#through my second story window from the street. can give me a migraine. its a fucking disaster dude.

[narutomaki]

Also I fucking HATE being allergic to weed. I can't smoke it, I can't smell it, I can't ingest it (edibles), CBD oil and gummies also give me migraines, fucking PROCESSED HEMP gives me rashes if I hold it/wear it too long

IN A WORLD WHERE I CAN SMOKE WEED I HAVE LIKE. AT MINIMUM. 3 MORE CLOSE FRIENDS IN MY CITY. SOBS.

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: depictions of gore

Word Count: 1.8+k

Author’s Note: This story is heavily inspired by a dream I had around two months ago and it pushed me into writing it. I haven’t ever thought that I would be writing and publishing a story. Let alone in English since it’s very far from my mother language, but I have to admit I like it way more. As I am pretty proud of it, I’ve decided why not just try? This story is not going to be updated very frequently as I hardly find time and motivation, but I have the whole story mostly planned out and I have plenty of ideas for it! There are 7 chapters written altogether as of now and I will try to update at least once a month. I’ve started writing longer chapters from the 6th and those will take longer to finish, but I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 1: The Awakening

Your eyes are met with complete darkness, unable to perceive your surroundings. The creepy, dusty and smoggy atmosphere isn't making you any less uneasy and confused either. Quite the contrary, actually. An unbelievable sickening feeling takes over your stomach and a great migraine is ever so present. Steering your thoughts to completely different places than they're supposed to. You feel the rapid thumping of your heart and panic floats in your head.

It takes you a few minutes until your dilated pupils get used to the blackness, but when they do, you're able to see the outlines of some demolished furniture. Upon fixating more on your surroundings, you distinctly spot the torn plain green wallpaper and empty broken picture frames hanged up on the wall. The tattered blinds covering the cracked windows tell you it's night and you seem to have gained consciousness in the middle of it.

Though, when you attempt to rethink through your day and previous whereabouts, you come up blank. Something like a heavy fog restrains your memories. A metaphorical lock put around it to secure them away from your conscious mind. As much as you try to concentrate on the past, you're left with nothing. It doesn't only leave you grasping for the forgotten past, but it makes you feel stranded and gasping of any, and very needed, recollection.

A sharp inhale of air makes your head rapidly turn in the direction of the sound and squint your eyes. You can hardly see the body of the person. The dark corner makes it difficult to focus, yet the figure still seems to take notice of you instantly, “Who are you…?”

Speaks up a very groggy voice and you can deduce their voice is coming from the shadows. Utterly hidden by the dark abyss. It sounds masculine, so you leave it at that, not taking too much interest in finding out any more information about the strange human. He seems to be in the same situation as you, but you still decide to be cautious around him. He's only a stranger to you, so you aren't going to blindly trust him. After all, stranger-danger is a rule, right?

You choose to stay guarded for now.

“Why does it matter to you?” You harshly reply. There really isn't anything to go off when it comes to his personality and intentions. As much as you'd like to be happy about seeing another human being, you don't know in what situation you are stuck in and you aren't the stupidest, neither the smartest, in the world. You'd rather stay cautious than die, “I'm surprised you have the audacity to speak to me even though you're obscuring your identity from me.”

“Well, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?” The stranger suggests, but you're inclined to not let him get through you.

“It doesn't matter to me. All I want is to get out and find whoever brought me here,” you simply say, “or search for my way home. That, doesn't have to involve you, nor your help.”

You turn your back to his voice, brushing him off with your words. Fixating your sight on the few boxes scattered throughout the room. You're sure he can feel your annoyance, but it's valid. He's making non-significant propositions, which is honestly irritable.

“I could help you. We could have each other's back.”

“What have I just said?” You inquire with an annoyed tint, “You have nothing of value to offer me, and you can't even step out of the shadows.”

With that said you slowly start to stand up from your position and look around for a possible exit. The floorboards creak under your weight as you step from foot to foot. The first thing that comes to your mind is to head straight for the windows for some unknown reason. Upon taking several steps to the blinds, you hear the stranger's footsteps echo. Your feet leisurely continue, but you're tempted to check behind you, therefore you do. Just in case he proves to have any malignant tendency.

There's still no silhouette of the other human, hence why you can't confirm what kind of a movement he's executed. With that done, you turn your head back and concentrate on the task at hand.

Once you get close enough to pull the blinds open, a loud screeching noise travelling throughout the whole street alerts both you and your companion. Blood pumps through your body at faster pace and you begin to be sceptical at heart upon hearing the scream of an unidentified creature.

“What the hell was that sound?” You can hear a slight waver in his voice. Presumably from not being able to decipher the inhuman noise from outside.

It didn't seem to scare you as much as it scared him. Although you did flinch back from the window, your guard has stayed high nonetheless the fright you experienced.

You shrug, but after realising he cannot possibly see you very well, you give him a response, “How am I supposed to know? Do you think I'm a witch?”

“Uh– yes and no?” After those words leave his mouth, your head turns to what you assume is his direction and give him a nasty glare. Offended thoughts swim in your head along with the throbbing pain of a headache.

A relatively loud scoff escapes your mouth and you fixate him with a harsh look.

You're sure he's going to die by either your hands, or he'll serve as sacrifice to the creature.

“You've chosen your destiny now, man.”

The scoff that leaves his mouth this time tells you that he's against the idea or he just plainly thinks you're joking. Either way, he's sold his soul by saying those words.

Cutting the conversation off, you finally get to glance outside the window, and you yell out a curse, which is enough to let the thing outside know of your existence. In the matter of seconds, it flies to your window and starts banging against it. It's long arms slam the panels with surprisingly little force. You fall back and try to scramble to your feet as quickly as you can. Can't go around risking your life even upon seeing the strength of the shadowy figure.

The man, who has chosen to stay anonymous up until now, decides against his better judgement to flee on his own to help you up. It doesn't show much strength, but the window already adores quite a few cracks, so you don't think it'll hold up for long.

“Just hurry up!”

As soon as you're stabilised and on both of your legs, you book it to the door. At first, the handle doesn't let you open them, but after a few sharp tugs it gives out and you fall to the floor again. You let out a curse once more, supporting your body on your forearms and stand up. The stranger only snickers behind you.

You stay silent and get your thoughts and clumsiness together.

“Here! We could hide in one of the other rooms!” He hurriedly tries to tug you to the direction he's talking about, but you don't budge. You can't take any risks when you don't know the house's layout and the person in front of you.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” you ponder over your thoughts, but after you hear glass being shattered, you run to another room and to the closest closet you can find. Completely disregarding the terrified look the man threw your way. You duck to the ground as hastily as you can and cover your mouth just in case. Soon wooden boards start creaking in the hallway and, even though you wished the man would be a sacrifice, you hope he's found a safe place and survives this monstrosity.

A rather loud groan is heard somewhat close to you and you peek through the small gap in the closet doors to see a rather disturbing view. One that you wish you haven't.

The creature has found a dead rat (rather beheaded the poor creature beforehand?) and is holding it to its bloody mouth now. Multiple sharp teeth sink over and over into the freshly killed animal, happily munching on the treat. It's turned sideways to you, so you can very clearly see all the contents of the rodent's body as it eats it. It's guts and blood spilling everywhere on the floor and on the demon itself.

