#those empty shark eyes freaked me out from the get-go

[performing-personhood]

Super annoyed about Season One ending on a cliffhanger, my brain simultaneously needs a break from the anxiety of a galloping mystery but also desperately needs to know how it all resolves??!

I'm gonna have to chew off my own fingertips to keep myself out of the spoilers.

I will say tho that being a Doctor Who fan is really paying off here. I'm having zero trouble keeping track of who's related to whom and who predestination-paradoxed what, and also which personality types and physical traits are mirrored in other cast members (I clocked the identity of The Stranger somewhere in the first half and knew I was right in Ep.7. I think my theories about Noah are gonna be right too.)

It took 0.5 episodes of DarK to get me completely invested, which is a new land-speed record for me.

[some-bunniii]

Alastor and Lucifer come to your rescue

・❥ You’ve been kidnapped. Good thing you know two handsome fellas who’d come to your rescue in a heartbeat—or lack thereof.

~ 5k words

x: reader is g/n. no use of y/n. enjoy 🥰

“You better just let me go. It won’t be pretty for any of you if you keep me locked up for much longer!” You called from the suspended prison cell, hanging from the ceiling with a single, thick chain.

The demon thugs below barely blinked, ignoring your words as they continued their game of hellish poker. Empty bottles of liquor were scattered across the floor, their heads spinning with a drunken buzz while they snickered between each other.

“Whoever wins this round gets first tool pick for torturing the prisoner.” The dealer laid out the deck of cards, flicking his gaze to the cage just above their heads.

“Maybe that will finally shut them up. It’s been–what, three hours since we grabbed them, and they’re still yapping.” One of the shark demons sighed as he shuffled his hand.

The iron bars pressed against your fingers, their chill biting your skin as you gripped them. The dank air, thick with the stench of mold and something fouler, clung to your lungs with every breath. They had plucked you from the street just as you stepped out of the bar, saying you owed money to some freak down in the Greed Ring and your stash of cash needed to be coughed up before the night's end.

Except you have no memory of stealing money from anybody! They must have confused you for someone else, and surely whoever is waiting for their mula will find out your kidnappers snagged the wrong passerby. Sure, you were in Hell for a reason, but your behavior since working at the Hazbin Hotel had improved considerably.

You’d have alerted any of your friends at the hotel of your whereabouts if you could, but the thugs had shaken you of any loose change and electronics the moment you arrived at this dusty, empty warehouse. Angel Dust was the fastest texter, but you were sure he was at the studio by now—in every position except the one that would answer your cries for help.

Was three hours enough of an absence for anyone to be worried? Maybe Charlie would find you tardy for this evening’s lesson and panic, or Vaggie would notice your desk was empty much longer than usual.

You knew someone who would notice the moment your presence became suspiciously absent. Actually, you could name two that would–and who’d come to your rescue in the blink of an eye.

One of them was the very King of Hell himself, Lucifer Morningstar. You met him when Charlie gave him a tour of the hotel all those months ago, and you were immediately taken by his humor and perfect looks, awed by his power and history as an angel. You would like to feel that Lucifer felt those same butterflies upon being introduced to you when you dipped your head and batted your lashes at those pretty eyes of his.

“I heard you built this hotel up from dust with a single thought!” you said, your voice trembling with excitement as he drew closer. “I've never met someone with such a skill in architecture.”

“You flatter me,” the angel chuckled, extending an open palm, “but also undermining my powers. I’m so much cooler than that. Let me show you!”

In a burst of red magic, a yellow rubber ducky appeared with a comical pop, and you blinked in surprise at the familiar face staring back. The ducky looked… just like you, and a smile spread across your features at the silly little you, reaching out a finger to brush across its beak. 

“That is pretty cool,” you affirmed with a laugh, meeting his prideful gaze, “I never thought I’d look so cute as a duckling!”

“You do that all on your own. Here, you can have it.” Lucifer held out the duck with a wink, and your eyes widened in delight, and you quickly lifted a hand. “Just a generous gift from your gracious, very impressed King of Hell!”

When your fingers brushed against his, it was like feeling earth’s sunlight on your cheeks again, a warmth that spread up your arm and had your shoulders loosening in relief from unnoticed tension. Taking the toy in your hands with sudden, fresh energy, you turned it for a close inspection. It felt real, rubbery, and smooth against your palm. It definitely sounded real when you squeezed its little body, and it quacked, like a real duck! 

When you lifted your head, he had been dragged off by his daughter to finish touring the halls, and you were left with a pounding heart. 

You brushed a thumb across the little duck, warmth rising in your cheeks from the encounter with the angelic man until your smile faltered as his words echoed in your mind.

Very impressed. Did he… like you? The conversation had been brief but charged, and you hoped to see him again and learn the real Lucifer Morningstar, not just the King of Hell. If Charlie could win him over with that visit to Heaven, that is.

That was your first interaction with him–and not your last, either. He began visiting the hotel quite often, reconnecting with his daughter and lending a hand behind the scenes whenever she desired. Lucifer always made time for you, too. 

Giving you colorfully themed rubber duckies became his little tradition, gifting them with theatrics and compliments that had your cheeks hot every time. Lucifer’s features always glowed when you laughed at his stupid dad jokes and stared in awe at the creations he took the most joy in.

The morning you had been kidnapped, you reached for your phone, clicked on the contact with a rubber ducky icon, and typed a quick message while heading for the lobby.

[You: Going to the bar with some friends next to the sweet shop. Want one for the next time you stop by?]

[King of Ducks: You know I can just snap my fingers and make a dozen, right?]

You were shocked to see Lucifer had answered immediately; that was rare for the reclusive king. He had gotten better at including himself into the hotel and as a normal member of hellish society, and you liked to think that was in part due to your efforts. 

[You: Yes, but their desserts are good. Plus, when was the last time you went out and ate non-magically cooked food?]

[King of Ducks: Yeah… no thanks. I don’t trust anything made by sinners. How about I dig around for my last bag of Eden Apples and whip up an appetizer for dinner tonight? Will you be at the hotel?]

[You: Yes, I will only be out for a few hours. See you then!]

[King of Ducks: Can’t wait. ʚ(•ө•)ɞ]

You weren’t sure how to categorize your relationship with the King of Hell. You were one of the very few people he spoke to and who he enjoyed talking to, yet there had never been a confession or a kiss, just outings and shared time at the hotel that bordered on date nights.

Could Lucifer be at the hotel now, waiting for you to eat caramel apples with him? He’d get worried, but would he be able to navigate the hurdles of modern technology to track her phone to the warehouse? That might be a problem. You sighed, hope diminishing as you watched one demon clean the barrel of his gun.

There was one more, however. A powerful demon that knew almost every corner of the rugged outskirts of Pentagram City, where he practiced his expanding powers on criminals just like the scum that gossiped about their latest murders below you. 

“Alastor, I'm going out to the bar.” You had stood in the doorway to the lobby earlier today, lips curving into a soft smile as you tipped your chin up to meet the crimson gaze of the fluffy-eared and charismatic facility manager. “Just visiting some friends, I won’t be long. Save a spot for me at dinner, okay?”

Alastor’s gaze lingered on you, the sharp edges of his grin softening. “But of course, my dear,” he purred, his voice full of warmth. “Take your time, enjoy your evening. I’ll make sure there’s a spot just for you—waiting, as always.”

Alastor always knew where you were heading, partly because he was technically your boss—since you sat as the concierge and receptionist for the hotel—but also because you felt completely safe wherever your journey would lead if you knew the infamous overlord was watching your back. 

The terror he inflicted on any bystander who heard his name didn’t rub you so terribly, not when they had even deadlier crimes. They were in Hell, yet the demon’s only victims had been those clutching pearls of insatiable greed and power, ones that wished to climb the ladder by slaughtering anyone who opposed their seat of violence. 

Alastor was the one who welcomed you into the hotel in the beginning when he found you scrounging for scraps in the alleyways like some feral cat. He had approached you with interest, and when your eyes set upon the infamous Radio Demon who offered you a warm place to sleep and delicious food to fill your growling stomach, you had almost taken it in a heartbeat.

Then, you remembered who exactly this demon was.

“If you think I will make a deal with you, think again! I’m not that desperate to sell my soul!” You backed into a brick wall with a glare.

“Nonsense, I would never ask such a thing.” He brushed off your words with a dismissive wave of his hand. “All I ask in return for room and board is for you to work. Tell me, are you efficient with modern communication devices?

“Yes, I can operate a phone.” You had held back an odd smile.

“Excellent! That is all I require.” Alastor had taken you by the elbow to lead you toward the large, seemingly abandoned building at the top of a grassy hill. “I disdain all these newfangled gadgets that have taken over our wonderful city. I have no use for it, but alas, it is a staple of our world now, so we must become accustomed to stepping out of our comfort zone.”

You had listened to him chatter about the modern world's problems in comfortable silence. Although strange, his voice was smooth and lively, diverting all of your attention to the eloquent words that easily rolled off his tongue. 

No stranger had ever offered you such kindness, especially in a place like Hell, and you were determined to make the most of it. Alastor did not seem to mind your company, even when he showed subtle resistance to the companionship of the others in the hotel, like Angel Dust, who always tried to wind up the demon with constant references to his provocative career choice.

He even let you catch the fireflies in his strange but breathtaking pocket lagoon hidden in the shadows of his room. They danced across the soaked grass, lighting up in soft, yellow hues that blinked a trail across the darkness, one that you followed eagerly with a glass jar in your grip.

With gentle hands, you entrapped three… four… five lightning bugs into their new glass home, where they lit the darkness between your palms, like clutching gold sparkling in the sunlight.

Alastor watched you with an amused smile as you took joy in such a meaningless endeavor. Catching bugs to light up a jar, what a silly little idea. 

But… what a cute little endeavor. Innocent fun that brought light to the most beautiful aspects of the natural world familiar to his childhood home in the South. One of the few things he missed about the painful, mortal world above. 

When a flickering cloud hovered over the murky pond’s edge, you stood right at the water as it lapped at your feet and leaned as far as you could over the shimmering depths. Outreaching your arms, you reached for the fireflies dancing just out of reach with a quiet grunt.

Right as you clamped the lid shut on a flurry of lights, the dewy, slick grass beneath your feet sent you stumbling into the pond. You dropped the jar and flailed, squeezing your eyes shut to await the cold plunge into the muddy water.

Nothing came, however. Only the feeling of a sturdy force wrapped tightly around your midsection. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you tipped your chin down to find a green, smokey tentacle holding you steadily, with another clutching the fallen jar above the pond’s motionless surface. 

“In the mood for a midnight swim, hm?” Alastor teased, and you twisted your head to face him, surprise written across your features. 

He snapped his fingers, and the tentacles slithered back into the middle of the clearing. Carefully lowering you onto the soil, they dropped the container into your open palms before dissipating into the air.

“You caught me!” You breathed in relief. 

“Of course I did.” Alastor chuckled, tone softening as he looked you over. “I can’t have you slipping away from me too easily; who will try my Cajun sauce when you are not around?”

“I do like your sauce,” you replied with a laugh. “Thank you; I’d rather not be soaking wet trying to care for these little guys.” 

He watched you closely, a hint of amusement lingering in his eyes as you carefully cradled the jar. The way the soft lights danced against your face seemed to draw his gaze, and for a moment, the usual mischief in his expression faded into something more contemplative.

“What will you do with them, if I may ask?” He tilted his head.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, following the flickering lights between your palms in a trance. “I just think they’re beautiful. Maybe as a bedside night light? Or, we could use it as lanterns for the hallways. Angel Dust would be grateful for a path back to his room during late nights returning from the studio.”

“An interesting idea. I’m always touched by your capacity to care for the wellbeing of others,” he had replied, a genuine warmth underneath the faint static of his honeyed voice.

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you hid a bashful smile by pulling the jar closer to your face. A thought struck you suddenly, and the container lowered in your hands as your brows furrowed. You glimpsed at Alastor’s door behind you, lips tipping downward. 

“Wait, isn't this all apart from your room? Which means when I leave, they’ll just… vanish?”

The Radio Demon watched your falling features in surprise, struck by the fact this was emotionally tolling on you. A pang of… something strange had his chest tightening, a feeling Alastor hadn’t felt since he watched his mother cry over an antique vase that shattered after he had romped with the dog a little too wildly as a boy.

Why would he deny you something so innocent and harmless? He’d find no joy in restricting you from taking the silly little creatures with you. 

He may be a demon, but he wasn’t a monster.

“Usually… yes,” Alastor began, lifting a claw to tap gently on the jar’s lid, “but I see no disadvantage in giving you a little sample of my home.”

The glass fizzled with green energy, the fireflies growing anxious by the strange magic that consumed the jar for only a moment. The jar sizzled out like a dying bulb, and the remaining demonic aura sent tingles through your fingertips.

That smile of yours wrapped him tighter around your finger, and your eyes widened in wondered delight. You met his crimson gaze with a hurried thanks and dashed out of his room to find the perfect spot for your twinkling lantern. Your quick farewell didn’t bother Alastor; he knew you’d be back to collect more, and he’d greet you once more with the usual dapper grin. 

You weren’t sure what your relationship with Alastor was, either: but, you knew he would come to your rescue at a moment’s notice. Except, he would never set foot near any gadget that could ping your location. So… how would he find you? Were you doomed to be swinging from the ceiling forever?

Then, your hands settled upon a tiny object still deep in your pocket. Lifting it to view, your eyes lit with an idea. 

A paper clip, one that you could transform into a makeshift lockpick. It was a good thing you knew how to pick locks. Very well, if you were to brag. Bending the metal with practiced ease, you scooted to the lock that kept you sealed away and quietly slipped the clip’s end into the tiny hole. You strained your ears, listening for the familiar clicks that would lead to your grand escape. 

“You son of a bitch!” One of the demons snarled below, slamming his fist onto the table as he glared at the player across from him, startling you. “I know you cheated!” 

“It’s called being a sore loser,” the other drawled, swirling the liquor in his glass. “It's not my fault you’re this bad at—”

“Excuse me, gentleman.”

Their heads snapped to the open doorway across the floor, your eyes trailing up the finely-tailored red suit until they landed on a pair of fluffy ears and tiny antlers that stuck out from the top of his head.

“Alastor!” You cried happily from above, wiping your brow with relief.

His gaze flicked to your figure dangling above the criminals, who rose slowly with deadly glares at the new arrival. They lowered back onto the men around the table, his grin sharpening as it widened from ear to ear, and his nails tapped against the microphone on his staff.

“I believe you’ve taken someone who does not belong to you,” Alastor continued, boredom lacing his tone, “return them, and I will grant you a less painful death.”

The room was unfathomably silent. The only sound reaching your ears was your own heartbeat thumping against your ribcage as you watched the scene below in breathless anticipation.

“Is that him?” One of the thugs whispered, and another nodded with a set jaw.

“Yes, but he’s outnumbered twenty to one. We can take him.” He pulled an angelic blade from his sheath. “Alert the rest of our men. The Radio Demon won’t last for much longer.” 

His accomplice obliged, and Alastor let them go, thrilled by the added challenge as he took another step forward.

“Well?” He hummed, looking at the men expectantly.

One parted their lips, beginning to speak, until the overhead lights flickered and fizzled out, except for one on the opposite end of the warehouse. Everyone, even Alastor, furrowed their brows in confusion. 

“Behold!” A disembodied voice echoed across the long space, dripping with theatrical flair. You perked at the familiar tone, a smile tugging at your lips. The remaining light in the warehouse intensified, casting an exaggerated, almost divine glow on the figure emerging from the shadows. 

“The Morning Star has arrived!” Lucifer announced with a flourish, eyes shut and arms outstretched as if addressing an adoring crowd. 

Unfortunately, he was faced in the opposite direction of the crowd. Alastor’s smile faltered at the sight of the short king before it sharpened even further, and his claws clenched around his staff.

“And I am here to—! Oh.” Lucifer’s yellow gaze met the wall, and he pivoted on the heels of his boots to face the group across the warehouse, snapping his fingers and vanishing in red smoke.

In an explosion of confetti, the angel popped into existence beside Alastor, and Lucifer’s grin grew in devilish triumph.

“As I was saying.” He cleared his throat to the jaw-dropped onlookers, twirling his apple-tipped cane in his fingers. “I am here to relieve you all of life, forever, since you can’t keep your hands to yourself like decent people.” 

The thugs blinked, glancing between each other. Some looked like they were about to beeline for the exit, while others only bared their teeth in anger.

“Did you follow me here?” Alastor ground out, eye twitching as he twisted his head with a crack to side-eye the king.

“No!” Lucifer replied with a huff. “This is my city, remember. I know my way around these parts just fine.”

“I was here first,” Alastor hissed, adjusting his suit with a hmph. “This is my rescue. Don’t you have some toys to play with back home?” 

“Still up here!” You called from the bars of your cell, peering down at the two bickering men with an eye roll.

They looked up at your crouched figure, then at each other with calculating glares, and finally rested on the mass of criminals before them, more pouring in from the open doors.

“Watch and learn, bellhop.” Lucifer rolled up his sleeves and stepped toward the group of thugs who clutched their angelic weapons with trembling fingers.

He lifted a hand, pointing a finger gun toward the closest demon, whose eyes widened as the King of Hell aligned his sights as he looked down the imaginary barrel of a gun.

With an audible “pew!” A firework shot from Lucifer’s fingertip, slamming into one of the demon's stomachs and skyrocketing him out a window with a shriek. 

The darkening sky lit up in a burst of sparkling colors, and a thunderous boom shook the building. The thugs around the table blinked, glancing at each other warily as the apple-cheeked man clasped his hands and looked at them expectantly.

“Anyone else?” Lucifer smiled with shark-like teeth, brushing the dust from his coat. 

They gulped, lowering their weapons, but the largest demon, a centipede-like man who stood three or four Alastor’s tall, hissed in rage and lifted six silver, gleaming pistols toward the angel, all clutched in its multiple pairs of arms. 

If the angels could be felled by their own steel as they did during their attack on the city only two weeks ago, surely their once-heavenly king could fall from it, too. There was too much money on the line to flee just yet. The demon pulled each trigger simultaneously, and Lucifer quirked a brow.

“Huh, that’s efficient,” he said as bullets flew past his hat, and he ducked quickly to avoid them. 

Alastor threw up a shield of green, the bullets from the rest of the thugs ricocheting off the powerful barrier and zipping across the floor, hitting one of the demons right in the chest with a pained gasp.

“Do not worry your fragile little crown.” The Radio Demon stepped forward, waving off the king without a glance. “I will handle these delinquents.”

“There’s not a chance in Hell I’m letting you have all the fun,” Lucifer replied, and he pulled a long, fiery whip from within his coat. 

The whip crackled with an infernal glow, flames licking the air as it uncoiled. He cracked it against the floor, splitting the concrete and leaving scorch marks across its surface. With a snarl to charge, the thugs surged forward, brandishing their weapons and aiming their guns at the two men’s foreheads without faltering.

In an unspoken competition, your dual saviors readied themselves, green tentacles curling around Alastor protectively as a few snaked forward and throttled a group of demons while another threw one out the already-broken window. His antlers extended, eyes turning to radio dials as his form grew and shifted into a demonic monstrosity, claws extended for the succulent fleshbags before him.

Lucifer lashed out with his whip, the flames searing the air as it wrapped around the largest demon’s pistols, yanking them from its grasp with a force that sent the weapons clattering to the floor. With a flick of his wrist, the whip coiled around the centipede-man’s legs, dragging it down to its knees. 

“Kneel before your king,” Lucifer sneered. He gave the whip a final, violent crack, sending the demon sprawling across the ground, flames licking at its many dismembered appendages.

Lucifer danced across the room, ducking and diving as he karate-chopped a demon, and they exploded into colorful paper mache. Alastor grew twice the size, his antlers lengthening and his eyes shifting into radio dials as he plucked a snarling criminal from the floor and swallowed him whole. 

You did not want to sit around and take a stray bullet to the heart, so you continued picking the lock with hasty fingers. Bullets flew past your cage, but you did not halt the task as you heard the familiar clicks of unlocking mechanisms. 

Realizing their chances were much slimmer than initially thought, some of the men hurried away, teeth chattering in fear, as they left the rest of their friends to be eaten by the hulking red demon and set on fire by balls of flame that engulfed Lucifer’s hands.

The final click had the lock to your cell plummeting to the ground, bonking one thug on the head, and he face-planted onto the concrete with a groan. 

“I did it!” You beamed, chest swelling with a rare ego.

The door swung open, and you poked your head out, watching with a fluttering heart as the two contrasting figures worked in tandem to rescue you.

A tendril curled around the last demon’s leg, dragging him toward the gaping maw of the Radio Demon as he cried out in fear. The sudden force had his finger curling around the trigger, discharging a silver bullet that flew right above your head and shattered the chain that kept you suspended with a piercing shriek of metal.

The cage fell, and you along with it. With a gasp, you helplessly grasped at the bars, squeezing your eyes shut for the impending pain and misery as the floor rushed to meet you.

Six wings spread quickly, and Lucifer sprang forward, arms outstretched to catch your screaming figure midair. The cage around you burst in a plume of red smoke, and you coughed, brushing away the lingering smoke as your heart pounded. Your eyes lifted to meet Lucifer’s soft gaze, the overwhelming relief washing over you like a wave, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to his warmth and safety.

“Are you alright?” He asked, scanning your body for any injuries. Heaven only knows what he would have done if you had any.

“Now that you two are here, I've never been better,” you replied with happy tears brimming. 

“Right, that guy is also here.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, glancing at Alastor’s shrinking figure as the demon licked his lips in satisfaction. “I hope you know I could have done everything without him.”

Of course, you did. He was the King of Hell. You shook your head with a smile as he descended smoothly, carefully lowering you onto two feet. Your chest was still heaving from the adrenaline as your gaze fleeted across the broken bodies littered across the ground, stomach churning at the sight.

Alastor strolled forward, taking his turn to examine you. His smile had receded, softening at the edges as he sidled up to you.  

“You know, you handle yourself quite well under pressure without assistance. I knew your skills would come in handy someday. Although, in a few more minutes, I would have been there to free you without fuss.”

“Except I'm the one who caught them. That is a sole save in my books,” Lucifer cut in before you could speak. “All you did was have a late-night snack and ruin my good mood.”

“Preposterous. It was I who took care of most of these nuisances and saved our dear one,” Alastor chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Without me, you’d have only been floundering against the opposition like a frail duckling in alligator waters.”

“I’m so thankful that you both saved me,” you proclaimed, eyes shining with gratitude as you locked elbows with both men at your sides, “I couldn’t be more grateful for the rescue. Why don’t we get some celebratory drinks from Sinbucks on the way back? A hot cup of black joe and an Earl Grey tea for my handsome saviors.”

“Fine.” Alastor shrugged, not sparing a glance at the man on the other side of you. “But only if this blathering fool pays for it.” 

“Anything for you,” Lucifer agreed, winking your way, “but your friend here better wait outside on the curb. I’m sure they wouldn’t like a rabid animal stinking up the place.”

With a giggle, you pulled them along and left the warehouse, strolling down the trashed streets with a skip in your step. 

You glanced at both of them, pleased and content with just being near you. There was never a dull moment with either of them at your side, or with them together, for that matter, and you wished times like these lasted longer.

Although, you hoped that could happen without being kidnapped next time. 

heyyy guys 😇 im back!! sort of. more like i took a break in writing my novel (roughly 70k words in) to work on an idea i’ve had for awhile but didn’t have the motivation for until now. also, summer overtime at my job and physical therapy have shortened my spare time to do anything… ick.

but now i’m freeeee!! so have this “little” guy for now, and i’ll have more to feed you all soon! now time to crawl back in my hole and write 🥲 goodbye 🤍

taglist 🏷️ (combined characters, 1/2)

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0 @yourlocalgoldenretrieverboy @wpdarlingpan @halo-balo @chipper-chip @lvstyangel @acrazyartist @midorichoco @ivebeenthearchersstuff @indestructeible @otherthoughtsofbu @anonymousewrites @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @cherry-cola-100

[star--stilinski]

Going off on your “stiles being accidentally hot”. Think of like a beach date but then you notice how all the girls are looking at him but he’s obliviously stiles not realizing he’s gained muscle from all his lacrosse training

(Then you prove he’s yours) WHAT?! Who said that?!

(Sorry I’m a freak)

did i make this ask from a different account?? i feel like we type the same. also that last part looks like the one meme of the spongebob fish looking back... ykwim?? too lazy to find it.

i would like to apologize to all blondes about to read this fic. my condolences.

☆

scott is spraying stiles down, head-to-toe with SPF 50. the way the sunscreen looks on his skin as it soaks in is downright criminal, honestly, and it seems you're not the only one who's noticed.

there's a pretty blonde bitch staring at your boyfriend.

okay, well, wait a second there. she's not a bitch for admiring him. there's been no tell that he's taken.

yet.

you frown and take a drink of the margarita lydia asked you to hold. there's a lipstick stain on the can where her lips were imprinted, but that doesn't sway your gaze from the blonde as she takes notice to his newfound abs. they're not crazy chiseled like derek- but they're definitely there.

meanwhile, bless his heart, your idiot boyfriend is singing along to the song blasting from the speaker scott brought, and he's using the sunscreen bottle as a mic. he turns to you and points as he sings the lyrics like the performance is just for you, and this does make you smile.

