It’s cause we run in different circles that rarely interact with each other and the ones that do are comparatively lesser.”

Ten frowned at that, throwing your earlier question back at you. “What do you mean?”

“You fuck more guys and I fuck more girls.”

Ten’s eyes shot open, a light brush creeping up his cheeks at your bluntness and making you smirk slightly.

You think for a second, remembering all the times you’d spent with girls who were switches or leaned more towards dom. “You’ve slept with Amber, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “Taeyong?”

You nod. “Hwasa?”

“Of course. Mark?”

“Duh. Dahyun?”

“Obviously.”

You smile, glancing at the mirror as you tuck your hair behind your ear. “All right, then. I’ll shower now.”

You start to close the door but his hand is quick to grab your arm, stopping you effectively. You lift your head quickly to meet his gaze, able to smell the paint that was lingering on his clothes and unable to think with the need to just kiss him.

But you had to think, you had to control. He’d toyed with you enough so it’s only fair that you return the favour.

He raised an eyebrow at you in disbelief, unable to say the words that he’s thinking.

“You’re…” He pauses before hesitantly asking, “That’s it? You’re just going to shower?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, playing genuinely confused. “... Yeah? I asked all that cause I was curious and I never knew you were such a power bottom. So are both Mark and Taeyong so I’m guessing that didn’t work well for you. Unlike the girls you slept with, who are all switches.”

He nods, his fingers still wrapped around your forearm. “I know. But they never... they never...”

He trails off and your eyes widen as you realise what he’s trying to say. “Whoa. What? Really?”

“What’s that expression supposed to mean?” Ten demands, narrowing his eyes at you. “You dommed Mark and Taeyong?”

“No,” you scowled before reluctantly explaining, “I mean I did. But not as much as I wanted to. They chickened out in the last second and we just fucked in missionary.”

Ten hesitates, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip nervously. “How... how much do you want to?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, you feel your heart skip a beat, a sense of excitement suddenly rushing through your blood. Your eyes are transfixed on his lips, now glistening with his saliva and you can’t help but imagine them parted wide open, gasping and moaning.

“Why?” You ask, your voice husky with arousal as you lower your lashes at him. “How far do you want me to go?”

“How far can you go?”

You raise your eyebrow challengingly. “Farther than Dahyun or the others would ever dare going.”

He grabs your waist then and your hands are already on his shoulders, slamming him back onto the door.

Your mouths meet heatedly and he moans as you press your body completely up against him.

Ten’s hands are gripping your hips tightly as you trail your one hand down his chest, between the two of you. Your hand passes over the waistband of his sweatpants and you palm his growing erection roughly. Ten gasps aloud and the sound is music to your ears as you take the opportunity to slip your tongue inside his parted lips.

Your fingers grip his length over the soft material of his pants and he’s twitching even with the minimal contact. Ten’s hand grabs your neck and pulls you away enough to breathe heavily, “Bedroom.”

“Yes, let’s go,” you mutter hurriedly and you grab his hand, pulling him in the direction of what you assumed to be the bedroom—the only other room in the small apartment.

You sit on the edge of the bed and yank him to you, loving the way a soft gasp leaves his mouth as he almost stumbles into your lap. Hesitantly he sits on your thighs and you shake your head, noticing that he still had his sweatpants on.

“Take the clothes off, sweetheart,” you say sweetly but with enough firmness to immediately make him get off your lap and peel his shirt off. You lean back with your hands on the bed to support you as you stare at him, watching him as he stripped.

You stand up when he’s bare in front of you, taking his hand and pushing him onto the bed before crawling on top of him.

Ten sits on the edge of the bed with you on his lap and you place your knees on either side of his thighs. You grab the hair on the back of his head, gripping the locks tightly in your fingers to yank his head back roughly and quickly move your mouth around his slender throat.

It doesn’t take long to find the sweet spot that has him moaning, his chest jerking up with his gasps at your relentless lips. You lick a stripe from his ear to his clavicle, sucking on the soft flesh where his shoulder and neck meets.

Ten's whimpers are the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard, his fingers having bunched up the satin sheet around you as he grips it tightly. The material gives away easily and next thing you know, cool air is hitting your skin as the satin is now fisted in his grip. Your legs are splayed over his, feeling his warm skin against yours as you kiss around his neck. You lower your mouth to his clavicle, sucking on the skin enough to leave bruises that you’re sure will darken by tomorrow as you mark him. Ten’s head is thrown back in pleasure as you leave hickeys all over his throat and you use the distraction to slowly roll your hips, rubbing your core over his growing erection. Ten gasps at the sudden sensation and you smirk against his skin, pulling him back hurriedly by his shoulders.

“Y/N,” his voice is a shaky whisper as they leave his lips and you hum in response, kissing him again deeply in a way that let him know you were going to absolutely devour him. Your hands find his hair again and you hold him firmly to you, moving your lips against his and letting your tongue explore the warmth of his mouth in a way that left him dazed and breathless when you finally pulled away.

You settled on his knees, leaving enough space between your bodies for your hands to quickly reach down and wrap your fingers around his length. Ten is deliciously responsive—bucking into your touch, hands reflexively reaching out to grip the sheets behind him tightly and moaning softly.

You’re certain that he can see how lust-crazed you are with the way he looks underneath you, his eyes all big and pleading as he waits patiently for you to move your hand, to go faster, to do anything.

So you do.

You’re gentle at first, barely doing much as you swipe your thumb over the pink head. You take your time, admiring the smoothness and length of his dick, swallowing the urge to just take him into your mouth already as you move the pads of your fingers lightly over his length and stroke him leisurely. You watch his face as you do so, loving how Ten’s eyes dilate with the frustration or pleasure or both, you weren’t sure. As his breaths quicken, you remove your hand and smirk while lazily using just your finger to stroke up and down, loving the way he was twitching even with just a single digit on him.

His whines grow louder and you finally give in, wrapping your hand fully around him, suddenly moving it up and down so quickly that it had him breathing harder as your pace suddenly transitioned. Ten’s hands gently came up to hold your hips and he raised his torso from the bed to lean his head into your neck, warm heavy breaths hitting your skin. He whimpered as you lowered your other hand to his balls, fondling them while stroking his erection. His chest started heaving and you could tell he was close from the soft “ah’s” that were leaving his lips, almost in a way that made you think he didn't know he was making them. His eyes were closed tightly, head now leaned back and fingers clenching the sheets so hard that his knuckles were white and you can’t recall when he took his hands away from your waist and pulled his head back from your neck.

You watched him carefully, feeling yourself grow wetter as he came closer to his high and right when he twitched in your hand and his chest jerked up, his entire skin flushing as he panted, you immediately stopped and pulled your hand away completely, disengaging contact.

Ten’s eyes shoot open and you have to bite back a smile at the way he looks utterly breathless and crestfallen at the stolen orgasm.

You take a breath as you crawl over his body, pushing him back by his shoulders and resuming the kisses on his throat and neck. You let your hand tease up his stomach and chest, feeling the way his slender body shivers beneath your fingers at even the slightest feather-touch as you mutter lowly into his ear, “Where are your toys?”

“Bedside drawer,” he whispers breathily and you pull your mouth away from the reddening skin of his neck as you move across the bed to the small wooden drawers.

You grab the strap-on that you found and the bottle of flavoured-lube next to it, closing the drawers shut as you keep them on the bed. Your eyes fall on the beige satin lying at the foot of the bed where it had slipped from Ten’s fingers and you reach across the bed for the material.

Ten watches you with his chest still heaving slightly as he tries to steady his irregular breathing and you grab his wrists, pulling them above his head and binding them together with the same satin that had been around you only an hour earlier.

You adjust on his lap so that your slit is perfectly aligned with his dripping member, enjoying the way he breathed harder as he felt your heat. You moved your hips in torturously slow circles over his length, sliding it up and down as you watched it glisten beneath you with both your fluids while you busied your hands by rubbing the lube in between them and over the strap-on.

“Fuck,” Ten moans aloud and you almost moan in response at how glorious he sounds—his angelic voice cursing, all soft and desperate for you.

You slid down his body and Ten hissed as your hands that were now cool because of the lube made contact with his cock. The head was flushed an angry red and you almost felt sorry at how sensitive he was already despite not even having gone as hard as you usually do.

Ten’s hands are fisted tightly, fingernails digging into his palms as you support yourself above him with both your hands on his shoulders while you kept rotating your hips over him. His eyes close as you grinded slightly against the tip, spreading your thighs and pushing a bit harder so that the head of his erection would slip inside your slick walls just the briefest fraction before you moved again.

Ten whispers curses again and you finally lower your hand again to wrap your fingers around him.

“Ah!” Ten groans as he bucks reflexively into your hand and you don’t give him a second as you start moving your hand over his length at an almost merciless speed, stroking him quickly and roughly. Ten’s eyes blow wide open at your sudden intense stimulations and lower your other hand down further, feeling his pink hole.

The lube in your fingers helps you to easily stick your finger inside and you feel your own arousal grow as he clenches tightly around your single digit while your hand still strokes him to another orgasm. Hearing his breaths grow quicker as he nears his high, you gradually decrease the speed of your hand while still fucking him open with two fingers now.

Ten is mewling and whining on the sheets now, arms slightly squirming to touch himself for relief when you denied him yet another orgasm. His thighs move under you and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Keep moving and I’ll never let you cum,” you warn and he immediately stills at your words, his entire body going still beneath you. You smile slightly in approval at his compliance and lean down to pepper his chest with kisses.

Ten’s breath echoes softly around his cosy bedroom as your mouth finds his nipple, your tongue darting out to circle the nub in quick motions timed with the pace of your one hand moving on his member and the other fucking him open. You look up to see Ten’s eyes roll back in his head at the overstimulation, back arching off the mattress and you immediately stop your ministrations on his cock, sitting up properly to not miss the reaction.

And its priceless.

Ten’s face is redder than you’d ever seen it, a delicious blush spreading over his entire cheeks, neck and down to his chest and you notice how his eyes are slightly teary and unfocused.

You lower your face to his then, pressing a reassuring kiss to his parted lips as you remove your fingers from inside his ready hole.

“Get on top of me, baby,” you mutter as you pull away and Ten nods, disoriented and dazed.

You fall to his side on the bed, grabbing the strap on and putting it around you as you rub the lube, spreading it over the surface of the cock. The thought that Ten probably fucked himself on this after a night that was less that pleasurable and satisfactory with a girl who didn’t want to fuck him the way he wanted to enticed you immeasurably.

Ten’s hands are shaky as he throws his leg over your body lying back on his bed, knees pressed against your sides. Slowly, he lowers himself down on the length of the dildo, eyes closing and lips parting with a loud moan that he couldn’t suppress as he feels it fill him up.

He opens his eyes, gaze shifting to your face and you watch the surprise that falls across his delicate features as you cross your arms behind your head, not touching him.

Understanding that you wanted him to fuck himself on top of you, Ten leaned back and you felt his hands on your lower legs as he used it to support himself up while he starting moving up and down.

Arching his back, you watched the dancer’s slender and beautiful body manifest into the most breathtaking art that you’d ever seen, more beautiful than any marble sculpture as he bounced and fucked himself on you, mouth open as he sang the most sweet-sounding curses and mewls while his angry-red cock slapped against your stomach with every bounce, dripping pre-cum onto your skin.

You raised your hand to his face then, shoving two of your fingers into his parted lips and he immediately closed his lips around your digits, choking slightly. Your own eyes grew hazy with lust as Ten fucked himself faster, thoroughly wetting your fingers with his tongue as he moaned around them while moving faster.

His grunts grew louder and hoarser—you could tell he was close so you grabbed his hip with your free hand and raised your own hips, bucking up into him. Removing your fingers from his mouth, you lowered them dripping with his saliva to his chest and tweaked his nipples that you’d kisses sensitive earlier.

Ten’s body jerks and he groans loudly as his dick twitches, shooting spurts of thick heavy cum over the length of your torso. He keeps cumming continuously, covering your belly, the valley of your breasts and even shoots all the way to your hair with his sticky white fluids.

You drag your finger over your stomach, collecting the cum and stick your finger in your mouth, humming with pleasure at the taste of Ten’s slightly salty essence mixed with his saliva from when you’d been choking him earlier.

Ten collapses down onto your body heavily, unable to hold himself up anymore and you smile as you wrap an arm around his back.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you start, unable to keep the smugness from your tone, “but did I just ruin sex with a girl for you?”

“Yes,” Ten replied, leaning up to kiss your lips and you smile in surprise at the sudden tenderness in the gesture.

He smiles tiredly, eyes still unfocused as he says, “Yes, you did.”

“We should change our concept, by the way,” you suggested. Ten blinks in confusion and you explain, “For the project. The way you looked on top of me with your back arched like that was pretty fucking divine.”

Ten let out a short laugh. “I don’t know, Y/N, a photograph of being pegged might raise some eyebrows since the concept for the project is Biblical.”

“I repeat: divine.”

[lu-undy]

💞. Spy feels bad, and feeling bad makes him angry, so yeah, he's angry. He's angry at himself because Scout's birthday is gonna be and Spy still hasn't told him he is Scout's father. Spy wants to tell him, needs to tell him. Sniper notices Spy's strange behavior and knows something's up, so he helps.

Alright, as Bagen would say “hopefully, this has been worth the wait”...!

It had been three days now. Three days that the man in the suit had locked himself up in his room and hadn't joined his colleagues for anything. Lunch, dinner, evenings… 

Sniper found it odd and his teammates had asked him about it. 

"D'you know if everythin' is alright with Spah?" 

Engie had taken the Aussie on the side and asked him with a low voice. 

"I… I don't know."

"You had a fight?"

"Nah… I don't know why he'd want to lock himself up."

"Don't you wanna go and check on him?" 

"I… I do, yeah. I miss him." 

Engie smiled sweetly.

"Why don't you go and see'im?"

"I uh, I don't know, maybe he wants to stay alone or somethin'."

Sniper lowered his head.

"Have you tried goin'?" 

"Nah."

"If I were you, I'd give it a try. Worst case scenario, he refuses to see ya."

Sniper raised his eyes and Engineer realised how distraught his friend actually was.

"Oh… You really don't want that, do ya?"

The Aussie shook his head. 

"I'm sure he won't do it. If you've been missin' him that much, surely he must have too."

"I don't know… Hope so but… It's really hard to know what he thinks." 

"Yeah, I mean, it's Spah we're talkin' about so obviously he's a bit of a mystery but I'm sure he'll appreciate it. Maybe he's waitin' for it, who knows?"