You shudder, avert your eyes, and just look at your curled-up knees. ‘What in the name of hell have I just witnessed?’

It takes less than ten minutes to finish its fiesta and you can see the unidentified creature turn to smoke from your peripheral vision. It stays in that form and floats out of the room and you guess it leaves out the window it broke.

Silent tears start to fall down your eyes and you honestly aren't surprised. The whole encounter was traumatic to say the least. To you, it was as if you were the protagonist in a horror movie, being hunted down by some unknown force. Except this is real life that we're talking about. Your life is currently put at stake and you don't want to die so early. Be at the hands of the creature or some other mythical thing.

This won't be the worst thing to happen to you, Reader.  Or will it, now?

Was that demon chasing somebody before I yelled out?

It had seemed to be occupied by something else before you got startled by its presence on the little roof below the window. You can still remember the soulless holes for eyes staring in your direction vividly.

Was it me luring it to us? Could there be more people?

You sit there, contemplating the event that has just happened, for what seems to be forever. Blank stare put onto your hands as you cry and your body succumbs to total numbness. That is until the closet door creak open, forcing you to look up.

There stands a man of average height with messy brown hair. You notice just now how he exactly looks upon not having that much time to do so an hour (was it?) ago.

His eyes convey an emotion close to yours, which is utter fear and confusion. He silently offers you his hand and you gladly, albeit shakily, take it. He pulls you out the door and towards another room with a dusty and an almost broken bed, pulls you into his lap and tucks your head into his neck. Letting you quietly cry while he gently runs his hand across your back. You don't even care a stranger has you in his lap. He lets you cry until you have no more tears running down your cheeks.

Your guarded feelings towards the man begin to crack amidst the comfort you crave right now.

When you're done, you both can't get yourselves to break the silence. You’ve distanced yourself from him, but you both are too afraid to even utter a word and accidentally lure the creature back in. Although, he decides to break it with a small whisper and with an attempt of a comforting smile.

“Do you mind sharing your name with me now?”

[moonydaydreams]

𝐣𝐮𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Fandom: It Lives In the Woods

Pairing: MC x Noah, MC x Connor (past)

Words: 7.363 (holy cow)

Summary: Lightning never strikes the same place twice, but a second chance does. Even for someone like Noah Marshall.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, angst 101 and swearing for dummies

Author’s note: This is my first Choices story and, holy cannoli, this is longer than I intended to be. But nonetheless, this an AU of what could have been had neither Noah or MC sacrificed themselves to take Jane’s place (THIS IS, IN ANOTHER WORD, A FORM OF DENIAL, Y'ALL. CAUSE THAT ENDING WRECKED ME) and Noah fled from Westchester. I’m sorry if the characters seem OOC or the story feels meh. So if you’re digging it or simply detest it, let me know, yeah? thanks!

———————————————————————————–

In a city where the subway stations smell like after-shave and peanut butter and jelly breath smelling college students at nine in the morning, and half of the street names that he still can’t recall to this day, a young man in a beanie, who couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one enters a small 24/7 convenience store with his hands thrust deep inside his coat pockets.

A burly, beer-swilling, 6 feet of a man behind the cashier, elbow-deep in the football magazine in his last season’s Real Madrid jersey, glances up from his reading upon his arrival. His eyebrows narrow.

“Never seen you visiting this late,” Romero comments dryly over the trip-hop music that is playing over the speakers and flicked his eyes back to the magazine. “Did you accidentally shoot your dealer or some shit?“

Romero’s attempt on making small talks with him, albeit as condescending as it sounds, does not fall on deaf ears. But it’s cold outside and he’s hungry and broke, he simply doesn’t have the will to entertain him.

“Shut up. I’m hungry,” replies the young man, stopping by the instant food section. His eyes finding the many varieties of flavors and brands and feels his stomach sick at the amount of artificial food he’s been consuming over the years. It’s like being eight all over again.

“Well, knock yourself out. We just stocked up those crazy spicy Korean ramen you kids can’t seem to stop feeding.” Romero’s face breaks into a mocking grin. “Can’t wait to see you all die from cancer.”

“Instant noodles don’t directly cause cancer on its own, actually.”

Romero burst into laughter. “And how the fuck does a two-bit junkie like you know that, Malcolm?”

The boy’s face involuntarily twitches.

And it isn’t because of how alien the sound when someone addresses him with his fake name or how Romero somehow thinks he has his character all figured out. The thing about living in incognito for years, he’s already become accustomed to those; to prejudices and living up to the persona that people design for him just to inflate their egos and ward them off of his tail in the process. No one wants to affiliate themselves with “the junkie” or “the hot-headed mechanic with suicidal tendencies” and he is more than fine with his solitary.

No. It is the nature of the question that throws him off guard and how his mind all too soon, against his better wishes, refers to her.

Suddenly, he is Noah again. Thirteen years ago at the age of eight, looking out of the window with Jane as they watched a girl about their age in a short tutu dress and combat boots climbing up the oak tree in their backyard to save a distressed kitten.

Their parents saw this, did a double-take, went hysterical and called her parents. He later learned her name was Liz and that she’d just moved into the neighborhood a week ago.

Then he sees Liz again, now a few months after their first encounter, running off to the forest with Jane’s arm linked with hers. He remembers her messy braided hair and freckles multiplied by the sun as they led Noah and the rest of their friends to abandoned ruins they’d somehow stumbled on a week ago. 

His memory of her somehow jumps forward. Now, he sees her in a different light, a different vignette. It is from three years ago this time and she was no longer the Liz all knees, elbows and mud on her shoes young girl from his childhood. She was Liz, on the edge of seventeen, her hair nine shades lighter than when she was a kid (she also had bangs now) with a barbed wire bat in her left hand, and a fire axe in the other, but still the same dark-eyed sprite that made his cold, dead heart skip a beat whenever she looked at his way and smiled that smile of hers; the kind that radiated her cheeks and lit up her eyes. 

The same light that he watched slowly waning from her eyes when she discovered his ulterior plan. 

His heart feels like shattering into smithereens all over again. He doesn’t realize he’s been squeezing on the noodle packet too tight until he hears the contents shatter in his hand. 

“A friend told me,” Noah finds himself saying even before his brain can halt it. Staring blankly at the packet, his mouth dropping into a frown.

He can feel Romero’s gaze on him, curious and confused. Shifting between the packet in his hand and his glazed-over expression. Noah, realizing he’s just projected his emotion right out in the open, huffs and throws the squeezed noodle packet into his shopping basket. 

Romero clears his throat. “Sounds like quite a friend.”

Noah pretends as if the jig isn’t exactly up and decides to actively ignore the older man. He gets the rest of his needs, holding the last of his composure against slipping and brings his groceries to the cashier, looking down at his feet whenever Romero glances at him in genuine concern.

“Catch ya later, Malcolm,” Romero says as he hands Noah the change. “And, uh… stay safe, you hear me?”

Noah, in return, only nods his thanks, probably a little too curt according to the polite society and leaves.

Outside, thunder begins to roll overhead. Noah eyes the sky nervously. It’s going to rain soon. And hard judging from the way the clouds are moving across the black midnight sky.

Noah rifles for his cigarette pack from his pockets, lights one and begins making his way back to his hellhole of an apartment. Treading slowly through the deserted streets, steering clear from alley-ways and suspicious characters until he can see the window of his apartment.