"is that a fruity marg? for me?" he drops the sunscreen and takes lydia's drink from your hand. before you can protest, he's already taken a big swig, and there's a shine on his bottom lip when he swallows. "that is really good. wanna taste?"

"what? i already had a taste. besides, it's-"

and then he's kissing you, pressing the strawberry flavor into your mouth. you flush bright pink and he pulls away, bobbing his eyebrows at you with a grin. "good, right? sorry, you just look really nice in that swimsuit."

you're aware, with the way his eyes dip down to peruse over your cleavage and hips, that 'nice' is code for 'unjustly fuckable.' and you kinda wish he would say it. but alas, scott is calling his name to throw a football back and forth and you brought your book for a reason, so you part ways with a mutual look of longing.

from your spot on the beach, the veiw is great. the white sands, the pretty waves, your boyfriend's pecs, the blue sky. really, the scenery is hard to beat. stiles' hair is stuck to his forehead after getting dunked by isaac and liam. oh, and your book is good too. you've been stuck on the same page since you sat down.

and there's two younger teenage girls fawning over stiles under a canopy next to you guys. lydia swirls her half-empty drink and scoffs at their giggling, glancing at you. "don't tell me they're the ones getting to you."

"what ever could you mean?" you bat your lashes at her dramatically. "they're just young girls who can appreciate hard work on a man, anyway."

"those aren't young girls." lydia nods past you, eyes darting between something. when you turn your head to look, there's that gorgeous blonde again with what seems to be her friend. both of them are slim and tall, and totally hotter than you. and eyeing stiles, much more boldly this time.

"careful babe, you're showing your teeth." lydia turns back to her own book and languidly flips the page. you close your eyes and huff out a sigh.

"it's probably just the newfound biceps, right? and the hair. he deserves some flattery."

"go cool off, i can't focus with the smoke blowing out of your ears." lydia hums without looking up.

you stand. "i'm gonna go for a swim."

"watch for sharks."

you glare at the two women across the way. "yeah, i will."

but just as you begin to make your way to the ocean, the football the boys were throwing veers off course and rolls over to the two younger teenagers, stopping right at their bare feet. you pause, watching as if in slo-mo as stiles jogs up and apologizes, seeming oblivious to their blushing and giggling. one of them hands him the ball back, and he beams down at her gratefully. they squeal when he jogs off.

you don't realize your fists are clenched until you're already in the water. they're little girls! that is totally normal! why are you being so territorial, as if he's gonna even know they like him!

you splash some water on your face, calming at the gentle sway of the tide, the cool temperature of the ocean lapping at your skin. yeah, you're fine. it was just a blip. just a blip. you're chill.

you turn towards the beach to beckon lydia in, but halt as you see blonde bitch and her croonie talking to stiles closely. you're so not fucking chill right now-

cool it, take a breath. you clench your jaw and shut your eyes, grounding yourself. you will not play overbearing girlfriend just as soon as stiles is getting attention. he needs to know that you're not lying when you call him hot and sexy and pretty and everything else that is true. this is perfect confirmation.

your eyes open because you hear a pretty, high-pitched laugh. it's the blondie's equally-gorgeous friend, who tucks her hair back and bats her lashes at him. he rubs the back of his neck, which he usually only does when you get suggestive with him.

and then blondie caresses his perfect, freckled bicep.

oh hell no.

you storm out of the water and right up to their little conversation, grabbing stiles by the wrist. "hey, can i talk to you for a sec?"

but you're already moving, practically dragging him along behind you as you make your way to the edge of the open beach, where there's a large rock sectioning off what's open and what's not. you pull stiles around it, stomping through shallow water to reach a completely empty, private side of the beach.

you don't think about who could stumble over or how the long grass tickles your ankles- you're already pressing stiles up against the large rock and kissing him blind.

he makes an "mmph!" noise when you first crash your lips onto his, but enthusiastically returns the kiss with a hand sliding to the back of your head. you barely come up for air as you lap your tongue into his mouth roughly, hands splaying across his naked, smooth torso. you press your whole body up against his, needing more more more of him. you need him all over you, need him to know who he chose and why. your mouth travels to his neck, and it tastes salty sweet when you start the makings of a dark hickey.

"hoooly- i'm- i'm, uh, not suggesting you stop, like at all, but i am a bit curious on what i, uh- fuck- did to get here? j-just so i can..." his words trail off as your fingers trace underneath his swim trunks. a strangled noise leaves his throat when you press your hips into his growing erection, raking your teeth lightly across the new mark at the same time.

"stupid fucking girls practically throwing themselves at you," you mumble bitterly before going in for another heated kiss. "as if it's not obvious we're together."

he pulls back from the kiss and you open your eyes to glare at him, only to be met with a cocky smirk and wide eyes. "are you saying you're jealous?"

you pull your body off of his, shoving his shoulder lightly. "don't look so happy! she was practically stripping you naked with her eyes."

he cups your neck with his hand, reminding you of how big it is. stiles' eyes lose the self-assured glint and go soft, flitting all over your face as he parts his lips. "you're not mad, are you?"

"at you? no." you feel his other hand slide around your hip and over the top of your ass, pressing your body back up against his not-so-subtly. "at the girls practically prowling around you like you're some piece of meat? yes."

his eyes zero in on your lips as you lick them, furrowing his brow a bit like he has to focus in order to finish his thought. "i didn't even know she was flirting. i wouldn't have..."

but you don't let him finish, stretching up to kiss again and he deepens the kisses quickly, his hands pulling you in. you mouth down stiles' neck and chest, slowly sinking to your knees in front of him. before you got far, he was all breathy encouragement. but when you look up at him, face to face with his happy trail and low-hanging trunks, his jaw goes slack and his eyes glaze over in anticipation.

"oh, are we- are we doing-? okay, yep, yepyepyep i am very cool with this, yeah-" he helps you slide his trunks far down enough as you kiss along his subtle v-line. he sighs, brows upturned for you. "all yours, it's all yours."

you nod, smirking to yourself when he has to clamp a palm over his mouth as your hands begin what your tongue will soon replace.

stiles stumbles out from behind the rock a little while after you, red in the face and littered in hickeys. scott turns to you with a scrunched up nose, feigning disgust. "dude. seriously?"

you blink at him, wide eyed. "what? i was just checking on a jellyfish sting!"

lydia raises her drink to you, not looking up from her book. "impressive time."

"you think so?" you smile sweetly at her.

"unless he's always that quick."

"you guys are disgusting." scott gags as he escapes you two.

☆

im gonna be late for work because of this

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

Doe-eyed prey, swimming in a sea of sharks, fangs abound, clearly unwanted guests. What’s to stop anyone? There’s no justice out here. It’s the wild west. But even those people had a certain sense of honor. Not these, no. They’re animals, look at them. Zombies, reduced to only carnal instincts. I bet they salivate as we walk by.

 

Don’t look at them, maybe they won’t look at you. Don’t acknowledge them. They might not acknowledge you.

 

It’s not by choice, no. We certainly wouldn’t have picked this route. But you have to do what you have to do. Seniority means you’re the last line of defense. Especially when the ones who really can make an actual difference aren’t there.

 

Scribbles underneath bridges, indecipherable words and drawings from madmen with poison in their veins and broken thoughts in their minds. What brought them here? I don’t know. I don’t care. Best to keep walking. All you’ll be met with is slurs. First confused. Then angry.

 

Once you get to the gas stations and liquor stores, they swarm like flies. Cluster like hornets. Poke the nest. See what happens. I wouldn’t be here if I did, nor would my sister.

 

Cars on stands on the side of the road, windows barred or boarded up, broken glass, the stench of regrets too numerous to even be cared about, the appearance of the word “decay”. It’s not an ideal place for the youth to grow up. Not to me. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I hold no malice for being put here. I owe it much, as much as I resent iyt.

 

Growing up, I’d hear of a place called Hell, in holy books. A place where the wretched are sent, and the worst of the worst congregate, doomed to rot there, drowning in the cesspool of their own failures. They said it was somewhere else. I’d disagree. I can point out to you where Hell was. I saw it when some freak without teeth looked in my direction. When some degenerate hobbled into view, breaking out of a drugged stupor. I experienced Hell when we crossed the street early, and when we quickened our pace a bit, and my heart would pound like a rogue jackhammer on stubborn cement.

 

I’m not going to Hell. I already went. I have no desire to go back.

 

Three miles. Three measly miles. And then, after 8 hours, you do it again. Reverse. Back home.

 

The parents can’t help you. They’d like to. But duty calls. But come straight home. Wouldn’t want to worry them any more than this already does. The wrath of a desperate father, frustrated by his shortcomings, and an incompetent mother, and two unruly children, well, I’d hate to see that.

 

You get used to it after a while. An unconscious man lying in the streets, an empty bottle lying next to him. A woman offering herself up to any and all takers. A gathering of strange characters, conversing about potentially violent hijinks.

 

Avoid saying “hello” to anyone. No one’s friendly here. Strangers aren’t to be trusted. Eye contact will lead to lethal consequences, I think. Just keep walking, Chloe.

 

Rinse, wash, repeat. It becomes second nature. And you start to blend in after a while. It becomes robotic.

 

The shock wears off.

 

But don’t get comfortable.

[delimeful]

(dont) take this the wrong way (5)

warnings: injury, blood mentions, past psychological&emotional&physical abuse, ptsd, sickness

-

Virgil woke up, which was only unsurprising for the few moments it took him to 1. realize that his head was pounding and 2. remember the two very large reasons why.

His eyes flew open, and he found himself half-submerged in a shallow pool of cool water, surrounded by flat ledges of dry rock. The sound of ocean waves lapping against the cliffside echoed around the cavern, which was dimly lit by overhead cracks in the ceiling.

In one of these beams of paltry light, Logan was slumped over on his side, glasses askew. Virgil’s relief at seeing him was instantly overshadowed by terror at what could have happened to the human after Virgil had gone and gotten his skull knocked against rock.

His headache worsened, and he lifted a hand to press against the sore spot, pausing when he found more of those stiff bandage strips wrapped around his head.

The soft sloshing of water seemed to be enough to startle Logan into wakefulness, and the human brightened slightly at the sight of him. “Virgil. It’s good to see you awake. Are you feeling any pain or nausea?”

“What happened?” Virgil replied in lieu of the real answer, which was ‘everything hurts’. “Where are we, I thought we were dead for sure—!”

“Take a few deep breaths,” Logan advised, shuffling closer to the pool and offering a hand. Virgil took it gratefully. “We’re not currently in any danger. I believe we’re at the home of the seal-hybrid mer, if—“

“We’re what?!” Virgil’s voice dropped to a horrified double pitch, his grip on Logan’s hand instantly turning crushing.

“Ow,” Logan said in a pointed monotone. Virgil eased up before his claws could turn the human’s palm into bloody ribbons. “Let me finish, please. I’ve managed to work out a rudimentary method of communication, and as far as I know, we’re not currently at risk.”

“From the giant mer-eating monsters that literally kidnapped us, you mean?”

“Yes, that was the potential risk I was referring to.” Logan pulled Virgil further upright, reaching out with his free hand. “More importantly, you’ve been out for some time. Will you allow me to take a look at your injury?”

Virgil shuffled a little closer, allowing the hand to make contact with him. He had traversed currents of all temperatures, but in chilled still waters like this, Logan’s warmth was more than welcome. “I dunno how that’s more important than our inevitable, rapidly-approaching deaths, but sure, fine. Knock yourself out.”

“I will not? You are already dealing with a likely concussion, I see no reason to double that number.” Logan squinted at him like he was concerned that the head wound had taken a worse toll than he’d thought.

“No, it’s-- it’s just an expression. Don’t actually pass out, or I’ll freak out.”

“Ah,” Logan acknowledged, his hand twitching like he wanted to grab something before returning to carefully peeling the bandages away. “My apologies. Colloquialisms are not my strong suit.”

Virgil blinked back at him, because five syllable words were a little much even when he wasn’t concussed. “No worries?”

Logan continued to gently probe the back of his head. A sharp pang made him jerk away with a muted hiss, his vision blurring with pain as the sharp motion only agitated all his other cuts. He waved off Logan’s apology before it was fully formed. “S’fine. What’s the damage?”

“The bleeding has stopped, which is a good sign. It’s swelled significantly, but the cool water is hopefully helping reduce that as well. The best course of action now is for you to rest and recover in a dark, quiet place, ideally for at least two full days.”

“Yeah, but that’s not happening unless we get away first,” Virgil shot back, irritably twitching his fins down as Logan rewrapped the injury. The human let out a slow breath.

“Virgil. I believe the situation isn’t as dire as you think.” He settled back on his heels, back stiff as he spoke. “Our captors have shown no signs of aggression or hunger, even with the significant bleeding from your head wound. It’s possible--”

“It’s not possible!” Virgil cut him off, scowling fiercely. “That doesn’t mean anything. They’re playing some kind of sick game the way they always do, and if you let them trick you, you’re going to lose!”

Logan looked back at him inquisitively, still not getting it. “What evidence are you basing this off of? I was under the impression that you’ve spent only marginally more time in their company than me. Have they attempted to trick you in the past?”

“Yes, no, I mean--,” Virgil groaned, pulling at his bangs. “They don’t have to say it. That’s just how giants like them operate. We’re smaller, they can do what they want to us, we don’t get a say in it. You escape or you die.”

“Yet, we’ve been in their admittedly less-than-ideal care for over 24 hours, and they haven’t hurt us or made any indications they intend to hurt us.” Logan gestured expansively, his hand a bit wobbly. “That’s a rather long time to pretend, and for what purpose? If it was what they desired, we have been easy targets for a meal from the moment they relocated us.”

A rather long time to pretend. Virgil swallowed down a hysterical laugh, feeling dizzy. If a day of false niceties was all it took to buy his trust, he’d have never gotten away from his first encounter with a giant mer. “You’re— you’re human. You don’t know anything about this.”

Logan frowned. “I may be human, but that does not make me an idiot. Even with a language barrier, body language and expression are invaluable tools for communication, and I’ve been doing very little but observe them while you were unconscious. Virgil, if you just tried talking to them—“

“No!” he snapped, curling in even as his fins flared wide and threatening. He wouldn’t do this again, wouldn’t be subjected to the world’s most torturous game of catch and release, wouldn’t be lured back into too-tight hands by false promises and meaningless apologies. He couldn’t do that again.

Measured, rhythmic tapping on the back of his hand slowly brought him back to the present, cool air and Logan’s steady voice by his side. His throat was closed-up-too-tight, his gills too far out of the water to switch lungs— but the rhythm was counted out over and over, breathe in, hold, and out.

“There you go,” Logan said as Virgil took in another long, shuddering drag of air. “Well done.”

The air smelled like iron. He realized that somewhere in the past few minutes, he’d dug his claws into the soft sides of the human’s hand, drawing blood. He pulled away as though he’d been burned.

Logan didn’t even twitch, still searching his gaze intently. “Are you with me?”

Virgil nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I— fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t realize— but I should have.” A deep, resolved breath. “It’s okay. I’ll find you a way out that doesn’t involve interacting with them.” Logan’s gaze went distant and hazy with thought, and Virgil hesitantly drew closer, pulling a bandage free to wrap around his bleeding hand.

… He was really warm. Clammy, too, and he’d been sitting in a cold, wet cave for hours, hadn’t he? Had been completely drenched for even longer.

“You’re sick,” Virgil said, and Logan took a moment too long to refocus on him. How had it taken him so long to notice? “That’s why you need me to talk to them. You need to get home.”

“My illness is no more severe than your injuries,” he deflected, adjusting his glasses clumsily. “Right now, the priority is getting you away from triggering circumstances. If my suspicions are correct, I will be fine regardless.”

Right. His suspicions, based on his willingness to trust his own abductors. He’d trusted Virgil, too, back in those tunnels. He’d known that he might be abandoned and he’d freed Virgil anyways, taken his hand anyways. Gotten hurt for his trouble.

He’d get hurt worse if Virgil left him here.

“... Yeah,” Virgil said, tucking the edge of the bandage in carefully. “But you should sleep for now. We both should. You said they haven’t done anything yet, right?”

“Yes, but…,” Logan’s brow was furrowed slightly, as though he knew something was off, but wasn’t quite sure what. “I mean, you do need rest. If… If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Virgil replied, curling against the edge of the pool and pillowing his head on his arms to hide their shaking. “Get some sleep, Specs.”

—

It was early morning when Patton woke to the splash of something small dropping into the water from his air room.

The room wasn’t overly large, being designed only for occasional use when he needed some extra oxygen in his system. It was also quite a few caves up above his sleeping den, but with two delicate little guests staying over, his senses were on high alert. He disentangled from Roman, who had been clinging to him for extra warmth, waking the shark mer in the process.

“Mwha’huh?” he asked groggily, and Patton chuckled at the way one side of his hair had been pressed into a tangled bundle.

“I think they may be awake!” he reported quietly, and Roman perked right up. They had originally hovered in the room over the two of them, only leaving after the human-- busy tending to the tiny mer’s wounds-- had gotten too fed up and used charades to shoo them away, leaving them with nothing to do but sit around and think about how badly they’d messed up. As such, they were both more than eager to start fixing things.

Upon popping up into the air room, however, they found only the human, lying completely still apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest. Deep in sleep, with an empty pool at his side.

Roman and Patton exchanged a panicked look, and ducked back underwater to search through his home and see where, exactly, the injured mer had gone.

It didn’t take long to spot him. The mer had practically every fin and frill puffed out, even the ones that were still injured. The threat display as eye-catching as they got.

He was hovering in the opening of a vent crevice, one that helped circulate seawater through the caves. It was small enough that if he vanished through it, they wouldn’t be able to stop him or see where he was headed. He knew it, too, staring them down with sharp defiance rather than absolute terror.

“Don’t move,” he said, as though they hadn’t both frozen at the sight of him. “I’m going to-- to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Roman asked, and received a sharp, wild-eyed glare for his troubles.

“Yeah, a deal. The other one is sick,” a slight jerk of the head toward the air room, “so he won’t last long here. Probably already too far gone to even play a single game.”

Patton was torn between concern (the human was sick?) and confusion. Game?

“But I’m fine. I’ve had much worse than this.” The mer drifted back slightly, closer to the crevice. “If I leave now, you’ll never find me, and then Lo-- the human will die, and you won’t have anything to play with.”

A creeping sense of dread overcame Patton. He still didn’t know what was going on, but it was sounding more and more like something was seriously wrong here.

“So, a deal. You take the human back to where you found him, and I’ll stay-- I’ll stay here,” his voice cracked painfully, but he ignored it, staring at them with a desperate sort of intensity. “With you. I won’t try to get away or anything. I-- I swear.”

“Get away?” Roman asked, his voice going high with the same sort of horror that currently swamping Patton. The mer ducked back at the sound, gaze flitting between them, some of that terror returning.

“I will! I’ll leave, if you-- you can either have one or none, that’s the deal, I’m not kidding. I’m not!” His fins flared wider, blood beginning to leak from some of them. “He’s human anyways, he can barely even swim, you don’t want him--”

“Kiddo,” Patton cut in urgently, raising his hands peacefully and trying not to wince when the mer flinched, “if he’s sick, of course we’ll take him back to where he can get help. No deals necessary, okay?”

The little guy didn’t look reassured at all. “I want to watch. I have to see you put him back, where other humans will find him, or else the deal’s off.”

He didn't believe them. Patton exchanged a helpless look with Roman, who finally nodded.

“Of course,” the shark mer said, “You are more than welcome to accompany us back to the mainland where Patton found him, provided that you’re not exacerbating your injuries.”

The mer hissed at him, a tiny, reedy sound. “And whose fault is that?”

“Irresponsible human fishing vessels?” Roman tried, and then wilted under both Patton and the mer’s looks when the joke fell flat. He cleared his throat. “It is, of course, mine. I wanted to apologize for the way I manhandled you before. Regardless of my intentions, it was unbefitting behavior, and it hurt you. I am truly sorry.”

He bowed with a little flourish, moving slower than normal. The mer stared at his bowed head apprehensively, and then covered the look up with a distrustful scowl.

“If you’re sorry, get Logan out of this place before he gets any worse,” he finally replied, and Patton nodded and went to retrieve the human-- Logan, presumably.

Glancing over his shoulder as he left, he could see the way the tiny mer’s fins had settled just slightly, not quite as frantically overextended as before.

It was a start.

[lumosinlove]

Relic Keel

(Warnings in tags)

part i

Sirius woke up with the sun for one reason only. He wanted to see the far off, white sails of Lupin’s boat.

Some people came to Hogwarts Island for the yearly trade show in Helga. Some people came for the resorts. Some came for the waves, perfect for surfing. Some came for the history.

If Sirius hadn’t already lived there his entire life, he would have come for those white sails. But he’d always been here. This island didn’t let many go. Not even Lupin’s boat truly went. It always stayed in view, never even close to a dot on the horizon. Sirius only ever saw the tourists really leave. And they didn’t count. They were strangers.

Sirius pushed himself up from the mattress he’d dumped on the floor one day and never bothered with again, and glanced at Saint, who had fallen asleep on the porch hammock. A book was clutched to his chest. James got them for him, from the island bookstore or his father’s library. Anything he wanted. He even told Saint to keep them sometimes, but Saint never would.

“If I’ve read it, I’ve got it up here,” Saint would say. “I don’t need people asking questions about how I got them anyway.”

“Tell them the truth,” James would say. “I got them for you.”

Saint would just laugh. Everything about Saint was sunny, all the way down to his honey brown skin and bright smile, his golden hair and his amber eyes. Sometimes his laughs weren’t though. Sometimes things about Saint promised storms.

“Or one of the Gods,”—a Hollow word for Godric’s inhabitants— “could say I stole them,” Saint would always reply. “And it’d be all over from there for this St. Clair.”

St. Clair was the name given to all the kids of the island who didn’t have one. It was the name of Godric’s church and orphanage, and Saint Clair was the saint of the island. They thought they were doing a nice thing, giving orphans a name.

The Hallow called him Saint because he wasn’t one, though, and that was why Saint liked it. He wasn’t a St. Clair. He was no saint. No one was.

“Pretty fun,” Saint would laugh. “To be known for what you’re not.”

“Not to mention,” was another one of his sayings, “I get to go around telling all the people of the island that they can worship me in bed.”

Only Sirius knew his real name.

Hogwarts Island had four neighborhoods. Hot all year round, and just off the coast of Guadeloupe in the French territory of the West Indies Islands.

Your island paradise! said the sign on the main port dock in Rowena.

Sirius had spray painted that sign. More than once. Saint liked to replace the dice with site, just to freak people out a little. The tourists took pictures of it anyway, and then of each other. Zinc covered faces, or barely covered girls on spring break. It didn’t matter. They would all be gone in, at most, two weeks. Hogwarts was small, and the neighborhoods kept to themselves. Tourists were both a part of and outside the dynamic.

First, and northward, there was Godric. Money, money, money. Great manors lined the streets, built in the days of French occupation. They were still mostly filled with the old families—Potter, Lupin, McKinnon, Evans, Deveaux. Sirius always swore that more money went to these peoples’ golf courses and gardens and swimming pools than to food and water. It was also where the main hotels were. Griffin Beach was lined with villas and hotels and resorts, all either pointing outwards towards the endless ocean, or inwards, towards the pools and bars and Gryffindor Golf course.

In the western part of the island was Rowena. Rowena was where the island’s port was. It was where the tourists came in, only to get swindled into paying too much for crappy hotels, for their drinks, and for surfboard rentals.

To the East lay Helga. Anything anyone needed, they found it in Helga. Rows and rows of the finest craftsmen. Helga held the other part of Hogwarts’ main income. What the tourists didn’t cover, Helga’s treasures and their yearly trade show did. 

Finally, there was Salazar. The snake of the South, people called it, because it wound all the way out to the skinniest, most pointed part of the island. Salazar was equal part money and dirt. Salazar held more old families, more old money. The Montagues and Capulates, Saint liked to say, the Jets and Sharks. Lestrange, Carrow, Meadowes. Black. The houses, Gothic and looming and built within inches of each other, were the maze of the drug dealers. One quarter of it, at least. Normally, Sirius Black would have nothing but hatred for his home arrondissement, the one he hadn’t re-entered in almost seven years now, for fear of never escaping again, but Salazar had produced Dorcas, after all. And Dorcas was one of Sirius’ closest friends. Doras gave Salazar, if not a redeemable image, proof that it wasn’t a complete hell-hole. There were rarely any cross-over. Godrics stuck to Godric, Salazars to Salazar, and so on. Unless there was trouble.

But then there was The Hollow. It was a sliver of a place, right on the northern-most shoreline. Ironically placed beside Griffin Beach, just outside of Godric. A small slice of land dedicated to…no one really knew who. Runaways, like Sirius? Do-what-you-wants, like Dorcas? Godric-rich-boy-looking-for-a-thrill, like James? Or had you been born there, like Saint?

To the island, they were like the poor of Ancient Rome, slanting wood against the outside of the city’s walls for shelter. But it didn’t feel that way. Not to the people inside.