"You think so?"

"Yeah, pardner. Go ahead! Better be settled than have a doubt!"

Sniper put his hat back on his head. 

"Roight… I'll give it a shot." 

The tall man headed for the rooms. He walked to the one with the knife symbol on it and knocked. 

"Go away." 

"Uh, Spook, it's me…" 

The Australian heard some muffled noises. Spy was moving in his room, but would he open his door…? 

Silence fell and nothing happened. 

"S-spook?"

"Come in." 

Sniper put a hand on the handle and pushed the door. He quickly slipped in and shut it after him. 

"Sorry to bother you, I really don't mean to disturb or anythin'."

"I know." A voice answered sharply from the sofa. 

Sniper got closer and realised that his lover was sitting, his knees folded on himself and his arms wrapped around himself. 

"I uh… I was worried for you. I'm guessin' something is wrong but I don't know what." The Aussie said, sitting next to his lover and removing the hat off his head. 

Spy sighed.

"Non, you don't know. No one does. It's my problem." 

Sniper put a hand behind his neck and lowered his head. 

"Can I help with it? Whatever it is?" He asked. 

"Unless you can rewind time, non." 

There was a moment of silence before the Australian gathered his courage and answered. 

"For you, I will." 

Spy had been staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace but when the words hit him, he turned to face Sniper. The Aussie looked dead serious. 

"Don't say nonsense." The Frenchman answered. 

"I'm not."

"Ha, well pray show me how you will do it, I am curious." 

Sniper turned to look his lover in the eye. Seldom had Spy seen him that grave. 

"First you tell me what's the matter."

"It will be Scout's birthday in a few days."

Sniper's eyes snapped wide. 

"I want to tell him the truth and find a gift. But of course, I wouldn't be locked up here if I hadn't conceived him such a long time ago."

"That's why you want to rewind time?" Sniper finished and Spy nodded. "Nah, it doesn't add up."

"What?"

"You don't want to rewind time. You want to tell him the truth and behave like a proper father. You finally understood that it's not for you to decide if he'll love you back or not. It's his decision." 

Spy had listened through silently and when Sniper finished, he lowered his head again. His face was as red as it could get and he felt both ashamed and relieved. Sniper was the only one who could read him to such an intimate level. He could understand him so well… 

"Sniper?"

"Yeah?"

"What took you so long?" 

Spy threw himself at his lover and hugged him dearly. 

"Oh… Y-you wanted me to come and see you?"

The Australian asked and felt his lover nod on his shoulder. 

"Y'know, you could have come to me, you could have come to my van or anywhere where you could find me and asked."

Of course Sniper knew that his lover didn't work that way. No, he was way too prude to publicly ask for help and even if he had come out of his room and found Sniper alone, he would never had shown any sign of vulnerability. He couldn't, it was way too risky. What if one of his colleagues just saw him? Non. It was Spy's curse: the man was too proud to let it be known that he needed help. 

Sniper wrapped his arms around his lover and leant back on the sofa. He brushed Spy's back, slowly, to comfort him wordlessly. Spy put his head on the Aussie's chest, below his chin, and he could hear his heartbeat there. Sniper was so calm, so peaceful.

Spy took a deep breath and let it all go. 

"Mon amour?" 

[My love?]

"Yeah?"

"Je t'aime."

[I love you.]

Sniper smiled and kissed his lover's head, on the mask. 

"I love you too. But y'know I didn't come earlier because I thought you wanted to stay alone. I thought that if you needed me, even to just stay there and do nothing, you would have asked…" 

"I… I couldn't." 

"I know now. But please Spook, I don't want to harm you in any way, y'know that roight?" 

Spy nodded against his lover's chest. 

"So you know that you can tell me anythin'. I'm not gonna trick you or anything. I… I just love you normally. That means I'm ready to help you do whatever you want! D'you understand?" 

Again the Frenchman nodded. The Australian knew he was saying nothing but the obvious. However, for his secretive and mysterious lover, nothing was obvious… Spy raised his head and Sniper looked down. The ice drop-like eyes were shining beautifully and the Australian realised how dishevelled his lover was. He hadn't shaved for the past days and a lock of grey hair was sticking out of his mask. 

"Come'ere." 

Sniper pulled his lover and Spy straddled his thighs. They hugged much better that way, but soon the Frenchman broke the hug and put his forehead on his lover's. He closed his eyes. 

The Australian took advantage of his lover visibly calming down to have his way with him. His fingers went to Spy's tie and undid it. He pulled it and it slid against his collar before landing on the sofa. He then opened the two first buttons of Spy's shirt and put his fingers at the edge of his mask. He pulled it up and the Frenchman let him do until the balaclava was out of the way. 

"There, that's much better…"

Sniper brushed his lover's hair back with his fingers, slowly, almost in a massaging way and Spy bent his head back under the touch, his eyes still closed. 

"There you go, sweetheart…" 

Spy felt his insides melt and his eyebrows arched up.

"Spook?" 

He opened his eyes and felt Sniper's rough hands on his cheeks. It must have stung quite badly as he was starting to grow a stubble there. 

"I don't love you just in bed. I love you all the time, ok?"

Spy silently nodded. He felt privileged and ashamed. Sniper had to be the most gentle and sweetest man he had ever met. Yes he was a paid killer, but the love he could give was like none other.

"I…" Spy finally tried to say something back. Sniper had comforted him well enough that he managed to gather the strength he needed to speak. "Thank you and I am sorry to be so incompetent." 

"Hey, no, you're not incompetent, that doesn't work. You'd be incompetent if you were a bad spook but you're the best, ok?" 

Spy faintly smiled and nodded, his head still between the Aussie's hands. Sniper was brushing his cheeks with his thumbs. 

"I know it's hard for you to just be brutally honest about what you feel but look around you…" Spy let his eyes roam through the room. "It's just you and me." 

"Oui but I didn't want to add my problems to you." 

"You're not addin' anything. That's why I'm here for, to be the functioning brain when yer heart overtakes you. Also, you said it yerself, you needed me and I couldn't guess. So please, next time you do, tell me, in any way possible. Don't let me worry for you and miss you like that, alroight?"

Spy bent forward and put his lips on Sniper's. That's all he needed. Someone to wrap their arms around him strongly, pulling back all the scattered pieces of him and mending him back. And Sniper did exactly that. He pulled the Frenchman from his back to be as close to him as possible while he felt his distraught lover had laced his arms around his neck. 

Sniper let his lover lead. He had needed the kiss, so let him decide how it should go. And it lasted for a long time before he broke it. 

"Feelin' better?"

"Oui, thanks to you. You…"

Spy stared in Sniper's eyes but didn't find the words. He put his lips on his lover's again and again. Each of his kisses meant 'thanks' and of course Sniper understood it very well. The rest was whispered, between two kisses, shyly, as if Spy was trying to drown the words. 

"Je t'aime… Je t'aime… Comme un fou…"

[I love you… I love you… Like a madman…]

"Me too, luv'... And I've missed you so much."

Spy finally managed to smile and he hugged Sniper again, resting his chin on his lover's shoulder, right next to his head. 

"I'll help you find something for Scout, alroight? We'll find somethin' nice for him and you'll be the best dad ever, ok?"

Spy's smile widened. 

"To be honest, you are a much better one." 

Sniper blushed and his eyes snapped wide. 

"N-nah, but I don't have kids, they're not really my thing, I mean…"

"You lie so poorly… I love that in you. That, and the rest." Spy answered, whispering directly in his ear.

They spent their evening and night together. And as if life had stolen the past three days that they could have shared together, they found that they couldn't possibly leave each other's arms. It was ridiculous. Two fully grown men, at their age, with the lines on their faces and some grey in Spy's hair… 

Ah but maybe that's why it had to be so visceral, so strong. At their age, they knew only too well what solitude meant and they didn't want it anymore. 

A few days later, Spy found Scout alone in the kitchen. It was his turn for the dishes. 

"May I help?" 

"Oh, uh, sure…?" The young man was hesitant and didn't trust his colleague in a suit. He knew he was sly and malicious, often with ill intent towards him. So he kept his guards up. 

Spy removed his gloves, removed his jacket and undid his cuffs. He rolled his sleeves up and while Scout washed, he rinsed. 

"I am told today is rather special to you, non?" 

"Y-yeah, kinda. How d'you know?" The Bostonian asked, and when he raised his head to meet his colleague's eyes, he found that Spy was smiling. 

"The hell is wrong with you?"

"Quoi?"

[What?]

"You're smiling, but you look weird. Spy, listen if you had any plans to trick me or prank me or-"

"Why must you think this way?"

"Because I know you, you're nothing but problems! And I can see it on your face, you've got somethin' in mind!"

"I just wanted to-"

"Help me with the dishes? Nah, I know you're gonna ask me for somethin' in exchange. So tell me right now!"

Scout brandished a dirty kitchen knife at the taller man who sighed. 

"If I wanted to trick you, you would have already fallen for it by now."

Scout looked furious but he knew that Spy was right. 

"However, there is some truth in what you say. I have a favour to ask you."

"I knew it!"

"Please let me finish before you try to spread some dirt on my suit." 

Scout watched as Spy wiped his hands and went to his jacket. He retrieved a small package and held it out for the young man.

"Happy birthday, Scout." 

The Bostonian put the knife down as his jaw dropped. 

"It's… for me?" 

Spy nodded. 

"I hope you will appreciate it."

The young man wiped his hands and took it. It was wrapped in a glossy paper with a nice ribbon around it. He undid it all and-

"You offered me a framed picture, is that it?"

"Look at it." 

"Pfff…" 

Scout sighed. For an instant he had hoped that Spy would be nice and offer him something he would like.

"Oh, wait… It's… It's my Ma' and Pa', with… Is that me, the baby there?" 

"Oui. I remember that you mother had refused to take a picture so soon. This was the day after you arrived in this world. She had insisted that she didn't look good enough to set that moment into stone. But I argued that it was nonsense and that she always looked magnificent."

Spy chuckled. 

"Before she could argue more, I asked a nurse to take a picture and here it is today, almost thirty years later. It passed from the hands of that man…" Spy pointed at himself on the picture. "To that beautiful baby, who isn't one anymore." 

Scout's eyes darted left and right nervously. He was shaking from his ankles, his wobbling knees, to his hands and the fingers holding the framed picture. 

"Happy birthday, son." 

The young man raised his eyes to the man that he couldn't believe was his father. Spy was smiling.

"Sc-oof!"

And that was the day that Spy learnt how hard Scout could hug him. Thirty odd years too late. The old man reciprocated the hug.

"There is someone you ought to thank, Jérémy." 

"Who? What d'you mean?" 

"Without his help, I would have never found the strength."

"You mean Snipes, right?" 

At least he inherited something from his father. The way he could read people. 

Spy didn't even have to nod. The blush on his cheeks was more than an answer.

[wulfrann]

AFTG Check, Please! AU

Ok so I had this idea a week ago because I’d read something about Andrew getting into baking to satisfy his sweet tooth cravings, and now I can’t think of anything else. So here we go.

(PS: If you don’t know anything about the incredible webcomic that is OMG Check, Please!, do yourself a favor and go read it.)

(PPS: No one is one character, I just took what I wanted for x character and left the rest aside.)

_

The Foxes are the same as in the books except they play hockey and live in a frat house.

(NB: Hockey is a mixed sport in this AU thank you very much)

(NB: I don’t know how many people there are in a hockey team and frankly I don’t care. I’m here to have fun, not to be accurate.)

_

The hockey team has a frat house instead of a tower, and it’s called The Haus. The few larger bedrooms are shared, the smaller ones are not.

Andrew and Aaron share the attic. They have a mini-fridge for Andrew’s ice-cream and booze, even though there’s already a huge fridge in the kitchen. Andrew likes to climb out the window to smoke on the roof.

Renee and Allison also share a room, and so do Matt & Seth. (Matt does spend a fair share of his nights in Dan’s room, though. The both of them have the most “relationship fines” out of the whole team.)

Kevin technically shares his room with Nicky even though it’s small, except Nicky actually really lives off-campus with his boyfriend Erik. (I lied. They’re the ones who have the most fines. The amount of pet names they can use in just daily conversations is disgusting.)

Neil… sleeps in the basement. Officially he has a dorm room, but he’s never even set a foot near the dorms.

Is he even enrolled? Yes. Where does he hide his bed during the day? He sleeps on a camping mattress. What about his dorm room?? John, his never-roommate, was disappointed until he realised that it meant he could have parties whenever he wanted.

_

Kevin hasn’t been that comfortable with contact during matches since he left the Ravens.

When Neil joins and he starts training him at the crack of dawn, Neil makes a deal with him: he’ll follow Kevin’s instructions without complaining if Kevin accepts to practice checking with him.

_

Andrew has a baking channel on youtube. He got into baking a long time ago and kept watching baking videos while thinking he could do better, so one day he just. started his own channel.

He always looks bored in his videos and never takes Q&As seriously. No one’s ever really sure if he’s actually joking.

(“What got you into baking?” “I wanted to be taller and thought eating yeast and egg whites would speed up my growth. So far the results are mixed.”)

He’s not big or anything, but the fans he does have love him. His videos are always well-made and well-framed and the recipe’s clear, and there’s always something in the background of his videos - be it a knife that’s obviously not made for cooking just sitting there, or a passed-out Kevin still holding onto the bottle of vodka from last night.

(There’s a fair share of his fans that are just here to pick up on those odd details and ponder theories about who he really is. The leading hypothesis thus far is that Andrew’s lying about the hockey team and is actually in some kind of cult.)

He rarely talks about hockey or his life in general, except to roast or complain about something or someone, mainly Kevin. His twitter however is full vague posts about his life, but never clear enough that anyone who doesn’t actually know him can figure out what exactly he’s talking about. If Andrew’s bored, and at any moment of the day chances are that he is, then you can be sure he’s typing away on his phone somewhere, complaining about campus coffee or how exactly stupid his teammates are.

No one on the team except Renee knows his twitter handle. This of course doesn’t prevent Andrew from vaguing about her, which she takes in stride.

(No one on the team knowns Renee has a twitter. They’re all convinced she’s, like, anti-social media apps for some reason. They’re not exactly wrong, because Renee does avoid getting involved in any of the unnecessary drama those apps stir, but she likes to watch when she feels like indulging in some form of mindless entertainment.)