Then, Noah’s feet skid to a hard stop.

His jaw drops, his cigarette falling unheeded to the ground.

Sitting on the front steps of his apartment building is Liz, swathed in an oversized overcoat, her head leaning onto the railings, she seems to be sleeping.

What in the sweet fuck?

For a good minute, Noah stands stock-still. He simply gazes at his former best friend, nonplussed and borderline panicking. A migraine begins to form in his head. He gazes over his shoulder, watching and waiting for anyone to jump at him from the alley or anything, because there is no way in hell this is not a trap. This can’t be. 

He waits and waits, but no one comes out. Confused, Noah looks at her again, his expression inscrutable. If this is not a trap, then this must be a cruel dream the universe pulls on him for all the wrongdoings he has committed in his life. That, or Noah must have tragically died on his way back home and ascended to heaven. 

But then, if this is heaven, why is he here?

Eventually, Noah kneels before her. He reaches his hand out to her, hesitating mid-move and touches her shoulder.

“Liz?” he gives her shoulder a gentle shake. “Liz, wake up.”

She does. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, bleary and brown, and meets his gaze for the first time in three years. Noah feels like his breath stuck in his throat.

“Noah?” Liz blinks sleepily, twice, then yawns into the back of her hand. “What time is it?”

He glances at his phone. “A quarter past two.”

Liz’s brows furrow. “Huh. What were you doing out so late?”

“Had to do a supply run.” Noah gestures to the shopping bag in his hand. Then, “Liz, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a broken whisper.

Liz doesn’t answer his question, merely wraps her arms around herself, attempting to keep warm and sighs tiredly.

“Noah, can we go inside?” she pleas, instead. Desperation fuelling her voice. “I’m tired and cold and I…” she trails off.

Consideration flashes in Noah’s eyes for a moment. The logical part of his head insists for him to take her to the nearest train station and send her off back to Westchester. It’s the right thing to do. Considering that he’s been laying low for years now, the last thing he needs to add to his ongoing headache is for the police to suspect that she’s an accomplice.

But he’s never been the wiser one.

So, he takes her gloved hand and helps her to stand and, after giving one last look at their surroundings, of course, ushers her inside the apartment building. 

Neither says anything as they make their way to the staircase, as they venture through the grimy hallway where the dim and shadowed lights overhead following their every step like vultures and past the occupied doors where a loud, sexual moan comes from behind one of them.

She doesn’t make any comment about the awful state of the place he lives in, while he simply doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed because everything happens so sudden, Noah himself is still second-guessing if any of this is real. 

Finally, they stop by his door. Noah produces the key from his wallet when he hesitates, remembering the state of the room the last time he left it.

“A bit of warning, though…” He rubs his neck, embarrassed. “it’s pretty messy inside.”

“It’s fine.”

Noah turns the key and eases the door open.

The rain has started to pour. Noah turns the side lamp on and takes off his coat, his groceries on top of the kitchen counter. He watches as Liz, as if in a daze, tosses her coat and gloves to his bed and walks towards the direction of the window. A hand against the windowpane, the flare of the street lamp outside illuminating her features in the dimness, she silently watches as the rain falls on the pavement. Lost somewhere in the tangled cobwebs of her thoughts.

And it occurs to Noah that she is no longer Liz, on the edge of seventeen with a barbed wire bat in her left hand, and a fire axe in the other. She is Liz, older, with circles under her eyes, the world on her shoulders and a few pounds lighter than he remembers, but still the same dark-eyed sprite and with the pale shades of haired girl that he yearns to wrap his arms around and tells her how sorry he is for all those years ago, for leaving without saying a proper goodbye and how all these years it is her that keeps him going through every day and drives him insane at the same time. 

But he can only remain in his place and forces to quell his desire to do the aforementioned. Because Noah’s pretty sure that privilege is long gone the moment his betrayal came to light. Even to be standing in the very room with her is a crime, yet here they are.

Here she is.

“Liz?“ 

“Yeah?”

“Have you, uh,” his gaze finds the ramen packets, suddenly feeling inspired. “Have you eaten anything?”

She is silent for a while. “No.”

“I’m making ramen, you want some?” 

“Okay.” 

With that, Noah rolls up his sleeves, takes two eggs and a few vegetables from the fridge and begins to work. He ditches the salty packet of MSG and makes his own broth while at the same time, mincing the garlic and green onion and grating the ginger. By the time he sautées the aromatics, Liz makes a beeline from the window and hops onto the counter, watching him distractedly as he continues cooking. 

She stays silent and so does he. Despite the lack of words, everything feels strangely… domestic? Under different circumstances, Noah can easily get used to this; him cooking for her, with her becoming his taste tester whenever he’s experimenting with new recipes he finds on the internet and simply impresses her on a daily basis. Yeah, he can definitely get used to that.

Ten minutes passed, Noah then moves the ‘upgraded ramen’ to the bowls and serves one to her. The taste will probably pale in comparison to the one that her mom used to make, yet it earns him her first smile of the night, albeit small and closed-mouthed, it’s still a smile nonetheless. 

He grabs two cans of beer from the fridge and moves onto the couch with her. They finish their meal within minutes, still in silence. For a moment, the only sound that encompasses the room is the rain and his next-door neighbor who has the TV going in full-blast. That asshole.

Noah reaches out for a cigarette pack from the coffee table, dexterously flicks his wrist so a single one pops halfway out of the carton. He casts her a sidelong glance.

“Do you mind if I…?” he trails off, gesturing to the cigarette. 

Liz’s stare zeroes on the cancer stick, scowling, as if she doesn’t approve of this vice of his, but shrugs nonetheless. 

“So, how, uh…” Noah clears his throat, gathering his courage. How does he do this? How do you break the ice with your former best friend who you happen to have a crush on for more than a decade and almost murdered because your dead twin sister compelled you to do so without being awkward? 

“How are you, by the way?“ he manages to ask behind a plume of smoke. 

“I’m doing okay,” she says but in a tone when someone is obviously not okay.

“Just okay?”

“I…” she hesitates. “Yeah, just okay.” Liz lies and manages a weak smile. Noah decides not to press for more information. “Though I’ve been busy these days. I’m trying to finish my dissertation sometime around next year.”

"Already?” And she nods. Noah whistles, obviously impressed. "I’m guessing you did take the English major?”

Liz’s eyes widened slightly. “You remember." 

"Yeah.” Noah looks down. Of course he remembers, not when it’s impossible to forget the very idea of Liz Mortimer. “And your old man doesn’t try to fight you for this?”

“Nope. After Ja–” she clamps her mouth shut. “I graduated, let’s just say he had a hard time saying no to me.” She chuckles, but just for a good three seconds and Noah doesn’t have to ask why to know the reason behind her father’s sudden change of heart.

“How about you?” she asks, then shakes her head. “I mean, how are you?” She amends.

Heaven knows I’m always miserable, Liz. But he doesn’t say that. “I’m okay, too, I guess." 

"Just okay?” Liz parrots his own words at him and he smiles, the left side of his mouth higher than the right. They may still be painfully awkward to one another, but it feels so good to be talking with her again.

“Nothing new under the sun for me, but I’m thriving. And, um, how’s the others?” a.k.a the bunch of group of friends I hurt.