Some knew what they had done to end up there. Some didn’t. Everyone knew that was it though. You didn’t make it out of The Hallow. Saint liked to say that you had to make it in. Like some A-lister Godric club. A tangle of too low wires, stollen cable, junk yards and thatched, patched houses. More surfboards outside of houses than cars.

They called their little piece of wood leant against the Roman wall Grimmauld Place. Grim old place, in French. Sirius didn’t know why. It wasn’t grim to him. It had always been called that, forever, named by just another somebody that no one knew. A shelter, gorgeous and haphazard, built by different inhabitants over the years, that was half on the ground and half in the trees. Rope ladders, rope bridges. Spirals and spirals of it. Warm, hanging lanterns all the way up into the branches of the biggest oak tree Sirius had ever seen. Like fireflies. None of Godric’s window screen mania. You wanted the sun on your face, you wanted the ocean breeze, you’d deal with a few mosquitoes. Sirius knew that the sun, the sand between his toes, his friends, just a level below…it was worth it. He’d never forget the first time he’d seen it, Saint looking over the railing, much younger, and telling him to fuck off. He’d take it over the dark halls he had grown up in any day.

Sirius planted his feet on the floor and pushed himself up, going to the sink for a glass of water and so he could stare out the window some more. There it was. Sirius loved that boat. The sailor sailed it like they were trying to escape, too. Only, Sirius couldn’t think of a reason a Lupin would want or need to escape. He’d seen their house plenty of times, almost everyday when he went to work at the Potter’s. But that boat…it didn’t fit anything else about the Gods, except perhaps that they could afford it. Sirius loved that boat, he loved its billowing sails, and the looping script reading, Wolfsbane, its name, across the side.

The sky was just beginning to give up dawn, and Sirius wanted to be closer.

He put his glass down and shoved his feet into his flip-flops. Saint was closer to falling out of his hammock now, and dappled in the pale light between palm trees. Sirius gave the hooked fabric a kick, and Saint flailed awake.

“Fucker,” Saint said, one eye open and voice groggy.

“I can’t sleep,” Sirius said. “Let’s go do something.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost dawn.”

It was all Sirius needed to say. Saint threw a hand over his eyes before rolling to his feet and stretching his back. Sirius stared out over one of the railings of Grimmauld and all he could see was ocean. He looked for his boat, his white-sailed perfect thing, and then turned away. He’d have time to watch again at the beach.

The Hollow was grand to Sirius, mostly because it was the farthest away from Salazar that one could get. At this point, Godric, as much as Sirius hated it, felt like a point of protection. If Salazars hated the Godrics, they’d hate having to go through them to get to the Hollow even more. But the Hollow was great for other reasons.

Shack Beach was theirs. No tourists. No villas or hotels that shooed you away from the private bars and lounge chairs. It was empty, and so it was full. And the waves. Oceanic rollers that pushed you up, that let you get your feet under you, or forced you down beneath the surface in a tumble of salt and sand. Not so great during a hurricane, but glorious for this.

Sirius hefted his board under his arm before throwing it into the sand and stretching his arms back, then up above his head. Saint was doing the same beside him, his wooden, sea-soaked cross hanging around his neck.

“D’accord, Black,” Saint said. “Wagers?”

“Whoever gets the most air has to play lookout for Dorcas,” Sirius said. “And dinner.”

“High stakes,” Saint whistled lowly. “Fine.” Saint’s smile was sharp. “Go.”

They took off at a run.

The water, although warm, was the shock Sirius needed. Saint beside him, as always, and the unknown weight of creatures and water below them. It was terrifying and thrilling. The ocean floor was dark this early, but Sirius stared down at it anyway as they sat on their boards, waiting. They didn’t need light for this part anyway. Sirius could recognize the telltale pull of the tides in his sleep.

“Oh,” Saint drew out the sound, tilting his head back. “I feel it, baby.”

Sirius turned wordlessly back towards the shore, Saint following with a flash of a smile, as they began to paddle. Sirius felt the lift, the curl, heard the water begin to rush and rush, faster and faster. The water kissed his feet and hands. Sirius jumped himself up and let out a long whoop, laughing as he gained his footing with a few twirls before pushing himself up towards the crest. He curled around the top of the wave and there was the Wolfsbane again, just for a moment, before it disappeared to the sea again. Sirius, for a moment, had felt like he was sailing beside it, with it.

They could stay out there for hours, always had been able to, but Sirius had work soon. They went until Sirius felt thoroughly salt-drenched, lips parched. Dragging their boards, they collapsed together in a small thicket of palm trees, up the beach a little. It was like a small cave of bark and wind-rustled leaves. There were still a few stars visible, and Sirius closed one eye and connected them with his finger.

“Dipper?” Saint said.

“Just Orion,” Sirius sighed and dropped his hand. “We learned that in school.”

Saint snorted. “When’s the last time we went to school?”

“True,” Sirius laughed, then, “You should steal the Wolfsbane for me."

Saint looked over at him. “What is it with you and the Lupins’ boat?”

Sirius just shrugged. He didn’t know. “I miss sailing, maybe.”

“You know Kris will let you take one of his out at the marina,” Saint replied.

“I don’t want to get him in trouble. He already lends us the motorboat, anyway.”

“You’re all trouble,” Saint said, and then he knocked their ankles together when they had been quiet for a few moments.

“Well?” he asked quietly as the sun began to warm them.

Sirius turned to look at Saint, sand in his hair. He laughed. They both knew what that meant.

“That sort of day, huh?” Sirius said.

“I’m asking for you,” Saint said. “I can go wherever I please, Dorcas has Marlene, but you…” Saint made a tisking sound. “Oh, Sirius Black. You lonely creature of the sea.”

Sirius scoffed. “You’re always so romantic.”

“Come on,” Saint propped himself up on an elbow and pressed a warm palm to Sirius’ bare chest. “It’s nice. It’s nice because we know each other.”

“Why do you always do this to me in public places?”

Saint raised an eyebrow and looked around the empty sands.

Sirius knew Saint could feel his chest rising and falling beneath his hand, knew that if he dragged it down some he would feel Sirius stirring in his swim trunks. Saint was his best friend. It was easy with Saint. There was no risk of losing Saint. Except maybe to Saint Clair, but they never went to Salazar, and Salazar had yet to come to them.

“Come here,” Sirius sighed, as if he was entirely put upon, and Saint made a pleased noise and leaned down for a kiss. He tasted like the sea, salty and smooth. Sirius pressed a hand to his back, coated with sand.

“Sandy hand jobs,” Sirius grumbled into his mouth. “My favorite.”

“There’s no sand in my mouth,” Saint breathed out and threw a leg over Sirius’ hips, mouth moving down to suck at Sirius’ neck. Sirius let his eyes close, hand squeezing around one of Saint’s strong shoulders.

“That’s true,” he said.

The barely there light in the sky cast Saint’s skin in blue, his light curls taking on the color, too as he kissed down Sirius’ chest, whose breathing was coming faster. He bit playfully at Sirius’ hip when he reached the band of his swim shorts and Sirius laughed, hitting his head lightly.

“We gotta go soon.”

“So?” Saint looked up with one of his sharp smiles, his freckles sprinkling his brown skin and honey eyes.

Sirius did love Saint. They loved each other, in their own way. For a long time now, they had been all each other had. Some type of love had to grow out of that. It just had to.

He was warm and felt safe as Saint’s mouth slipped over him, nursing him slowly. Sirius threaded his fingers into Saint’s salt-tangled hair and let his head loll back in the sand.

Sirius didn’t relax often. Saint knew that because he was the same, even if he pretended he wasn’t. The closest Sirius got, besides this, was in the ocean. Something to focus on. Something to look for and be careful about. Something to love.

He breathed out slowly, trying to quiet his mind and pass all his attention to Saint. He was stiffening quickly to full hardness from the wet heat, and his hands in Saint’s hair moved with his movements, sounds soft.

Sirius let himself stare out at the ocean again. The Wolfsbane was filled with wind, the double pontoons tilted so that one was a little ways out of the water. He could only barely make out the sailor’s silhouette. He didn’t know which Lupin it was. They was skilled though, very skilled. Sirius would do anything to have a sailboat of his own that he could take out every single day. He envied the sailor.

It didn’t take him long to come, not with Saint knowing his body so well. Soon, he was open mouthed, back arching as Saint pulled his orgasm from him.

Saint smiled when he leaned back, sitting on his heels and tucking Sirius back inside his shorts. “Worship me yet?”

“Always,” Sirius panted. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen your mouth?”

Sirius hummed and surged up to kiss him before knocking him back into the sand. They wrestled, rolling and laughing together in the dune, before settling with Sirius on top, hands pinning Saint’s wrists.

“Go on,” Saint grinned, then parroted, “we gotta go soon.”

“So romantic.”

Sirius reached into Saint’s suit and took his cock, hot and throbbing into his hands, biting his lip at the way Saint’s mouth dropped open. Saint really was beautiful. Sirius thought there must be something wrong with him to not want him in the way that he should.

“Life’s not too bad,” Saint sighed after, as Sirius rolled to lay next to him again. “Island. Surfing. Sex. We’re basically The Beach Boys.”

Sirius laughed. “Basically.”

Saint made a disgruntled noise. “Is it weird that we aren’t in love?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied. “It sort of is.”

“Do you wish we were?” Saint looked at his profile.

Sirius returned his gaze, their noses close. He nodded, sand shifting in his ear. “Sometimes.”

“Gosh, we suck.”

“We really do,” Sirius patted near where Saint’s swimsuit was still askew. “Literally.”

Saint let out a loud laugh, pulling his trunks up, and Sirius a long groan.

“Gotta go to work.”

“Poor baby,” Saint said.

“You also have to go to work.”

“Poor me.”

“You also owe me dinner. And your Dorcas’ look out. I won.”

Saint sat up. “Then I gotta go to work.”

Sirius smiled and looked back out over the waves. The white sails were pushing back West, towards Lupin House to dock. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to see them filled and tilting again.

~

Dorcas slung her backpack on while Saint all but forced the Jeep into park. She hopped out of the door-less side and turned to grin at him, elbows resting against the hot metal of the rusty blue sides.

“One hour,” Saint said, already kicking his seat backwards and pulling out his earbuds. “Then I have work. Don’t think I won’t leave you here.”

“You’re a saint, baby, really.”

Saint flicked his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

Dorcas waved him off before jogging lowly around the back of the McKinnon’s gardens, skirting the gate until she found the bent out posts. She threw her backpack through first, before sliding through herself on her stomach. The manicured grass stained her tank top green in places, but Marlene wouldn’t care. Marlene was an angel. Dorcas was positive.

Marlene’s father, not so much.

Dorcas kept away from the vast windows until she could pull herself up one of the drain pipes that led straight to Marlene’s bedroom window. She crouched, sneakers wedged against roof tiles, and tapped on the glass.

At first, all Dorcas could see through the window was Marlene’s familiar bedroom, the sunlight partially reflecting herself back at her, her chin length dark hair, backwards hat and tank top. In the rest, Marlene’s bright walls, once white but now covered with posters and Marlene’s paintings. Concert posters, random letters from the Hollow’s old abandoned movie theater marque that Dorcas had brought her, and the oil paint in swirling shapes or stroked to form friends’ faces. Dorcas saw her own face many times, and the sight was warmer than the hot sun.

Then, Marlene was there, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She pressed her forehead to the warm glass briefly before pushing the window, sticking with the heat, open.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dorcas said.

“D,” Marlene sighed, and pulled her in.

Marlene was an angel. Dorcas was sure.

~

Saint felt uneasy in Godric. He probably always would. He kept his earbuds in, but tapped off beat and nervously, glancing back at the McKinnon house every once in a while. All these houses looked the same. The lawns were so green that they rivaled the sea, aqua and glimmering in the sunlight. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the women, seemingly ever out for a morning speed-walk with each other, died blonde hair piled high on their heads, who stopped to ask, Do you do lawns? What about pools?

Saint merely slid his sunglasses off, smiled at them, and they were lost. Their eyes went bright, their mouths giggly. Boy from The Hollow, they would whisper to their friends later, so sad to waste such a face—

Saint had always been beautiful. He knew that. But it didn’t matter so much when you were from where he was. In Godric, beauty was key. Anywhere else, it was a waste.

And then they’d see his neck. The cross with the 7 singed there, hanging around his neck.

Oh, they’d gasp, oh, sweetheart, you’re one of those St. Clair Church orphans aren’t you?

A waste. A waste.

The nuns—waste of space, wasteofspacewasteof—

Saint hated the Godric men, with their linen pants and green juices. Walking their property lines and greeting each other each morning, like Roman elite on their salutatio.

Saint was here for Dorcas, who for some reason had decided to love one of those men and women’s daughters. He could never.

That was the surest way to be a waste. Why love them? Why love anyone who was raised like this? By these people?

There was an excitement that came with The Hollow for the Godrics. A strange fascination, animal and exotic. Marlene, to her credit, didn’t have it. She loved Dorcas, too. James Potter…Saint liked James well enough. But both he and Marlene could still go home every night. They didn’t live it. Not like Dorcas, not like Sirius, not like himself.

Yes, Saint would say. I do lawns. I clean pools.

Saint grinned sweetly. Sultry.

He’d also steal their favorite gold necklace.

~

“So, Remus, what do you plan to do with yourself this summer, sweetheart?”

Remus looked across the dining room table at his parents. His mother was looking at him expectantly, knife and fork poised, and his mind had still been with the wind and the sea.

“I know the history museum is always looking for volunteers, which looks wonderful on a college application,” his mother continued when Remus had paused for too long.

Remus nodded, hoping to keep his expression pleasant, and cut his pork chop. “Maybe. I was hoping to lean in a little bit of a different direction.”

“Oh?”

“Just sailing, I mean. Racing. There are prizes, some of them with money attached. Good for scholarships, or…”

Remus’ father chewed slowly. “Oh. Well, yes. But you have the mornings to do that. Something more productive with your day, maybe. What are the other boys on the team doing, for example. Maybe ask James or Luke or Thomas. Well, maybe not Luke, given everything that happened this year.”

Remus only nodded again, biting down everything else. But he wanted to race sailboats, run with them, he wouldn’t say. What could be more productive?

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I’ll look into some options around town.”

That, made his mother and father smile.

Julian sat to Remus’ left swinging his legs and looking between them all.

“Can I go out on Wolfsbane?” Julian asked hopefully. Julian, through Remus, had developed an incredible love for Remus’ sailboat and wanted nothing more than a ride.

“Absolutely not,” Remus’ mother said. “Not until you’ve finished your lessons at the Club.”

The Club. Dreaded words. Gryffindor Club, what Remus and Marlene secretly called The Yacht, was the most prestigious private club on the island. You needed a two-member invite. It was beautiful, but it was all walls. Closed off from the rest of the island. People came here, stayed at the club, and didn’t even see. The pools were not the ocean, and the cuisine was not Hogwarts cuisine. Remus wasn’t even sure his parents knew anymore, although he knew they had once. Early on. He didn’t know what had changed. You fall into a crowd, maybe.

He would get Julian out and about one day, when he was old enough. Remus himself spent his time on all parts of the island, in all neighborhoods—almost. He loved Helga more than anything, with its nicknacks and beautiful, dream-like creations.

Except The Hollow.

He’d never gone. Almost, once, on a dare from James when they were thirteen. There were nasty rumors. He’d only seen it from the sea, the deserted sands of Shack Beach and clusters of houses. And the rumors looked true enough. He knew James went sometimes, knew who he was friends with. The only reason he didn’t get shit for it at school was because everyone liked him too much. Remus thought they liked the fact that James could get away with it, too. James could get away with anything. He was a Potter.

Everything except me, Lily always said, and Remus smiled at the thought.

They’d all be out of here in a year anyway. At least for a while. College was like a promise-land. Remus was so sick of this island, but not the ocean. He’d miss the ocean.

The Lupins had been on Hogwarts for nearly one hundred years—a short time, compared to the Evans and McKinnon families. An even shorter time compared to the Potters and Deveaux. One hundred year old new money? Remus thought it was a ridiculous statement but, compared to the other Godric families, they were new. It was relative. Relative money. The Salazar families had been there even longer, Remus couldn’t quite remember their stories.

Remus couldn’t imagine how no one had wanted to go out and see the world. This island was his home. He loved its every shore and nook. But he…wanted. He wanted with the sea and the wind and his Wolfsbane with its twinning pontoons and white sails. It’s tiny below deck cabin that snugged in a bed for nights lulled by the waves. Nothing outside but water and the stars.

After dinner, Remus climbed up the tall, winding stairs to Bane Tower. It had been named by his great, great, great, grandfather, also named Lyall, like his father. A play on words. Lupin, wolf. Wolfsbane. Bane Tower. Sometimes Remus felt like he was just another word game. Remus and Julian. Raised by the wolves.

“It kept him sane, the stars,” Remus’ grandfather had always said. “Quite literally, I mean. Madness runs in our family, Remus. Who knows when it might pop up again. And they kept him almost sane, I should say.”

The stars kept Remus sane, too. They were a map on the ocean, and an escape on land. He didn’t have to think when he looked at them. Maybe that was what was dangerous about them. Hypnotic. Mirrored by the haphazard lights of The Hollow, right along Godric’s shore.

Remus’ grandfather had died of madness. That’s what they said. Remus had watched him go. He missed him.

It didn’t stop Bane Tower from being the perfect place to see the stars.

~

For Gods, the Potters were good people. Really, for anyone the Potters were good people. They were kind to Sirius, and payed him well. Mostly he looked after their boat, but he would also do chores around the house, run errands for this and that for Mrs. Potter.

It was how he had met James. Really met him. School didn’t count, Sirius had disappeared when he was eleven from his old life and that meant, what friends he might have had at Hogwarts Academy were no more. No one liked a run-away. No one really liked a Black.

The Potters weren’t prejudice. Did they have more money than Sirius could picture? Yes. But they were good. It was the only reason Sirius had even considered liking James again. And still, that didn’t mean he understood why James still hung out with him—them. James was the only one from Sirius’ old life who had decided to reconnect. It was strange. Sirius had nothing to offer him.

It had only gotten stranger when, about two years ago now, he’d brought Lily Evans, who had in turn brought Marlene McKinnon. The boys and the girls had been taught separately when Sirius had still be there, and so Lily and Marlene were vague memories for Sirius. Dorcas—homeschooled—and Marlene were gone for each other almost immediately, and Sirius had theories about Lily and James. None of them had ever brought anyone else, so, Sirius assumed, the rest of his old schoolmates had turned out to be the assholes he expected. Gods in their own territory, up on Olympus, reaping their spoils on the backs of others. Lacrosse playing, secret addicts to something, who drank too much, lived for the summer, and liked boobs more than themselves. Then again, James hung out with those people, too. It was hard to figure out.

But weren’t they all.

“Black!”

James, in all his leather boat shoes and pink swimsuit galore, was jogging up the dock to meet him. Sirius gave a nod, but kept sweeping last night’s rain from the decks, the morning sunshine hot on his neck.

“What’s up?” Sirius said.

“Throwing a party,” James said. “Thought maybe you and your crew would want to come.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You’re inviting us to a party?” They were famous, Godric’s boisterous parties. Drugs, alcohol, swimming pools, and the ocean. The best mix.

James nodded. “That I am.”

Sirius laughed. “Pots, that place will be crawling with Gods.”

“I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “On our turf, where we aren’t so outnumbered that, when the police show up—because they always do—we’re the ones who get blamed just for existing. And for the Crucio that’ll be there—and don’t try to tell me someone won’t bring some.”

Crucio. Hogwart’s powdery nightmare.

“Fine,” James said. “We’ll make it one of yours, then. Your turf, you name the place.”

“Why?”

James grinned. “Maybe I like transcending boundaries.”

“Maybe Marlene wants to see Dorcas.”

“Maybe.”

Sirius straightened and leaned on his broom, looking at James squint at him in the bright sunlight reflecting off his glasses. He was wearing a navy Castle Lacrosse t-shirt that decidedly did not go with his shorts.

“Maybe,” Sirius said. “But it’s gotta be at Shack Beach.”

James whistled. “That’s pretty deep territory. You know Felix will make its rounds.”

Crucio was the island’s greatest gift, and its greatest curse. Some people called it Crucio, some called it Felix. The drug wasn’t very addictive chemically, but its effects were powerful. Sirius had heard that it allowed the user to hallucinate memories. Past, distant or near. It could keep people coming back for more, time and again, hoping to relive things—or desperate to see something different. Crucio wasn’t addicting, but memories definitely could be. Good thing Sirius didn’t value his past.

Sirius stuck to the name Crucio. It was torture to live like that, not luck.

Crucio meant a good and steady cash flow for the suppliers. Like Dorcas. Sirius and Saint basically lived off of her income—not that she could do much without answering for how she accumulated it. It was a strange gift, a tedious life, but Dorcas seemed to like it.

Sirius stared James down. “And if it does, no cops will show up to tell about it.”

“Deal,” James sighed. “You’re fucking hardcore, Black.”

“Sure,” Sirius said.

“Potter,” came a voice from the end of the dock.

They both looked and Sirius stiffened as soon as he did, feeling self-conscious clutching his broom. Remus Lupin and Luke Deveaux were standing there, aviators on and Castle Lacrosse tank tops. Luke’s flashy Jeep was waiting in the circle driveway of James’ house. It was Luke who had spoken. Remus stood a few steps back. With their sunglasses, Sirius couldn’t tell where they were looking.

“Let’s go,” Luke said simply.

Sirius turned away before they could, pushing rain water harshly into the sea.

“Yeah,” James said, voice softer this time. “Coming.”

Pity. Sirius could practically feel it.

“Ten tonight?” James said to Sirius. “Sound okay?”

“Okay,” Sirius said without turning around.

He felt the vibrations of James jogging back down the dock, but didn’t turn to watch the three Gods go.

[petite-ely]

Afraid // JJ Maybank

five - but what if?

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: bad language (don’t swear kids), mention of drowning, mention of death, nightmares, mention of guns, mention of fight, did I miss something.

Description: after his reckless actions at the party, JJ is unable to sleep but he isn’t the only one still awake.

A/n : I don’t want to make this longer than it already is, I think I’ve talked enough lol. If for some reason you want to know why I’ve been gone for so long I’ve written a post regarding it. Sorry again for not posting in so long. If you want to chat, feel free to reach out. I’m friendly. :) please kindly tell me if I’ve made some mistakes, I’ve reread this like a hundred times but its possible some mistakes slipped.

Previously next

Afraid masterlist

Gif by @cobrazkai

Song recommendation

JJ Maybank was 14 years old when he first realized that he had feelings for one of his best friends. The thing is he didn’t know what the hell those feelings were. He had always thought that y/n was really pretty and he considered her to be one of her closest friends and that was it. Friends- that’s what they were.

But after years of friendship and wild adventures and basically hanging out 24/7, something felt different. And boy, did that scare him.

JJ was not the kind of person to be really in touch with his emotions. Being abandoned by his own mother and living with an abusive alcoholic father didn’t really help either. If anything, his past traumas only made him more disconnected from his emotions and feelings.

He might’ve been hot headed and impulsive but that didn’t stop him from feeling things, often even too deeply. The issue was naming the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t know what he was feeling like half of the time. So when it came to y/n, his feelings for her were so intense and unknown. He had never felt this way for anyone before. He was so confused.

Being around her felt weirdly homely and yet, he never really had a real home to come to. For him, it was only a house. It was a building with things he wasn’t really attached to and a man he couldn’t really call a father, despite DNA saying otherwise. Being with her felt warm and golden and it was like a drug he couldn’t say no to. He was constantly looking for ways to feel this specific way. It was euphoric. But he only felt this way when he was around her. And it felt like home.

She was the home he wanted to come to every freaking night. And he wanted to dance with her and have night long discussion and caress her cheeks tenderly. He wanted to kiss her more than anything else, his lips on hers staying that way until one of them needed to take a breath - oh what heavenly feeling that must be. He wanted to proclaim his feelings to the entire island - the entire world even.

Only he couldn’t. There was this rule, and he couldn’t break it. Usually, he wasn’t the kind of person to let rules determine what he should and shouldn’t do. But it was the pogue rules, he couldn’t break them. He couldn’t do that to his friends, regardless of his own feelings.

Love. That’s what his feelings were. It took him some time to realize it, but yeah, it was love. He was certain of it (which was rare for JJ). A first love, innocent, deep and one sided. At least that’s what he thought. How could she love him? How could anyone love him when even his own father didn’t? Who would want him?

Now, JJ had messed, big time.

He was sitting beneath a tree, at the edge of the yard whims the château, a few feet away from where the water started. His gaze was turned towards the sunrise though he wasn’t really looking at the magnificent show of colours that nature was offering him. He was thinking or more like regretting.

He kept replaying the event that had happened just a few hours ago on the boneyard again and again in his mind. The arrogance on John B’s face while he taunted the kooks, the empty, psychotic look on Topper’s face while he was holding J.B’s head underwater, his own hand holding the gun against Topper’s head. It felt so powerful at the moment and yet in retrospect he felt so stupid. What would he have done if something had actually happened, if someone had gotten hurt because of him?