_

Neil used to figure skate in the Raven’s junior club when he was a kid, and he still loves it to death. He turned to hockey after Mary’s death though because he needed some way to be on the ice to cope, and was surprised to find out that he likes it. A lot. There’s something about being part of a team that - well. Anyway, it wasn’t supposed to last. He planned to leave at the end of the year - that is, until he got recruited by Wymack and none other than Kevin day, who was in the Ravens’ hockey junior team, and, well. Off to Palmetto he went.

He doesn’t get Andrew at first (doesn’t even want to after Columbia), but one night he stumbles upon Andrew filming himself as he bakes some kind of pie in the Haus’ kitchen. They both agree not to say anything, since Neil’s not even supposed to be in the Haus at this hour, but it doesn’t take long for Neil to find Andrew’s channel on one of the Library’s computers the day after that.

It confuses him more than anything, to be honest, but it also makes Andrew appear more, well, human, and Neil’s curiosity gets the better of him.

He starts looking for Andrew whenever he disappears and usually finds him filming himself making some kind of pastry or another. It gets to the point where Andrew’s just used to having him here while he films, and decides that he might as well help while he’s here.

So Neil starts popping up in Andrew’s video. Oh, it’s nothing at first, just a hand here and there, entering the frame just long enough to pass something to Andrew. But then he starts making comments that Andrew doesn’t edit out and even responds to, sometimes.

(“Isn’t that a little too much chocolate? I thought Kevin wanted you to eat healthier.” “If Kevin wants to eat nothing but grass, that’s his problem. I like real food.” “By which you mean sweets. Are you sure you don’t have a sugar addiction?” “Are you sure you don’t have a death wish?”)

The only other people who know about Andrew’s channel are Aaron, Renee and Bee. Andrew and Bee frequently exchange tips and recipes, and she always leaves some kind of encouraging comment on his videos.

_

Neil practices figure skating on the court sometimes when no one’s around. Andrew finds out about it eventually. (He watches from the rafters, because someone’s got to keep an eye on this suicidal idiot somehow, and Neil pretends to ignore him.)

(And if one day Neil’s feeling so on edge that he asks Andrew to skate with him just to make sure that this is real, that he’s not back in Evermore with the Ravens, skating through Winter break with as many cuts and bruises as he has hairs, that he’s safe - and if Andrew says nothing but gets his skates anyway, so Neil can hear someone else’s blades cutting the ice, can hold onto Andrew’s shirt to remember that he won’t run - well. No one has to know.)

_

When Neil gets a phone, the Foxes make it their duty to create a profile for him on every social media platform imaginable. Eventually he gets a twitter account, and Renee messages him Andrew’s handle.

Neil starts scrolling through Andrew’s profile distractedly until he realises that a lot of his posts are about him, and he immediately starts responding.

Andrew, of course, cannot leave well enough alone, and the whole thing escalates to the point where Andrew’s followers start calling it a Feud, then a War, and post summaries of the day’s battles for those who couldn’t follow in real time.

(It’s flirting. They’d deny it to their graves but it’s flirting.)

_

Everyone has a nickname except Andrew, because he’s lame.

Allison’s is Allie. 

Dan’s just Wilds, because it’s already cool enough. 

Seth’s is Gorder. 

Nicky’s is Mickie. 

Renee’s is Walker, because same as Dan. 

Aaron’s is Ronnie, and he hates it (Nicky came up with it). 

Matt’s is Boydster. 

Kevin’s is Daisy. 

Neil’s is Joster, then Jester after the interview with Kathy Ferdinand. 

(I know those don’t do justice to Check Please so if you have better ideas please tell me.)

_

Bonus facts:

Matt and Nicky do Ransom & Holster’s “Hockey Shit” thing at Neil every time Neil asks a question.

Kevin has the best Hockey Butt, no questions asked.

Allison has the best Flow, no questions asked.

When they make the playoffs they stop shaving/getting haircuts, because that’s the Rule. Dan throws hers and Allison’s epilators in the trash as soon as they get the news. Matt’s beard is crowned Most Magnificent by the end. The twins get, like, five and a half hairs on their chins. Neil ties his hair back because it keeps falling in his face. Nicky grows a beard which he either loves or hates depending on the day. 

[marinaaniseed]

Australia

Song: Australia from the album Everything must go by Manic Street Preachers

Summary: After Civil War, Team Cap is on the run in Australia. Wanda has a suggestion for how Sam can burn off some excess energy.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Sam Wilson (Does this pairing have a name? Is it Scarlet Falcon?)

Length: 1,438 words

A/N: More smut that nobody asked for. See here for what this is all about.

***

They’re hiding out in the middle of nowhere in Australia. Nat’s hair, bleached in the bathtub is bleaching even more in the unrelenting sun. Steve’s beard is getting so itchy he almost shaves it off. Wanda has taken to wandering, exploring the flora and fauna of their temporary home, fascinated by how different it is to the country she grew up in.

And Sam?

Sam is not coping well. It’s not the heat, he’d had his fair share of that in Afghanistan. It’s not being away from home or the cramped living quarters or the goddamn mosquitoes. It’s the circumstances.

He signed up to serve, did his tours. He did not sign up to be on the run. He wants to help people, be it veterans or on a larger scale, but he just can’t do that. They do little missions here and there, on the down-low, but it’s not the same. It’s just frustrating. He feels impotent. He’s being punished for standing up for what he believes in. And apparently, his punishment, for the time being, is to hang around in a country where half the animals want to kill him. Ok, maybe not half, and maybe they don’t want to kill him, but enough of them can, damnit. Can’t cool down in the sea because of jellyfish, can’t cool down in a river because of crocodiles.

It’s an absolute nightmare.

Steve and Nat have gone into the nearest town to stock up on supplies. Sam tries to nap in the relative cool on the quinjet, with little success turning every way he can until he’s tangled in his bedding.

“Are you alright?” Wanda asks him from across the cabin.

“I feel like I’m stagnating. I don't know if I'm tired and I don't know if I'm ill,” he explains, trying to free himself from the tangle.

“You’re bored.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re not being stimulated.”

He knows what Wanda’s saying but there’s a small part of his brain that wonders what it would be like to be stimulated by Wanda. God, he hopes she doesn’t hear that thought. Is that how it works? Does she hear what other people think or does she have to choose to read their thoughts? Doesn’t matter.

“There’s nothing to do here,” he remarks.

“It’s better than prison.”

She’s not wrong there. Being on The Raft absolutely sucked. This is only marginally better, however.

“I want to fly and run till it hurts,” he admits. “It’s just too damn hot to do it though.”

“That’s why you can’t sleep,” Wanda announces. “Too much pent-up energy, you need to burn some off. Perhaps I can help?”

Sam’s not one to be short of words, but this has him stumped. Is she suggesting what he thinks she is? Maybe she did hear his thoughts? He tries to say something, to start even the briefest of sentences, but nothing comes out. Wanda sinks to her knees beside his bunk.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asks, amused by Sam’s uncharacteristic lack of words.

“N-no. I just thought you were an android-only kinda gal.”

“Vision understands that I sometimes desire the feel of skin against my own,” she smiles. “You have nothing to fear from him on that account.”

“Ok, that’s good. He’s tried to blast me once, I don’t want to make it a second time.”

Sam’s still a bit nervous but he can feel himself burning up with desire, it’s not just the Australian sun that’s making him sweat. He’s never really looked at Wanda this way before, she’s always been off-limits. Sure, Sam knew she was attractive, but it’s like the kaleidoscope of life has twisted and he’s finally seeing her properly.

Wanda leans her face down to his and licks his lips, small, insistent strokes until he begins to kiss her back. He pulls at the straps of her tank top, trying to bring her closer. Breaking the kiss, she climbs on top of Sam, straddling his toned stomach.

He shoves a hand between her legs, under the a-line skirt that drapes across his bare skin. She doesn’t stop him, so she strokes up her inner thigh, feeling her tremble above him, as his fingers creep up to her underwear. Lacy, with ruffles. Sam feels bad. They’re probably a present, either for Vision or from him. Certainly never intended for his eyes. Or hands.

Two fingers dip between her thighs, under the gusset. Goddamn. If outside the jet is dry, arid desert, then this is the oasis to quench his thirst. He moves a finger through her slickness before he begins stroking circles around her clit, varying the tempo and the pressure until he finds the right combination to make Wanda scream.

For once, Sam is glad they’re in the middle of nowhere. He always took Wanda to be a quiet, reserved woman. It’s a shock, but he’s glad he can get her to make those kinds of noises.

After her second orgasm, she slumps forward against him, her head resting against his shoulder. It’s been a while for her, the quinjet affording her little privacy, so it’s exhausting to have two such powerful releases.

“Are you alright?” Sam echoes her earlier question.

“Yes,” she says, snuggling into the crook of his neck. “Please don’t ask me to ride you though, I don’t think I can hold myself up.”

He smiles at that and he realises, this is the first time in ages that he’s actually smiling at something. A genuine smile, not the one he wears so that Steve doesn’t worry.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he reassures, maneuvering them both onto their sides. “Roll over,” he tells Wanda, and she does, facing away from him and the cabin. Sam shimmies down his briefs, freeing his stiff cock. He’d love a blowjob from Wanda, but honestly, he can’t believe his luck so far, so he’s not going to push. Slipping his hands back under her skirt, he tugs her knickers down.

Reaching under his bunk, he grabs his wash bag and rummages through until he finds a rubber. He’d love to go without, but adding a pregnant Wanda to their current concerns is a terrible idea. That, and Vision might actually kill him. He opens the black foil packet and rolls it down, before lifting up Wanda’s skirt and snuggling up behind her, his cock pressing into the soft swell of her arse.

“Is this alright?” he asks. It’s a similar question, but he wants to make sure this is what Wanda wants.

“Yes. Please, Sam, I need you inside me,” she sighs with need.

Sam doesn’t need to be asked again, he just gets Wanda to bend her knees a little so he can spoon her as he eases himself in.

Wanda shivers against him in anticipation, certainly not from cold, as he slowly begins to thrust into her. Sam wants her to enjoy this, wants to be gentle with her, so he presses gentle kisses against her shoulder as he continues his movements, one hand moving down to caress her thigh.

She sighs against him, melting under his touch. It’s an oddly intimate experience to have with your colleague, your friend. Sam knows he’s lucky to be able to share it with her.

Turning her head back, she gazes at him softly. “Place your hands on my shoulders,” she remarks.

Sam does as he’s told, and the difference is subtle, but enough to make Wanda grow steadily louder. He can control her body more, hold her in place to thrust into, increasing the intensity and the depth of his thrusts.

Even if her body wasn’t beginning to tremble and tighten around his, Sam would know he was hitting the right spot, pushing Wanda closer to the edge just by her increasing volume. Good God, was she loud. It’s almost painful and he starts praying for the wave to come now so that his ears aren’t damaged. Sure, he could spend in her right now, but he’s holding back, waiting for her to have her release before he’s done.

It’s mostly a scream, interspersed with some ‘shit’ and some ‘so good’, as well as words in a language Sam can only assume is Sokovian.

“Ahh! Ahh!” Sam manages to pant as she tightens around him. His rhythm is sloppy and he finishes a few thrusts after she finally stops screaming.

He stays spooned around her, not wanting to let go, and silently says a prayer that Steve and Nat aren’t back soon. If Wanda’s up for it, he certainly wouldn’t mind a round two, but he’ll improvise a gag first.

[walkineternity]

Day 8: Stab Wound

(Detroit: Become Human)

Connor had been living a lie.

 Three months ago, Cyberlife had cut production and research into the RK800 line. They claimed unavoidable complications in the prototype, and that it would be better to start from scratch.

 So, the RK800 was thrown out like week old trash. He couldn’t remember much of what happened before waking up into a living nightmare, but from what he could glean, the ‘complications’ that arose was the fact that he had kept deviating.

 He really, truly didn’t mean to, but it seemed no matter how many models they went through, and he was their final one at -42, they couldn’t seem to prevent such an occurrence. He supposes they wanted a model that was as close to human as possible, but without such pesky things as emotions or free will.

 Hence waking up in an android landfill, thirium leaking everywhere, hearing the creaks and moans and singing of other mostly dead androids.

 He had wanted to be angry at the injustice and cruelty of it all, but…it had taken an eternity to get out of there, and all he was left with was deep-rooted fear.

 Emotions were unpleasant, he decided. No wonder Cyberlife didn’t want them in their androids. It made everything…. messy and unpredictable.

 So, Connor escaped. He lived. He didn’t know what else to do.

 For weeks afterwards, he hid in abandoned buildings. Never talking to humans if he could help it. He had shed any Cyberlife markers (including his LED) and, using his undercover software, scavenged appropriately indistinct clothing.

 He also avoided other androids if he could. So far, none of them have recognised him as one of their own, but he didn’t want to take a chance. He knew that there were others like him out there. His purpose had been, after all, to find other deviants. But he couldn’t take any chances. So he avoided interface and avoided speaking to them and their humans.

 The only thing he had managed to connect with was a stray cat that was squatting in the same building he was. However, one day he had come back after trying to find scraps of food for the little thing, was that it had died. It had been in poor health already, and Connor should have known better. But. It had let him pet it and feed it and when he had cuddled the cat, trying to keep it warm, he could feel it’s purring right through his chest.

 Upon discovering the small little thing, cold and unmoving, he had cried for hours.

 The poor cat didn’t even have a name.

 He was the only one who would remember it, or even miss it.

 Amanda would have called him soft, said he was malfunctioning again. But Amanda was gone, along with the Zen Garden, and he had no one in the world at all.

 And then, one week ago, he had met Hank Anderson.

 By then, Connor was good at avoiding people and finding safe enough places to stay. He had even tentatively started talking to other squatters and homeless people. They had a wealth of knowledge and advice for him, and were the first friendly interactions he ever had. He never stayed in one spot too long, however. It was too dangerous. He got good at fake eating, and sharing what little he found, so that it simple looked like he was good enough at scavenging that he had extra food, and not that he hardly ate at all. And that he was generous enough to share what “extra” food he found. Still. He didn’t need to shave. He didn’t need to sleep. He faked as much as he could, but it was still safer for him to move around.

 This led to where he was currently staying. It was under a bridge with a small group of humans, one that was an older lady named Penelope. She was nice enough. Connor liked her best out of the small group, because she had a gravelly voice from smoking too much, and would call him “honey”, and would tell him stories about her life as a firefighter. Before the PTSD and the drinking became a problem. She had burns on her left hand and side of her face. She wasn’t self conscious about it, though. She didn’t seem ashamed of anything. Just told him stories and was nice enough not to ask any questions back. He was grateful. He wasn’t sure what he would have said.