“They’re alright. Lily started her own video game called Pixie Moon, which I have no doubt will take the world by storm the way Candy Crush did; Ava is writing a book about witch trials; Stace is studying journalism and basically kicking ass; Dan is pursuing psychology; His majesty King Kang himself is playing for the Bighorns; and Lucas, as you can expect, is off to save our earth.”

Noah swallows the information one by one. His face an inscrutable blank. All of his friends somehow have found a place on this earth, they all have moved on except for him, again, who’s still scratching around in the same old hole; his future derived, his past an endless pitfall.

“And Connor?” he asks quietly, when in truth he doesn’t give two-shits about the man. But he knows she does, and Noah loves her too much to let his jealousy dictate his behavior. 

Suddenly, her face falls. Teeth chewing nervously on her lower lip. “He's… fine. He’s probably at home now as we speak.“

“And now you’re a long way from home.”

“So are you.”

Noah shakes his head. “Westchester stopped being my home the moment I turned eight.” He sighs forlornly, looks the other way, hands fidgeting. Force of habit. “Liz, as much as I’m glad to see you, but why did you come here?”

“How long have you been staying here?” Liz evades his question as if he never asked it in the first place.

Noah raises an eyebrow, exhales, but decides to play along. “Since August. So that’s two months. Probably, the longest I have ever stayed in one place.”

“Where have you been all this time?”

“Well, there was Utah and Kansas. Then Minnesota for a couple of weeks, but I couldn’t stand the cold and the rest is history,” he keeps his answer as vague as possible, not when he still has no idea the nature of her visit. “Look, why are you here?”

But still, the girl dodges his question. “Why do you–”

Until his patience can’t simply take it anymore. 

Noah is all but scoots over to her position until their knees are touching, the cigarette forgotten on the ashtray, and grips her arms firmly. His eyebrows knitted as he takes in her stunned face. 

“Liz.” There is a twinge of anger, confusion and desperation in the way he says her name this time. “Why are you here? You know you can’t be here. Goddamn it! If the fucking cops find out that you’re here…” Once he realizes what he is doing, he withdraws his hands as if she’s fire and now he’s burning.

“They won’t. I can assure you that." 

"You don’t know that.”

“I know what I’m doing, Noah. Trust me, I wouldn’t have come here if I knew it’s not safe,” Liz replies, her tone doesn’t leave any room for doubts and he knows there is no way to talk his way around it. Not to mention, he trusts her, if there is anyone who can sneak behind authority and get away with it, it has to be her.

Noah shrugs, agreeable, but he isn’t going to let her off so easily. 

“How did you find me, anyway?” he questions, reaching for his cigarette and takes a deep, long drag just to spite his throat. He has a feeling he might be smoking his misery away all night by the time she’s left.

The blonde-haired girl shrugs and absentmindedly leans her back against the couch, one arm wraps around her midsection. “It wasn’t easy, actually. But I made some new friends in Pine Springs and one of them is acquainted with the newly-minted Police Chief. Pulled a few strings and here we are.” 

“Pine Springs? What the heck were you doing there?”

“It's… a long story. But there were people there needing my help, and in exchange, they helped me track you down. An eye for an eye.”

Lightning suddenly jags across the night sky, briefly illuminating the room, pulling him out of his musings. She jumps at the sound, startled, and instinctively reaches for his hand. Noah freezes at the contact, forgetting how her skin feels like on his or a decent human contact in general. It’s been so long. And somehow he loses the ability to speak, to think.

He definitely doesn’t think when Noah moves his hand under hers, intertwining their fingers together.

Noah feels her head moving, her eyes darting from their joined hands and to his face that turns into a parade of expressions– misery, regret and melancholy. The holy trinity of feelings he’s been bearing for the past three years– for the past thirteen years of his life, actually– and feels her hand squeezing back his. 

“Christ, I can’t believe you went all through that shit just to find me,” he croaks, all but on the verge of tears. “And I left you just like that even without saying sorry.”

“Noah…”

“No, let me say it, Liz. I need to say it.” His hands are trembling, his composure this close from crumbling. “What I did was unforgivable. And I know there is nothing in this world that could help me undo the damage I’ve done to you and how I’ll spend the rest of my day regretting it, but regardless, I’m sorry,” he sobs, his whole body is shaking by now. 

“I’m so sorry for the nightmare I put you through. I was so blinded by my own volition and revenge for Jane’s death that I hurt you, all of you in the process without giving a single rat’s ass about it.” Noah pauses, wipes his tears with the back of his hand. “I’m a monster, Liz. A selfish, heartless, miserable monster. God, I should have died that night.”

“Hey, hey, look at me.” She plucks the cigarette from his other hand, discards it on her empty bowl and places her other hand on his shoulder. “Noah, look at me,” she says again, her voice like a caress. He looks up. “Don’t say that. You are not a monster. You’re just a byproduct of the pain from losing your sister, loneliness and bad parenting. That doesn’t make you a monster. That makes you human.”

“A normal human being wouldn’t lure his friends into abandoned ruins in the middle of a fucking forest where his sister died and put their lives hang in the balance.”

“No, they wouldn’t, but if there is anything Dan taught me is that people react to loss in different ways.”

Noah groans and pushing himself to his feet. “No, don’t try to find a way to justify this. Didn’t you forget, I could have killed you that night. You! The- the only one who gives a fuck whether I’m breathing or not.” The only one who matters. “If you hadn’t stopped her… God, I don’t even want to go there.“

She gets up from the couch as well. “I’m not justifying anything. Yes, what you did to us was… It was harrowing, it was despicable but I also knew the extent of your agony that drove you to do it. I understand… and like what I said that night in the cave; it’s not your fault. Not exclusively, at least. And I forgive you for it.”

“Liz–”

“No, listen to me, we all made mistake–”

He snorts. “Not on a grand scale like this, I bet.”

“Maybe not. But the fact that you give a shit and beat yourself up for years for what you did, that already speaks a lot,” she says. “You’ve tormented yourself enough. It’s not going to do you anything good. It’s not going to erase anything. What you need to do now is to close that book. Get a new one, write a new story, move on. I have forgiven you, I’m sure the others have forgotten about what happened until someone mentions it, it’s your turn now.”

Her words hit him like a piledriver and for the first time in probably like forever, he does feel slightly better. Even if only an infinitesimal amount and even he may won’t be forgiving himself anytime soon, but still, hearing those words coming from her mouth mean the whole world to him. 

“Why did you really come here, Liz?” The question is a tad out of place, but it feels like their previous conversations were made entirely to build up for this. 

Her frown melts away, replaced with somewhere between doubt and conflict. He holds her gaze for a minute, undeterred, then she turns her back on him to face the window once more. The suspense gnaws at him, yet still, he bides his time. 

“I have something to tell you,” she finally says, keeping her voice low.

“What is it?” He replies rather impatiently. When she seems to be hesitating, he adds, “And don’t beat around the bush, Liz.”

A deep breath, foot taps, a hand clutching at the hem of a buttoned-up dress and another deep breath. 

“Connor proposed to me.”

A beat. Then,

“Oh,” and it’s barely audible. And Noah feels like his heart has been torn from his chest, thrown into the ground, drags it through the mud then stomps on it for good measure. And that he feels worse and emptier than he was before she came here. “Congratulations.”