In the spur of the moment, he hadn’t thought about it really much. How crazy it actually was. He saw his friend in a situation where he could actually die and only thought about helping him. He had this thing with him that could help save him, an object that take could take someone’s life in the matter of seconds. So he used it at his advantage. He had only wanted to help, but at what cost.

He kept picturing the expression on y/n’s face when he got the gun out. It wasn’t anger, no it was much worse, she was terrified. She had actually been scared of him. How could he ever make up for that. How he could he ever admit what he was feeling for her after he had brought her such terror. He had ruined everything.

What if she never forgot that moment? What if she never forgave him?

A branch cracked somewhere in the distance, and JJ turned to face whoever, or whatever, was lurking in the dark. He was blinded by the bright artificial light of a flashlight. “JJ?” A voice spoke and the blond immediately recognized it. Y/n.

“Can you please turn it off, I don’t think it’s necessary,” he responded, motioning to the clarity that brought the sunrise. It was light enough for them to fully see one another.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, “-she sat down beside him- “Couldn’t sleep?” JJ stared at her for a moment before taking his eyes away.

“Yeah, you could say that. What about you? John B snoring too loud?” Y/n gave a small laugh.

“Um, no, not this time.” Her smile went down. “I had a nightmare.” JJ’s brows furrowed.

“Not about um, not about tonight right?” He asked, guilt hidden in the tremors of his voice.

Images of the past night filled y/n’s mind. Her brother being held under water, JJ pulling the gun out, the loud echoing sound of the firearm as it shot in the air. She could still hear it ringing slightly in her ears.

A small moment went by before she finally shook her head in denial, earning a small sigh of relief from the blond (at least that wasn’t his fault, he already felt guilty for so many things). “No, uh, no it wasn’t that,” she said, her voice barely audible.

JJ stared at her face in the golden light of this early morning. He noticed the blank stare in her eyes and frowned. Nightmares, although worrying for most people, were pretty common for y/n. JJ of course knew this, yet something felt odd.

He rested his hand on the small part of her back between her shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?” She turned her head to meet his eyes, the feeling of his skin, warm and soft against hers sending small tingles at the base of her neck.

She didn’t want to bother him with her problems, she knew how horrible his home life was compared to what she was living. She didn’t want to remind him of this not make him feel bad about her small problems when he was facing such violence on a daily basis. Still, she knew JJ and talking about his dad was the last thing he wanted to do. And his eyes, his beautiful ocean blue eyes, it’s like they could see through her. How could she lie to him?

“I, uh I-I-“ his hand went to her shoulder and he squeezed it reassuringly. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” Y/n felt her cheeks burning (hopefully he didn’t notice it). She took a moment to breathe in deeply the fresh air, calming herself slightly before putting her hand on his.

“No, I-I want to. I think it’ll help, in a way.” JJ cracked a sweet smile. “Alright then.”

“I keep having this one dream about my dad and I see him on his boat wandering. He’s lost in the middle of the ocean and he’s calling my name.” Saying those words, she really felt as though she could hear her father calling her name in the far distance, as if he was right beside her. Sadly, it was only her imagination playing tricks on her.

“And it keeps turning to this nightmare, where he dies in various horrible ways. Either drowned or starved or eaten by sharks.” JJ’s gaze softened, his eyes admiring her lips forming each words one after the other. “But tonight-“ she let go of his hand, shifting her body to face him completely, “-tonight, for a reason, I didn’t see him.”

“The boat was empty.”

Flashes of her nightmare came back to her like waves crashing on the beach. Her dad on his boat, a smile sketched on his lips. The sky is clear blue, not a cloud is in sight. There’s a warm breeze, she can almost feel it on her skin, and the sun is shining. It’s almost utopian, the perfect day to spend out in the sea.

Then the scene changes. The sky darkens to a deeper shade of blue, grey clouds towering the ocean. The wind is stronger, much stronger. It whistles as it makes its way in the crevices between each tree and threatens to tear the sails down. And the boat, she can see it floating hauntingly on the wild waves the same way a ghost would in abandoned castle. And there’s no trace of her father. Not even a feeling, that would tell her he’s there, trying to survive this storm.

“What if he really is gone J? What if my dad-“ she stopped her sentence to look at the horizon, somehow hoping to see a sign that would prove she was wrong. “I’m trying so hard to be positive and optimistic, but it’s been so long. What if he never comes back?”

The look in her eyes was heart-wrenching. JJ didn’t know what to say or do. He never really thought about it. What would happen if Big John was gone. To be honest he didn’t want to, that man was more of father to him than his own ever was. And losing him would be... he preferred not to think about it.

“I disagree,” he finally said. “What?” “Your dad is like one of the smartest person I’ve ever known. I think that, he, of all people would know how to get out of any situation, especially if it seems impossible to everyone else. I don’t think that you should give up on him yet.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do,” he smiled. “So fuck everyone who tells you otherwise,“ y/n giggled. “Fuck all of them! You’re allowed to have hope, y/n, even after this much time. They can’t take that from you.”

“In the meantime, we’ll there’s us,” us, “the pogues, our own family. We can get through anything, right?”

“Yeah, we can.” Y/n’s head fell on his shoulder. “We’re the pogues.”

JJ admired her carefully. How her face looked, basked in the golden rays of the sun, looking so terribly tired and yet so beautiful. He could stay like this forever, losing himself completely in her smile. God she was so wonderful.

“Hey y/n/n?” “Yeah?” “Are you mad at me?” “Huh?”

“Why would I be ma- oh, oh.” The gun. He thought she was mad at him for what he did. Though he saved her brother, didn’t he? So, she didn’t understand why he would think she could hate him.

“It’s just that you looked so terrified when-” “You saved him JJ, that’s what matters most.” Y/n interrupted the boy mid sentence, placing her hand on his arm in gratitude. “If you hadn’t done anything, he could have...” she didn’t finish her sentence.

When she saw JJ holding the firearm against Topper’s head just a few hours ago, she had first been incredibly shocked. She didn’t recognize the JJ she knew. But now, she completely understood. It was his way of protecting his friends, his way of showing he cared. And that, she admired him for it. Though he could’ve shown it in a less dangerous way.

“I admit,” she added, “it was dangerous and a bit scary to see and we’re probably gonna get some kind of revenge from the kooks soon, but no one got hurt. And J.B, well he’s okay! We’re all okay!”

“Also, I’m pretty sure I did some very, very stupid things last night, so I can’t really be mad at you,” she cringed remembering the amount of alcohol influenced things she had said and done during the party. “God, I must have looked so ridiculous.”

JJ laughed at her comment. “Yes, yes you did.” “Man, John B was right, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

“Can you just promise me something?” Asked y/n, once their laughter had died. “Depends what?”

“Promise me you’ll never hurt yourself with that thing, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I promise, y/n. ”

“Thank you.”

Taglist

@deionswannabegirl @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily

If I forgot you or if you wanna be added/removed just tell me! Also I’m sorry if your name didn’t work :/

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: None, just more fuel to the fire. Fluff!!

A/N: Honestly this was fun to write, stay on the look out for chapter 2.5 -winks-

“Neville?!”

(Y/n) walked around the boy, taking in his appearance. She almost couldn't believe it was him. The lanky, tall, awkward boy she spent her days pining over had truly blossomed and from the looks of it, turned into a flower truly worth attention. Part of her almost didn't believe it was him but the cadence of his voice combined with the soft look in his eyes was more than enough confirmation. She'd recognize them anywhere.

The boy nodded, a small smile gracing his face as he held his arms open, inviting him into the warmth of his embrace. She accepted it gladly, sighing as she relaxed into them, squeaking a bit as she felt her feet leave the ground. Relaxing a bit, the girl closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around him tighter. 'Just like I remember..'

"Pardon?" He asked, causing her to tense as he sat her down. Had she said that out loud? If she had she certainly hadn't intended on doing so.

"N-nothing!" She started as she made her way back behind the counter, using her distance to admire his appearance. Twyla nudged her, still eyeing up the dangerous looking men.

"Geez (Y/n), and here I was thinking you were a complete prude. Who would've thought that you knew such hot guys!" She said, biting her lip as she eyed up the red head. The shorter girl crushed her foot, glaring up at her employee. She yelped but quieted up, staring down at her boss

"To be fair, I haven't seen any of them in 3 years. And plus, none of them looked like this during our years at Hogwarts." Her eyes drifted to the rings on Neville's thick tattooed hands. "I apologize for it taking me so long to recognize you, Nev. I hope I didn't make things too awkward."

"You're quite alright, petal. I'm not the same man I was when you went to school with me." He sighed, looking out the window into the distance as he adjusted his tie. "I've changed quite a bit."

(Y/n) could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't just referring to his new (but most certainly not unwelcomed) appearance, but he had been through some things as well. As much as she wanted to ask him about the things he had seen and the things he had done, she knew now wasn't the time. Neville had always been private about how he felt, that was another thing that clearly hadn't faded. She reached across the counter, placing her hand on top of his as she offered him a smile.

"So, how's life been treating ya? From the looks of it, I'd assume good?" She asked, watching as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. He went to speak but Twyla cut him off.

"Yeah, you look like you've got money! How'd you get so rich?" She leaned forward, eyes squint as she eyed them all. "What're you like loan sharks or something?"

"Something of the sorts." The redhead responded, nodding as he spoke. However (Y/n) was in shambles, she gaped at her friend, giving her a pissed look.

"Twyla you can't just go around asking people if they're rich!" She hissed out, going to tell her off but stopped as she felt a hand on top of hers. Neville chuckled some, patting her hand a few times.

"It's fine, 's only natural to be curious. And to answer your question…" he trailed off as if he was looking for an answer. "We work a less...desirable form of work. Lots of things people normally wouldn't wanna do."

"Yeah lots of paperwork. You wouldn't wanna hear about it, trust me." The freckled brunette finally spoke up. He held his hand out for the (h/c) haired girl to shake which she shook. "Seamus Finnigan."

"Oh! Your Nev's best friend, yeah? I remember during one of our herbology classes we had to leave because you blew something up." She began to giggle at the memory, trying to stifle some brasher laughter. "I don't know how you manage to do that with a plant. I'm (Y/n)." Seamus stepped back, clearing his throat as his face tinted a dark rouge.

"Oh trust me, we know. The bos- Neville would never shut up about you. Sometimes he still doesn't, going on about how he wonders what you're up to. Maybe running into you like this will shut him up a bit." The ginger spoke up, offering her a nod of acknowledgement. "Ron Weasley."

"Well it's clear who the lover boy here is swooning for but what about you two? Are you single?" Twyla asked, stepping from around the corner. The three of them began to converse, leaving the two former acquaintances to be amongst themselves.

"I'm sorry about her. She's got no filter on her mouth." She said, laughing to clear the stiffness to clear the air. He joined her, his familiar dopey smile on his face.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, really." He sighed, looking around the bakery. "You got a job in a bakery like you always wanted! I'm happy for you, truly." She could feel the sincerity in each of his words. During her time at Hogwarts, Neville had been kind enough to be the one to sample her baking all the time while encouraging her to follow her dreams. Having him in her bakery was enough to make her heart burst.

The girl felt her face heat up as she shrugged, smiling at him sheepishly. "Actually, I don't just work here, I uh," she looked back at him as he had his focus on her, engaged as every, "I own it."

His eyes widened as he gasped, a mix of happiness and shock on his face. "Really? That's even better!" Neville's eyes wandered along the different treats and such in the display table, looking at them in awe at the variety of things. Each item was different than the other and yet they all worked together. "I see you're still as creative with your flavors. You are a true artist, (Y/n)."

"I-I wouldn't go that far. I'm just doing what I love and I couldn't be happier." She squeezed the man's hand, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks and ears. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you. Whenever my parents would send me those awful howlers, you'd be right there to lift me back up."

He felt his eyes gloss over but blinked back his tears, clearing his throat as he unwillingly ripped his gaze from hers. "Wait- are those the chocolates? The ones with the brownie pieces in them?! I've been thinking about these for ages!" He exclaimed. If it weren't for the fact she was still nervous, she would've found humor in the giant, tattoo covered man freaking out about her coco brownie chocolates. 

"I remember you used to give them to me every valentine's day. We'd take them up to the astronomy tower and share them together." He sighed dreamily at the memory. "You were such a good friend for that!"

Right. Friends, that's what they were if you could even call them that. They rarely hung out with each other outside of school except for Valentine's day. She had originally gifted him the chocolates as a way to show how she felt about him but for some reason or another, he didn't realize the meaning behind them. She didn't correct him either. The way she saw it was any time she got with Neville was good time to her and that's all that mattered.

"Yeah...did you want me to pack some up for you?" She asked, reaching back for an empty box before leaning down, filling the box with the rest of the chocolates. "Here. My treat."

“Are you sure? I couldn’t possibly just take these from you! You’ve got a business to run here.” He responded, pushing the box back towards her. However, she pushed them right back, shaking her head.

“I’m positive! Think of it as an IOU for all those late night cram sessions during 7th year.” she wasn’t really giving them to him for that reason. Saying that though was just easier than saying ‘Hey take these, I’ve been in love with you for 5 years.’ and to be fair, she wasn’t in the mood for rejection. (Y/n) found herself being disappointed that even after all these years, she was conveying the way she felt for him through sweets. Anytime she went to say how she felt it was quickly just replaced with some excuse along the lines of ‘needing him to sample something’ when in reality, she knew her baking was good. But, there was just something so fulfilling from the way he’s eyes would light up whenever she’d give it to him, leaving the heart felt note in her pocket. 

“Thank you.” he smiled, taking them in his hands, acutely aware of the way her fingers were on his. He felt his face flush as he looked up at her, finding her eyes were already on his. “Listen (Y/n), I was wondering if you’d like to-” his words were cut short by the sound of a phone ringing. Shortly after Ron came up, whispering something in his ear which caused his soft expression to turn into stone. He gave him a nod, taking the box and ending the contact. “I’ve gotta get going. Duty calls! I’ll see you again soon, yeah?” he muttered something under his breath smiling at her before turning around and leaving the bakery. 

“Soo, what’s going on between you and the tall one?” Twyla questioned, sneaking another cookie from the display counter (which didn’t go unnoticed). (Y/n grabbed it from her hands, putting it back in the glass case as she rolled her eyes.

“First of all, you work at this bakery, not eat here. And second, nothing!” the blue haired girl gave her a look that screamed ‘bullshit’ which she simply chose to ignore. “He’s an old friend of mine and…”

“Andd?” she urged, using her hands to motion for her to continue. (Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms across her chest as she looked to the side.

“And my old crush. But I promise the only feelings we ever had in common were platonic ones!” she leaned over the counter, watching as his figure disappeared into the distance. A wave of regret fell over her wishing she had done something, anything to be able to see him again. She knew the reason he probably didn’t ask for her number was due to the fact that during her time at Hogwarts, she didn’t use a smart phone. It was something she had gotten into as of recent. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have asked for his.

“That looked like a lot more than platonic to me.” the green eyed girl sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her chest as she spun around. “Love is in the air with you two! I can feel it, you know I’ve got a 6th sense for these sorta- woah! Look at the tip he fucking put in the jar!” she exclaimed, reaching her hand into the jar.

 (Y/n) gasped, eyes widening as she looked at the three hundred dollar bills in the girls hand. ‘I kinda wish I had just let him pay..’ she thought to herself. She grabbed the bills, holding them up in the light to check the authenticity. She knew Neville would never give her fake money but it was almost hard to believe that he had given it to her without hesitancy. When had he even done that?

“I told you they have money! I mean, did you see the ring he had on? The big skull one with the sapphire eyes?” she asked, watching as her boss shook her head. “There’s only 3 of those in the world! It’s a hefty price for one of them. They must be really good at what they do!”

“Since when do you know about fashion?” (Y/n) asked, causing Twyla to let out a dramatic gasp. 

“I’ll have you know I went to one of the most elite fashion schools in the wizarding world thank you very much!” (Y/n) eyed her suspiciously causing her to let out a sigh. “Okay I give up, I just shagged a guy who did. However I did steal his books!”

“Whatever.” she giggled out, walking over to hand a menu to a regular that walked in. She knew he didn’t need it but it was still common courtesy. “I just wonder what he was going to say before he left…”

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

As the sun began to set, (Y/n) flipped the sign to closed, closing the blinds. Although Wednesdays were their slow days, that didn’t mean they still didn’t get customers. There was also an unexpected lunch rush due to a conference being held in the hotel a few blocks over. Walking over to a cushion, she sat down relaxing into the softness of the chair. Her eyes shot open at the sound of the backroom door slamming open.

“You wanted excitement didn’t you?” her worker asked, causing her to nod cautiously. “Well get ready. We’ve got plans this weekend! Hope you’re ready for a much needed shopping trip.”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

[vanillann]

i don’t (james potter x reader)

bare with me i’m trying something new...

congratulations @weasleysflowr for 300!! i’m so excited to be apart of this writing challenge!!

warning: a few swear words and bad angst

word count: 1.4k

I wasn’t a bad person, I was just a good person who did bad things. 

I was a good person, I made a gorgeous cake for my best friend wedding, I just left a letter in it confessing my undying love for her finance.

So now I was running the halls of the large venue the wedding was taking place in, looking for the kitchen that held the cake in it, looking for the small box with the figurines of James Potter and Lily Evans. I’d take the letter back and everything would be fine-

“(Y/N)!”

I froze, closing my eyes and taking in a quick breath before turning and smiling at another close friend I would be disappointing soon if I didn’t hurry.

“Sirius, how is James doing?”

Sirius skipped to stand before me, a goofy smile played across his lips. “He’s freaking out about his hair as we speak,” Sirius shrugged, his hand going to his own locks.

“Nothing new.”

I smiled to myself, looking down at my feet with a sad little smile. Images of James breaking brush’s and spending most of his money on hair products because his messy hair couldn’t be tamed.

“Obviously, some things never change,” Sirius hit my shoulder, spotting my eyes with his amazing abilities to psychoanalyze me.

“And you?”

“Me? I’m great,” my voice jumped a minimum of three octaves, catching Sirius's attention easily.

“Great?”

“Fabulous, spectacular even.”

I need to learn how to lie.

Sirius looked me up and down, his eyebrows raised as he slowly circled me like a shark. My heart rate was jumping up, my sweaty hands held close to my chest now.

“You did something, spill.”

Nope, don’t spill.

“I don’t know what you mean Black,” holding my head high, I was careful to avoid eye contact with him.

“Did you pee in the cake?”

A giant boisterous laugh flew past my lips, my hand flying to cover my mouth as little giggles came in title waves.

Sirius smirked, chuckling lightly to himself while clapping me on the shoulder. “Now tell me what’s up,” his words were soft, scared to break the unspoken secret we’ve held for years.

I let my shoulders fall, imagining the small letter stuck between the figure of Lily and James made from melted chocolate.

“Let’s walk, James wanted to look at the sculpture you made of them.”

I felt my nerves go rapid, jumping in action and I kept easy pace with Sirius.

“He can’t see them yet,” my words were rushed, slurred like I had too much Firewhiskey.

“Why?” 

I looked to Sirius, my eyes wide as we both subconsciously picked up our pace to the kitchen.

“I wrote a letter to James, confessing everything. It’s in the box with the figurines,” I announced softly, scare someone would hear and tell Lily or worse, James.

“You did what?”

Sirius and I were practically running to the kitchen now, panic in both our eyes as we turned a corner to the large open door of the kitchen.

“It was stupid, I was sad and going insane last night,” I knew it wasn’t an excuse to ruin a wedding, but it was the truth and Sirius Black only ever accepts the truth.

“If you knew it would get to you why’d you make the cake?”

He was right, it was stupid to get that involved but Lily wanted my famous Pumpkin Juice cake and I could say no to those ivy green eyes.

“I’m stupid?”

“Yes, that you are,” he didn’t seem disappointed, but he wasn’t pleased. 

We both barged into the kitchen, which was practically empty but for one body who stood before the cake, a body that should be in the dressing room. James stood still with his back to us, slowly spinning to face us with a yellow-tinted piece of parchment held between his fingers.

His bottom lip was held between his teeth, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he slowly looked up to me, ignoring Sirius's presents.

“Please don’t marry her? What the hell does that mean?”

It was weird seeing James as a wave of silent anger, he was also loud and knowing with his anger but this time he stood in one spot and spoke in a whisper.

“I’ll go,” Sirius didn’t want a second, slipping out the door we both came running through seconds ago.

“James-“

“You don’t speak,” he held his empty finger up, looking back down to the note held in his grip.

“It’s selfish, hell yeah it’s selfish (Y/N),” his voice didn’t rise, but the look in his hazel eyes could tell a thousand tale of anger.

“I didn’t mean for you to see it.” 

The weak wobble in my voice felt off like I was in an alternate universe. “Then why is it at my wedding,” he took a single step, suddenly backing up to stand where he stood seconds ago.

“Because I messed up.”

It was true, I messed up big time. I messed up the flower that Lily wanted on the cake, I messed up a few words in the letter, but I messed up a person who meant everything to me.

James said nothing, reading the letter in his hands again. I finally let myself take him in. The messy hair, the suit he took months to pick out, the baby blue tie that hung from his neck even if he wanted red.

He was standing like a God, anger, and all.

“James, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have put that letter there.”

He didn’t yell or scream, simply letting the letter slip from his fingers to the floor of the bright kitchen.

“Why now?”

Good question, why now? Why don’t when we sat at the Black Lake skipping pebbles or in the Great Hall having a food fight. Why did I have to confess at his wedding, while my best friend stood rooms away in a white ball gown.

“I- think because now was the only time you’d be honest.”

Shut up (Y/N), close your trap.

“What in Merlin’s name does that mean?”

“If I told you at Hogwarts you’d lie, tell me you loved me back and we’d be stuck in a loveless relationship. You wouldn’t want to hurt me because I’m (Y/N) (L/N), you’d lie,” I looked to my shoes that ran over the tiles of the kitchen.

“I’d never lie to you.”

“You just did,” a single tear ran down my cheek, pain struck my chest like a lightning bolt struck a tree. 

James didn’t dare move, his eyes burned into my head as I lost eye contact.

“Does Lily know?”

I shook my head, guilt flowing with my blood cells as I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath.

“She can’t know, she would feel bad like it’s her fault.”

Lily would do everything in her power to make sure James and I married today. She does anything for my happiness, but I couldn’t take him from her even if I wanted to.

“I know,” his words were shaky this time, almost like he didn’t want to tell me that lie. That stupid lie that would come soon, so that meant I was going to ramble as long as I could to prevent it.

“I dreamed you loved me back last night, we’re happy and had a little boy. His name was Harry, I know you hate that name but I convinced you-”

“(Y/N)!”

I looked up, red-rimmed eyes as I looked to James who picked up the letter. He took two steps to me, our shoulder side by side as he looked to the heavy doors. He lightly grabbed my wrist pulling my hand out for the letter to be placed gently in the center.

“I don’t,” his words were harsh, tire marks left on my heart forever from just the tone of his voice.

He took himself from the kitchen, his head held high as he went to find his friends that would clean up his hair and straighten his tie.

I kept myself in the kitchen, my head hung low as I stood alone to clean my tears and fix myself for the wedding.

I don’t.

The two words echoed from my mouth, flipping the letter to see a little tear droplet that made the ink run.

I do and he doesn’t, a classic sad ending to a story about love I suppose.



another congratulations to ayli for 300!! i will be copying this writing challenge ;)

general harry potter tag list:

@siriusmaraudeers @haphazardhufflepuff @marauder-exe

[yandere-wishes]

🐚Smooth Criminal //Yandere! Gangster! Floyd Leech X Reader//🐚

My first Gangster AU! This is most likely going to end up being a series for each of the different boys! SO please tell me what you thought!

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

So, Annie are you ok, are you ok Annie?

the bar bristled with the loud shouts of its patrons. Each table housing at least a dozen members from the same group, all glaring at those from rival gangs. Guns sat, leaned against their master's legs, like school backs at a highschool cafeteria. maybe it was the dim, cheap lights, or the distracted rivalry stares. But by some freak miracle, no one noticed you enter the Jackson. This wasn't a place for a dame such as yourself, a pretty girl who lacked status, a weapon, and even a comrade to have their back. Just a doll-like face and a very obvious briefcase.

Even you were conscious of the fact that you stuck out like a rose in the middle of a field filled with weeds. At any moment one of these goons could turn around and grab you, slam your head on one of the wooden tables till your brains spilled out than claim the loot for themselves, no consciences faced.

Naturally, you wouldn't be here had it not been for your dear uncle Crowley, who had very recently gambled away the equivalent of a small fortune in the underground casino of the infamous Mostro Lounge. Well technically the cousin was only partly owned by the Octavinelle gang, most of the games and funds went to their brother gang of Ignihyde. But for some reason it had been one of the Octavinelle members to come after your uncle, breaking down the door to his house and threatening him with punches and verbal insults. Your "poor" uncle had promised to get him the money, it took about two loans on his house, a few hundred borrowed from his close friends and a lot of support from your own father until he was able to gather the needed amount. But that had left one tiny problem, your sweet uncle had been so shaken up from his last encounter that he had all but begged his only niece to deliver the money for him.