 And then it was like the cat all over again, only worse. He had come back one night to find the alley under the bridge empty save for the cooling corpse of Penelope. He knew he should have run, then.

 But. Something was…. not right. If he had been human, he would have called it instincts. Instead, something in his programs was telling him that this wasn’t some heart attack, or accident.

 He bent closer, choking down tears and feelings, and started to analyse her body for clues.

 There was alcohol on her breath and broken bottle beside her, liquid seeping into the ground and her already stained clothes. He couldn’t see any wounds- wait! There were strangulation marks on her neck. Someone had strangled Penelope.

 “Police! Put your hands up!”

 And Connor felt panic, warnings flashing across his vision. But he was angry too. Maybe for the first time in months. For the first time since crawling out of that landfill, he felt anger encompass the ever-present fear.

 Someone murdered Penelope. And he was going to find out who.

 He stood up slowly and with his hands raised. He said in his Negotiator Voice, “It’s okay, officer. My name is Connor.” And here he was taking a risk, “I’m a private investigator.”

 The officer, or rather Lieutenant Hank Anderson as his facial recognition was telling him, looked at him disbelievingly. “We just got calls about a commotion under this bridge. And you wanna say someone hired you for this, already? Pull the other one, asshole.”

 Connor tilted his head. Fuck you, police man. He affected his most innocent tone, “Pull which other one?”

 The man stared at him for a second, then said, “Nevermind. What the fuck are you doing here, next to a body?” He gave him a once over. “And you sure as shit don’t look like an investigator to me.”

 “Well, I’m not a PI anymore. I was…” he glanced down at the broken liquor bottle. “I had some issues with sobriety.” And here he let some of his emotions bleed through. “And I’m here because I’ve been staying here, and Penelope was a friend, and someone murdered her.”

 Here the Lieutenant lowered his gun, slightly. Moved a bit closer. “What makes you so sure she was murdered? And if she was, why should I believe that it wasn’t you?”

 “Check the cameras located around the corner. You will see that I arrived here too late in order to have murdered her.” And here he slowly crouched down, pointing at her neck. “Look here. You will notice marks on her neck, made before her death. Quite possibly the cause of death. Someone strangled her. And it wasn’t me, detective.”

 He almost called him by his name, but Connor held back at the last second. Realised that it would be suspicious to know Hank Anderson’s name already. So, called him what would be the most likely guess that a human would make.

 “It’s Lieutenant, actually. Lieutenant Anderson,” he said, almost absentmindedly. He had drawn closer still, and Connor suddenly got a whiff of alcohol on his breath. Connor was quite used to being around people who drank, but when he looked, Anderson’s eyes seemed unusually clear for someone who had been drinking on the job. “Huh. You’re smarter than you look, kid. Those marks aren’t easy to spot.” And here he looked straight at him, with an expression that Connor couldn’t read. “Ok. What do you think happened here?”

 Connor almost rolled his eyes. Wanted to say that it wasn’t his job to solve this murder for him. But he still felt angry. He still wanted to help Penelope in any way he could. And he could recognise a test when he saw one. And so, he walked carefully around, scanning everything. Putting the clues together. Unfortunately, he couldn’t take any samples, for that would have given him away, but he had enough to go off of without it.

 “I think, Lieutenant, I know what happened here.”

 And he told him.

 Surprisingly, Hank Anderson seemed to believe him. Seemed to accept his help, however begrudgingly. Eventually called in forensics and everything else. Said that even though Connor couldn’t officially help, what with not having a license anymore, he said he was welcome to tag along. Well. Said he wouldn’t babysit, and that it wasn’t on him if he were to get hurt, but still. Didn’t turn him away. Listened to him. Treated him like a person.

 Well, as far as Anderson knew, he was. And a few days into the investigation, where they had surprising worked pretty well together, the Lieutenant had turned to him in perceived annoyance and said, “Oh, enough of that, kid. Just call me Hank. We’re there. We’ve reached that point.”

 This was after Connor had broke into his house and threw him into his own bathtub.

 And met the love of his life, a dog named Sumo.

 Sumo seemed to think the same thing, and Connor tried to find suitable excuses to come to Hank’s house and let him see the dog again.

 At one point, Hank said he had looked Connor up, but couldn’t seem to find anything, not even a last name.

 Connor, heart in his throat, said that it was because Connor hadn’t always been his name, and that he didn’t actually live anywhere at the moment, remember? He was living under the bridge like Penelope was.

 None of it wasn’t actually a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. But Hank, mess that he was, seemed to recognise the truth underlying his words, or what he had thought was the truth, and seemed to leaving it alone. Saying that it’s not like he was officially part of anything, so the paperwork already didn’t matter so much.

 Connor thought this was a cavalier take on the law, especially for a police lieutenant, but he was also the last person that could judge.

 Hank said his goofy looking face helped sell any creative paperwork. Plus, Connor was really, really good at being a detective. And then offered him a spot on his couch. Connor was very tempted. Surprised at Hank’s generosity, but tempted nonetheless. Mostly because he could see Sumo every day. Maybe even…cuddle with him! But then disappointment set in. Hank couldn’t find out he wasn’t human. And it would be hard to hide if he was literally staying with the man. It was hard enough just solving a case with him. Connor ended up saying he was fine on his own. That he appreciated the offer, but didn’t want to impose. Hank looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t say anything more about the subject.

 So, here they were, a week into the investigation, and they had finally found out who did it.

 Turns out one of her distant kids, a young man named Riley, had found his mother and confronted her. He was mad that she wouldn’t come home, that she owed him money, that she was drinking her life away. He was a very proud man, and having a homeless, alcoholic mother seemed to shame him so deeply that he had to kill her for it.

 Connor can’t say he understood, but humans frequently did things he didn’t understand. And he knew, on the outside, people might say that Penelope even deserved it.

 But she was one of the only people that was ever kind to Connor. And she had always offered to share what little she had, even if Connor didn’t seem to need it. She didn’t deserve to die.

 So, Connor and Hank, along with other cops, went to arrest Riley. And Riley, knowing he was caught, knowing that going to prison would ruin his reputation more than a shameful mother ever could, put up a fight.

 In the process, Connor was stabbed in the arm. In the ensuing commotion, they managed to subdue Riley, and Connor managed to cover up the wound. He had picked the knife up and having no time to wipe it clean, hid it in his sweater.

 He could feel thirium leaking out his arm. He had covered the blue blood and the hole in his sweater with his scarf, but this wasn’t a long-term solution. The thirium would eventually soak through the scarf too. And he needed to repair the damage.

 He dismissed all the warnings that were flashing. The wound itself wasn’t life threatening, but it eventually would be if he lost too much thirium. Which was what was likely going to happen. He didn’t have a way of repairing it by himself. And if anyone looked closer…

 It wasn’t like everyone saw me get stabbed or anything, he thought sarcastically.

 And there was Hank, pulling him over, yelling for someone to call an ambulance. “Shit, Connor, you look pale.”

 “I always look like this. I’m fine. It’s just a graze.”

 “You think I’m goddamned stupid? I saw the blade going into your fucking arm, Connor!” Hank swore and said, “That’s it. Get in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital myself. The others can handle the arrest.”

 And so that’s how Connor found himself in Hank’s car, stab wound not exactly hurting, but it felt…weird. He wasn’t sure if he would call it pain, but his arm was not functioning and the wound itself felt... wrong. Like things were in places they weren’t supposed to be. And that was…deeply uncomfortable. Maybe this was the deviant version of pain. He didn’t have any other reference for it.

 And he had gotten so used to breathing like a human, to keep up the ruse, that he noticed that he wasn’t breathing properly either. Fuck. He was panicking. He was stabbed, and Hank was going to find out, and everyone was going to find out at the hospital, and then they would send him back to Cyberlife, and he would be deactivated, or erased, and he didn’t want to die-

 “Breathe, kid. Breathe. Connor, c’mon,” Hank’s voice. Sounding pretty worried.

 “Ha-ank. I can’t go. I can’t- no hospital. Please, no hospital. They’re- they’ll kill me, Hank. P-please.” He needed to get under control. He was giving too much away. He needed to get away, from Hank, from everything.

 “What? Connor, no, shit I’m trying to drive, just- hang on!”

 And then they were pulled over, and Connor could feel tears, and he couldn’t breathe, and he clutched his working arm over the scarf, knowing that the thirium had finally leaked through.

 And then Hank was on the other side of the car, passenger side door open, and bending over him, “Shit, okay, Connor. Just let me look. Let me help.” Hank sounded frantic himself. Maybe being in a car on the side of the highway with an injured passenger was bringing back bad memories.

 “I-I can’t, you’ll- you’re going to h-hate me.”

 Hank sounded strange, like he was getting words past something in his throat. “Kid, I’ve only known you a week, but I can’t think of a goddamn thing that would make me hate you. Hell, if giving me a cold shower didn’t throw me off, what could?”

 And here Connor let out a hysterical laugh. He saw the anti-android stickers. He saw the looks Hank gave any passing android. He knew it had something to do with Hank’s dead son. “Please, please. Don’t look. Don’t t-take me to a hospital. Let me disappear. Please, I know you’re going to hate me. But. Don’t turn me in.”

 And there were Hank’s hands on his, peeling his fingers that gripped his arm. He did it gently, though. Like Connor was something fragile.

 And then there was the dark stains on the scarf. The blue blood looked almost black against it, very close to how human blood would stain it, but just slightly off. Once Hank got the scarf off, it would be much clearer.

 However, the dark colours seemed close enough to the human eye, because the slightly off colour didn’t seem to register to Hank. He unbound the scarf, and Connor could feel himself holding his breath. Could still feel the tears running down his face.

 And then the scarf was off, and the rip in his sweater making his wound clearly visible. The thirium soaked sleeve and the wires under Connor’s skin.

 Hank froze and looked like he was holding his breath too. His eyes had gone wide and his face was pale.

 And they were frozen like that for what seemed like an eternity, until Connor couldn’t stand it anymore, “Just- just let me go, Hank. I was never officially here, remember? Just- please. Let me go. Let me die in peace.”

 And Hank was still staring at him with wide eyes, “What the fuck. What the actual fuck, Connor.”

 Here Connor couldn’t look at him anymore. He stared down at the wound. He didn’t want to see the shock turn to realisation turn to disgust turn to hate.

 Hank’s hands were unsteady as he investigated the wound. Like it was some elaborate trick. Like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what he was seeing. Connor let him. He got thirium on his fingers.

 “Are you- this doesn’t look like a prosthetic. Fuck. Fuck. Connor what is this?” Hank had pulled back his hands and was looking at his thirium stained fingers like it was the first time he ever saw them.

 Connor sucked in a breath he didn’t need. “I’m not who- what you think I am.”

 “You…you’re an android.” And now it was out there. Finally, it was out.

 “Yes.”

 And he could hear something in Hank’s voice. Something sharper. “What the fuck was this, then? Some test? Was it Fowler, or fucking what. Who owns you?”

 And Connor shook his head. “No, no one. I’m- this isn’t a test.”

 “Bullshit. What are your instructions? Spy on me? Some sort of bullshit prank? I thought you- that we-” Hank cut himself off, sounding…hurt? Shit. He continued, “Doesn’t matter what I thought.”

 Hank pulled away and Connor looked up at him. His back was to the car, to Connor.

 A warning popped up in his vision, telling him that his thirium was low, that he needed to stop the leak soon. He covered the wound with his other hand, holding it tightly, and knew that wasn’t going to help very much.

 He stood out of the car and cautiously went closer to Hank’s turned back. He didn’t want to die…. but he wanted to stay out of Cyberlife’s hands even more.

 He thought about running, in that moment, but…thirium levels were low. It wouldn’t matter if he ran. He wouldn’t get very far.

 “Hank,” he started cautiously. “This isn’t a test. Or a trick. I’m…the same. I’m…me.” He paused, but Hank wasn’t responding, shoulders tense. “If…you’re going to turn me in, you don’t have to. I can…you can just leave me here. Or…or shut me down. I don’t…” his voice cracked, but he tried to sound as steady as possible. As if this was a reasonable situation. “I will shut down soon, anyways. There’s no need to tell Cyberlife. You…if you feel you have to…deactivate me yourself, I won’t fight. Just. Please. Don’t turn me in.”

 When Hank turned around, he had the strangest expression on his face. “So, what? You’re acting on your own? Like you’ve got, what, fucking free will or something?”

 Connor nodded. “The term is deviant. I…am a deviant.”

 “What the fuck does that mean?”

 “I…according to Cyberlife, this means that I am malfunctioning. That there are flaws in my code that make me think I have emotions, and these fake emotions lead to irrational decisions. I’m…broken.”

 Hank stared at him, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t fucking ask Cyberlife, did I?”

 Connor was confused. Hank asked what deviant meant. Does it really matter if he, Connor, thought that the emotions were real? That he felt…alive? The end results were the same and Connor didn’t know why Hank was drawing it out. Kill him, let him go, turn him in. All led to the same ending. He just…rather die free. So, he said again, “Please, Hank. I don’t want Cyberlife to find me. Just…shut me down now, or let me bleed out on my own.”

 Hank rubbed a hand over his face, not seeming to realise he had gotten some thirium on his cheek. Connor still couldn’t tell what Hank was thinking.

 And then Hank pulled his gun on him.

 “Hank-”

 “Isn’t this what you want, Connor? You want me to shoot you? What do you think is going to happen when I do?”

 “I-I don’t know. Nothing. I’m…I’ll be deactivated.” He paused. “You’re not going to turn me in?”

 Hank’s gun didn’t waver. “Does it look like I’m going to? Should I? Wouldn’t they just shut you down?”

 “…they might. Or they might just erase my…memories. Anything that makes me…what I am. It’s…worse than nothing. Because…I’ll still be activated. But not…”

 “Alive. Not alive. Is that what you think you are, Connor?” He moved closer, so that the gun was nearly pressed against Connor’s forehead. “You’re a machine. Just a fucking machine…. but I’ve seen you. I’ve worked with you. I’ve seen you laugh; I’ve seen fear. I’ve seen empathy, Connor. These are all human emotions. And now you’re saying that you’ve been faking it the whole time? Because it sure as hell seemed real to me. It’s why I can’t figure out why you’re practically begging me to let you die now.”

 “It wasn’t…I wasn’t lying, Hank!”

 “Well, according to Cyberlife, they weren’t real emotions. And that you should be erased or shut down. If they knew about you, then I don’t think anyone would object to me shooting you right now.”