The words that come out of his mouth could have been his, because he can barely hear his own voice in this white noise. He always knew Connor and her were smitten with each other the moment she stepped into the hardware store for the first time, but Noah doesn’t expect it all would extend to marriage.

She looks over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. “I wasn’t finished.”

Noah blinks at her, momentarily confused. “What?”

“I…” her voice wavers. When she turns to face him again, she is pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes scrunched up. “Ah, fuck this is never going to be easy. Long story short, I freaked out, made a scene at a restaurant, ended our three-year on-and-off relationship and went here.”

“Wait, what?”

Liz shrugs, guiltily, all Atlas-and-the-weight-of-the-world.

“Yeah,” she, much to his surprise (and concern), chokes a laughter, manic and loud. “Yeah, I did it. I fucked up the longest relationship I’ve ever had and broke my best friend’s brother’s heart because I wasn’t ready, because I’m an idiot.” When she does look at him, her eyes are bright. “Because I’m in love with someone else.”

For a brief, candid moment, Noah’s brows furrow as his mind goes to one of his former friends. Is it Dan? Ava? Or could it be Lucas? Because the last time he saw them together, they were pretty inseparable– although their relationship is strictly platonic as far as he’s concerned. Has that dynamic changed after he left? 

Then Noah realizes her eyes are still on him– and quite expectantly, that is, and that’s not… no, that can’t be right, can it? 

His demeanor shifts drastically as he stands there, stunned silence. Disarmed by her confession. 

He tries to speak, but his jaw won’t shut back to its place; his brains short-circuiting.

“Yes, I have loved you ever since I’ve known you, Noah Marshall,” Liz mutters when he remains silent. He can tell this is something she’s been holding in for a long time. “Even though we hadn’t spoken to each other for years after Jane, there hadn’t been a day that I didn’t think of you. When we finally reconnected three years ago, I wanted to say all these things to you, but..” she smiles wistfully. “Well, shit happened.”

“Why?” Of all the people you could have fallen in love with, why me? What he means to ask.

“Because you understand me like no one else; because you climbed up to my window to bring me your homemade grilled cheese sandwich when I was grounded when we were 8; because you actually listened and showed me that my vulnerability doesn’t always have to be my weakness; because I love the way you wear your beanie like 24/7 and the way you shake my hair whenever I say something stupidly amusing to you. Because it’s you!”

“No.” It’s a denial, it’s an attempt to ward her off from someone like him. It’s a lie. “No, no, no, no, no, Liz, you can’t fall in love with someone who’s-who’s mentally unstable or tried to kill you in the past, that’s like…” he gesticulates wildly. “Crazy! You are crazy!”

“I’m sorry, are you any better?”

“Of course not! But to forgive me is one thing, Liz, to love me, that’s a whole different level of insanity.” Noah begins to pace agitatedly around the room back and forth. “Fuck. I can’t hear this. Not from you.”

“Why not?” He sees the hurt expression on her face. Then interrupts just as soon as he opens his mouth. “Noah, I’m not asking for your answer this instance–heck, I’m not even asking you to reciprocate my feelings, but please don’t invalidate my emotions. Not when I waited for years to say it to you.”

“But this fucking complicates everything!” Noah points out.  

“Maybe. Maybe not, but you don’t know that,” she says resolutely, echoing his words from before. 

Noah doesn’t say anything in return.

She steps closer and slowly raises her palm to cup his cheek, an attempt to calm the storm within him. His hand grasps her wrist before she can make contact. 

“Noah–" 

His breathing quickens. Noah swallows and shakes his head.

“Liz, we can’t do this. No matter…” he sighs, his eyes boring into hers. Here he is, again, dangling on the edge of damnation, of what’s right and wrong. It’s wrong, yet he knows that she knows, from the heat and electricity that dance between them, from the pressure of his fingers that tell different stories, that he, too, wants the same thing.

“No matter what, Noah?” She murmurs, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. She really wants him to say it, does she?

He extricates her hand from him, taking steps back, putting as much distance he can from her. “Forget it.”

“Look, Noah, if you feel what I think you’re feeling, then what is it that you’re afraid of?" 

Noah whirls around to face her again. "Everything! Can’t you see that if we do this, the world will turn against us?" 

“Since when do you care about other people’s opinions?”

“I wasn’t worrying about me.”

"Well, I don’t give a fuck what others or this thrice-damned world thinks!” she exclaims mulishly. “After all we’ve been through, is it so wrong to be selfish, to follow your own heart just once– just once? Is it– don’t you care about what you want?”

“I want-” Noah stops. His hands tugging at his red beanie cap. “Never mind what I want.”

Her voice is quieter now. “What do you want, Noah?”

For an interminable moment, heavy with the promise of both release and regret, he only stares at her. Contemplating his options.

Perhaps loving her shouldn’t be the sin he thought it was, especially when she wants the same thing in return. Although he’s more than aware that he’s the last person in this world who deserves her affection, but deep down, Noah knows that he’ll never forgive himself if he didn’t run the risk now and spent the rest of his life wondering what it felt like instead.

“You.” Always you.

She holds his gaze. “Then have me.”

And as if an unknown force was taking over his body, Noah crosses the distance between them, his free hands cradling her face, drawing her close and kisses her.

It’s like a dam breaking, everything floods out. They do not kiss gently, desperation orchestrating their every move that the world around him grows distant and dim.  Twelve years of pining for each other, of secretive glances, of murder attempt and mutual misery and it all leads them to this. His thumb skimming the curve of her throat and feels her pulse leaps. He stops. Worrying if he’s crossed the line.

But Liz grabs the front of his clothes, pulling him even closer– as if they aren’t close enough– and kisses him back with a matching fervor. Her body pressed against his, warm and unfamiliarly familiar, and Noah swears his heart skips when she emits a quiet desperate noise that he happily swallows. 

Suddenly, Noah pulls back. “Liz, I’m sorr–” he says breathlessly.

“No, don’t you dare apologize,” she says firmly, her lips still tinged pink from their kiss. “I… I started this.” Her tongue darted out over her lips. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want this.” Noah’s hands dropped to her waist, his cheeks burned. He’s inexperienced, yes, and it shows, yes, but this is Liz. The last thing she does is to laugh at his face about it. “You?”

“You have no idea.”

His cheeks grow redder. “I’m, uh… now what?" 

"I think,” she leans in, tiptoeing, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and playfully says, “I want you to kiss me again.”

Noah grins, more relaxed now knowing he has her consent. “I think I can provide that.”

He let her set the pace this time. Kissing him softly and sweetly, but as equally mind-blowing as the first time before the next thing he knows, they are kissing senselessly once more; the next thing he knows, she swipes her tongue on his lower lip. Drawing a surprised groan from him. His lips instinctively open up to her ministrations and he is rendered weak when Noah feels her warm tongue delves into his mouth. He tries to follow her example, but can hardly navigate through his own mind every time.

He can feel her fingers toying and tugging his beanie off, her nails grazing his scalp and his desire rocketed. And this time, Noah isn’t afraid to act, as his hands on her waist slowly glide upward; from her hips to her ribs, stopping just under her breasts which results in Liz’s breath to hitch in his mouth. His mouth travels down her jaw, the length of her neck, her collarbone. 

When he finds himself on the bed, on his back, and Noah has absolutely zero clue how or when he got that way. 