"It's very simple, sweetheart, you just go to the Jackson and give this briefcase to the man with teal hair and anisocoria eyes. I would never make you do something difficult dear, I'm too kind"

Yeah right "too kind"  was an exaggeration, heck nice wasn't any better. Your uncle was a useless old fool. Then again where you any better? You'd just marched into the most mobster ridden bar in all of this godforsaken city. With nothing more than a white circular dress and a briefcase with your uncle's initials engraved in it. You took a shaky breath before scanning the room, trying to find the man your uncle had described. Teal hair and anisocoria eyes, wearing the signature black and purple of the  Octavinelle gang.

A glance around confirmed that there where members from each of the Twisted Seven here. The twisted seven where the infamous gangs of New NightRaven City. Each gang was started sometime before even their current leaders where born. The original leaders had gone down as the pioneers of turning New NightRaven City into a gangsters paradise. Somehow the leadership roles had trickled down to the current seven, mostly through heritage. The history of the Twisted Seven was thought in schools all over the city more vigorously than actual world history. Up to this day, you weren't quite sure how or why the first world war had started but you could name every leader for each group in chronological order.

In the far back of the bustling room, you noticed an abnormality. One guy was sitting by himself at a four-person booth. A half-empty coke rocks glaring back at him. Your eyes widened, that was him! It had to be! Turquoise locks peaked out from under his black hat. For a split second his head turned, his eyes looking about unseeingly. That's when you noticed his eyes. One was vibrant gold, while the other borders on an olive-like green, both orbs, however, seemed to shine with a sort of mischievous glow.

Swallowing down a sense of foreboding deep in your soul, you gradually strolled over to the man. He didn't seem to notice you until you had rearranged into the seat before him. When his eyes met yours, his lips maneuvered into an open-mouth grin showing heaps of razor-sharp teeth. "OoO~ Who might you be little shrimp-chan?" His voice didn't seem able to hold a steady tone, vocals switching between high and low better every word, making the man appear all the more deranged. You sucked in a nervous breath. Under the table you squeezed your knees together, focusing on how the kneecaps pressured each other.

"Um..I'm (y/n), my uncle owed the Octavinelle some money and..."

"Oh so your here to pay off his debt?" He leaned in closer, tongue flickering out to run across his lips. His mismatched eyes scanned you up and down, lingering just a little too long on your chest. Quickly you made slung your arm over your over breasts, trying to muster up a glare to shoot at the audacious male. 

"N-not like that" You pulled up the briefcase, pummeling it down on the table with a noisy "thud".  "He has the money, he owned you. All ten thousand dollars." 

Around the two of you, people became to stare, all pulling out their cells, no undoubtedly to inform their superiors about the transaction going down in plain view. The gangster in front of you, slowly trailed his gaze around the room, shooting challenged to meet his eyes. "Are you sure you aren't the payment? You're pretty, could round up a bunch of customers for the Lounge~ Oh maybe we could even loan you out to customers that way it would only take seven months to repay your uncle's debt--"

It was pure impulse on your part, rage had taken over your body. Your hand moved on its own, stretching out for the halve empty coke glass, carrying your body with itself. Your fingers wrapped sufficiently tight around the cup. Tugging it towards yourself, before tilting it and spilling its liquid contents in the face of the man in front of you. It took a moment for the events to fully process in either of your heads. Angry breaths left your mouth before you stood up and marched over to the door. Shouting one last cruse at the mobster before slamming the door behind you.

Back at the booth, Floyd had finally realized what had happened. His shoulders began to vibrate uncontrollably. A sadistic bloodthirsty laugh falling from his lips. His eyes lifted to where you had been moments priory a sort of childlike greed shining inside his orbs. "Shrimp-chan~" he cooed to the empty space.

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

Sam pulled the yellow tape over his head, contracting his back so he could duke under it. In front of the building, he noticed a man with a red trench coat surrounded by five other police officers. The man must have been in his late 40's maybe even mid 50's. Sam let out a haughty breathy laugh. This was his new partner? The younger man jogged up to the small group. "Detective Trein I presume?" Sam was met by a harsh glare from the older man. "you're the rookie?" disapproval clear in every word. Ouch.

"You bet I am sir," Sam made a gesture akin to tilting a top hat as he bowed slightly. "Sam, reporting for duty". "What no last name?" "No Sir, just my mother given name, a nice one too I might add." Sam kept his eyes lowered but he could practically feel the way his new partner rolled his grey eyes. "Fine than Sam, follow me I trust you shouldn't find this case too hard. It's a simple kidnapping case. Nothing too elaborate for your young mind." Man, this guy really was a prick.

For as far as Sam could see this really was just an everyday kidnapping. All signs pointed towards just that. "If you would direct your attention to the window." Sam jumped from his thoughts. He quickly jogged up to where Trein was standing by a broken window. "The invader came in from here, most likely he climbed up the fire escape. Where guessing he had a knife on him or some other sharp object." Sam smiled, how had the old man gotten all that from an open window?

The second you left the bar, you had run all the way back to your apartment. The second you had gotten home you locked the doors and made a quick call to your uncle. As usual, he was "busy" doing whatever it was he did. Leaving a fast paced voicemail explaining that you had given the mobster his money and that you were home now. Leaving out the section you had caused. It was over finally the whole nightmare was over. your eyes darted to the old clock on your wall 9:15 pm late enough for dinner. Making your way to the kitchen, you forgot to notice that you had in fact left the window closest to the fire escape wide open. 

"Bang!"

The noise reverberated across the cramped apartment. Causing you to jump out of your thoughts. Anxiously you snatched a kitchen blade as you gradually strolled again into the front room. Your brain continued replaying the occasions of that night. It must be the Octavinelle, they had sought you out! All things considered, you had embarrassed one of their members. When you finally made it to the living room, you were both surprised and relieved. There weren't a hundred armed goons flooding your apartment with guns ready to shoot you on sight. Instead, it had been the man from earlier, casually standing by the window, whistling some tune that was eerie familiar. 

It took a moment before the man noticed you. His whistling stopped and was instead replaced with a shark-like smile. "HI~ little shrimp! I forgot to introduce myself earlier~ Name's Floyd what's yours darling?" Nervously you stepped back, knife clenched tightly to your chest. 

"G-Get away from me!"

"How do you know the man was armed? Heck, how do you know he was a guy?" Sam asked. Trein let out an annoyed huff. "Seriously do you know nothing? Well, I guess you are rather new to this." The grey-haired man turned to his younger partner. Sam swear for a moment he caught a glimpse of what may have been considered a "father instinct" although never having had a father, he could have been completely wrong. "When you've been in this profession as long as I have, you pick up on. There are small differences that become obvious once you've cracked your first ten cases. Notice the blood on the carpet, and realize how 40 mm away there is a smaller bloodstain, only this one has been pressured into the carpet, due to its crescent-like scape we can confidently deduce that it was made by a heel. And look closely at the carpet starts, look at how they seem to be red from the roots and middle, not just the tips. All that point to our invader having stepped in the first blood pool than having made the second engraving with the heel of his shoe as he chased the victim." Sam's eyes widen, maybe the old man wasn't just a jerk, after all, maybe he knew a thing or two.

"Is that any way to treat a guest little shrimp?~" His eyes locked with yours, freezing you in your spot like a dear in headlights. Noticing your dumbfounded form he ran forward prying the knife from your weak grip. A scream filled the air, it took you a second to realize it had come from you. When your eyes went back to your offenders face you could see how his lips were pointed downwards a deathly glare coating his eyes. 

The next moment his fingers made contact with your cheek, you swore you could hear a crescendo, your body felt heavy your head started spinning, for some reason the ground was getting closer and closer until you felt your body crash into the carpet. Your left cheek stung, as well as feeling like it was on fire. as you laid on the floor you watched as something red slipped onto the carpet. Something thick and red. "Oh, shrimpy you look so pretty when you bleed." 

Trein made his way to the kitchen, flicking a switch the moment he passed the threshold. A single light overhead flickered to life. "Kinda cramped for a kitchen ain't it?" Sam asked as he peeked over Trein shoulder. The older man ignored his partner's comment, wordlessly he pointed to the table in at the far left-hand side. Sam's red eyes followed the man's finger, Dead center there was a large kitchen knife ended in the old-looking wooden table. "Usually women are more calculating when they performed a kidnapping. Men are the ones that go ramped like wild beasts." Sam nodded his head absentmindedly. The young investigator made a mental note to never be as obvious if he ever did decide to kidnap someone.

"Oh~ that's so pretty." You had only known "Floyd" for a little over an hour, that including your rather unpleasant meaning back at the Jackson. But already you could tell just how short the man's attention span was. Slowly you shimmed your body from the ground, the mobster didn't seem to have noticed. The second your legs passed the kitchen's threshold you flicked the light, engulfing the tiny cooking space in total darkness. You made a swift sprint for the table, crunching under it. Your breath refused to leave your mouth, heart pounded with such force you were certain it would break the bones of your rib cage. In the distance, his loud footsteps could be heard. Closer and closer and closer. You didn't dare open your eyes, but you kept your ears open, trying to pick up any lose noises he might make.

1 heartbeat 

2 heartbeats

3 heartbeats

Nothing. There was no more noise to be heard, slowly your eyes cracked open, a tiny fragile breath escaped your mouth, right before a sharp noise echoed above head. Floyd's twisted head came into view that damned smirk still on his lips. Another scream, this time you knew it was coming from you. The teal haired man reached to grab the collar of your shirt, pulling you forward. You kicked and thrashed about as the gangster such laughter. Really how sick was this man? Finally, with one last kick, you freed yourself, Floyd fell backward clutching his stomach mutter some profanity you'd never heard before. Quickly you made a dash for your room. Locking the door behind you.

"And this is the last destination of our tour," Trein said as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Sam was almost certain he heard a hint of humor in the old man's tone. "What happened here?" The rookie asked. "Why Sam! I thought you where a detective, can't you deduce this simple problem?" Definitely humor. Sam quickly scanned the room. 'Um, he dragged her into the room, locking the door behind them. Then broke the window preparing to escape. But then a third party broke the door down, trying to save the girl. Before the third party could intervene it's likely that the man pulled her through the window and killed her behind some ally." Trein only nodded, following along with the boy's story. "Well Sam you sure have an active imagination, but it's most likely that this is what happened..."

You could hear the pounding on your door, slowly you backed away heading for your nightstand, aimlessly you tried to locate your phone. Until you remembered that you had left it on the couch. "Dang it" Your eyes scanned the room nervously trying to find something helpful, anything!

BANG

pieces of wood flew around the room, you brought your hands up to shield your face, only to have them pulled downwards. Your eyes looked upwards, instantly locking with Floyd's "Found you~" he sang. In the midst of the chaos, Floyd smashed his lips yo yours, they were unpleasant, chapped, and salty. You tried pushing him away but to no avail.   Gradually he broke the kiss, pushing his forehead to yours. Before slinging you over his shoulder and ramming full force into the window in your room. Crashing the glass and escaping into the night with you. It was at that moment that you knew that this was your doom!

"That's the more likely explanation for what happened," Trein explained as he made is way back to the front door. "Well even if it isn't it's more then convincing for a field report and a good enough explanation to give the press". A confused look twisted over Sam's face "How do you know he didn't kill her?" The black-haired boy asked. Trein just laughed and waved a wrinkled hand dismissively. "Call it a hunch" He yelled behind his shoulder.

And what a hunch! Just as the old detective predicted you were very much alive. Just now awaking and opening your (e/c) eyes to gaze into the mismatched ones of Floyd Leech's.

You’ve been hit by a smooth criminal

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 3 (Feysand)

Part 1 | Part 2

Uhhh this is kinda long and took me FOREVER to write which was v annoying. Disclaimer: stole a line from Grey’s Anatomy what’s new

____________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

I’m aware that pacing is one of my bad habits. My ex told me all the time how it drove him crazy to watch me go back and forth, back and forth. Most of the time, I can catch myself doing it and stop. 

But right now, I think I’d find a way to pace even if I were chained to a tree. 

Because I’m so freaking nervous about Rhysand coming over that I’m practically coming out of my skin. 

Which is ridiculous, because the man has seen me naked, for gods sake. 

He’s done more than just see, too. 

And yet the thought of him staying here, sleeping next to me all night, has me ready to run for the hills. Somehow, sharing a bed is more intimate to me than having sex to me. 

It’s fucked up, I know. 

But the last man I shared a bed with... 

There was a level of trust there, and it was broken. And knowing that this is the only way to rebuild the ability to give that trust doesn’t make it any easier. 

I also know that if I go downstairs, I’ll end up drinking myself stupid to make this easier, so I’ve asked Rhysand to just meet me up here. And to make myself even more miserable, I’m early. 

I mean, I’m always a few minutes early, but I somehow forgot we decided to meet later than usual and got here an hour ago. 

Which gave me plenty of time to start freaking out. 

A knock on the door snaps me out of my nerves-induced pace, and I tiptoe to the door and look through the peephole, both excited and anxious when I see Rhysand there. 

Just like last week, he's wearing dark pants and a thin white shirt that does nothing to hide the body underneath. I think he does it to drive me crazy, honestly, because the sight of all that tattooed muscle-

“Are you going to let me in?”

Shit.

I swing the door open, already blushing, and say, “Sorry.”

He looks down at me, full lips pulling into a smirk. “Hi, Feyre.”

The way he says my name is somehow so full of innuendo it threatens to send my cheeks scarlet, but I say politely, “Hi, Rhys.”

He walks into the room, dropping a backpack I refuse to acknowledge on the floor. “How was your week?”

Well, I spent the entire seven days fretting about what might happen tonight and was barely able to eat anything, so not that great. “It was fine. Yours?”

His lips twitch. “Also fine.”

Then he gives the biggest, fakest yawn I’ve ever seen--throwing in a stretch, too--and says, “Well, I’m exhausted. Want to go to bed?”

He’s so damn nice, it makes me want to slap him. “Okay,” I agree, walking to one side of the bed and pulling the covers back. 

I’m already dressed in my sleep shorts and a tank top, but grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom. 

I can do this, I tell myself, not at all believing it. He’s nice, and it’s just sleeping. Most women would kill to sleep next to someone who looks like him. 

The last part of that thought is confirmed a second later when Rhysand steps out of the bathroom in low-hanging shorts and nothing else. 

His tan chest is on full display, and even though I’ve seen and touched every inch of it, I find myself studying it once again. 

I suddenly wish I had a paintbrush and an empty canvas.

The urge shocks me. I haven’t thought about painting, haven’t yearned to pick up a brush, since before everything happened. If I’m being honest, long before everything happened. 

“I thought we weren’t doing anything sexual tonight,” he murmurs, voice a little deeper. 

“We aren’t,” I confirm, forcing my eyes to his perfectly innocent chin. 

“Well then put your horny eyes away,” he scolds with a smile, walking over to flop on his half of the bed. 

I smother a laugh with my hand and get in the bed next to him, trying to ignore the warmth leaking from his skin to mine. 

Neither of us move to turn the small lamp off, so we lay there in the soft light, perfectly silent. 

I’m lying down in a nice hotel room with a good looking man. My body is relaxed, and I am calm. 

Rhysand is a very nice person, and even though I’ve known him for only three weeks, I don’t think he’d ever hurt me.

But his soft, even breathing is a constant reminder that he’s next to me, and the weight in the bed is too familiar, too close. Pressing my eyes shut doesn’t help, because it just allows me to think about the past two years and everything that happened in them. 

My heart’s beating so fast and hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it, and a cool, horrible sweat breaks out over my back. 

Tears threaten to spill over, and I’m discretely trying to take deeper breaths and force myself to calm down.

It doesn’t work in the slightest, so I throw the covers off, turn on my side away from him, and pretend he isn’t there. 

Which becomes pretty damn impossible when a warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Feyre?”

“I’m asleep,” I lie. 

His hand gets a little firmer, turning me on my back so he can see my face. Soft, understanding eyes notice everything written so painfully clearly on it, and he says, “You know what? I’m actually not that tired.”

I think I could love him for that sentence alone. 

He rolls over and leans to reach into his bag. Sitting up, he throws a deck of cards on the bed between us and asks, “Fancy a hand of cards?”

Thank the gods above for warm, compassionate hookers. 

“Sure.”

I sit up across from and diligently ignore the sight of all those tattoos as I watch him expertly shuffle and deal the cards. He looks so serious that it comes as a surprise when he murmurs, “I’m going to cheat if you start beating me.”

My lips curve into a smile. “That probably won’t happen. I’m horrible at cards.”

“Good. I’m a sore loser.”

One hand in and I see that he was serious. He completely kicks my ass without a shred of hesitation or mercy, but I don’t even care because I’m finally starting to relax. It’s easy to when he’s in front of me, making jokes and laughing and smiling. 

He deals another hand without asking, somehow reading me well enough to know I need it. “If I win this hand, you have to answer a question.”

Oh, gods.

This is a recipe for disaster, because if I were him, I’d want to know why exactly I’m so fucked up. 

But I can’t exactly turn him down when he’s been so kind and easy-going about everything. “Okay. Same if I win.”

“You won’t, but okay.”

Cocky bastard.

A few minutes later, I realize his confidence was well-deserved because once again, he beats me. “I think you might’ve cheated there, but you can ask your question.”

I’m mentally praying it’s nothing serious, because I don’t know if I could handle opening up to him while looking into his pretty eyes and-

“If you were arrested for a crime, what would it most likely be?”

I find myself laughing as I look to see he’s completely serious. “That’s what you want to know?”

He smiles back at me and just shrugs. 

“Probably tax fraud,” I admit, laughing again when his eyebrows shoot up. “And before you ask, no, that isn’t why I’m well-off. I just have never understood those stupid forms, so I’ll probably mess up and end up in prison one of these days.”

Rhysand chuckles, grabbing the cards to deal another hand. 

“What about you?”

Putting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward like he’s telling me a secret, he whispers, “Road rage. I’m a really angry driver, and I find screaming at people helps.”

He says it without any remorse at all, so it’s pretty believable. 

“Same deal?” I ask, looking at the cards in front of me and knowing without a doubt I’m about to lose again. 

Almost an hour later, we’ve asked each other the most ridiculous, absurd questions we can think of. I now know he’s afraid of sharks, doesn’t believe in black holes, and was voted most likely to succeed in high school. 

He’s also found out about my sisters, my strong dislike of cilantro, and my dream of moving to France and working in the Louvre.

My stomach hurts from laughing so much, and there’s a quiet kind of peace inside me I haven’t felt in years.

We’re laying down, propped on our elbows, when we finish yet another game, and he puts his cards down and looks at me with unusually serious eyes.

I know he’s about to break our unspoken rule to not ask any personal questions, but for some reason, I don’t stop him. 

“Why don’t you paint anymore?”

His tone tells me that if I want him to drop it, he will. 

But... I want to tell him. I want to tell him what I went through, how it changed me. How it both broke me and made me stronger. 

So I do. 

“The last time I painted was over a year ago. I know it sounds cliche, but my art... it comes from a place inside of me that just isn’t there anymore.”

Rhysand nods, even though what I said didn’t make that much sense. “Do you think it’ll ever come back?”

“Yes,” I say, blushing and looking at his shoulder. I have no idea why I tell him, but I can’t seem to keep my fat mouth shut. “I actually wanted to paint earlier tonight.”

“Oh?” He gives me a knowing smile. “So those weren’t your horny eyes, they were your artist eyes?”

“Of course, you pervert.” They were both, to be honest, but I’m not about to tell him that when he’s looking at me like he just won the lottery. 

“Well, you can paint me anytime you want.” He gives me a wink and waggles his eyebrows. “I posed nude a couple times in college.”

He says that so casually it takes me a second to really hear and understand his words. “You went to college?”

Rhysand freezes, and I think about how I asked that question and want to smack myself. I didn’t have to sound so damn surprised, even if it did catch me off guard. “I didn’t mean to sound like that, I just... I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“Feyre, it’s okay. I just didn’t really realize I’d said that.”

“Okay.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then he says something that completely surprises me. “I actually have a PhD.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs. “In what?”

“War and Maritime History.”

For a few seconds, I just lay there and stare at him, mouth swaying in the breeze. “You have a PhD in history?”

It’s almost impossible to imagine this insanely handsome man sitting in a dim, dreary classroom, talking about something as dull as history. 

“I do.” His tone goes a little despondent as he murmurs, “I don’t use it, but I have it.”

He presses his lips together and reaches for the cards lying forgotten between us. I know I should listen to the silent cue, but I can’t stand seeing him like this. 

“Why don’t you use it?” I ask, making sure to keep my tone casual and inviting. I want to give him the same opportunity he gave me. 

He shuffles and deals, then looks at his hand and shakes his head, snatching up my cards to re-deal. At least he was honest about the cheating.

I hardly even notice, though, because he says, “I did for a few years. I was a professor at UVelaris.”

Now that, I can imagine. 

Him standing in front of a body of students, driving all the females crazy, lecturing and being the cool, funny professor everyone wants to have. 

“Not anymore?”

Rhysand shakes his head. “Didn’t pay enough.”

Something about his face tells me it’s time to drop it and change the subject. Which I guess makes it my turn to share.

So as I start to lose once again, I tell him, “I can’t go to sleep next to you because one day I woke up and my ex-fiance had locked me in our apartment.”

It’s blurted and quiet and a terrible way to spring that on someone, but he just says, “My hand is absolute garbage. You might actually win this one.”

“About time,” I mutter, weirdly relieved he didn’t start asking questions. Or worse, getting angry. 

It should probably concern me that he somehow knows and can read me well enough to find the perfect response, but I’m too busy marveling at how easy this all feels with him. 

Every minute of therapy is like a punch to the gut, but with Rhys... I feel like talking to someone who won’t judge, who won’t ever tell me what I should’ve done.

Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I actually concentrate on our game, and when I finally defeat him, I stick my tongue out at him and smile. 

He grins back, but something about it makes mine fall away. 

Because it’s his turn, and even though I’m prepared for the worst, I don’t know what it is until I hear it. 

“My cousin has a rare form of leukemia, and the university didn’t pay enough for me to cover her treatments.”

He says it quickly and quietly, just like I did, but it still carries a heavy punch that knocks the air out of my lungs. 

Because he... I don’t have the words to describe him. 

He gave up his dream job and does something he probably hates for his family. It’s the most selfless, heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard. 

But I want to give him the space to say things at his own pace like he is for me. “Let’s play another hand. I’m feeling lucky.”

Rhysand nods, eyes looking relieved, and starts to deal again. 

My turn.

“My ex was really paranoid and thought I was cheating on him, and he had to go out of town for a work trip. That’s when he... I was locked in there for five days, and he took my phone and laptop, so I didn’t have a way to call for help.”

Rhys is silent for a long moment, jaw clenched tight. But when he speaks, it’s in the same calm, easy tone as always. “There’s not enough luck in the world for you to beat me this time.”

I laugh despite the heaviness of the words I just spoke, and even though it’s his turn, I keep talking. “I went a little crazy. I tore the place apart. I tried to break a window to get out, but we lived on the eighth floor and had Plexiglas windows.”

Our game is long forgotten at this point, and I know I should shut up, but talking to him... I can’t stop. “By the time he got back, I was... different. I was having panic attacks all the time and couldn’t bring myself to eat, and then he just strolls through the door like nothing happened.”

“And he was angry with me. For making such a mess. He hardly noticed I was a shell of who I used to be. Over time, he’d broken me down so completely he was used to it.” Taking a deep breath, I shrug and say, “So I left. I didn’t take the time to pack a bag, I just saw the open door and ran.”

“How long ago was that?” he asks, the first time he’s said something besides his endless taunts about cards.

“A year ago. I was with him for three. It took me a long time to leave him because he wasn’t always emotionally abusive and harsh. There were times when he’d be so sweet and good to me. I wrote it off as mood swings for a long time since I loved him so much.” I take a deep breath and push away the memories threatening to drag me under. “But I got out.”

I say it to him, even though it’s as much a reminder to myself. 

Rhysand smiles, reaching to slowly tuck my hair behind my ear. “And now you’re free.”

“I’m free,” I say, proud of myself for telling someone besides my shrink what happened. 

It’s the first time I’ve ever opened up about our relationship willingly, and even though it was a brief, abbreviated version of the full story, I’m happy with myself.

But it’s a bittersweet moment, because I can’t forget what Rhys told me.

I can’t forget why he’s here, what he’s been through. 

“I wish you were free, too,” I whisper. 

And gods, is it true. Even though I’m happy I found him, even though I’m grateful he’s helping me, I wish he was free to go back to teaching. I wish he didn’t have to carry this burden. 

I wish he wasn’t looking at me with enough sadness in his eyes to make my chest hurt. 

He doesn’t respond, and I don’t want him to feel pressured, so I say simply, “I’m tired.”

Rhys nods, sweeps the cards up, and tosses them back into his bag. Then we’re laying there staring at each other, and I’m noticing the way the light turns his skin a deep bronze and lights up his eyes.

Something feels different between us now that we know the dirty details of each other’s lives. It feels less like a transaction. 

It feels like he cares about me. 

I scoot forward and put my head on his chest, grateful he turns on his back so I don’t feel too trapped. 

His hand is on my hip, the other tucked behind his head, and as I put one leg over his, I think that I’ve never been this comfortable in my life. 