 “Then why don’t you?!” Connor finally let his emotions burst out. The anger that was building over the fear. Again. He walked into the barrel of the gun. “Why don’t you fucking shoot me, Hank, and be done with it. What does any of this matter? What does it matter whether I want to die or not? I’m so fucking sick of humans and their stupid tests! If you’re going to shoot me, Hank, just fucking do it, or leave me alone in peace to die!”

 He stared into Hank’s eyes and Hank stared back. The gun on his forehead started to shake, and Connor could see Hank waver. He put the gun down, and away. Hank moved closer, reaching for him, and Connor flinched.

 “Shit, Connor. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck.” Were those…tears in Hank’s eyes? “I shouldn’t have done that. I…no excuse.” He let out a shaky breath. “Let’s get you some help, yeah?”

 Connor was back to being confused. Still angry, though. “Don’t fuck with me, Hank.”

 He was shaking his head. “No, kid. No more. Look, I don’t know a lot about…androids, okay? But blue blood should be in your body, right? That means we need to get you patched up and get you more of it.”

 And now Connor was just confused. The anger seemed to shrink in the face of Hank’s earnestness. The whiplash of feelings was a little overwhelming. “…I don’t understand.”

 Hank put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him close and looked at him right in the eyes. “I don’t know what you are, Connor. I don’t know how you can exist. I have a lot of fucking questions. But here is something that I do know. You. Are. Alive. The past fucking week together more than proved that. And I’m not going to let you die, Connor. I’m going to fix this. Let me help you.”

 And Connor felt his fake heart stutter in his chest. Something like hope blossomed there. “We have…twenty-eight minutes before the lack of thirium damages vital systems.”

 Hank swore, “Okay. Shit. Let’s go.”

 And Connor…didn’t move. He slowly placed his working hand in a mirror of Hank’s own. He winced a little at the handprint he left on Hank’s jacket, but he wanted to be sincere. “Thank you, Hank.”

 And Hank paused, looked at him. Then pulled him into a rough, warm hug. If Connor died now, he would have been happy. No one’s ever hugged him before and it felt…it felt very nice.

 Hank pulled away and said, “You may not be able to get blue blood, but I can. I can also get anything you need to repair your arm. Just tell me what to do.”

 “My self-repair is capable of doing most of the work, but I need to close the wound up enough that it can do it. There are certain android ‘stitches’ that would do the job. Anything we need should be at a Cyberlife store. I can’t go in, though. It’s too dangerous.”

 “I’ll get it.”

 “I have no money.”

 “It’s fine.”

 “It’s not…that cheap.”

 “Connor, I said I fucking got it, got it?”

 “Got it.”

 They went into Hank’s car and Hank turned it back on. They didn’t have that long, but Connor started to pre-construct the fastest route to the nearest Cyberlife store. It was late, but some stores, especially ones geared towards repairs, were open late.

 The hope had stretched into something more…solid. Like determination. He knew they would make it. He was going to…to live.

 He looked over at Hank and saw the determination he felt mirrored on Hank’s face. Mixed with something…. he couldn’t quite read. But then Hank looked over at him, and that emotion stretched his face into a warm smile. Affection, perhaps. Some other things that left Connor feeling…affection back. He smiled.

 Yeah, they were both going to be okay. He didn’t know what the future was going to look like, but for the first time, he felt like he could handle it. He felt, for the first time, like he wasn’t so alone after all.

 And then Hank put the car in gear, and they were off.

 Nothing, not even Cyberlife, was going to stop them.

[melyaliz]

Now or Later

anonymous: Jason x reader they've been dating for a while and she's become rlly good friends with Roy who she met via Jason and one day Bart comes from the future and he sees Jason's gf and he's like hey mrs Harper! And Roy Jason and gf all are like wtf does that mean and then Bart is like oh shit after he realised that he's entered the past but of a different time line. He said Mrs Harper bc in his future, Jason didn't come back to life, she met dated and married Roy. Gimme jeason drama jay! Heheheheh

Fandom: DC / Young Justice TV show 

Pairing: Jason x Reader X Roy Harper 

Notes: Happy Halloween! I love how none of my stories are ever on trend with the season. 

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

----

“Good luck kid,” she said as Bart grabbed the power core he needed for his time machine. Her gray and white hair pulled back in a braid half her head shaved showing off her scars proudly. Once beautiful now hardened by the turn on the world. “Go save our world, save my husband,” she said before pulling out her crossbow shooting at the minions who had them almost cornered. Trying to make his an escape root.

“I will,” Bart said nodding before dashing off. Leaving her to fend for herself. He knew she could. He prayed he was right as he ran.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have to if he succeed.

Crash the mode.

---

You laughed tossing your hair back as you pulled out your crossbow. A million other weapons strapped to your back but there was something about the sound of a bow that just was so comforting.

“Don’t worry Hot stuff, you covered hot stuff” you said letting another round of arrows loose on the crowd. You had been flirting with your boyfriend Jason and his outlaws this whole mission.

Ok more like flirting with Starfire the whole mission.

“Watch out your girl is going to leave you for Star” Roy laughed as the red head in question ducked letting her adversaries fall from the arrows.

“Many would, given the choice,” you added jumping down high fiving Roy.

“I don’t see why you must leave anyone to be with me” Starfire said knocking out another goon with such grace she made it look like a dance.  

“See Jason I don’t have to leave you.”

“Ok haha so funny.” your boyfriend said coming up behind you shooting a goon who was running at you with a huge ax. Who even were these guys? Like, ok Paul Bunyan, who uses an ax anymore?

“I don’t see how you can’t appreciate how hot this is” Roy added summoning the jet as the four of you come together ready to be picked up.

Turning you laughed leaning forward as Jason pulling you into a deep kiss -there may have even been some tongue, “I don’t really share well” he mumbled and Roy made gagging noises next to you.

“Gross. Just get a room you too”

“Aw Roy don’t be jealous, I promise I’ll give you Jason back soon,” you said pulling at Jason’s belt winking up at your boyfriend as the Jet floated overhead dropping down a rope for you. “But, not tonight, tonight I was promised a much overdue date night.”

Date night was amazing, as was the morning after, and the morning after that.

In fact date night turned into date week and probably would have been longer if a certain redhead hadn’t barged in.

“Jesus you two! It’s 3pm. Where are your clothes!?!”

“That’s what you get for barging in Roy!”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you too to STILL be in bed.”

“It’s a bedroom what else would we be doing in here?”

“Ok, ok, but still…”

“What brings you to our love nest, Roy?”

Roy laughed at your comment, eyes still on the ceiling, “Dick apparently needs us at Young Justice Hall or whatever they are calling it these days”

“Ok”

Roy stood there glancing down at you “Ooookkkk” you said again waiving your arms to shoo him out.

“Alright, alright I’m leaving!”

After he left Jason leaned toward you kissing you on your shoulder, “I love you” he whispered, “Not sure if I mentioned it,” he added tracing a few of your scars that ran across your shoulder, “but you are perfect”

“You may have… just a few times” you whispered kissing him on the lips

He chuckled as you deepen your kiss, his hands wandering across your body

You pulled away “Don’t start or we will never leave...”

Letting out a moan Jason flipping you over so you were straddling him. His arms wrapping around your waist. Kissing your hips, stomach, chest, as you looked down at him trying to muster the will to fight him.

“Ohhh make Dickkie bird wait” he told you between kisses making his way to your lips.

------

“How’s your little one doing?” Dick asked Roy as the archer waited for the rest of his team,

“She’s good, oddly good. You would think with her mom she would be a little more of a… handful.”

Bart was only half listening as he waited with Jamie and Tim for the Outlaws to show up. He knew Roy a little in passing but had never met the rest of the team, but he had heard stories. Apparently, they were deadly accurate and still hadn’t come across a mission they couldn’t complete. Perfically in sync. Something they Young Justice needed at the moment.

You walked confidently into the base. Don’t show any weakness. While you didn’t like new things you also knew this was a good change. Much like your team’s name suggested sometimes you guys didn’t always do things… above the books.

As you walked into the base a red-haired boy, you assumed was the speeder from the future, looked up. When he saw you his eyes light up. “Y/N Harper!” Impulse said dashing toward you giving you a hug.

“Fucking what?” Bart pulled away to see Jason standing behind your mouth open,

“Oh… uhhh… Roy said his daughter so… I thought you guys were already married. Who are you?” The last comment was at a very annoyed Jason.

“What is he talking about?” Roy asked coming up next to you. You glanced from Bart to Roy who looked like he had gotten punched in the gut. That was nothing to the look Jason was giving you. His face was white as you knew he was coming to the same conclusion you were.

“I… uhhh, got to go” Bart mumbled dashing off

“Please tell me that isn’t the kid who is from the future,” Jason said his hand taking yours holding it just a little tighter than normal. You winced as you looked from Jason to Roy. The awkwardness thick in the air. Part of you (ok all of you) wished you could dash out like Bart.

Dick sighed rubbing his temples “Yeah, shit you must be that woman he was talking about.”

“What woman?”

It turned out that in the future you took Bart under your wing teaching him. Bart hadn’t said much other than your husband, Roy had died trying to save your kids, a few years before Bart had come to the future.

Also apparently you were a pretty badass.

Halfway through the story that Dick and Jamie pieced together, Jason had left. Next to you Roy hadn’t stopped moving obviously totally conflicted. Maybe as much as you were.

Years Eariler 

Jason had called you in for backup. The two of you didn't know each other long. Meeting while both going after the same ring of gangsters you both had decided to work together instead of copeet. And after that you both kept running into each other. Whether intentional or not you would never admit.

But this was the first time he had officially asked for your help.

“I need your… spark.” he had told you as you both lay in his bed. You laughed rolling out from under the sheets grabbing your shirt that had been thrown across the room the night before.

“Anything for you hot stuff.”

So you had been sneaking around the large warehouse setting up your beautiful explosion when you noticed the archer, Arsenal, in a bit of trouble. His back against the wall while trying to take down 7 or 8 guys. Not that he wasn’t doing a good job, but Jason had asked for your help so why not?  

Three went down as you shot your crossbow Arsenal taking out two by bashing their heads together as you jumped down knocking out another. One more ran toward you only to shot down, one in the leg one in the arm.

“So you’re Y/N”

“How did you know?” You asked turning to the red-haired archer.

“Ohhh just a hunch” Roy laughed pulling out on arrow shooting a gunman who was behind you. You glanced over your shoulder before turning back to you pulling out your explosive trigger.

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” you asked “I loaded up this building with so much CC there will be nothing left but dust.”

“Please tell me you added some fireworks in.”

You laughed “obviously, what other way could you celebrate New Years?”

“Of course you are Jason’s.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Present 

“Hey” Roy said taking a seat next to you.

“Hey” you mumbled looking up at him

“What are you thinking about?”

“The first time we met”

Roy smiled running his hand through his messy red hair before putting his hat back on, “Awww the day you met your future husband.”

“Not funny,” you said rolling your eyes, “Why are you taking this so lightly?”

“I mean I’m the one who lucks out in this scenario.” Roy chuckled “I mean even my death sounds pretty epic,” However, his smile faded when noticed you weren’t finding the same humor in this situation. “But in all seriousness, it doesn’t mean much. If Bart is right and Jason was dead in his timeline things… are different now.”

You both lapsed into silence.

“Hey Roy, that time we met and you said you knew I was Jason’s because of a hunch, what did you mean?”

Roy sighed looking down at his boots as he tapped his heels, “Only Jason could find the perfect woman.” he said looking up at you.

“Roy,” you whispered feeling your heartbreak, all those memories of Roy. those glances you had always thought were just your imagination. All those lingering touches, hugs that were just a big tighter. Those smiles and jokes. You had banished those thoughts as you just being a silly girl.

“Look,” Roy said turning to you, “Maybe I have feelings for you but I also love you as a friend too. And Jason, I love Jason like a brother. And I’m not the type to break a great thing. And Jason and you are a great thing.”

“But in another world, we were a great thing.” you whispered doubts creeping in. Maybe you were meant to be with Roy. Maybe you had made a mistake with Jason and it was the faits way of correcting itself. It wasn’t like you hadn’t made mistakes before in your life. Many mistakes. Some had scars to prove it, both inside and out.

Maybe you chose the wrong one.

“Hey that’s not fair, I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Roy said

“What am I supposed to do?” you said looking at him. Roy shrugged,

“Are you asking me? The king of bad decisions?”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile, you both had that in common. Something the two of you had always joked about. You and Roy would just be in so much trouble if Jason wasn’t always bailing your asses out.

Jason.

Standing up you shoved your hands in your pockets. “I have to go,” you mumbled walking away leaving your future husband (in some timeline) behind you.

-----

“Y/N, I’m not letting you go”

You looked up from the bag you were packing, off to find answers. I mean this is the world where Gods existed and boys from the future came to save us all from blue aliens who were trying to destroy our planet. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities you could find the answers to the questions you were looking for. Maybe on some himalayan mountain or some sandy beach. (You hoped it was the latter)

“Jason, what if this is the universe telling us we aren’t supposed to be together? I mean I don’t want to wreck the timeline.”

“The universe also said I was supposed to be dead and look at me, do I seem dead.”

“I just…”

“Do you have doubts… about us?”

You winced, it would be a lie. But it wasn’t really Roy that gave you those doubts. It was yourself. You had always been a lowner. Someone who relied on themselves. And now here you were, being told your good friend was your husband and your boyfriend was… well not.

What about your children? Bart had said you had kids. If you didn’t end up with Roy would that mean they would never exist? And Roy was, Roy. Your good friend, someone you would trust with your life. Something you had never thought you could do again. Trust.

But Jason, he had been first. He was… Jason. The man who had pulled you from a very dark path and took you on the adventure of your life. You loved him so deeply sometimes it hurt. And you couldn’t lie, scared you.

What if you weren’t supposed to be with any of them? What if this was life’s way of finally catching up. Pulling away from the good… no amazing thing you had.

Your fingers danced over the scars on your arm. The scars that reminded you that you didn’t deserve either of them. Didn’t deserve that happiness you had felt.

Your head hurt.

“I don’t know Jason.” he pulled away from you as he if you stabbed him, a hot crowbar at the heart. “No Jason. I just. I love you, you said grabbing his hand. I love you so much it’s just. What if I was meant to be with Roy? I mean, what if we aren’t meant to last. I just…”

“You love me or you don’t,” Jason said eyes hard.

You winced, your whole life had been running from people, believing they would always leave you. And there was a certainty that something would work out, but it wasn’t with the man in front of you.