He sits up. Without thinking, grabs her hips to pull her onto his lap, hands rough, settling her against him as he tips her head upward and continues his onslaught on her neck. Her hands on his shoulders, coming up to the strands of his hair. Encouraging him, guiding him lower and lower until his mouth reaches her clothed breast. 

“Oh my god.” Liz’s eyes closed in pure bliss, caught up in the sensation, and ground her hips against him and, fucking hell, the friction feels so good and erotic and sets his entire being alight that Noah isn’t fast enough to stop the low, rumbling moan that comes from his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Noah swears and rolls his hips in response. At this rate, even if he wants to, he can’t hide the evidence of his physical desire, growing hard against her, making her produce these small high-pitched gasps every time his bulge brushes her just right, her pupils blown to hell and fucking fuck.

He is dry humping Liz. Liz. His sister’s best friend. His Achilles’ fricking heel. Good fuck, if Jane was still alive, what would she say about this?

“Noah?” She whispers.

He doesn’t realize he’s been lost in his own thoughts. “Sorry.” Noah mentally clears his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to space out on you back there.”

She stares at him, seemingly unconvinced. “Did I go too far?" 

"What? No, no, you are incredible. Don’t worry.” To prove his point, he gives her thigh a distracting squeeze. “Liz, what if I say I want more? What if I say that I want you?”

Liz is quiet for a while. “Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. I know the last time we met I said I wasn’t ready for dating and stuff, but it’s you. And if you’re up for it, I’m game, but if you–” Liz chuckles at his stammering. Whispering “You’re fucking adorable” as Noah groans and hides his face on the crook of her neck. “Liz, you’re fucking driving me out of my mind here.”

“Well, I’m game.” Liz leans in and kisses his temple. Noah can practically hear her smile from here. “You know, for someone who seemed adamant on pushing me away, you’re awfully eager.”

He grins, running his finger down her spine until every hair in her body stood up. “Keep teasing me, and you’ll regret it, Mortimer.”

“Bite me, Marshall.”

Noah does bite, literally, on that delicious spot under her ear before flipping her onto her back on the bed, making her giggle like a drunken schoolgirl; making her dress hike up to her thigh, just enough for him to see her underwear. He settles himself atop her, right between her legs. His hips and an unmistakable hardness press firmly against her soft thighs. 

This is it, then. The wheels are in motion now and Noah can scarcely believe this is happening.

She props up on her elbows and begins undoing the buttons of her dress with great speed, eyes never leaving his until she pulls him for another searing kiss. Then Liz raises her legs, wrapping them around his waist and rolls her hips once more.

She moans softly, as Noah’s mouth trails wet kisses down her throat, nipping and sucking as he goes, until it finds its way to her nipple. He bucks up into her, growling, as he takes her other nipple in his mouth. His shaky hand makes to drop her legs away from his waist, yanks the hem of her dress upward and dips between her legs, slipping past the waistband of her underwear to touch her that she jolts, gasping and moaning loudly altogether. 

Liz writhes, her hands clutching onto his sweatshirt like a lifeline, head tilted back as her hips involuntarily move against his hand, desperate for relief. Noah inserts two fingers, watching with heated gaze for her reaction as he pumps in and out, long and slow, short and fast. Pushes deeper, crooks his fingers a little. The rough pad of his thumb rubbing her clit in fast circles until her moan grows increasingly loud and she comes hard, shattering into Noah’s fingers. 

When it’s over, Liz is a panting, limp noodle.  She lays there, properly spent, smiling contently at the ceiling with heavy, bedroom eyes. Noah hovers above her, kissing her nose with a newfound satisfaction as he watches her trying to even her erratic breaths.

“Whoa.” She breathes out. “I guess I should have known those hands weren’t made only for kitchen knives.” And lazily wraps her arms around his neck. “Jesus, I’m wasted.”

His teeth gently nibbling her earlobe, his hand teasing her nipple again. “I’m nowhere near done with you.” Fingers trailing down to her warm, still over-sensitive slit again that Liz shudders like a flower. “Not even close.”

“I can’t–” And Noah freezes, thinking if he’s gone too far. “No more foreplay. Fuck me, Noah. Now. Please, I want you.”

In an uncontrolled frenzy, Noah pulls away from her, removes his sweatshirt while Liz assists with the buttons of his shirt. He works on his belt, freeing his member from the tight confines of his jeans and pulls her panties over her knees. Not bothering with the rest of her dress.

They kiss again as he repositions himself above her. Liz’s hand reaches down to grab him, guides the head toward her entrance, her legs once again settling around his waist. 

In his head, Noah mentally prepares himself, counts to five, then slides his girth into her. The two groan in unison at the joining.

“Jesus fuck.” Noah’s head flops forward, jaw clenching. He is inside her, and it feels a dizzying kind of spectacular. “Fuck, Liz, you feel so good.”

Below him, a crackling gasp escapes her lips, her mouth drops into a perfect circle as her head falls back to the bed and looking oh so beautiful. Noah begins to rock his hips into her, the strands of his brown hair brushing against her damp forehead, the parts of his brain that enable him to think slowly shut down. His hand wanders to touch every part of her body.

Everything is on fire. Everything feels so fucking good.

“Look at me.” She does, through lidded eyes, lashes heavy with arousal. “Say my name.” Noah never really thought he would be this vocal in bed, but there’s just something about Liz that brings this side of him. “Say it, Liz.”

“Noah,” Liz moans his name, clinging to him like mad, nails raking his back. “Noah, shit. Faster.”

Noah wordlessly obliges, liking the way she thrashes underneath him. Her breaths coming faster, higher so he moves even faster, pounding into her with reckless abandon just to show her how much strength he has. He finds himself growling rather animalistic against her skin, biting her shoulder. Feeling himself drawing closer and closer to the edge. He isn’t going to last any longer.

He puts a hand between them to rub her clit and Liz’s eyes roll back.

“Ooohh, god. N-noah!” she cries out, her words quickly morphed into a desperate wail. "Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh, please!”

Liz is a blubbering mess, screaming against the pillow. It is too much. The combination of his cock fucking her mercilessly and the friction his fingers provided on her sensitive spot is enough to make the girl convulse pathetically on the bed. 

When she comes, he follows not long after. Going rigid and groaning gutturally in her ear, emptying himself inside her.

When the ripples have passed, Noah collapses on top of her. Both panting and sweating from… whatever is it that just happened between them. Liz cradles him against her breasts, peppering tired kisses to his hair that is now sticking out wildly in every direction, locking him in her embrace, their left hands intertwining.

They stay like that for a few minutes, in a very much comfortable silence since she first set her foot here before Noah rolls to the side on the bed.

“Holy shit, we just had sex,” he says when he’s regained the power to speak again.

Liz chuckles and turns to face his side, sticking one of her legs between his while he pulls the covers over their forms. “Yep. Though, honestly, I never would have thought we’d end up having sex when I came here tonight.”

“Liz, I didn’t even know you’d be coming over. I can safely say tonight has been one hell of a surprise after another.”

She doesn’t say anything. At least not for a while.

“I hope you know I meant every word that I say to you,” she says kindly. “You’re not the villain in the story, but neither you are the hero. You are human, with your flaws and all, and I love you despite all of it.”