Which surprises me, but I’m not complaining. Especially not as the hand on my back starts moving across my back in small, soothing circles that make my breathing slow. 

Sleep comes for me quickly, but right before I close my eyes, I press a kiss to his chest and murmur, “Goodnight, Rhys.”

His response is the last thing I hear before I go to sleep, warm and safe in his arms. 

~

I don’t really remember where I am when I wake up. My eyes stay shut as I wiggle around a little, finding myself very warm and comfortable and happy.

It’s only when someone’s breath brushes the back of my neck that I remember where I am, and who I’m with. 

Rhysand is behind me, warm body wrapped around me. One arm is under my head, the other is mingled with mine, and his legs are tucked behind mine. His head is in the hollow of my neck, stubble tickling my skin slightly.

It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up in a man’s arms, and I’ve forgotten how good it feels. 

Careful not to move too much, I stretch my legs and arms out, enjoying the weight of his body on mine.

He must feel be stirring anyway, because next thing I know, his mouth is pressing against my neck in a soft, sleepy kiss that makes me smile. 

It’s natural and easy and it feels like we do this every morning. 

I trust him, I realize with a slight start. 

It’s insane to trust someone after such a short time of knowing each other, but I do. Especially after last night. 

He listened to me and made me feel heard without being overbearing or giving me pity. He’s been there for me through panic and sadness and somehow managed to make me smile regardless.

And I want him to know how much it means to me.

So I turn my head and meet his mouth with mine.

Rhysand doesn’t hesitate, sweeping his tongue into my mouth in a rich, hazy kiss that makes me immediately want more. His hand cradles my head, arms loosely wrapped around me. 

I turn around so I can put my hands in his hair, and I’m so lost in him I don’t even realize we’re violating our nothing-sexual rule. 

I don’t want you to touch me unless you want to. 

I attempt to pull away, but his mouth follows me, pressing kisses across my upper lip, the corner of my mouth. “Rhys,” I breathe, putting a hand on his shoulder to give myself room to think. 

He pulls away, violet eyes heavy hooded and happy. “Feyre.”

His voice is scratchy and his hair is ruffled and he looks so goddamn edible I can’t resist anymore. “I want to touch you. Please.”

It’s almost comical how quickly the drowsiness fades from his eyes. 

His full mouth opens and shuts, then repeats the process once again. And then he murmurs, “You never have to say please.”

Taking that as permission enough, I cup his face with my hands, running my thumb across his cheekbone. He leans into my touch, eyes drifting shut. 

I feel like I’m in a dream as I run them lightly down his neck, across his shoulders. 

I trace the lines of his tattoo until they stop, then my fingers explore his abs, the muscle tightening under them. 

And then I slip my hand past the loose waistband of his sleep shorts. 

Both of us react immediately. I completely stop breathing, mind going probably-permanently still at the feel of him in my hand, and Rhys’s eyes snap open so fast I watch as the dilate. 

We’re both staring at each other, the only thing breaking the utter silence in the room his shallow breathing. 

I run a finger over the length of him, then the tip, and he hisses my name. 

“Please,” I repeat, ignoring the fact that he said I didn’t need to ask. 

His jaw clenches as I wrap my hand around him, and he’s almost glaring at me as he says, “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Fighting a smile, I start to move my hand and shrug. “This is about me, remember?”

He still wears a serious expression, but his lips twitch, so I keep going. 

I’m moving so slowly I think we’ll both be insane by the time this is over, but I can’t bring myself to speed up. His hips are moving slightly, pushing into my hand, and it’s addictive to watch him react to me. 

Rhys makes a low sound, then bites his lip as if to keep it in. 

Which is a mistake, since now I want to do it, too. 

Leaning in, I take that lip for myself, nibbling and sucking on it until he can’t take it anymore and starts kissing me again. 

I scoot a little closer and move my mouth to his neck, and all I can breathe or taste or think about is Rhys. 

A hand in my hair tells me this situation is unacceptable, and then his mouth is on mine again, desperate enough I take pity and move my hand faster. 

His body is tight with pent-up energy, like he’s determined to keep himself still and let me have my fun. 

One hand still between us, I run the other through his hair, pulling on it until he groans. I run my thumb over the end of him, and he mutters my name, voice holding a touch of warning that makes me smile. Even as I do it again. 

He curses, and then he’s falling apart in my hands, and I pull away to watch, just like I know he did with me. 

And it really is a sight to see. 

His muscles bunch tight, jaw even tighter, and his eyes drift close as his head goes back and a moan falls off his lips. His breathing is heavy and there’s a heavy, satisfied look to him that I can’t get enough of. 

Eventually, his eyes open again and find mine. 

Rhysand kisses me softly, then pulls back enough to smirk and say, “You’re welcome.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and then the room falls back to silent. 

And I realize I’m laying in bed with him, laughing, and practically begging to give him pleasure.

Fuck. 

He gives me a strange look, cuing me into the fact that my panic is probably all over my face, so I smile, then roll out of the bed. “I have to go.”

“Interesting,” he states, tone making it clear he’s a filthy liar. A very amused liar.

I just roll my eyes and grab my bag, hoping that when I come out of the bathroom, he’ll be gone. 

No such luck. 

Ten minutes later, I’m fresh-faced and dressed, and he’s still lounging in bed, arm tucked behind his head. And the sight of all that beautiful, muscled, tattooed-

“You have your horny eyes on again.”

“You’re delusional,” I shoot back, mentally making a note to wear sunglasses around him at all times. 

“Come here.”

I shake my head, knowing where that’ll lead even without the look on his face.

Because after last night, things feel different. 

They feel casual.

Which is the exact opposite of what I wanted. I did this so I could find someone unattached and easy and... not him. He understands me better than I do, for gods’ sake. 

And he’s caring and gentle and so understanding, and my brain is just having a hard time keeping up. 

He opens his mouth to argue, but I throw a pillow at him from my safe spot halfway across the room. “I have to go to the museum.”

Technically, this is a lie. We’re on schedule for the next event. But I could go and get ahead. Which sounds like a great idea. 

“That’s not even remotely believable, but alright.” He rolls smoothly to his feet, remind me once again how comfortable he is in his skin. 

I look at the ceiling, and he makes an amused sound. “No self control. It’s sad, really.”

I hate him. 

Even though I’m grinning because it’s true. 

He throws on a dark shirt from his bag and steps into some jeans, all while I adamantly study my very interesting, unpainted nails. 

And then we’re walking down the hallway to the elevator and standing across from each other. If I had a knife-

No. If I had a spoon, I could cut the tension in there with ease. 

He smiles like he knows what I’m thinking, and I almost weep with relief as the doors open to the empty morning lobby. 

Rhysand moves to get out, but I’m going down another floor to the garage, so I stay put, firm in my resolve to appear unaffected. 

That plan goes out the window pretty quickly, considering he narrows his eyes at me, marches across the small elevator floor, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me. 

I kiss him back without hesitation, both of us only pulling away when the door bings unhappily. 

What the hell was that?

Did he just... kiss me goodbye? 

What the hell was that?

I don’t have time to ask, because he steps into the lobby, looks me up and down thoroughly, and says, “See you next week, Feyre.”

Oh, gods. 

I have to see him again. 

Because even though I know I shouldn’t, there’s absolutely no way I’ll cancel. 

I’m a stupid, stupid woman. 

But I replay last night and this morning in my head, and as the elevator starts dropping to the garage, I realize I don’t even care. 

_______________________________________________________

Part 4

Tags: @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @that-other-pineapple @booksofthemoon @stardelia @awesomelena555 @queen-of-glass @whilma-warfstache @highqueenofelfhame @spyofthenightcourt @samcortlandisaginger

[ka-writes]

——————

Notes: I had already started on the second chapter before I posted the first one, so don’t expect updates every day... I also had to do a lot of googling for this chapter.

——————

Chapter 1 in case you missed it:

——————

Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

——————

Warnings: Cussing, needles, character conflicts, intentional poisoning, poisoning, Jaws reference

——————

“Humans are [and text here]”

Chapter 2: What is this, an interview?

Tommy was now restrained to a chair six feet away from the weird scientist alien. He had a dark brown lab coat with a fuzzy yellow sweater underneath, matched with black pants and black leather boots. His gold rimmed Harry Potter glasses slipped down his nose bridge a bit before he pushed it up and shuffled through papers. He wore a red beanie with a big whiff of his curly chocolate hair. His skin was a weird translucent grayish color with blue speckles decorating it. He had deep brown eyes with an odd electric blue circle outlining the pupil.

His tongue licked his finger as he turned the page. This was a habit that most of the weird teachers and counselors did. It always annoyed Tommy. This time fear was also mixed into that annoyance. His saliva was tinted blue and he had sharp teeth which immediately reminded him of a shark.

“You have shark teeth.” Tommy stated absentmindedly. Clearly, this caught the scientist alien off guard.

“I have what?” The alien asked, confused.

“Shark teeth.. ya know like the weird fish creatures that eat people.” Tommy started rambling causing the shark-alien to become even more confused and slightly alarmed. “I mean I think they eat people. That’s what the shark movie showed… what was its name, Jaws I think? I dunno, my foster mom freaked out in the middle of it and we went home. That lady was weird.. She made us wear itchy clothes and take weird photos before she sent me back to the group home.”

“What?..” The shark-alien asked. Tommy jumped a bit. He forgot he was rambling to a stranger. Alien stranger at that.

“Doesn’t matter.. What's the first question bitch-boy?” Tommy liked the way the alien jumped at the randomly timed insults.

“Er- right.. First off, what’s your name?” The shark-alien asked after collecting himself.

“Tommy Innit. Yours bitch-boy?” Tommy replied.

“Wilbur Soot. Stop calling me bitch-boy!” Wilbur huffed.

“Next question, bitch-boy!” Tommy emphasized the name, getting an even angrier expression in return. Wilbur’s weird blue circle flashed red for a second which caught Tommy off guard.

Wilbur took a shaky breath before asking the next question. “How old are you?”

“Old enough! I am a big man!” Tommy stated. Yet another thing that pissed him off.

“Age?” Wilbur asked, clearly irritated.

“18.” Wilbur raised a brow, “14.” Tommy huffed. His age should only be his business not some alien-bitch who didn’t even have his file.

“If you keep lying, I may have to get the truth serum from the back.” Wilbur half-heartedly threatened. Tommy, the big man that he is, did not get scared at that statement, only slightly unsettled which clearly showed on his face.

“Now, do you have a family?” Tommy tensed at the question. It was a touchy question and was not one that was asked often especially with his reputation.

“I am a big man. I don’t need a family to be great.” Tommy stated, happy with the answer. The alien-bitch shifted awkwardly.

“Right… What is your diet?”

“Umm.. I dunno, whatever I can find. I am allergic to nuts though..” Wilbur nodded in understanding and wrote things down in his notepad.

“What plants are poisonous to you?” Wilbur asked without looking up from his notes.

“Ermm, poison Ivy, poison oak… uh I think parts of rhubarb, and most wild berries. I am not sure other than that.” Wilbur nodded while adding bits to his notes.

“What was the place you lived like?” This time Wilbur glanced up to look at Tommy. This was again another touchy subject… How many times would this alien bitch get into the sad background?

“Shitty.” Tommy snapped. That was the only response the bitch was gonna get.

“Right.. Do you have music on Earth?”

Tommy scoffed, “Of course we have music, dumbass!”

“Can you tell me about the animals there?” Wilbur asked, almost hopeful.. which was weird. What was he hoping for?

“Erm I guess..” Tommy mumbled, trying to figure out where to start, “There’s a bunch of animals. Mainly on land. My favorite would be the cow.”

“What’s that?” Curiosity stained Wilbur’s face. This got Tommy excited; he was practically beaming as he started talking.

“Well they are these big ruminants that make milk and have horns. There are a bunch of types too like the highland cow, which obviously is the most poggers one. They are a Scottish breed with really long hair. I met one once, on a field trip his name was Henry.” Tommy rambled on for the next two and a half hours, jumping from topic to topic and explaining anything that wasn’t personal. He usually ended those paths with short insults.

——————

Wilbur hated to stop the kids' detailed story, but two and a half celestial hours had already passed, and Dream would be coming to check soon. Luckily, he had a couple new poisons that could pass off as a research development. He had even managed to send the distressed signal and no doubt Phil would already be there with the SBI craft ready to fly at any given moment.

“Alright Tommy.” His voice dropped to a serious tone causing the kid to stop his story of how he got poisoned by mushrooms on a camping trip. “You’re gonna have to trust me just for a bit. I am going to get you off the ship at the next stop but in the meantime I need you to tell me how allergic you’re to nuts.” The kid immediately tensed at the question.

“I am mainly allergic to tree nuts.. almonds being the worst. After a few minutes I can’t breathe properly and I usually pass out. The doctor said if I don’t get it treated within 15 minutes, death is most likely.” He took a moment to go through the information. The kid most likely has an anaphylaxis reaction to tree nuts. Meaning either he would have to know the exact time of landing and exactly where Phil was or he needed another poison that was less severe.

“Alright, here is what we’re gonna do. I have a chemical mixture that is similar to that of rattlesnake venom. I also have a chemical substance that numbs any pain you may feel. Side effects would include being very very tired and delirious over the next few days. Along with being knocked out for a good ten hours. To put it simply I am gonna fake poison you, in order to get you off the ship. It’s your choice if you’re willing to do it.” Wilbur paused to study the kid still restrained in front of him. It was odd how relaxed the kid seemed to be in a situation like this. He had no urge as far as Wilbur was aware, to fight against anything that happened. His complaints only being those that touched on personal matters. It was unsettling to say the least, and intrigued Wilbur. He really wanted to unravel the life the kid had lived before this and how he was actually dealing with the situation.

There was a long pause before the kid spoke, “I wouldn’t mind getting away from the weird smiley bitch.. plus you seem nice and to know what you’re doing so sure. Poison me bitch.” He said the last sentence with an enthusiasm Wilbur wasn’t expecting. He took a moment to rethink his plan, which was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Dream says you better have advanced in your stupid testing. Otherwise he’s gonna kick you off the ship at the next stop.” Stated the rather rude blazeling, Sapnap. The blazeling never liked Wilbur and made a point to argue against any advancements at meals. That led to Dream installing a new system of emails and Wilbur eating meals alone.

“Yea yea, it’s going!” He yelled through the metal door.

“Better be.” The blazeling snapped before making a non quiet track back to his quarters.

“Stupid blazeling.” Wilbur grumbled as he sorted through vials and picked up new needles and measured out the substances. “We are going to start with the anesthetic then move onto the poison.” He softly addressed Tommy.

Wilbur swiftly disinfected Tommy’s shoulder and gave the needle. He then gave the second needle. Immediately Tommy slumped over. Wilbur swiftly took off Tommy’s restraints and moved him on to the patient bed in the back corner of the room. After the transfer was done he clipped the body restraints around Tommy and waited for the alert signaling landing.

After about five minutes the light next to the door turned blue. He moved over to his seat and clipped on the safety belts. The light turned green and the ship shook momentarily before a thud could be felt. Quickly as Wilbur could, he emptied the needles into the waste bin and waited for his soon-to-be-ex-boss to arrive.

Dream stepped through the door and glanced around the room before heading to Wilbur for his report.

“Report.” The dreamon commanded.

“The subject's body would have gone through a painfully slow death and have multiple organ failures if I did not intervene. The chemical mixes used created a conflict in the patient’s body which resulted in the patient falling into exhaustion as they recovered.” He responded in a monotone tone. Dream looked over Tommy. He flinched back in disgust as Tommy grunted in his sleep.

“Is that all?” The dreamon questioned.

“No.” Wilbur swallowed down his panic, “This is the last testing I will be doing with this crew.” The dreamon scoffed.

“I am assuming you’re getting off at this planet?” Dream spit. Wilbur knew he absolutely hated when people left his crew as he saw it as a direct violation of his loyalty.

“Yes.” The phantom stated, keeping his even tone apparent. With that Dream stormed out cursing in Siestian. Somewhere in the mess of words he told Wilbur to get his things.

Without hesitation he grabbed his bag from his quarters, which was held in a small room that branches off the lab. He half sprinted down the short hallway and straight to the bed Tommy was on. He swiftly unrestrained the human and sat him up. He slipped on boots and gloves then tied a cloak around the kid. He pulled the hood up and carried him off of the closest exit. There were faint yells from Dream down the hallway and reassurances from the only two beings that put up with him. And with that Wilbur was off to find the only craft he had ever called home. The SBI ship.

——————

Chapter 2- End

Words~ 1774

——————

End Notes: ‘‘twas to lazy to reread... sorry for minor mistakes. Also suggestions are always appreciated!! Please reblog...

——————

Chapter 3:

——————

Wilbur:

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The Color of my Soul(mates) [2]

[First oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. New oneshot yaaaay!! Just a quick reminder that both Virgil and Patton’s mindsets are bad. They can work, of course, but only for a certain expense. Worry not. They will both start to go to a therapist and take care of themselves, even though this will not be heavily shown in the oneshots.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Moxiety and Past Moceit and Past Virgil/Remus (no idea how it’s called dfghjdfghj) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish.

* Swearing, depreciative thoughts, losing someone (not death, just stopping to be soulmate), anger issues, anxious thoughts and nightmares. It’s hurt/comfort.

* [~*~]  Means passage of time

* [...] Means change in the focus of the narrative 

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 5.300 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                          [~*~]

Loneliness is an island with missing boats.

Missing is when the moment tries to run away from the memories to happen again and can’t do it.

Memories are when, even without authorization your thinking re-presents a chapter.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings

[~*~]

Hey, Dee! It’s been some time, huh? Nothing really happened around here, so I have no interesting news to share today. Buut, I learned a new knock knock joke! I would finally get you to laugh with this one! It’s like that:

Me: Knock, knock.  

U: Who’s there?  

Me: Ice cream.  

U: Ice cream who?  

Me: Ice cream if you don’t let me in!

Funny, right?!

… It feels silly to continue to talk with you through those letters. I can’t-

I don’t even know where to send them! That is stup- not great.

I just… I just miss you, Dee. A lot. My uncle says that I should get your old representation out of the bed and hide it so I can start moving on, but… It feels empty, you know? Everything.

I really miss you.

Love, Heart.

[…]

“No.” 

His words echoed in his mind, the strap of his backpack slipping from his grip, his body throwing itself forward, heart jumping in the back of his throat as his steps inevitably brought him even closer to the faded green, almost white, shark plushie in front of him. 

“No.” 

He repeated, as if this was a spell able to make the scene before him change. His hands trembled and failed in touching the so loved object, a silent scream slipping from his slightly parted lips. Yet, he still tried to think of something. Anything that would erase his choices. He knew it.

He should have known. He read about it before, the butterfly effect. Any choice, any movement, any little thing you did could change drastically your future. It could make events – people – which would happen in your life just…

Disappear. 

[The stuffed animal remained quiet on his hands, it’s blank face staring superficially, not really seeing him. Not like before.]

He knew it. 

“Rat?” He knew it. He knew it. He knew, knew, knewknewknew it! “Ree?” His soul searched desperate for an answer. But he got none. No thoughts, no feelings, no small touches, no acknowledging sparks, nothing. 

That word seemed to ring unbearably in his ears. There was nothing there. Nothing except for the silence and the void which filled itself with despair at every that went by.

“This better not be a prank or this time I will throw you in the washing machine for real!” Virgil’s eyes were stinging. He should have done better, should have thought in another way or another anything. He shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t! 

“Ree, stop. That is not funny.” Ree actually preferred when Virgil called him Rat, and as his chest was scratched by an agonizing, crescent fear, deep down the young boy wished his soulmate would jump – his thoughts always felt like that, excited, uncontrollable jumpy frogs just playing around – from somewhere and demands Virgil called him by it. “Answer me!!”

His fingers squished the soft fabric, a short, unexpected wave of anger pleading for at least a shout of pain before Virgil realized what he was doing, immediately lighting his touch, tears shining in a sad gloom in the corner of his eyes. His breathing started to hurt.

He needed to do something.

“MOM!!”

Virgil opened his door with a strong slam, running through the wooded floor of the corridor, stumbling his way to the stairs, coming down at the highest speed he could muster. The adult figure was already standing in the living room, the Tv blasting a show in the background, probably the activity his mother was concentrating on before his cry. A frown painted her face and her dark eyes stared at the boy when he stood in front of her, holding his stuffed shark in her direction.

“Fix him!” 

[‘it’ a quiet whisper from his brain corrected his sentence.]

Her analytical eyes danced around the toy in front of her, looking for any teared fabric, any stain or hint of what happened to it, the confusion in her actions becoming more and more prominent as no visible result was found.

[And, as her analysis occurred, the quiet whisper in the back of his mind wondered if this was the original color of the shark before it became a representation of his soulmate. They were together for so long Virgil didn’t even remember what it used to look like.]

No! The boy with heterochromatic eyes firmly gritted his teeth, head shaking. This was NOT the shark’s real color. Its real color was a dark, deep, enthusiastic green full of chaotic ideas and dumb jokes and sparks and grins.

He refused to let everything end in this way.

Realization fell in her face, a soft gasp coming from her open mouth. “Oh, Virgil…”

“No, no, no! You- You need to fix him!” But her eyes… “Mom, please,” the way her arms opened to involve his small, trembling form… 

“Please, he is my best friend.”

[‘Was’]

She hugged him, cradling her fingers in his hair and lightly rocking Virgil and his sobs, her sweet words muffled by his cry. Then the younger one wiggled out of her touch, getting the plushie and running back to his room, the door slamming one more time.

He refused.

“No! No!!” He kicked his backpack, its content spreading across his carpeted floor. The shark was placed in his desk seconds before the Virgil focused his anger on his bed, throwing everything on the floor. His pillows hit the walls and the toys on his shelves. The cacophony of sounds made his head hurt, but he ignored this in order to kick and throw more things. 

Seconds, minutes, countless pieces of time passed before he stopped, panting and with stinging eyes in the middle of the room, his only possessions left untouched was his guitar and Ra- His shark stuffed animal.

Because he loves playing guitar. Because he loves Ree.

His fingers pet its soft fur, wandering in every detail, trying to burn in his soul how alive and colored it used to be before today.

Virgil felt like crying, felt like hugging his old-representation with all his might and just spent the rest of the day like this, pleading that Ree would come back and Virgil would do better and everything could be back to normal again.

But he refused.

He refused to cry like a baby. He refused to let this happen to him. He refused to be made a fool by the Soulmate System or whatever sadistic creature that observed him right now. He refused to go through all of this again. 

Ever again.

Virgil opened his closet and got up on his chair, hiding the shark on the highest shelf under a bunch of old comforts he never got to use.

They wanted him to be a Colorless? Very well, then.

[~*~]

Anger is when the dog who lives in you shows its teeth.

Sadness is a gigantic hand that squeezes your heart.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings

[~*~]

Hiya, Dee.

Some days are better, some are worse. 

It hurts.

But, hm, good things, right? Today was sunny and refreshing, I love when this happens. A ladybug landed in my hand yesterday, it was so small… I also found another beautiful feather when I went to the park last weekend, very fluffy and a baby on the bus smiled at me after I made some funny faces.

I hope you’re also receiving and giving some beautiful smiles there. Aunt just called me for the movie night so… See you later!

I miss-

Love, Heart.

[…]

Virgil woke up sweating. A tight feeling clutching the back of his mind. However, he managed to catch himself before his eyes opened, the back of his hand pressing them, as if to make sure they wouldn’t open against his will.

Urg… Not this again…

Virgil pressed harder the pillow curling around his head, the pressure easing the irritation as he groaned in protest, wondering how much more time it would take before he finally grew used to this routine. An annoying sensation banged rhythmically on his chest, hammering together with his heart and flying along with the butterflies on his stomach over and over again until a slightly nausea almost leaded the one in pajamas to give up and just find the nearest stuffed animal so his soulmate’s bond could finally be initiated, his representation showed up and then the exhausted teen could finally get some freaking rest  and then proceed to turn a blind eye to his soulmate for the rest of their lives.

Who would say that ignoring the Soulmate System would be so hard?

But, damn, even if this shit always came back at the right moment when the first ray of sunshine hit his face, usually Virgil had at least the freedom of the night to sleep!

His hand wandered clumsily, hitting the bean bag next to his bed and looking for the small device he always left there for the night. He sighs when his fingers make contact with the cold of his phone, quickly bringing it up to his face and making sure nothing else could get in his eye field. On the third try he succeeded to put the right password, ignoring the video shining on it and quickly lowering the brightness of his screen until it was almost nonexistent. 

Four in the morning. What the heck was his not-for-much-longer-soulmate doing up at this hour??

Ok. It didn’t matter, Virgil murmured to himself, his words slurring, completely engulfed by the fog of sleepiness which continued to involve him. It didn’t matter because Virgil was sure he would manage to win that battle, just like he did on every other occasion since Ree. Of course, he never had a perfect receipt for this, only a group of superficial orientations as focusing on something else, tossing around the mattress until the exhaustion took over his body or doing anything that guaranteed his suborn nature to fight until the bond faded away with some hours, maybe one or two days. 