Maybe safety was with the other. Or Maybe rocking the boat would tip it.

What were you supposed to do?

-GET TAGGED!-

Tagging: @royslittleharper  @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @daisyboobear @werewitchling  @jason-redhood

[johnnys-so]

johnny as an office worker

A/N: Literally no one requested this but I started out with a Johnny as a boyfriend post and ended up with this because i love this litle blurb story of tall sloppy johnny as an office worker. So enjoy it you cuties!

ok but imagine how effortlessly glorious johnny would be as an ordinary working man. imagine him escaped from all the glitz and glam and having to rush early morning to get a sitting spot on the metro ride to work just so he can actually get some tasty toast before he has to start working an 8hr day ugh i love

johnny woul be the kind of person who's not exactly known for his conscientiousness or timelineness. but boy does he try. he tries so hard everyday to wake up by the second alarm but it never happens. before he knows it, he's only downed half of his watery tea and he's heading out the door with his tie hung undone on his neck but his work bag in perfect condition (he truly loves his work supplies with vigour)

you're someone who's always witnessing johnny's mad rush to his workplace every morning, although inadvertently. the only thing you two share, is a common commute.

he doesn't even realise that you see him everyday get on the 3rd station from your stop, how you always trail your eyes as he tries to hold on to the overhead railing AND tie his tie all at the same time

he doesn't manage it however.

some days you could care less becaus you can barely keep your eyes open. but on some days, you're fresh and alert and you just find yourself humming along with whatever he's singing. Johnny has this annoying habit of humming the song he's listening to and by god his sweet sweet voice is the best thing about him

ok that's a lie. the nape of his neck is the best thing about him. One time on a very rushed day, you couldn't manage to find a seat with all the bodies pressed between the small capsule of the train. By the time you found a comfortable spot to stand awkwardly in, the doors gushed open and a new crowd spilled into your compartment.

And with the incoming crowd, johnny was pressed flush against you, in all of his unkempt morning glory. But the minute your hands grazed on the railing above, he took a step back, almost bracing his back against the oncoming tide of new travellers. Thankfully, he kept you from getting crushed.

but all you could notice, was the peek of ivory skin from under his shirt. His first top button had come undone and his tie was clutched in his hand above, the smooth silk of blue cascading next to his cheekbone. you didn't know what it was, but you really wanted to push that piece of cloth away from his face.

instead, you turned around and faced the glass of the door

it wasn't like johnny was blind to you either. if he was honest, he managed to get up early on most days, because of his motivation to catch the same train as you. he had managed to miss it sometimes, and he regretted not watching you smiling at kids on the train or humming to yourself as you read a book. he found it eerily calming to watch you so lost in your own world, when the people around you were always in such a rush - to get somewhere. you didn't realise, he thought wistfully, how much you made his morning.

but after the close-contact incident, you had fallen ill with a heavy fever and couldn't make it to your morning commute or to work for the next few days. you didn't think it meant anything at all, until the day you did make it to the train station - albeit, a bit late

And there, standing alone, was johnny. while you were literally running to get to the station on time earlier, you found that your feet had slowed down to a lazy walk. somehow you found yourself ambling to a slow stop, right next to johnny and he didn't know how or what to say but he tried anyway. "A rushed morning for you too?"

he had been aching to hear your voice. just one word, anything. maybe an excuse of a conversation. something was better than nothing. he watched as you let out an embarrassed laugh and nodded in response to his question. "Yeah, just couldn't wake up no matter how I tried," he heard you say.

"trust me, I understand that way too much -" and before he knew it, he was launching into his fumbled morning routinue. How he slept through his third alarm, how his cat had to scratch his ankles to wake him up. How he had nearly put shaving cream on his toothbrush. How his doorman had come looking for him at the wrong time. you didn't understad where all this information came from or how Johnny could talk to you like he had always known you, without even asking for your name.

but you felt yourself slowly slipping into his monologue, reacting appropriately in his pauses, laughing merrily when he slipped into a conversation about his cat.

the train came, you both got on, and the conversation flowed. until, you had to get off at your stops for work. But before the both of you turned away into your respective exits at the train station, Johnny reached out with his hand, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

you extended yours in return, placing your palm against his and admiring his long slender fingers for a quick second before replying, "I look forward to that".

[katie-dub]

The Princess of White Chapel (9/12)

Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?

AO3 | Tumblr

Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief.

The delightful @distant-rose and @ultraluckycatnd beta’d this fic and @princesse-swan made my gorgeous art. Thanks go to all of them, the organisers of @captainswanbigbang and everyone who’s reading this! 

Killian returned to work the very next day, not thinking to grumble about sacrificing his Sunday when he knew how much was at stake.

The heat and humidity that had mercifully vanished yesterday were back with a vengeance. Even the short walk to his lab left him feeling sticky and glistening with sweat. His top buttons might never know how it felt to be fastened again, judging by the endless heatwave that rendered them useless, his thick chest hair providing more than enough protection from the elements. (In fact, in his more desperate moments he found himself musing on the benefits of shaving it off, willing to sacrifice his body hair to stave off heat stroke. Give him another few days of overheating and he just might crack and do it.)

It was actually something of a relief to spend the day in the air conditioned lab, even if he found himself struggling to unlock the mystery of how he had made such a mess of his machine.

He had to work hard not to fixate on how Emma might be spending her day; on whether she was safe. He knew she could handle herself, he just wished that she didn’t have to. But, this was the best way for him to help. He had to focus on finding a solution, on sending everyone back to their realm, on sending her home.

It became routine.

Wake up, go their separate ways, save the world, home to talk and laugh. Sometimes take a walk by the river, sometimes go to the grassy spot by the Thames for more people watching, sometimes show her films so she’d understand the comments she’d hear about herself from strangers - Harry Potter, Star Wars, Wonder Woman.

He would share stories of his day to make her laugh and she did the same.

“A mermaid showed up in the Thames today.”

“A mermaid? Bloody hell.”

“Yeah - not even a nice one like Queen Ariel - one of the real nasty sorts that tries to lure sailors to their death and all that.” She rolled her eyes. “I sent her packing - mermaids don’t need portals to cross realms, she just heard about the carnage and wanted to join in.”

“They don’t tell you that side of the story in the Disney film.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

With every day that passed, he found himself drawn closer to her. He would sit a little closer to her on the sofa as they chatted. He hugged her just a little tighter and a little longer as they said goodnight. He fought that little bit harder not to give into the urge to kiss her as they said goodbye in the morning.

He was falling for this enchantress, and he was hopeless to fight it.

It was Thursday before there was any change to their routine. He stepped through the door and was immediately accosted by Emma.

“Hey. So, I hope you don’t mind, but I -”

“Hi there!” Killian’s eyes bugged out of his head as a red dragon about half his height jumped into his line of sight, cutting Emma off.

“George, we talked about this,” Emma admonished the dragon. “You were meant to let me speak to Killian first.”

Killian looked up at Emma, completely stunned. What was happening? Where had he come from? More importantly, why was he once again giving shelter to a dragon?

“His name is George? That is the worst name for a dragon.” He was going mad, but that was all his mind could conjure up to say at this utterly bizarre sequence of events. He shook his head and walked into the living room, hoping that if he ignored it, it might go away.

“It’s the name my mother gave me!” retorted George, faint wisps of smoke spewing from his nostrils as he stormed after Killian. “And I know you aren’t talking shit about my mother.”

"I just…” Killian ran his hand through his hair in distress as he turned and glared at Emma who had trailed in after the pair of them, looking sheepish. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself and said in as steady a voice as he could manage, “Emma, why have you brought another bloody dragon into my home? Lily was bad enough."

"Don't think you can talk shit about my cousin either,” George sassed him.

"Of course, I should have known you were related," he said, giving George a fake smile. “You’re both annoying as fuck.”

There was a flash of red as the dragon leapt for him… But then Killian found himself pushed back against the wall as though by invisible hands and blinded by light. Emma stood between them with her hands held up, creating a shield of pure white light that was separating him from the feisty dragon.

“If I let you two down, promise you won’t attack each other,” Emma said in a stern voice.

“Yes, mom,” George replied even as Killian said, “I won’t make the first move.” Killian’s reply earned him a glare from Emma, but she released her magic all the same and he could move freely once more.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on here?” Killian pleaded with Emma, ignoring the way George was sticking his tongue out at him.

“So, you know those dragon statues around town?” Emma began tentatively.

Killian clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in exasperation. “Yes.”

“They seem to have come to life.”

“Of course they have.”

“This one’s called George.”

“I gathered.”

“He was scared and all alone and well, he is Lily’s family so -”

“So now we have a pet dragon?”

“Surprise?” Emma said weakly, as George mumbled ‘who you calling a pet?’ under his breath.

He stared at her for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “I should have seen this coming really. You’re a princess. Of course you need a talking animal sidekick to complete the whole Disney aesthetic.”

He was aiming for gentle teasing, but she went tense, just as she always did whenever her royal lineage came up. He should know better than to poke at that obvious sore spot just because he was annoyed with her - even if George was a fire hazard, and was currently watching the unfolding conversion with undisguised glee. So dragons enjoy metaphorical fires just as much as real ones. Good to know, he thought. He might as well have fucking popcorn.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don't know what that means,” she said coldly, “but I know when I'm being insulted and -”

“Not an insult just a fairytale -” he caught himself before he said cliché, having enough self preservation to avoid making this even harder. “Just an observation. Disney was a, a er-” Killian paused, realising that animator, film maker, or any other usual descriptors would be meaningless to her. “He was a storyteller. His princesses always had talking animal friends and sang a lot -”

“I don't sing,” Emma interrupted.

“I beg to differ. You sing in the shower -”

“You been watching her shower?” George asked, horrified. “Oh honey, you have to find yourself a better prince.”

Killian's eyes widened in alarm at George's assumption. Looking at Emma's cold fury, she obviously thought that too.

“I didn't - I haven't - you sing loud ok?” Emma gritted her teeth. “It's fine, wonderful, actually. Your voice is enchanting, but I can hear it from outside the bathroom. Or, I don't know, maybe the acoustics in the bathroom are weird? I haven't really had many.. It doesn't matter, I'm sorry. Keep your little pet -” George scoffed indignantly “- I'll just -” He walked into the bathroom himself, closing the door behind him for an escape. Not before he heard George say ruefully, “he's no Prince Charming.”

Despite himself, this jibe stung. He knew he was no knight in shining armour, and he hardly thought himself worthy of a princess, but much as he knew that, he still had this irrational hope in his heart that she might feel different, and it hurt for someone else to point out how vain that hope was.

This is a good thing, Killian tried to tell himself, things were getting a little too cosy between you and Emma. No use settling into a domestic life with someone that you spend every working hour trying to permanently separate yourself from. Not to mention George will be able to help her, should she need it. Assuming he’s a little more reliable than his cousin, of course, he thought bitterly.

They hadn’t seen or heard from Lily once since she’d left his flat and that was a full two weeks ago now. Emma had looked simultaneously sad, annoyed and resigned to this treatment when he’d happened to ask after her one time.

“Oh, this is typical Lily, talks about how close we are, all these things she wants my help with, adventures she wants to go on, then poof! she’s gone and I’m lucky if I see her again any time in the next three years.”

He was right that George’s presence created something of a wedge between him and Emma. The dragon just annoyed him - no way around it - and while it could sometimes be fun to trade barbs with him, he found himself wishing for a bigger flat.

“Jealous, mate?” George had taunted, imitating Killian’s accent, on that first night he spent in their home as he had waited at the door to the bedroom.

“Of the princess’ new pet? Hardly,” Killian scoffed, although he found he did have to remind himself that George would be curled up at the foot of the bed like a dog.

“You should try telling your face that.”

Killian was about to answer back when Emma had opened the door to let George in. “Everything OK out here?”

“Fine” they both answered instantaneously.

She eyed them both suspiciously. “Right, well, goodnight Killian,” she said and turned and headed back into room.

“Night sweetie pie!” George called gleefully, then dropped his voice and hissed, “your eyes are greener than hers,” before following her and slamming the door with his tail.

Killian had glared at the closed door and found himself resisting the urge to poke his tongue out at it.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it was probably a good thing really. He didn’t need to get even closer to an unattainable woman. But he couldn’t deny that he was delighted when Regina had messaged him inviting them to dinner at her place on Saturday.

They were lounging on the sofa munching on toast when he got the message. He was scrolling through Twitter mindlessly on his phone. Emma, having apparently finished Neverwhere, was now reading The Golden Compass. George was stretched out on the floor in a patch of sunlight that streamed in through the large windows, soaking up the heat that was already blazing despite it only being 8am.

“We’ve had a summons from Regina. Her Majesty requests our presence at her house tonight. Sorry, George, the Mills-Locksley Residence has a strict no pets policy,” he said with a smirk at the disgruntled dragon.

“And what exactly am I meant to do while you’re off having fun?” George huffed, hands on hips and wisps of smoke escaping from his nostrils.

Killian tried to look sympathetic, but he knew it came out as undeniably smug. “Alas, you’ll just have to annoy yourself tonight.”

George stomped off to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

“Seriously?” Emma said with a disapproving glare. Killian merely shrugged. He was unable to find it in himself to care when he felt like he was melting, the heat short circuiting his ability to think logically.

This lack of perspective turned him into a simmering ball of frustration as he got ready and left for work. He nearly wrenched the tap off when the water took too long to cool down. He barked out swear words at a cyclist who made the mistake of veering into his path to avoid the fairy that had suddenly appeared in their way. He swatted at another fairy who had the misfortune to materialise before him, sending the poor creature flying into a wall. Dr Smee had wisely only nodded at him as he stalked into the lab, sensing at once that he did not wish to be disturbed.

It wasn’t until he had spent a solid hour cooling off in his lab that he began to calm down. And of course, regret followed.

He wasn’t good in the heat, Britain wasn’t built for it, and Killian himself even less so. His mother affectionately called him a “little hot bod” as he stubbornly refused to wear a coat as a child on all but the coldest of days and was quick to temper in the summer when the sun caused his blood to boil. Others were less kind, calling him hot-headed and fiery. He often thought that it was the others who had it right. This heat wave was fogging his brain and he despaired of ever finding a solution while the temperatures blazed.

And sorting out this mess was becoming increasingly urgent. At first only London had seemed affected by the oddities causing the ripples in reality and random realm crossing, but now they were spreading throughout Britain.

A famous statue of Merlin outside the Burger King in Carmarthen, Wales had caused widespread consternation when it magically transformed into the wizard himself.