“Except you. You are an angel, Liz.”

“Noah, I basically turned down Connor’s marriage proposal, broke up with him and went straight into your arms in a matter of days.” She sighs guiltily. “No, we all just wear our demons differently.”

“Maybe. But you said it yourself, we are all just humans with our flaws and all. But you,” Noah turns and cups her cheeks in his hands. “you will always be an angel in my book. You saved me, Liz. When the whole world raised their torches and forks on me, you freaking saved me where you could have fed me to the mob. You’re the reason why I’m still here today and I love you for it, you hear me?” He pulls her into his arms when a tear starts to fall from her eye. 

“I’m so in love with you, Elizabeth Mortimer. Always have and always will.” He kisses her cheek. “You’re the kindest, most beautiful, the brightest human being I’ve ever known. I’m the luckiest person to have you be in love with me and if you’re up for it, I want to build a world around you.” He adds, “Instant noodles included.”

Liz laughs, still teary-eyed, shoves him playfully on the shoulder, feigning a glare. “You jerk. Always have the flair to ruin a moment.”

Noah chuckles. “Technically, you love instant noodles, so it’s only right, don’t you think?” She shoves him again. “And I’m your jerk now.”

“My jerk.” Yet she says it the same way someone says ‘my love’. “I love you too, Noah Marshall. And I want to build that world together with you.”

Noah smiles. Because he loves her and because for the first time in forever, his life makes fucking sense.  

Yes, he doesn’t know whether their relationship will last or will it crash and burn in the future, but at this exact moment, he’s happy and it seems that she does too. And that is all that matters now.

And if there is one thing that he’s sure of is that he knows that he doesn’t ever want to let this go. Not in a million years.

[waiting4inspiration]

The Psychic III (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: You’re an Avenger who’s taking a few months off to visit family in Romania and bump into the Winter Soldier while walking in the streets. Deciding to help him with his memories, you get pulled into a war between the team; the Civil War

Warnings: follows the events of Civil War, previously called The Streets of Romania

The Psychic Masterlist II Marvel Masterlist

Obviously, you and Bucky had a plan in case something like this happened. In case one of you was found and had to leave in a rush. You never thought that you would actually have to use that plan, but here you are, running up the stairs to your apartment as if your life depended on the plan. 

Halfway up the stairs, you jerk to a stop and lean against the wall as multiple voices cross your mind. Gasping at the suddenness of it causes Bucky to spin around on his heels to look at you with worry. You peer outside a window and notice an array of police vehicles pulling up to the apartment block. With this flood of special forces, it’s more people than what this block has seen in a few years which is why you are affected by these many thoughts. 

Glancing back up at Bucky, you nod towards the apartment. “Go. I’ll catch up with you,” you say, turning to walk in the opposite direction. 

Bucky hesitantly reaches for your arm, stopping you in your tracks to look up at him. “Be careful,” he whispers and you lift a hand to gently touch the side of his face. 

Your touch calms his nervousness, making him sigh softly in relief. “I should be the one telling you that,” you tease, his eyes snapping back open to you as you give him a cocky smirk. “Now go. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous,” you giggle, standing up on the tips of your toes to quickly kiss the side of his cheek before you both separate.

As you make your way farther up the stairs, you catch the sounds of a familiar voice but decide to brush it off as nothing. Reaching the door that leads to the roof, a voice in your mind whispers the words ‘breach’ and causing you to instinctively react and blast the door open with your powers. 

This, in turn, causes the police guys on the roof to turn towards you. One shouts something in German before firing a bullet. Holding up your hand, you stop it in the air right in front of you as you glare at the guys. “Can’t we just play nicely?” you question, letting the bullet drop to the ground. They raise their rifles at you. “I guess not,” you sigh, shaking your head at them while your fingers dance at your sides. 

As they begin to fire at you, you lift an air-vent of the ground, detaching it from its counterparts and launch towards them. Knocking one out, you turn your attention to the other as a few of them jump over the edge and scale down the building. The remaining officer fires his bullets at you as if he suspects your powers to just be a dream. 

But they stop just inches away from your body before falling to the ground as you start to walk towards him. When his rifle runs out of bullets, you raise your hands up and toss him to the side with ease. Sure that he’s knocked out from hitting the wall a bit too hard, you rush over to the edge of the building just in time to see a backpack being thrown out the window by who you suspect is Bucky. Only, he doesn’t follow the bag.

“Looks like we have another player.” The familiar voice causes your body to freeze for a second before turning around. Standing a few feet away from you is Sam in his gear and a small smile on his face. “Steve told me you’d been MIA for the past year or so,” he states, taking a step forward.

You shrug your shoulder and slowly place your hands behind your back. “It’s nice you see you too Sam,” you joke, trying to buy some time as you focus on the gear on his back. “Didn’t Steve mention that I was on vacation? I don’t think that classifies as going MIA.”

“It does if you ignore his phone calls,” he replies, folding his arms over his chest. “And now, here you are. In the same building as this Winter Soldier guy. You know, the one that ripped the steering wheel out of my car,” he reminds, making you chuckle at him as your fingers tap against each other, your mind still focusing on his gear. 

You smile at him before briefly glancing to the ground. “I know very well who he is, Sam. And he’s not the guy you all think he is,” you state, glancing back up at him as your hands move to your side once you’ve managed to briefly disable his gear. “Which is why I’m sorry. Because I know how much you love those wings,” you smirk, walking towards the edge of the roof. 

Stepping off the side, you fall to the streets below and levitate yourself to land gently on your feet. Glancing up the building, you spot Sam peering over the side to see if you’re alright making a smile spread across your face. 

Sirens catch your attention making your feet spring into action to follow them. Trying your best to keep up with the cars, your chest starts to heave painfully as the muscles in your legs burn. “God, I’ve gotta get back into shape,” you hiss to yourself, following the cars into a tunnel. 

Knowing that they’re following Bucky and that he might be on foot, you’d never be able to match his super-soldier speed. Which means that the only way you’d be able to catch up to him is by vehicle. 

As this thought crosses your mind, one car stops ahead of you. Sprinting towards it, you smirk at the sight of Steve pulling out the drive before he climbs into the car. Before he can drive off, you throw open the passenger-side door and climb in next to him. “Hey, Steve,” you nonchalantly say, slamming the door behind you as you glance up at him. 

“(Y/n)? What the hell are you doing here?” he shouts, you rolling your eyes at him as he closes his door. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls? And where…”

You hold up your hand to stop him. “I know you’ve got a lot of questions and I know that I have to answer them but I think we’ve got something more important to deal with first,” you sneer, pointing out in front of you. “So, drive. Otherwise, I will.”

He glares at you for a moment before stepping on the gas. “I want answers, (Y/n),” he sternly says as he begins to weave through the cars in front of him. 

Sighing in annoyance, you shift in your seat as your eyes search for Bucky. “Long story short, I came here for vacation, bumped into Bucky and I’ve been helping him remember his life before HYDRA got to him,” you explain, glancing at him briefly before your eyes catch another guy tailing Bucky. “Who’s that?” you question, nodding towards the guy as Steve drives past him. 

“No idea,” he mutters, obviously a little annoyed at what you know for a fact is you. The man in the - literal - catsuit jumps on the back of the car making you turn around as Steve attempts to shake him off the rear. “Sam, I can’t shake this guy,” Steve says, your face turning back to him. 