However, this one was about to complete a whole week and his resolution was beginning to weaken, escaping between his fingers regardless of how much he fought to hold it with tooth and nails. The mild headache growing on him was the proof of this.

He flipped his pillow, letting its cold surface rest on his face, adjusting himself to lay starfished onto the bed. 

He needed distractions. 

Songs. He liked to listen to music a lot, something he would be very much inclined to do now if it wasn’t so late and his earphones were so far away. But, stopping to think about it, it was crazy how sounds work, like, even if they’re far away they manage to be heard. Pretty much like that weird sound captured by that boat who was only minding its business… The Bloop. Heh. The Bloop. Such a stupid name… He wondered if it was a Jurassic animal doing that and when humanity would be finally able to answer his question. If it is really an animal will they call him Bloop? That is a horrible name to give to something probably gigantic and scary… Bloop… Bloopers… blooo...

His muscles from his toes to the tip of his fingers began to relax, his breathing becoming more erratic as the trail of nonsense thoughts led him away from reality and straight to the cloak of Morpheus. Bit by bit he started to be unaware of his room. First the faint sound of his spider quietly scraping the sand on her terrarium, second the sensation of the pillow on his face, then the cold of his phone as it slipped away from his hand…

And, unsupervised by the teenager's eyes, his index finger hit the ‘play’ button on the video, and the blasting of Aquiles Priester’s drums filled the room in a hot shot, followed in the same second by Virgil’s hoarse scream. The confusion and sound making the one with heterochromatic eyes stumble to a sit position, blankets and pillows falling from him as his astonished movements tried to be coordinated enough to turn off his phone before his mother woke up and decided to know why and what her son was doing up at four-darn-morning. 

The button was hit and the silence was faster in cover the room all over again, being only broken by Virgil’s shaken gasps, his trembling fingers laying on his adulterated heartbeats, taking large, wobbly deep breaths in order to normalize it, his attention entirely focused on hearing any hint of muffled step outside his room.

In. Hold. Out.

In. Hold. Out.

He was fine. Everything was fine. 

This was only a scare.

In. Hold. Out.

In. Hold. Out.

Okay. No sound. Virgil allowed himself to fall on his bed, stretching and humming in attempts to ground him to reality, not taking too long to let the sleepiness begin to slowly crawl to his mind again, his body feeling surprisingly much lighter than it had been in days. A yawn escaped from his lips. What the hell he was doing with his cell phone anyway?

For the second time in the night his body fled to a sitting position, the sudden calm and coziness which hit his senses now having a slightly sour taste on his mouth as the teenager realized what it meant.

His soulmate bond was complete.

His gaze flew to the small pile of fabric on the floor, a glint of a sky-blue color shining amidst it. He pushed his blankets away and his breath hitched when the full form of his soulmate’s representation was shown.

Oh no. Nononono. That was- 

That wasn’t normal. Nor supposed to happen. Oh shit. Shitshitshitshit. What could he do?

Virgil dropped – carefully, even if the cold on the bottom of his stomach screamed for him to run! – the object on his bed, getting across the room and right in front of his closet in a blink of an eye. The door flung open, his gaze scrambling through all his possessions in search of that specific teddy bear his mother gave him a year ago, telling it was going to help him to heal, grabbing it firmly and plopping it next to the blue fabric calmly laying on his mattress. He bit his nails while his eyes ran from an object to another, waiting for the color to somewhat jump on the plushie, where it was supposed to go in the first place.

Virgil stared inquisitively at his pillow- no, his soulmate’s representation, as if he could scare the reality into changing itself. His fingers ran through his hair, feet pacing on the floor.

 Ok. His soulmate was a pillow. A literal pillow. That was not good.

Before he could fall on his parasitizing thoughts or hide the pillow and pretend nothing had happened, a badly muffled sound reached him, making his body freeze as his brain immediately recognized what it was:

Crying.

[...]

Before is a caterpillar who didn’t become a butterfly, yet.

Indecision is when you know very well what you want, but you think you should want another thing.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings

[...]

Hey, dear! Heart here again! It’s been a time, huh? I discovered a new Pet Shop nearby and a very nice old lady let me play with the puppies after school. You really should see the hamsters there! They’re the cutest, most precious soft things!!

They don’t have any snakes, sadly.

I… I hid your teddy bear and I’m getting used to not stare at the right corner of the mattress, looking for you. 

I still miss your smooth thoughts, your warmth, your advice and receipts and… you.

I think I’m getting better. The sensation is starting to feel… normal.

Remember we-

I used to-

I know you won’t really read this, but I’m trying to keep taking care of myself. 

Hooray?

Love, Heart.

[…]

Patton loved stuffed animals and this was a fact that anyone who got into his room for barely two seconds would realize. Small plushies of multicolored frogs rested on his shelves. A big polite giraffe sat on his desk, proudly showing off her new necktie and his older ones were in the closet, guarding his favorites clothes. His soulmates, of course, had a special treatment, receiving a seat on his bed, closer to him and within his research at any occasion, emergency or not.

And that was an emergency. Well…technically. 

Maybe…

Perhaps not. 

The teenager changed to a sitting position, his fingers trapping the mattress in a deadly grip, tears falling from his eyes, which was firmly focused on the moon shaped night light across his room, trying to kick out the too cold, too hot feeling the nightmare left on his skin. 

His brain felt fuzzy and his thoughts were all mushed together, way too messy to properly fight against the memories of his dream replaying on his head. The sensation of pure despair still running on his veins as the monster – tall, fast, its shadow hovering over his small form – chased him and his friends. Patton still felt his throat dry after running for what seemed hours, and for when he realized they would never manage to actually escape from it. He could feel the betrayed eyes of his loved ones as he made each one of them trip, the small period when the monster got them giving him enough time to escape, the screams ringing on his ears.

He muffled his sobs, slapping his hand on his mouth and getting up, going to his closet and grabbing his panda. It was one of the fluffiest stuffed animals he had and he could use a bit of softness right now. His steps were tired and he hid his face on the plushie even before laying on his bed again, curling around the bear as if it was the core of safeness, as if it would make all the bad thoughts and feelings go away.

As if it could erase all the nightmare and convince the part of his mind which said that if it was real life, that would be exactly what he would do, that it was wrong.

It was! It was completely wrong! Patton would never, ever, betray his friends, or hurt them, or go away when they needed most! He wouldn’t. He would fight, if it was needed. He would do his best every single time to help them! To be there. He wouldn’t just run away. He couldn’t. He couldn’t be alone. He didn’t even bear that thought.

[A part of his soul struggled, firm on its position. It kept holding into a bond that directed to another soul who kept pushing him away, both refusing to change their mind.]

Bear. Patton let go of a weak, barely audible, forced giggle, squeezing the panda on his touch tighter. Panda was a bear. Heh. His tears began to calm themselves, falling slower from the corner of his eyes, a strange and sudden wave of strange, but welcomed calmness hitting him.

A sudden warm touch laid on his forehead.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Patton gasped, his wide eyes flying open to stare at the now purple plushie on his grip.

Purple. Pandas weren’t purple. He was sure this one was always white with black dots and tiny glasses on it. Definitely not purple. Not unless it was-

Oh. 

Ohhh.

Oh no.

For a moment his breath was taken, adrenaline exploded across his body and his mind went blank, his face stumbling forward to press his lips on the panda’s forehead, a completely lack of words, especially when a flow of sentences began to appear running over themselves and leading to his very tired brain to struggle in order to try to grasp their meaning before another phrase came and took its place.

[His body seemed to relax, letting go of a ball of tension Patton didn’t even realize he had in the first place.]

“Fuck, sorry, that was pretty dumb. Of course you’re not fine, why else would you be crying? What I was trying to say is: Can you get better? No, wait! That sounded harsh and it’s definitely not what I meant- wanted to say. Ehh, shit. Okay. Uhh. Breath, okay? Breathing is a good thing. You have to breathe to stay alive so I think it’s already a good start. Keep breathing, please do not die. Oh god, wait, that is not a dangerous situation, is it? Are you in danger? Are you dying? Oh, fuck I can’t hear-”

A startled giggle made a run from Patton’s lips, making his new soulmate to be quiet.

“Urg, sorry.”

“No, no. I was not laughing at you!” He adjusted his grip so the only part touching the purple bear would be him holding one of his paws, realizing he forgot to stop hugging him earlier. “I am okay. I just… didn’t want to cry on you, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t, huh, care.”

“Crazy how bonds happen nowadays.” Patton attempted a joke, feeling suddenly a bit vulnerable, internally wishing the other wouldn’t ask about the reason for his tears. “It-It’s hot today, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, with the Sun and everything.”

“Yeepp.” Patton sniffed, cleaning the tear track left on his cheeks before resting his back on the bed’s headboard, a beginning of a headache after that waterfall of emotions shining in the horizon.

“...Do you want to listen to a song? It helps me to calm down when I’m, ya know.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m already a bit better.”

“Ok, sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Maybe it was sleepiness or the excitement of having a new soulmate, but before he could think much more about it the hidden truth was slipping from his mouth, “I’m grounded. No phone for the week.”

“That sucks.” The teenager just shrugged, hoping his soulmate would understand the action by his movement. 

Silence impregnated the room, spreading and filling his system, his eyelashes closing bit by bit.

“I know how to play guitar. I can… play a song for you. Onlyifyouwantofcourse.” The thought was quick, quiet and disappeared as soon as it arrived, leading Patton to almost believe he imagined it.

A good feeling bloomed in his chest, a smile flourishing on his face as he held his soulmate’s free hand, carefully squeezing them in what he hoped it showed his gratitude.

“I would love to.”

“’Kay. Uh, cool. Give me a second.”

And then a few minutes later his form was engulfed by warmth. Patton let go a sigh of relief, basically melting in the so caring touch, don't having the heart - that word gave a hurtful tug in his chest - to remember his new soulmate he couldn't really hear the accords, only the shy, calming humming rumbling on his chest and lullabying them to a peaceful sleep.

[~*~]

Feeling is the language the heart uses when it needs to send a message.

-       Adriana Falcão - Meanings.

[~*~]

"How can I call you?" 

Patton stopped his voice before that old nickname got out, scratching his throat. He should try to move on, right? 

Baby steps. 

"Pat." 

"Pat?" 

"Pat-Pat!" 

Virgil rolled his eyes, denying the small smile which appeared on the corner of his mouth.

“You can call me V.”

[…]

“So, you’re a pillow.”

Patton blinked, a surprised snort filling the room. “V, I know I often say I’m soft but if you wanted to rest on me all you needed to do was ask!” He added some shadowing on some feathers, giving the drawing of the Bem-te-Vi more profundity. He was really happy he found that site about the birds of America. 

“No, I mean literally. Like… your representation is not a stuffed animal, it’s a pillow.”

“Oooh…” He blinked a few times. “I didn’t know that still happens.”

“What do you mean with ‘still happens’? This happened to you before?”

“Not with me, but I saw a video about this! Before the plushies became famous due their shape being easier to be seen as human-like, the bond would form in anything that could be quickly dyed, just like clothes, pieces of fabric, pillows… I think if they showed it to a doctor, he would describe their condition as ‘comfortable!’” Patton shook lightly the panda’s shoulder, smiling. “Uh? Got it? Comfortable? Because they’re soft?”

“Pat, that was horrible.”

“Awww, come oon.” Patton rested his chin on V’s head, forgetting his drawing for a while. “Puns are harder than knock knock jokes! You have to wait for the perfect timing to make them.” Virgil huffed. “Not even an itsy bitsy giggle?”

“Nope.”

Silence.

“Pat?”

“No. I am pouting.”

He felt a couple of pats (ha-) on his head, the touching going away in a few seconds. “You will get there some day.” The other answered his soulmate with a raspberry, giggling a bit of his own silliness before going back to his hobby. He really was planning to finish this bird today.

“The thing is… Since you’re, ya know, a pillow. I was thinking… okay, I know that this will sound weird but… I was thinking of putting some clothes on your representation so I can… try to see you better.” 

“Ah.”

“Only if you’re comfortable, sure!”

“No, no. I am! It’s just…” Patton bit his lips, lightly squeezing the shell of his ear with the hand that wasn’t holding the pencil, adjusting his body to a better sitting position. “What clothes do you have in mind? Not that I think your taste is bad or you don’t know how to choose good clothes or something like that!”

“No, it’s cool!” The thought came in the moment Patton forced himself to stop his nervous talking. “I wanted to ask you because of that, I, uh, have black t-shirts, jeans, an old grey hoodie, PJs, clothes when I was a kid, onesies, maybe I can get a dress?”

“Gasp. Do you have onesies?? Aww, I want!”

“Everyone has a onesie.” Virgil mumbled in defense, feeling his cheeks getting hot. “I have a skeleton one, a raccoon and the Toothless from How to Tra-”

“OHMYGOSH YOU HAVE TOOTHLESS!” Virgil had absolutely no idea how Pat managed to make a thought so high pitched and excited to the point the words themselves were barely understandable. “HE IS THE MOST PRECIOUS, CUTE LIL DRAGON…” and then a bunch of squeaks and mumbling took over his brain just as he has hugged and then lightly bounced before suddenly everything disappeared.

He decided it was safer to let the silence prolong itself a bit longer.

…

“Pat?”

“You might need to give me a few more minutes, kiddo.”

“You need to chill, dude.” Virgil remarked, a ray of fondness shining in his words. He gathered his onesie. It was his favorite one when he was fourteen, now it didn’t even fit on him anymore and it clearly wasn’t made to be used by a pillow, as well, but it would suffice until he thought of a better solution. “Ok. Got it, you might want to use your Blocker now.”

“Okayy, it’s somewhereeeeee...” Patton rummaged the content of his backpack, looking for the earphone-shaped object. He hadn’t the chance to buy the wireless prototype, so he struggled a few seconds to untangle the cables. “Here! So, see you in fifteen minutes?”

“Ok. If you hear or feel something just touch my arm and I will immediately stop.” 

“Right!! Bye!” Patton waved, more a habit than anything else, plugging the Blocker on his ears and the cluing its ventosa behind his head, right where his cerebellum was. A few pieces of time went by before his head became partially empty, only his thoughts filling it. He put the panda away. 

It was a strange feeling, to use this outside his school, nor parallel conversation of his classmates or a teacher’s voice filling the air to distract his attention for the fact that he couldn’t hear or feel his soulmates anymore. He hummed, wondering how Lo was and writing a self note on the corner of his paper that he should check on him later, ask for him to finish that story with the smart detective he was telling him on Sunday before Patton fell asleep due the other’s habit to keep petting his hair, probably a revenge for Patton’s constant need to hugging, holding or actively interacting with his serious soulmate’s representation, more often than not receiving fond-exasperate pokes in return.

He looked through the window, mind wandering as the wind hit the tree in his neighbor’s yard, messing with its leaves. It was a bit lonely to have your thoughts all to yourself…

But not entirely bad.

[…]

“Sooo, howz does it looks like?” The naturally excited voice asked. Virgil just pressed his hand firmer on his lips, his other arm hugging his middle. His gaze fell for what it felt the umpteen time in the blue dyed pillow before him, the sleeves of  his onesie folded inwards in a poor attempt to cut half of its original length, the ‘legs’ were criss crossed and all of this ignoring, of course, the unnatural rectangular shape of the whole thing.   

‘Like shit.’ It was his first thought, but he decided to not send it to Pat.

“Weird.”

“I am looking at my pillows right now and-” giggles, “but come ooon, it’s Toothless! There is no way it isn’t at least a bit cute!”

‘You have no neck.’ He internally panicked, looking at the few, sporadic tiny blue hearts appearing amidst the black onesie, showing the representation was getting used to the new fabric attached to it. ‘A probably-head, shoulders but no neck. It’s like a reverse freaking giraffe!’

However, Virgil decided against sharing this particular vision with the other. 

“I guess. Are you… breathing well or whatever?” His tune was a mix of nonchalant and nervous, the choice of words making him wince.

“I am. Why?”

“No. Nothing. No reason.”

“Oookay.” The teenage signed at the confusion on his soulmate’s tune, why did he had to talk in the first place or be so weird making a such big deal of something stupid like that? Urg. He stared at the blue object one more time. Damn Soulmate System. Damn destiny. Damn lack of socialization skills.

…………

But, dude, really, the guy has literally no neck here, there is NO WAY he isn’t feeling nothing because of that. Pat is probably lying because he pities him after a so horrible, futile attempt of fixing what he caused. No. Wait. He can’t just assume his soulmate is lying because of his overthinking, the other part of his brain retorted. Was he overthinking? He probably was. He always did it. Or perhaps this was a correct inkling of Pat. Soulmates were supposed to do that sort of thing after some time, right? One week was enough time? What he-

“Hey!” Pat’s thought cut his own. “Sooo, now that you can ‘see’ me a bit better… hug? You can say no if you want, sure!”

Virgil blinked one, two, three times.

“Ok. But you let go when I let go, got it?”

“Sure thing, V!” Warmth bloomed in his chest when he heard his nickname, Virgil wasn’t sure why.

He embraced the representation, feeling a bit silly, the same feeling that was fast to go away as Pat hugged him as well, firm but careful. The sensation overwhelmed his senses, but in a good way, leading the one who loved guitars and got a strange hyper fixation on drums to let go a sigh, body relaxing.

He patted Pat’s back two times before finishing the touch. “There you go.”

“Thanks! Sooo, see you later.”

“Sure thing.” He agreed, wanting nothing more than a good hot bath after so many feelings in such a small period of time. 

“uwu”

“How the fu-” 

“NO SWEARING!”

“-did you do that?”

Virgil snorted, the warmth still spreading on his chest and maybe - only maybe, - having a new soulmate wasn’t an entire bad thing.

[icedthoma]

Todoroki 1? ;w;

prompt: ocean

It’s not just because of your quirk that you remind him of the ocean.

Upon first glance, you are calm on the surface, a wide stretch of unknown that most people are content to stay cruising over, not bothering to dive down into the depths of your personality. The outside world is happy with the picture perfect image of heroism you portray, pro hero Shouto at your side. 

But you’re so much more. 

Todoroki remembers the time he took you to the aquarium on a day off from hero work. He’ll never forget the way your face shines under the blue lighting filtered by the water, your fingers pressed to the glass as you gaze up at the massive whale tank, a small sigh leaving your lips. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning against the cold glass to look at you. “You look sad.”

“Do you think they miss the ocean?”

“I’m not sure. They are perfectly safe here, though. What more could they need?”

You shrug. “Sometimes freedom is worth giving up safety for.” At his surprised double take at your unprecedented statement, you burst out laughing, grabbing onto his forearm for support. “I’m kidding, Shouto, don’t look so taken aback.” Your laugh is bubbly and refreshing, washing over him like the shallow waves on a beach that barely reach up to his ankles. 

It’s a nice feeling.

A little girl shyly approaches you after the two of you leave the whale exhibit, recognizing you to be her favorite pro hero. Todoroki can’t help but fall more in love as he watches you break into the biggest smile and kneel down to her level, agreeing to sign her backpack and giving her a hug right after. 

He hears you say a few words of encouragement before the girl runs back to her mother, a new spring in her step. You tend to have that effect on people. You are the ocean that gives life, not afraid to set those struggling afloat on your support and love, whether they be a total stranger or one of your fans. 

After a while, he briefly parts with you to use the restroom. Upon coming back, he’s faced with you being confronted by a man, a fan of you, he claims, but both of you have seen his face on recent news reports enough to recognize the villain despite his efforts. 

And here he was thinking the two of you were going to have a normal day off.

Immediately, Todoroki backs out of sight. He hasn’t been spotted yet, which gives him the advantage if needed for a surprise attack. He carefully edges closer just in time to hear the threats being made towards the unsuspecting people in the aquarium.

Gritting his teeth, Shouto throws all caution to the wind and storms forward, eager to give this trash a piece of his mind--

“I’m guessing you came after me because I’m the quiet one, hmm?” 

The villain laughs, completely missing the dangerous glint in your eye. “Maybe I’d just rather take you hostage instead of that red and white haired freak.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“You fighting me here would not be wise,” you say, tone dead cold, and even though it’s not directed at him, Todoroki feels a shiver crawl up his spine. “I could feed you to the sharks if I wanted to before you put a finger on me. And you would deserve it, especially after hurting so many people.”

It always amazes him how you can go from playful to deadly in a matter of seconds, and this time is no exception. What people generally mistake in you for serenity is actually the calm before the storm, and this low-life villain is learning that lesson now. 

The villain has gone pale as he realizes the mistake he put himself in, which was tracking you two to the place where you are literally in your element. His eyes dart back and forth as he searches for an escape route, but there is none. 

Not with you in his way. 

Ten minutes later the police arrive, stunned at the fact that the villain hadn’t moved in that entire time just in fear of what you would do to him if he did.

“Man, our date was ruined,” you sigh once he’s out of sight, and Shouto gapes in astonishment that you’re smiling warmly again. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Please,” he says, and the two of you leave the aquarium hand in hand, painfully aware of the stares and the pictures that are certainly going to end up all over the internet within the next hour.

You are not just a empty stretch of blue, quiet and still as far as the eye can see.

You’re so much more. 

[angst-art-writing]

Stalkers and Grey Walls- Sinners and Saints(3)

TW: Slight Kidnapping reference.

Artemis's body ached. Her eyelids fluttered open, only to be met with blinding bright lights. She winced slightly and shut her eyes again, moving a hand over her face.

She tried to recollect her memory. It came to her in flashes as she remembered the excitement of flying through, that winged bitch chasing her.

With a sigh, Artemis slowly opened her eyes and allowed them to adjust. Above her was a cool grey ceiling. How boring. She turned her head and saw an empty hallway. The room she was in was one she didn’t recognize. In front of her was an open wide wall, then three grey walls. The open wall showed a hallway and an empty room almost identical to the one she was in. Where am I?

Panic started to set in. She was past her curfew. Way past. That was never good. It was a rule, and it was always horrible when she broke the rules. Artemis had a new objective now; Get back to base so Vincent didn't throw a bigger fit. She raised an arm to see what time it was exactly, only to find that it was gone. Her eyes narrowed and she huffed irritably. Sure enough, Paige had removed all her weapons.

Artemis got to her feet quickly, and rushed to go out into the hall- Before she slammed into an invisible force so hard she fell back on her ass with a grunt; Like a pigeon.

Glass.

Rubbing her head, she glared darkly at the glass in front of her and insulted it with curses. It didn't make her head hurt any less. Slowly, she got back up and took a small glance around again. Nothing else was in the room besides the small bed she had been laying on with a blue blanket.

"Okay!" She called out to anyone who was listening. "You guys have me, what do you want now? So I can get outta here."

Nothing.

She continued. "Seriously!”

More silence.

She sat down on the bed and sighed heavily. Her eyes darted around the room as if some magical poster would pop up- But it was blank. Nothing useful was here that could help her escape, and all her weapons were gone. Rude.

She was left in the stupid Reapers suit and nothing else. Irritated, she ran a hand through her hair and tugged slightly at it in frustration. "God fuck-"

"Good morning."

Her head snapped up at the sound of a males voice. She saw a tall boy standing behind the glass. His face was serious, his eyes as dark as ebony. Beside him was Paige. She smiled at Artemis and Artemis narrowed her eyes in return.

"Morning," Artemis said. She stood up and walked, pausing in front of the glass. "I'd say good morning but it hasn't been very good. Being kidnapped kinda kills my mood to be honest. Also, you could use some decoration here. A house plant would be nice.”

The boy's eyes narrowed further. He didn't seem impressed. "You're not funny."

"I like to think I am. Your sense of humor is just shitty." She crossed her arms. Paige frowned and the boy's look grew even more grim. Artemis pressed on, "Anyways...I'm assuming you're the big boss of this whole thing." Her eyes scanned over him. His biceps were the size of her head. Perhaps bigger.

He ignored her comment. "Correct. I'm the leader. My name is Tobias Shanta, and I'd like something from you, Artemis." His words were rough- No joking. No laughing. His skin was smooth too- Probably from the lack of laugh lines. Artemis tried to picture him smiling but the image came across as disturbing. It was like a shark smiling.

"Mmm. So what is it you want, Shanta? Money? A kiss on the cheek? New pony?" She scoffed and glared at the boy, ignoring Paige for the moment. "Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not Santa Claus."

Tobias ignored her comment. "I want you to join our team."

Artemis stared at him, a look of surprise crossing over her face. Is this a joke? Artemis raised an eyebrow at him and simply tilted her head. "Well I ain't going to with that nasty look. What even is your team? Is it like a church study group for freaks?”

Paige spoke up finally, her voice cool and soft- Just as it was back on the rooftop. "Our team is.. a group. trying to take down the Reapers and keep them from kidnapping our people." Her wings twitched, and the corners of her mouth turned down, like it was a sore subject for her.

Artemis laughed, then. Startled, Paige jerked her head up slightly and Tobais's eyebrows arched. Artemis grinned up at the two of them both through the glass, giggling. "Really? So what.. You're like some wannabe superheroes? That’s hilarious.”

"No." Tobias's lips pursed into a straight line. He wasn't laughing, and neither was Paige. "This isn't a joke, Artemis."

"Well it's pretty damn funny." She shook her head and crossed her arms. "Well, I decline your offer. I have to get back to base, so I'd appreciate it if you let me go."