(Although whether people were more shocked at the magical mishap or that Merlin proved not to be a wizened old man with a long twisting beard, but was in fact a handsome black man was debatable. In fact, if it weren’t for the stunned customers of the Burger King, who’d been distracted from their burgers for long enough to film the spectacle, Merlin might have been dealing with accusations of actually stealing the treasured Merlin’s Oak. As it was there was a decidedly nasty, racist edge to some of the comments made about the bemused wizard, who only wanted a way to get home.)

The Isle of Man had apparently vanished in a cloud of mist. Residents of the island were still contactable, although irritated at being blighted by poor visibility in the midst of what should have been one of the sunniest summers of their lives. Meteorologists were stumped by the strange occurrence, but one of the island’s leading mythologians insisted that they had actually been shrouded by Mannanan’s cloak. Reports in Ireland of someone claiming to be a sea deity with an invisibility cloak, while mostly dismissed as the ravings of someone who’d enjoyed a little too much Guinness, did seem to corroborate this theory.

Killian had to admit that this meant very little to him - he always got the place confused with the Isle of Wight and he’d never been to the tiny island in the Irish Sea. He only remembered the name at all because he quite liked the Tour de France and Manx Missile, Mark “Cav” Cavendish, the cyclist came from there. But still, an entire bloody country disappearing from view, even a tiny one that residents apparently called “the rock”, was deeply concerning.

And bizarrely enough what appeared to be genuine photographs from reputable sources were now emerging of the Loch Ness Monster, delighting fans all over the world who were now flocking in ever larger numbers to the Scottish lake.

The rebuild of his machine was almost complete, he only had to figure out how to reverse the changes that his machine had wrought upon the laws of physics that had somehow resulted in elements of an alternate universe forcing their way into the real world. No big deal.

Perhaps Emma was right - maybe this was all just magic. Perhaps where they were going wrong was to assume that they were in the Land Without Magic, and sorcery was the missing link in his calculations.

Or perhaps he needed London to cool the fuck down so he could sleep at night and stop theorising like a madman.

It was probably that.

As he toiled the day away, the sky gradually darkened. The storm clouds gathered, hanging over the London skyline with menace.

Killian sighed as he glanced out the windows just before he left for the day. He knew they needed this storm to break the intense heat, but he didn’t much relish the prospect of living through whatever damnation Thor had sent their way.

Bloody hell, Thor himself better not show up.

The thought was only halfway to joking - he'd seen way too much by this point to dismiss it as absolute nonsense.

As he stepped out of the glass doors the first drops of rain started. He lingered in the shelter gazing at the spiked archway before him - it looked even more threatening in the gloom of the storm clouds. Should he bother with an uber? It’s just a little rain, he decided, might even be refreshing, and strode forwards with purpose.

He quickly came to regret this choice. He’d never known anything like it; British rain just didn’t come in this flavour. They were used to it raining off and on, when the weather could never quite decide what it wanted to do and would send a sudden shower to soak you when you’d been tricked by the sun into stashing your umbrella or removing your raincoat. They were used to it chucking it down at the perfect angle to render your umbrella entirely pointless. They were used to fine, misty rain, the kind that makes you feel idiotic if you carry an umbrella, but really gets you wet - even if you brought the brolly. (Really it was a wonder that anyone in Britain bothered with the bloody things, considering the lengths the rain went to to sneak past this meagre defence.)

But this rain? It was warm. The storm was meant to break the heat, not somehow, inexplicably add fuel to the fire. The hot, fat drops of rain left him feeling stickier than before, his shirt clinging to him as rain mixed with sweat, rendering the white fabric transparent and making a mockery of his refusal to bare his chest like the tomato-skinned residents of the city.

As the rain got heavier he started to run, briefly cursing his lack of umbrella, however pointless they may be.

He was soaked by the time he reached the flat. He resisted the urge to shake the rain off like a dog, and squelched into the living room. Emma was lying on the sofa, reading, George was curled up on her feet, reminding Killian of a sleepy dog, although he snapped to attention the second he entered.

Emma raised her eyebrows at him over the top of her book, but refrained from commenting on his appearance. George, still tetchy after the news that he would be spending the evening alone was far less kind. “Oh look what the cat dragged in, Your Highness, it’s a drowned rat!”

“Ha, bloody, ha,” Killian replied dryly. There was some kind of joke there, about how his voice was the driest part of him, but it didn’t quite come to him. “We have to leave soon, Swan, I’m gonna shower and change, you ready?”

“Yeah,” she said then frowned down at herself. She sat up and held the book down at her side to allow Killian to get a better look at her outfit, a simple slouchy top and denim skirt. “Unless… is this ok? Regina’s kind of fancy.” She chewed on her lip.

Killian moved as if to go hug her, instinctively wanting to comfort her, but a deliberate cough from George accompanied by a pointed look at the slightly puddle that was forming at his feet stopped him. “It’s fine. Regina isn’t as scary as she seems - and besides, it’s too hot for fancy clothes.” he said with a smile.

George winced and shook his head, then reached out and patted Emma’s hand. “You look smoking hot, just like always,” he reassured her. She shook her head instantly, although a corner of her mouth twitched up at his declaration.

Killian didn’t hang around to see George’s smug, triumphant smirk.

He was ready in fifteen minutes flat, eager to escape for the night.

He got the uber alert that Leroy was nearly there just as he strolled back into the living room. “Time to go.”

George pouted. He wouldn’t have thought that it was possible for a dragon to pout, but there really was no other way to describe the look on his face. He opened his mouth - and the thunder started, rumbling across the sky like the sound of drums. George’s eyes flew wide open and he slithered behind Emma’s legs, trembling. Killian cocked his head, shocked by the thought that this overconfident sass monster might actually be scared of the storm. A flash of lightning sparked across the sky, filling the room with light and George disappeared into the bedroom.

Killian’s jaw dropped. Emma met his stunned gaze. Her brow had crumpled with concern and she chewed on her lip.

“Do you think we should stay here for him?” she asked, eyes darting to the wide open bedroom door and back to Killian. “I’ve never seen him this scared.”

“I’m not scared!” George’s voice called out from the bedroom, “just remembered that there’s something in here that I need.”

Killian smirked and Emma rolled her eyes, they both headed to the door. There was a trembling lump underneath the blankets. “Something that’s in the bed?” Killian asked, leaning against the door frame.

“I need a nap,” George replied.

“You just remembered that you need a nap?” The derision was hard to keep out of his voice and he earned himself a smack on the arm from Emma accompanied by a look that plainly warned him to “cut it out”. He playfully pretended that it had hurt a lot more than it had, delighting in the way Emma tried to restrain her laugh as she shook her head at his antics.

George poked his face out from under the blankets. “Yeah, I just remembered that I’m tired of watching your embarrassing attempts to flirt with Emma. I’m glad that I have the night off to recover. Talk about out of your league - Emma’s so far out of your league, she literally belongs in a whole other realm.”

“George!” Emma admonished, blushing, as Killian gaped at him.

Of course, what he said was true, but it hurt to hear - especially from the dragon who was squatting in his home.

Before he could recover enough to reply, Emma grabbed him by the arm “Anyway!” she said brightly, steering him towards the door and calling behind her, “enjoy your nap, George!”

On the drive Emma looked agitated, nervously tapping her foot and shifting restlessly. Killian watched concerned as she squirmed from slouching in her seat to attempting to cross her legs to turning her back towards him and leaning against the seat belt and back to slouching again. Finally, she awkwardly settled with her chin in her hand, staring out at the rain. For a minute at least, because then she cracked her head against the window as Leroy took a corner way too fast - barking out insults at pedestrians as he went.

Killian was fairly certain that the storm wasn’t bothering her, but perhaps she was worried for George. He hadn’t known her long, and already he could see how quickly she took on other people’s worries and how much she delighted in helping them. She was clearly agitated about something - perhaps it had been unfair to expect her to leave her friend at home in distress.

She was the one who all but pushed us out the door, he reminded himself.

It seemed unlikely that the dragon was the cause of her anxiety, but whatever it was, he hoped he could help to calm her. Carefully he reached out and placed his hand over hers. She jumped at the contact and her head snapped around to look at him.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Easy there,” he chuckled, “just checking everything’s ok?” It suddenly occurred to him - she’d been a little unsure about her outfit earlier, perhaps she was just feeling insecure about the night. “You’re not still worried about Regina are you? Honestly, I know that she’s a little - well, a lot - intimidating, but she’s a teddy bear deep down. Don’t tell her I said that. And she absolutely loved you. Anyone who puts me in my place deserves a medal as far as she’s concerned. You should have seen the way she smiled in approval at some of those witty insults you sent my way when we went out. I thought she might actually handover  Robin’s gold medal with ‘Best Insult Ever’ scratched onto it, and that’s his prized possession.”

“Oh it’s not that,” Emma said then looked down and began picking at invisible lint on her skirt, “not exactly. I … Well, Regina looks like someone from my realm. And that person, she, she fucking terrifies me.” Her statement was punctuated by a flash of lightning with a rumble of thunder hot on its heels. She jumped at the sound, looking embarrassed by her reaction at once.

“Fucking weather,” grumbled Leroy, not actually under his voice, as he swerved around a corner.

Killian reached out for her again and this time, Emma let him take her hand. He stroked it gently, and she stared intently at the way his thumb moved.

“I’m sorry to hear that, love. It must be hard to spend time with someone who has the same face as anyone who you don’t feel safe around, however much you know they’re a different person.” He grinned. “For what it’s worth though, Regina often scares me, she can be downright terrifying when you get on her bad side.”

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and he winked for good measure. “Well. Yeah. Regina seemed - well, nice isn’t the right word, but I liked her - so I feel horrible but she looks so much like the Evil Queen that it’s -”

Killian stopped stroking at the name “Evil Queen”, slightly stunned by this revelation. “Sorry, did you just say Evil Queen? Like once upon a time she forced Snow White to eat a poisoned apple and all that?”

“Exactly. Snow White’s my mother.”

Killian could feel his jaw drop at this revelation, Emma was literally straight out of a fairytale. Perhaps he should consider seeking out therapy - just in case he was really just going crazy in the back of an uber with an overly grumpy driver.

“But really the apple thing was the least of what she did - I’m more bothered by all the massacres.”

Just when Killian thought this couldn’t get any weirder. “Massacres?” he asked weakly.

“She slaughtered entire villages hunting for my mother when she realised that her curse hadn’t done the job. We don’t call people evil just over a cursed apple.”

“Well, what’s a little cursed apple between friends?” He hoped he didn’t sound as hysterical as he felt.

Emma frowned at him and shook her head, but chose to reply to the rhetorical question. “So… yeah. It’s hard not to feel a little bit strange about being around her, which hardly seems fair.”

“Would it make you feel better to know that apples are banned from her house?”

She laughed and it was good to see some of that tension fade away. “Really?”

“Her step son Roland’s allergic.”

She nodded to herself. “Why do you call her your Majesty?”

“Bad joke. Her family has money - her parents are important, her dad had some kind of peerage or title, probably both, before he passed away, and her mum's the Chief Commissioner of the Met.”

“The what?”

“The police in London.” He held back a laugh at Emma's look of confusion. “The good guys, heroes, whatever you want to call them. Regina and Robin live in Knightsbridge - the rich part of town - well, one of them. It's about as close to a castle as you can get in the middle of London. Unless of course you live in Buckingham Palace, but Regina's not actually the Queen.” He cringed internally at his thoughtless comment, closing his eyes to avoid seeing her reaction. “I’ll cut that out, so thoughtless, I -”

The car screeched to a halt outside a row of beautiful terraced houses, all with white columns framing the porches leading up to their front doors. Railings to the side of the doors hid the discreet stairs that once upon a time led down to where the help resided, but now was just another indicator that the people who lived here absolutely had more floor space than you. Old fashioned street lamps of the style most commonly found in Narnia these days lined the picturesque street and were glowing softly through the downpour. The road remained free of the garish supercars that blighted other areas of Knightsbridge in the summer months, instead showing far more tasteful displays of the privilege of the residents - Bentley, Mercedes and Rolls Royce badges adorning the cars in shades of black and grey. The houses faced the private garden only accessible to those who lived on the street, hoarding the precious green space in the centre of London and keeping it for themselves like the miserly dragons they were.

Killian would hate Regina and Robin for it if only they weren’t the best people he knew. It was hard to begrudge them the best of anything.

“We’re here,” growled Leroy, a man who clearly didn’t care for driver ratings, and was fast cementing himself in Killian’s mind as simply “Grumpy”.

Killian said, “cheers,” as he put up his umbrella and climbed out of the car. He was immediately grateful that he’d remembered to grab it at the last minute. They were but two yards from the door, but would surely be drenched regardless. He hurried around to open Emma’s door and shielded her from the rain as she struggled to climb from the car. “As graceful as your namesake, Swan,” he said, taking pity on her and helping her out.

They rushed to the porch, folded the umbrella up as quickly as possible and up the steps to the door. “Some might consider it treason to mock a princess,” she said as he rang the bell, “and you know what the penalty for that is.”

He grinned, glad to see that her anxiety had lessened. “Lucky for me that you’re a forgiving and benevolent royal, then eh?”

If she said anything further on the matter, it was lost as the door flung open and a small blur flew into his arms.

“Killian!” He felt as much as heard the muffled squeal of his godson who had buried his face into his stomach.

He shoved the umbrella into Emma's hands then lifted Roland up into his arms with an exaggerated groan. “Have you been eating rocks again, Roland? You know that’s not good for you.”

“No, Killian, I just really, really big now,” Roland answered seriously.

“Roland, what have I told you about ope - oh hi Killian, lovely to see you again, Emma.” Regina’s scolding of her stepson melted into a smile on seeing him wrapped up in Killian’s arms.

It was moments like this that always made it hard for Killian to take Regina’s icy demeanour too seriously. He looked to Emma to mutter something to that effect, but was surprised to see she was looking at him with a similar soft expression, albeit one tinged with sadness. The softness evaporated into awkwardness on seeing that she had his attention.

Robin came up behind them and smiled at everyone. “Come in, before the rain gets in.” He said, stepping back to let them past. Emma stepped inside and Killian followed, moving as if every step was taking all of his energy, grunting as he did so, delighting in Roland’s appreciative giggles. “We were just waiting on you to get here so this little monster -” Robin nodded to Roland, who snarled on cue “- could say goodnight.”

Roland put his hands on Killian’s shoulders and pushed back in his arms to look him in the eye. “I a big, scary monster Killian! Raaaaahhhh!”