"Mm..No." He tilted his chin up, shooting a glare at her. She couldn't help but tense up with such an intense look. He looked angry. "I'll give you time to re-think my offer."

Paige elbowed him, shooting him a look Artemis couldn't interpret. Tobias glanced at her and merely huffed, before he turned and walked away. Paige, however, stayed where she was and watched him go before turning her gaze back to Artemis.

"I...Sorry about him," Paige said. Her voice was apologetic. "He.. Isn't all that welcoming to outsiders, or anyone for the first time. He’s kinder, usually. But you’re a Reaper." She gestured to her uniform with her hand, and Artemis felt her neck grow hot. Being seen as a Reaper, being called one.. She felt ashamed.

Artemis, however, kept her smile and waved her hand. "Whatever. He has a stick up his ass.”

Paige scoffed. “He’s just cautious. And you were rude.”

“You guys kidnapped me!” “You started this game,” Paige hissed back. “You silence people.”

“I didn’t start shit.” Artemis scoffed and turned, leaning her back against the glass. “So what? They deserve it.”

“You don’t believe that.” She didn’t. “What makes you think that?” Artemis turned back to her for a moment with a raised brow.

The winged girl sighed softly. “ You assassins aren't allowed to kill us, Mythics. But it doesn't mean you can't hurt us." She crossed her arms, her stare boring into Artemis. Artemis tried to focus on her wings but found herself staring right into her eyes. She felt as if Paige could see through her, she felt as transparent as glass. She hated the feeling.

Paige continued on. "And most of you Reapers enjoy hurting us, you think we're lesser than you. But you, Artemis-” she raised one brow thoughtfully, " you didn't even try. You tried to run. From my experiences, you Reapers will take any chance to kidnap and bring us back to base. And then you're rewarded, am I right? And the reward depends on how valuable the species is."

Paige was right. Artemis had never brought back a mythic before, because she knew what they were doing was wrong. Her mother had made sure she understood that. But she didn't have a choice. She never had a choice in her life. "Yeah, but-"

Another interruption. "But you didn't try to take me. You tried to leave me, you didn't even attack me. You just wanted to get away as soon as possible. And I don't doubt that you could've taken me down. If you really wanted to, you could have if you were focused on that. But even then- You didn't. Not even for a reward. So you have some sort of morals, something that differs from the rest. Anyone else would have taken me."

Artemis averted her eyes, staring at a corner of the room. "Maybe I just didn't want to. Maybe I just didn't want to deal with you."

"You didn't. One of the others would have, though."

"I just wanted to get back to base."

"Ah, yes.. Which also leads me to your.. curfew." Her eyes flashed. Her voice was soft, but now it was laced with confidence. Artemis didn't like that. She didn't like that she had figured out so much already. "We never find you out past ten at night. Unlike the others, again. they gave you a curfew, didn't they? To make sure you didn't run away, right. So you don't want to be there in the first place."

Artemis stared at her. She knew a lot about her.. And it was freaking her out. "What are you, my stalker? It’s just because I’m a minor," She lied. Her eyes narrowed and she scoffed, before turning away and crossing her arms again.

Paige looked at her closely, her head tilted now. "So, Artemis.. You don't want to be at the Reapers. Why don't you join us?"

"I can't. And I don’t want to, thank you very much. They give me cookies.”

"But you can. You change your path around, you can be someone else. You can burn that uniform and put on one that says you're against them. You can do good." She bit her lip. "I don't think you're a bad person. You had to do those things. It's not your fault."

At those words, Artemis felt her throat tighten. She could feel hot tears forming behind her eyes, merely from the last part of what she had said. Her fingers dug into her arms. Paige sounded genuine, really. Her voice, her words were like blankets and Artemis wanted to let herself be wrapped in them- But she couldn't.

"You guys just want someone else to use." Artemis blinked away the tears, looking back at the girl. She slowly turned to face her with a nasty sneer. "You want me- Because I have their information. I know what they're like. You just want to use me too."

Paige stared at her. "No, that's not what I think-"

"Then why not just leave me alone? Why did you spend so much time studying me?"

Paige looked away for a moment, then to her. "We....need you. We can't get anymore leads without you. But we don't want to use you. You're not.. You're not a toy-"

Artemis's shoulders tensed, her nails digging into her arms at the last word. Toy. She could remember the letters being carved into her skin, the awfulness she felt. She shook her head. "You guys don't know what you're up against."

"Then help us. Help us know."

"I can't."

“But-”

“Look, freak- I’m not going to.”

Paige's wings ruffled, but she shut her mouth and nodded. She turned, and started to walk down the hall. Artemis listened to her steps fade, looking down at the ground before sitting back on the bed. With a sigh, she flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes, trying not to think about anything.

[let-it-raines]

based on the prompt: “when I was five, I was hunting shark teeth on Miami Beach and just kept finding tooth after tooth with my little plastic sleuce. I was so proud of my collection. Only 20 years later did I find out that my mom’s boyfriend had bought a bag of shark teeth at the gift shop and scattered them around while I was distracted.”

@shireness-says​ is the queen of finding posts and then having me write words based off of them, even more so if I can somehow make those words involve some captain cobra and then, of course, my favorite thing: all of the banter and romance ❤️

This little thing is also fully my way to give a little bit of happiness since I know 70% of you are mad at me for the last few chapters of What a Wicked Game . it gets better very soon.

found on ao3 | here | ; rating: for everyone ; ~4400 words

-/-

Emma’s forgetting something.

She knows that she is. She’s practically always forgetting something, and since she’s making the effort to drive across town to the beach with Henry, she just knows that there’s something that she’s going to forget. Then she’ll have to go into one of those tourist shops and spend fifty bucks on the smallest bottle of sunscreen known to mankind all because she forgot the sunscreen.

Did she pack the sunscreen?

She had to have done that. That was in the top five things she needed to pack.

Towels, extra clothes, food, water, sunscreen.

And then beach toys, medicine, a comb, band-aids for when Henry inevitably figures out a way to get a cut…oh, an umbrella. She needs an umbrella.

Wait, Killian was in charge of getting that, wasn’t he?

Shit. She doesn’t remember what exactly she told Killian to bring, and she definitely should have paid more attention to that.

She has to be more put together than this, doesn’t she? She usually is, she swears, but this whole Henry spending the day with Killian is freaking her out more than it should. They’ve met, several times actually, and it’s always gone well. Henry’s six. He doesn’t really get the whole concept of his mom dating someone because he’s never really seen it before. There was almost that time with Walsh, but Emma chickened out at the last minute. Then Walsh got pissed that she wouldn’t let him meet her kid, like she owed him something, and that was the end of that.

But they’ve met. It went well.

Why is she freaking out?

“Because you really like him, you idiot,” she whispers to herself, which kind of makes her even more of an idiot.

That’s all just par for the course right now.

“Who are you talking to?” Henry asks as he walks into the kitchen. The kid is wearing a pair of jeans, no shirt, one sock, and a hat that she knows isn’t hers and is far too big for his head.

“No one,” Emma tells him. “What are you wearing, kid?”

“You told me to get dressed for the beach.”

“Why do you think jeans are what you’re supposed to wear to the beach? Is that what you wear to the pool?”

“No, but the beach has sand.”

“So you have to wear jeans?”

“Yep.” He climbs up onto the kitchen stool and sits down, wide, toothy grin on his face. “So, can we go? I packed all of my toys.”

What an adorable kid. How did she get so lucky for him to be hers?

…wait. All of his toys?

“Henry Swan,” Emma sighs, “go to your room and put every toy that is not allowed in the shower back, and take those jeans off and put on your swimsuit with the anchors on it. Also, ditch the socks.”

“Do I have to?”

“Unless you want to smell like a wet dog, yes.”

“I like dogs.”

Emma huffs and shakes her before pointing her finger down the hall. “Go. We’ve still got to make our sandwiches.”

Henry grumbles something that she probably doesn’t want to hear, but then he’s climbing down off the stool and walking down the hallway. She has no faith in him to actually manage to put on the right clothes and not bring everything he owns, but she’ll let that be the last thing she does so that way he doesn’t manage to change everything up before they leave.

There’s a knock on the apartment door, and Emma glances toward it, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

This is not a big deal, she reminds herself. This is not a big deal at all.

Swallowing her nerves, she puts down the knife she was going to use to cut bread up and heads toward the door. Emma takes a deep breath, her stomach fluttering, but that’s not unfamiliar as of late. It’s aching familiar, actually, and she’s not sure if she loves it or hates it.

Hates it because she’s not that kind of girl.

Loves it because maybe she wants to be.

“Hey,” she says in greeting as she opens the door to Killian.

He, unlike Henry, was able to dress himself in a pair of black trunks that are maybe a little too tight on his thighs for public and a gray t-shirt, baseball cap that actually fits his head pulled down low so that she can’t see the wisps of long hair that usually fall on his forehead. When they met, he had short hair that was nearly cropped to his scalp, but now that he’s retired from the Navy, he’s letting it grow out. She likes it. It falls off his forehead and over the nape of his neck in a slight wave, but she does kind of miss when it was short but long enough for him to style with gel. It’d all come undone when she’d run her hands through it, and she has this vivid memory of one piece falling on his forehead and making him look so young that she could scarcely believe it.

“Hello, love,” he greets before dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers. It’s dirty but surprisingly quick, and she knows that’s just because he’s aware that Henry is around. When she meets him at his place, he kisses her differently, and really, she shouldn’t be noticing these things and categorizing them into her little boxes. “Am I allowed to say that I am very interested in what you have underneath this shirt of yours or are there young ears listening?”

Emma rolls her eyes and presses up on her toes to kiss him again, much slower this time so she can savor the hint of coffee on his lips. “He’s getting dressed again.”

“Again?”

“He was wearing jeans, no shirt, and a hat that I think must be yours.”

“Was it a Pirates cap?”

“It was.”

“Damn, I knew I’d left that somewhere.”

Emma chuckles and backs away from him, trailing her hand down his arm. “You’re not even from Pittsburg. Why are you a Pirates fan?”

“Because my best mate was when we were kids, and it stuck.”

“And your loyalties are too deep now?”

“Absolutely.” Killian closes the door behind him and saunters – and she’s not exaggerating when she uses that word – over to her small kitchen and picks up the knife she was using. “Do you need help making lunch?”

“No, I can do it.”

“Turkey, lettuce, cheese for the boy,” Killian hums as he starts placing slices of turkey on a piece of bread, “and no crust, aye? You want the same thing but with tomatoes, and do you want any condiments? I don’t think they’ll travel well. Maybe we can bring them separately.”

“Killian, seriously. I can make us lunch.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” He waves her away with a flash of his teeth. “Go see if Henry needs help getting dressed. I feel like he should be finished by now.”

“I’m sure he’s destroying his room.”

Killian winks. “That’s why you need to go and check, Swan.”

Henry isn’t destroying his room, surprisingly. He’s dressed in exactly what he’s supposed to be dressed in, and he’s sitting on the floor surrounded by all of his toys that he must have emptied out of his bag. Emma walks into his room and settles down beside him. “What are we thinking about, kid?”

“If I want to find buried treasure, I need one of those coin things.”

“Coin things?”

“Yeah, those things that Mrs. Klein uses to look for coins and it makes all that noise like when you set food on fire.”

Emma laughs and pushes her shoulder into Henry. “A metal detector?”

“Yeah!” he says excitedly, “but all I have are my shovels, and how am I supposed to find shark teeth with those?”

“Wait. I thought we were looking for buried treasure. When did we switch to shark teeth?”

“Avery found a shark tooth, and I want one.”

She sighs and nods before leaning forward and grabbing Henry’s plastic shovels and sandcastle molds and putting them in his bag. “You know, Killian used to look for hidden things with his job.” It’s only a half truth, but Henry doesn’t need to know the intricacies. “I bet he’d be really good at looking for buried treasure and shark teeth with you.”

“Why can’t you help?”

“Oh, I can, kid. I just thought maybe you’d like Killian to help you.”

He shrugs and then wraps his arms around Emma’s middle, squeezing her so tightly she’s not sure if her ribs are still in place. “I want you.”

“Of course,” she whispers, brushing her hand over Henry’s back before kissing his forehead. She doesn’t know what just came over him, but she doesn’t like it. She also has no idea how she’s supposed to be approaching this. “Henry, do you not want Killian to come with us today?”

He shakes his head into her stomach. “I don’t like it when you kiss him.”

Emma has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be.

Shit could still hit the fan, but that’s one crisis averted.

“If I promise not to let him kiss me, can he come with us to the beach?”

“You promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

Emma nudges Henry off of her and holds out his pinky. He wraps his own smaller one around it, and she has a vivid flashback of his tiny hand grabbing onto her pinky right after he was born. It’s a reflex. She’s fully aware of that, but it’s also what made her decide to keep him instead of put him up for adoption.

Pinky promises are a big deal.

“Pinky promise I won’t kiss Killian.” He smiles, and Emma takes the opportunity to lean forward and press her lips against Henry’s cheek once, twice, three times. She keeps kissing him as he giggles and squirms and falls back. “But I never promised not to kiss you.”

“M-mom,” he laughs, “s-stop.”

“Nope, not gonna stop.”

“You have cooties.”

“No such thing, kid,” she mumbles before finally pulling back. Henry’s cheeks are flushed red, and she lets out a contented sigh. He’s happy and healthy. That’s all that matters. “Now, come on, the beach is waiting for us.”

-/-

Emma can’t find the sunscreen.

Like, she legitimately cannot find it, and she knows that she packed it. She freaking triple-checked, had Killian check, and it’s nowhere to be found in her bag or in the bug. Now she has to spend a ridiculous amount of money on a brand she probably won’t even like.

“I’ll go, love,” Killian tells her when he finishes setting up the big umbrella they’ve got stationed in the sand. “You stay with the lad and help him build the sand fortress he’s already started on. Do we need anything else?”

“I’ll text you if I think of anything.”

He salutes and then leans down, and Emma has to swerve away at the last minute as Henry gives them some kind of side-eye that she knows he got from her.

“Something the matter, Swan?”

She tilts her head to the side and then gets up off her towel, grabbing Killian’s hand and tugging him a few feet away from Henry. He looks highly amused, eyebrows raised to his hairline, and she just knows he’s going to love this.

“You can’t kiss me today.”

His eyebrows somehow go higher. “What now?”

“Henry is upset about us kissing, and I pinky promised that we wouldn’t.”

She hears a small laugh, and he’s trying to keep a straight face. She can tell. But the corners of his lips are poking up, and she knows he can’t resist it.

“A pinky promise, huh?”

“It’s the most serious of promises.”

Killian reaches his hand forward, holding out his pinky. She takes it and wonders how every part of him is so impossibly warm. “I pinky promise that you will not kiss me today.”

“Killian.”

“What?”

“I see your loophole, and that is not going to fly.”

“I won’t kiss you, darling,” he whispers, leaning in so close that she thinks he just might be cocky enough to do it. “That’s a pinky promise.”

And then he’s pulling away and walking up toward the overpriced beach shack that must make a killing here every day for the amount of people that are always flocking to the beach. At least it’s kind of quiet today, but it’s still early enough that most people won’t be here for a few hours.

“Alright, kid,” Emma sighs, “let’s build a sandcastle.”

-/-

Emma has a thing about being in the ocean.

She knows how to swim. There was a foster parent who was a swimming coach at the local high school, and she made sure all of the kids knew how. The thing is that she also let them all watch Jaws, and while logically Emma knows the likelihood of her getting eaten by a shark is low, she’s not really fond of going into any kind of water that isn’t extremely clear.

The beaches of Storybrooke are not so clear that she can see the ground, so she’s definitely staying just at the edge where the waves crest and wash over her feet. Killian and Henry, however, are chest deep, and Emma’s not nervous watching them.

Nope.

Not at all.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, “you chase bad guys for a living. The ocean isn’t going to bring you down.”

“The bad guys stay above water.”

“Mom,” Henry whines, “come on!”

“Nope. You have to stay out there with Killian. I’m not coming in.”

Henry flops back into the water, and she just knows he’s groaning. Why is he so dramatic?

But then he’s coming back up to the surface, and she sees Killian’s lips move before he holds his hand up to cover his mouth so she can’t see what he’s saying. Henry nods along, a smile carving itself a place, and Emma leans back into the sand and sighs. That’s good. They’re getting along, and she can worry about that a little, tiny bit less.

She really, desperately wants Henry to like Killian.

Because she really, desperately likes Killian, and it’s been a long time since she felt like she could have something besides Henry be good.

Emma draws her hand through the damp sand, picking up small broken pieces of shells, and when she looks up, she sees both Henry and Killian swimming to the shore. They’re in a public place and she’s around her kid, so she tries not to be distracted by the sight of Killian coming up out of the water. She’s only a woman though, and there’s only so much she can do.

“Hey, love,” Killian says as he stands above her, holding his hand out, “can I talk to you for a second?”

“I’m listening.”

He cocks his head. “In private.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I have to share a secret.”

“Okay,” Emma laughs, taking his hand and letting him pull her up. He drags her a few feet over as Henry stands right in her eye-line, and she’s not sure which of them she’s supposed to keep her eye on. “What kind of secret do you have?”

Killian’s brows waggle in that way they do, and he dips his head down before wrapping his other arm around Emma’s back and tugging her closer so that the front of her suit gets wet.

“I need you to distract Henry.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he mentioned wanting to find shark teeth, and I found a bag of them at the shack. I need to scatter them around while he’s not looking.”

A lump collects in Emma’s throat, and she tries to swallow it down. She really does, but she can’t quite get it to go away. She needs air, though, and for the stinging of tears behind her eyes to go away because she’s not going to cry. She doesn’t cry. Nope. Not at all.

(She is a liar. She cries all of the time.)

But she doesn’t want to cry about this because that would be ridiculous.

“You bought him shark teeth?”

“What? Is that not okay? I figured it’d be fun for him and I – ”

“If I hadn’t made a pinky promise, I would kiss you right now.”

Killian chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and he leans that much closer in. “Later. I have other plans for you right now.”

“Really?”

Emma quickly glances over at Henry, and he’s biting his bottom lip, obviously trying to hide a smile. He gets that from her. And that’s when she gets what’s happening. That’s also when she feels her feet lift off the ground so that she’s half hanging over Killian’s shoulder.

“Jones,” she warns as he turns and slowly starts walking toward the ocean, “I can do horrible things to you.”

“That sounds like a promise and not a threat.”

“I’m serious,” she says, her heart rate ticking up as the water keeps getting deeper. It’s to Killian’s knees now, and she can feel it ghost over the bottom of her feet.

“You and I both know that if you wanted down, you could get down.”

“You’ve got a pretty tight grip.”

“And if I didn’t want to scar your boy for life, that grip would be on your ass.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Most definitely, but this was also Henry’s idea.”

“What?” Emma laughs, suddenly not so irritated with Killian. “It was not.”

“Oh, no, it most definitely was.” Killian shifts her around until her legs are wrapping around his waist and her shoulders are hanging onto his neck. She can feel the way he breathes, the steadiness of it, and for a moment she’s distracted by that and the way the background of the ocean brings out the blue in his eyes. “Look at him and see.”

Sure enough, when she twists around to look back at the beach, Henry is standing there bouncing on his toes, watching them with rapt, excited attention.

“That little mastermind.”

“He’s certainly something else.” Killian’s hands adjust underneath her, this time landing on her ass, but she knows he’ll claim it’s only for support. She definitely doesn’t mind. “I won’t let your feet touch the ground, love, and you’ll never leave my arms. I’m simply going to make it a show for Henry.”

“For Henry,” she repeats back while taking a deep breath to try to calm her nerves.

“Yeah,” he smiles, nodding. “For Henry. Now, on the count of three. One, two – ”

And then Killian is very literally tossing her up before pulling her down with him. She closes her eyes out of instinct, nerves bubbling back up and making her heart race, but even under the shock of the cold salty water, she can feel Killian’s arms around her, holding her up when she should be totally submerged. He didn’t lie. Her feet never touch the ground. They stay suspended in the water before wrapping around his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck. Being submerged isn’t all that bad, but it’s because she knows she doesn’t have to touch the ground and that if something is going to come and attack them, it might get Killian instead of her.

She’s a fantastic girlfriend, obviously.

When she finally adjusts to being under the water, she can feel Killian moving, and then they’re above water and she’s gasping for air and opening her eyes to see Killian still right in front of her. She’s distracted by the way that water trickles down his face and how his hair is pushed back off his forehead except for these few strands are dangling forward. His smile is bright and wide, and the feel of him pressed up against her body feels as warm as the sun shining down on her back.

And really, she nearly forgets about her pinky promise and leans forward to slide her lips over his until she hears Henry’s raucous laughter back on the shore.

“Careful, love,” Killian whispers, “wouldn’t want to spoil the kid’s mood.”

“Later,” Emma promises, echoing their words from earlier, “now let’s get me back to dry land so I can distract him and let you hide those shark teeth.”

“I’ll try to make it as natural as possible.”

“He’s six. I don’t think he’ll notice.”

“But he’s a smart lad, Swan. Wouldn’t want him to catch onto our devious plans.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

She and Killian quickly get back to the shore, and Henry is still laughing, all of his teeth showing and his eyes nearly closed from how he can’t seem to stop. Emma immediately chases after him, wrapping him in a hug and swaying him back and forth as she jokingly gets onto him for conspiring with Killian to throw her in the water. He apologizes, but Emma’s not mad, not at this.

Looking over her shoulder, she can see Killian shuffling through the tote bag, and Emma turns back to Henry with her own bright smile.

“Race you down to that pink umbrella?”

“What do I win?”

“Who says you’re going to win, kid?”

And then she’s sprinting away, and Henry is sprinting after her. She can easily beat him, even with the magical energy and speed that a six-year-old has, but since that would take the joy out of everything, she keeps managing to trip up or slow down until Henry is running past her and beating her to the pink umbrella.

When she joins him, she fakes being tired, resting her hands on her knees and exaggerating her breathing. “When did you get so fast?”

“Since I got my new shoes.”

“You’re not even wearing any shoes.”

He shrugs. “I guess they still make me fast.”

Emma laughs and leans down to kiss Henry’s cheek. “C’mon, we need to go put more sunscreen back on you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.

Henry mumbles and grumbles the entire walk back, and Emma leads him back to their own umbrella, where she dries him off before reapplying his sunscreen. He continuously squirms, but she eventually gets him all covered to the point where she sends him off to go get Killian, who is casually sitting in the sand running his hand over the same place.

Smooth.

She watches as Killian waits for Henry to get near him. Henry plops down next to him, and they talk for a minute or two before Killian pulls something up from the sand and shows it to Henry, who is more excited than she thinks anyone should be to find a shark tooth. But this is what he wanted, even if Killian had to fudge the truth a little to get there, and Emma’s not going to question it as they keep walking around with Henry’s little plastic shovel discovering more and more teeth.

Emma grabs her phone and takes a picture of the two of them examining one they found, and she tries not to examine it too much as her heart beats a little faster and her cheeks heat. It has absolutely nothing to do with the sunshine.

This is good.

This is really damn good, and she lets herself hope that maybe this is going to be the time where it all works out.

-/-

Killian pulls into her apartment complex and puts the car in park before turning the key. He looks back before patting her leg. “He’s asleep.”

“He was out the moment we got in the car. He had a long day.”

“Well, should I let you two go? I – ”

“Do you want to come inside?” Emma interrupts. “It won’t take me long to put him to bed and then we can see what’s on Netflix.”

He nods, and smiles, almost shy. She likes when his smile is tentative like that, likes that he cares not to overstep with her. “I’d love that, Swan.”

Emma gets out of the car and opens the back door to get Henry as Killian gets all of their bags from the trunk. She’s thankful now that she made him get in the outdoor shower at the pier and change clothes after dinner, so now she doesn’t have to worry about getting him in the bath before bed. She picks him up and lets him wrap himself around her, and then they walk upstairs, careful to stay quiet so that he doesn’t wake.

She thinks she’s in the clear when she’s got him in bed, but then his eyes flutter open.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, kid.”

He nods and opens his eyes a little wider. “Mom?”

“Yeah?” she asks, smoothing his hair over his forehead.

“I like Killian.”

Emma swallows and then nods, trying to hold in her smile. “Me too.”

“You can kiss him now, but only a little.”

Emma laughs and leans down to press her lips against Henry’s forehead. “Goodnight, Henry. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed again.

She waits until she knows that he’s asleep, and then she stands from his bed and walks out of Henry’s bedroom. Killian’s sitting on the couch when she gets to the living room, their bags all put away and the mess in the kitchen cleaned, and Emma walks toward him until she’s sitting down next to him and curling into his side, resting her elbow on his shoulder as his arm wraps around her. waits

“Hey.”

“Hey, beautiful.”

Emma ducks her head and smiles before looking back up at him. “I have some good news for you.”

His brow arches. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. You’ve gotten the Henry Swan seal of approval. He said you could kiss me…but only a little.”

“Oh, well, if the lad insists, I guess I have to listen.” His mouth lingers over hers, tantalizingly close and tempting, “but only a little.”

And then he kisses her, and Emma melts into it and him and how damn good this day was.

Mostly, though, she’s happy that there’s going to be more of them.