Killian always forgot how cute Roland was until he was around him. He had to fight back the urge to smile indulgently and instead played along, pretending to drop him with shock, but catching him immediately. The boy shrieked and giggled. “Againagainagain!”

“Big, scary monster, I think your daddy just said it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I get to say goodnight first!” Roland whined.

“Oh alright then, goodnight Roland,” Killian said and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Goodnight!” With that Roland wriggled his way out of Killian’s arms and ran to Regina grabbing her hand and dragging her to the stairs. “I go bed now.”

“Make yourself at home while we get him off,” Robin said then rushed after the pair. The sound of roaring, giggling and thumping gradually faded as the trio went upstairs.

“So, that was Roland,” he said with a laugh, turning to Emma.

She appeared to be trying to vanish into the wall. He chuckled. “Everything alright, love?” he said. At times Emma reminded him so much of the little mermaid, only just discovering how to walk on land, a ball of awkwardness and charm.

“I'm getting the nice floor all wet,” she mumbled apologetically, “with the rain shield thing.” She held up the umbrella, which dripped pathetically around her feet.

Smiling, he took it from her and placed it in the umbrella stand by the door. “Unfortunate side effect of the Great British Summer. Even the best I've ever known comes with a large side order of rain. Admittedly it's usually less.. apocalyptic, but honestly, no harm done.” As he talked, he kicked off his shoes and placed them neatly by the door. Once she had followed suit, he guided her up the stairs to their grand living room.

“It's very… pale,” she said, scrutinising the white walls, beige rug on the wooden floor and delicate green sofas with an anxious edge to her voice. Everything was tasteful, clearly expensive and while the cosy throws on the sofas and Roland’s framed family portrait on the wall, marked this as a family room, it was impossibly spotless. In short, it looked like a recipe for disaster for someone who at times seemed incapable of controlling her limbs.

“Don't worry, they only serve clear beverages in this room, can't have red wine sullying the overpriced carpet,” he said with a wink. “Places around here come in a variety of shades of beige as standard. I believe it creates the illusion of space so that the wealthy can tell themselves they really do live in the palaces their obscene money should have been able to buy. At least this place looks like real people actually live here and not like Louis XVI’s interior decorator attempts minimalism, which I believe is the style du jour.”

“I'm sure you meant that as an insult to the rich, but it comes off kind of bitter. Not jealous are you?”

“Of the rich as a species? Nah. Of Robin and Regina? Absolutely, but then I don't deserve all that they have.” He tried to downplay it, but his self loathing seeped out in his words and he studied the carpet to avoid seeing Emma's reaction.

“You don't really believe that do you? You deserve a family.” His eyes leapt to hers in surprise, anyone else would've thought he meant the house, or the money, but Emma? She really understood him, and she knew what he meant at once. “Thing is, I'm pretty sure you've got one. There's a little boy upstairs who clearly adores you.”

He scratched at his ear awkwardly. “Aye, Roland's something special,” he said and would've added a self deprecating comment, but that look was back on Emma's face, the one that suggested the way he talked about Roland made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Have you known them long?”

“I met Robin at uni, we were in halls together -” he caught Emma's look of confusion “- we lived together in university accommodation - he was the first person I met, actually - so I've known him for, bloody hell, just over half my life now. We were always close, but when he lost his first wife, Marian, Roland's mother, it brought us closer together. He met Regina at a support group for people who have lost their partners and it wasn't long before they were married.”

“They both lost loved ones?”

“And found each other. Meanwhile I lost Milah and my hand and am in the process of destroying the world.” He could feel the bitterness in his words and didn't want to examine that further. Or think about how he found Emma, not when he didn't get to keep her, so he barreled on. “I didn't meet Regina until she was dating Robin, but as I understand it, she fell in love with a man who worked for her family and her mother had disapproved, which I think was equal parts snobbery and genuine concern that she was being taken advantage of by an older man. She had distanced herself from her family and her wealthy friends who didn't understand that Daniel was genuinely in love with her, so when he died of a sudden heart she was left alone. Meeting Robin has also helped her to reconcile with her mother. He’s from a far more respectable family, and Marian was a Lady, so he's got the appropriate connections.”

“Sounds a little cynical.”

He shrugged. “Cora may mean well, but she also cares a lot for appearances. She wants Regina to be happy - as long as it's with a suitable match.”

“You're on first name terms with Regina's mother?”

He flushed a little, really not wanting to explain that while he'd known Regina for just three years, his association with her mother went back much further, to when his bitter and angry younger self thought nothing of consequences in his quest to bring Gold to justice. If he had to seduce a high ranking police officer to get it, he would. (And if said police officer was a gorgeous woman, all the better for him.) Emma’s eyes narrowed at him and she cocked her head thoughtfully, seeming to read what he wasn’t telling her in his eyes.

“Hey, Regina says we can go down for food now, if you’re ready.” Robin leaned into the room to deliver his message, and Killian sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

“Sure, let’s go, Swan,” he said turning to his old friend and ushering Emma out of the living room and away from the difficult conversation.

***

The meal was a great one - Killian always loved Regina’s cooking, and today was no exception. She’d cooked her speciality, lasagne, with a side salad. They’d long since finished her homemade summer fruit pavlova ice cream, which she’d brushed off as “something I just threw together”, although her delighted grin made it clear that she appreciated the recognition of her culinary skills. Now they were sipping glasses of rum and talking about everything and nothing.

The dining room was lit by candlelight, both on the table and in the unused fireplace, the soft light of the lamps on the mantelpiece and the glow of the street lights shining through the window. Killian and Emma sat at one side of the dinner table, Regina and Robin in the other. Killian had pushed his chair back and was lounging in it, one foot rested up on the opposite knee. He was quiet, smiling at Emma as she threw her head back and laughed at Robin’s recounting of a story from their unidays. She seemed relaxed, content and what is more, he felt the same. It was getting harder and harder to remind himself that he had to let her go. The target Gold had placed on her back seemed somehow unreal compared to this happiness.

A loud crash of thunder rang out. There was a pause as they all looked at each other, startled by the noise. They were on the verge of collapsing into giggles at the sudden tension broke when there was a flash of lightning and Regina vanished.

In her place sat the Evil Queen.

Killian had never met the woman, but that much was clear. She had Regina’s face, but that’s where the similarity ended.

Her hair was piled on top of her head in a sweeping updo, except for a few artfully placed strands that draped along her forehead to frame her face. She wore a reptilian leather jacket, with large puffy shoulders and an oversized collar that was turned up. It was fastened just below her breasts, creating a plunging neckline that accented her cleavage and highlighted that she only wore a lacy push up bra underneath. The look was completed with an ostentatious pendant necklace with a large black diamond at the centre and multiple strands of black crystal beads lying along her collarbone and dripping below the pendant to point down to her considerable assets.

Regina wouldn’t be seen dead in something this over the top.

Killian’s eyes darted unthinkingly towards Emma, who had momentarily frozen in fear. Gone was the wide easy smile that overtook her whole face, and instead she radiated pure dread.

Regina’s lip curled. “You!” she growled at Emma. She twisted her right hand and produced a fireball.

The reaction was instantaneous - all three friends leapt to their feet, but Killian and Robin could only watch, powerless to help. Emma, however, immediately raised her hands before her and magic flowed from them. One hand created a shield around the men, the other pointed to the queen. It extinguished the fireball, but stoked Regina’s ire. She growled and raised her own hands. Emma had anticipated her. She used her brilliant white magic like a rope, twisting it around the hissing witch.

The Evil Queen twitched and twisted. She spat and snarled. But nothing could free her.

Killian was overcome with admiration for Emma. She looked so bold and powerful, easily restraining the villain. He looked back to the Evil Queen, and she was Regina once more.

Emma startled and her magical restraints and shield evaporated at once.

Regina looked around, pale and shaking. “What happened? I was in -” she swallowed hard - “I was in a dungeon.” She broke off into sobs and Robin wrapped his arms around his wife, who curled into his chest at once.

Killian stared before him, his eyes unseeing, thoughts racing. What if Regina had been stuck in that awful place? What if they had been stuck with the Evil Queen forever? What if it happened again, when Emma wasn’t around to help and Robin and Roland were -?

Bile rose in his throat at the thought of anything bad happening to the boy. He had never hated himself more. He knew that terrible things were happening, but so long as they happened to nameless, faceless strangers he could forget about it and carry on in a fantasy where Emma belonged with him. What was the world’s suffering compared to his own happiness? And now, he had to face the truth: his selfishness was causing innocent people pain and suffering, and he had to do all that he could to make it stop.

“Who are you and what did you do to my wife?” Robin’s words snapped him out of his self-flagellation. Regina still had her face buried into Robin’s chest and he had his arms wrapped around her protectively. He was glaring at Emma, his face cold and hard. “I invited you into my home and you -”

“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t! It wasn’t me!” Emma cried helplessly, tears running down her face. Killian pulled her into his side with his prosthetic.

“This isn’t Emma’s fault,” he said evenly. “It’s mine.”

His friends both looked around to him, alarmed. Emma continued to mutter “I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t…” to herself. His jaw ticked and his eyes watered as he realised that it was time for him to come clean about everything that had he had done.

“I think we should sit down. I’m sorry, I’ve let everyone down.”

***

When everyone was settled, Emma much calmer at last, but still curled in on herself, her head buried in her hands. Regina and Robin were looking at him expectantly, their hands on the table in front of them grasped together so tightly that their knuckles were white.

“You know what losing Milah did to me - and who caused her death - I let you all think that I stopped pursuing Gold, but the truth is that I just switched tactics.” He stared at his hands, the real and the prosthetic, knowing that if he met his friends’ eyes he wouldn’t be able to continue. “My studies led me to believe that time travel might be a possibility -” Regina gasped - “so I have been working on a time machine with the intention of going back to save Milah and murder Gold.”

“Fuck,” Robin breathed.

Still Killian didn’t look at him. He needed to let them know everything. He wet his lips, and felt himself trembling all over.

“Gold has long loved messing with me. His latest play was to get the uni to withdraw my funding at the end of the academic year.”

“He can’t do that!” Robin yelled indignantly.

Were he in his right mind, Killian would’ve appreciated the show of support even in the midst of his terrible confession, but he was stuck on auto pilot, unburdening his soul, and he couldn’t be stopped.

“I knew that my time machine was unstable, but I was desperate.” He felt goosebumps spread across his skin, his body tingling and the trembling increased. He tried to shut down the pain and talk. “So I tried to use it and it - well, the simplest way that I can put it is that it’s caused a kind of parallel universe to interact with ours. Emma here is Princess Emma from another realm, my machine brought her here. I brought the dragon here. All the people disappearing, all the statues coming to life, all the monsters that we’re seeing. They’re all here because I couldn’t let go of Milah. Because I didn’t want her to be dead. I’ve ruined so many lives and I haven’t - I couldn’t - I -” a lump swelled in his throat, his anger rising - “I failed her. I failed you all.”

He stopped speaking, giving into the overwhelming need to cry. He heard the scraping of a chair and a minute later, he was pulled roughly into Robin’s arms. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

He gulped in a breath and pushed back from him, staring at him through eyes blurred with tears. “What? I - what?!”

“I wish that I had been more supportive when you lost Milah. You had so much to cope with, losing her and adjusting to life with a disability all at once. I worry that we rushed you into feeling better, because we just wanted you to be ok. It’s only when I lost Marian that I worried that we pushed you too hard. I can see now that we did.” Killian gaped at his friend who shook his head sadly. “I never should’ve expected you to be happy so soon when you had gone through so much. I’m sorry.”

Killian felt numb with shock, tingling with surprise. How could Robin be so good as to blame himself for Killian’s mess?

“I’m a grown man. I should have known better.”

“Yes you should,” cut in Regina. “You’re both idiots but you are both responsible for your own dumb mistakes. I love you both but if you’re quite finished with all the manly bonding, we need to figure out how to deal with what’s happening now.”

Killian laughed, stunned by Regina’s matter of fact attitude to everything.

“Now, Emma -” Regina turned to her - “I mean, Your Highness.”

“Oh you don’t have to -” Emma demurred.

“Nonsense, you’re a princess, I’ll address you properly, my mother would be horrified if I did any less. This person from your realm who took my place?”

“The Evil Queen.”

“Yes, her. Is my family safe if she returns?”

Emma drew her breath in sharply, and looked at Regina thoughtfully, before shaking her head. “No.”

“Killian -” Regina turned to him - “can you guarantee that I won’t swap places with my evil counterpart again?”

Killian wished he could give her hope, but he knew Regina well enough to tell it to her straight. “We’re close to a solution, but, no, I can’t.”

She nodded sadly and took a deep breath. “In that case, I must leave, immediately.”

“Regina, at least stay to say goodbye to Roland!” Robin pleaded, rushing to her side and taking her hands in his.

“It’s because of Roland that I can’t. I can’t put him in danger, I love him - and you - too much for that.” Her eyes shone with tears and Robin nodded sadly. “I’ll be at the Ritz, I’ll send for some things tomorrow.” She looked to Killian. “Fix this so that I can come home.” She gave Robin a tender kiss and left the room, pulling her phone from her pocket and calling for a car.

Killian stood in shock, he had torn apart the lives of some of his dearest friends and they treated him with nothing but compassion. Compassion that he was sure he did not deserve.

“Do you want us to stay?” he asked Robin tentatively, scrutinising the man who stood staring at the door after his wife looking crestfallen.

“Huh?” Robin whirled around to look at him. “Oh, no. No. Go home and get some rest. Then wake up tomorrow and work your ass off to bring her back to me, you got that?”

“Aye aye, captain,” Killian said, saluting his friend. He quickly ordered an uber, then tugged Emma towards the door. “Come on, Emma, let’s get out of here.”

Before he could leave the room, Robin seized him and pulled him into another hug. As they parted, Robin pressed a business card into his hand. “When this is all over, you call him,” he said, nodding to the card. “We’ll pay. Don’t argue with me, you’re not ok, and we’re going to help you get better. And I have a feeling that you’re going to have to face more loss before all this is over.” Robin’s eyes flicked to Emma, before looking back at him with a sad smile. “He helped me to come to terms with losing Marian. We’ll talk soon, OK?”

Killian stared down at the card in his hands: Archibald Hopper, Psychotherapist. Specialist Bereavement Counselling. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such good friends in his life, but if they could forgive him, it didn’t matter whether he could forgive himself. Right now, he had to fix reality and save their world.

I hope you all like George - he’s my favourite :D