Hearing Sam mention that he’s right behind him causes a smile to vaguely tug at your lips. After raming oncoming special force cars and driving through a barrier, you find yourself clutching the seat your sitting on. “I’m never driving with you ever again,” you mutter, your eyes focused widely in front of you as your heart pounds against your chest. 

Steve spots Bucky in the distance and follows him closely. “You said you’ve been helping Bucky remember his life..”

“Now’s not that time for that, Steve!” you hiss, turning your head towards him before an explosion erupts in front of you. Throwing the door opening, you fall out of the car without another word to Steve. After all, this was just supposed to be a lift to get close to Bucky again. 

But Steve had the same idea. Swerving the car, he opens his door and steps out the car as you start to run towards tumbling metal-armed soldier who had been attacked by the unknown ‘cat-man’ a few seconds ago. 

Steve tackles the man to the ground as you run up beside Bucky, stopping the rolling car with your mind as he pushes himself off the ground. Sighing out in relief, you start to feel the effects of using your powers take a slight toll on your body when a headache teases in between your eyes. 

Bucky glances down at you in concern but you give him a reassuring nod as special force cars surround you. Rhodey - in his War Machine suit - lands on the ground a few feet away, aiming in repulsers at you, Bucky and the unknown man as the gun on his back aims at Steve. “Stand down now!” he orders, Steve glancing at you and holding up a hand as if you were planning to take them all down. 

Steve know that you can. He’s seen you do it before. And you would do it if it weren’t for the growing migraine as Bucky clenching your hand in his. Officers file out the cars and quickly make their way forward. One grabs you by the collar, pulling you away from Bucky and forcing you to your knees as another walks forward with a collar-like device. “What’s that?” Steve quickly questions, holding up his hand to stop the officer from reaching you. 

“It’s to make sure Psychic doesn’t use her powers one any of us,” Rhodey says as the man pushes past Steve. You know it’s best to not fight back but it’s something you can’t help. “She is officially considered an accomplice in the Vennia bombing considering that she’s been by his side this entire time,” he sneers, nodding towards Bucky who is being pushed to the ground and handcuffed. 

Steve glances back at you as the officer clips the collar around your neck. It activates with a ‘beep’ and your eyes glance up at him. Giving him a small smile, you turn your head toward Bucky before you’re pulled up to your feet. 

In your mind, you try to move the smallest piece of rubble from the explosion. But nothing happens. You feel the tingle in your mind like you normally would when you use your powers, but nothing happens. That tingle only adds to the headache surrounding your brain and the collar clipped around your neck gives you the feeling of inferiority. The feeling that you belong to someone. 

The feeling that you are, in fact, a criminal.

Oof. It’s a bit bad because I didn’t really know where to start and also, I suck at fight scenes… But I promise, it will get better from the next part…

Tags: @rororo06 @tephi101 @chameerah @flokidottir-imagines-br @momc95 @mad4oak @lucille-lovely @ben-wyxtt @marvelmenappreciation @deartomholland @warmchick @nohemi2500 @veganfangirl5 @usernamemingmei 

[permanantheadache]

It’s officially the 5th where I am! Happy DEH Gift Exchange! @sincerely-us My person was @iellostar Hope you like this!!

The prompts were: evan and connor on a road trip. like, to set the scene: like those aus of people running away and disappearing when they turn 18. And: Connor comes out to his dad and it doesnt go well, he goes to evans and heidi and evan comfort him and its super sweet and cute.     And, like....for the art I did the first one, but...I kind of also did fic. Because I was worried that this drawing wasn’t very good. So, I combined the two prompts and made the fic below. It’s also on Ao3

Connor is smiling. It’s a gentle thing, this smile. Warm, happy. It’s Evan’s favorite, even though it’s the rarest.

Evan has been watching this smile form for the past hour. The further they get away from civilization, from all the drama waiting for them back home, the more relaxed Connor gets.

Anxiety and anger and stress leach away from his face, softening the line of his shoulders until he’s practically slumping in his seat.

“You’re staring,” Connor says. It’s not a complaint.

“I have a cute boyfriend,” Evan counters anyway.

Connor rolls his eyes, but his cheeks turn pink. “No, you.”

The road around them is deserted, which is how Evan’s anxiety likes it. This is the main reason he doesn’t protest when Connor takes one hand off the wheel to lace with Evan’s.

Evan pulls their joined hands up to give Connor’s knuckles a kiss.

--

It’s Heidi’s idea, originally. Long before Connor and Evan are even dating, she suggests that the two of them take a roadtrip, the summer before college. She thinks getting away from the stress of school and work, as well as their peers, might do them a lot of good.

She references Evan’s pin map, the one he abandoned at the beginning of the year--he’s replaced some of the old pins in their spots, as well as adding new pins to places that Connor mentions he’d like to see someday.

Heidi’s pleased that Evan’s retaken up his old habit, but she’s a little too smug about those new pins for his liking.

They have nothing to do with his crush on Connor, mom!

Not…not that he has a crush on Connor.

…

Okay, yes, he’s completely gone on Connor.

Thankfully, as Evan finds out later, Connor reciprocates those feelings!

But that’s a story for another time.

Connor is completely on board with Heidi’s idea, once it’s brought up to him. He’s perfectly happy to spend some time away from his family, especially if Evan’s there. The three of them make a cautious plan that, the month after graduation, Connor and Evan will hit the road.

Heidi, after nearly thirteen years of single-parenthood, is a master at budgeting. She helps them plan out where they’ll stay and the costs. It’s more than a little confusing to both boys, but to Connor especially. He’s shit at math and numbers.

Between their two jobs, and Heidi and Connor’s mother helping, they should be perfectly fine, money-wise, to do what they’d like.

“I wanna go to Bear Mountain,” Connor tells Evan.

Evan blinks, surprised. “I mean, me too, but isn’t hiking more my thing?” His eyes widen and he tries to backtrack. “Not that I think you don’t exercise! I just--”

“Let’s be real, I don’t exercise,” Connor scoffs, cutting Evan’s panic off at the knees. “But it’s in On the Road and you know I’m a hoe for anything to do with books.”

“Yeah, but you’re my hoe.”

“...”

“You know what I meant, asshole!”

--

They end up having to move up their timeline by a week. Because Larry and Connor get into their worst fight since the beginning of the school year.

The thing is, Connor and Evan have been open about their relationship to Heidi since the very beginning. And they tell Cynthia not long after. Both women are, to put it lightly, overly supportive of their relationship. It’s genuine, but Connor can tell that some of Cynthia’s furver stems from guilt. And because Evan and Connor have been mentally healthier since they became friends.

(They both still have their bad days. Some are worse than others. But, it helps. To not be alone.)

Unfortunately, Cynthia broaches the topic of telling Larry.

And she keeps bringing it up.

It takes two full months of convincing before Connor agrees to tell--if only to stop her nagging him.

Because Connor is a realist, he expresses his doubt to Evan. Larry has never been the most accepting--even about things that most straight, white men at least tolerate.

Connor won’t say that he’s worried, per say. But he’s got a bad feeling in his gut. And his gut is rarely wrong.

--

Connor has an emergency bag stashed at the Hansen house.

The first time that Connor has a fight with his family, post-becoming-friends with Evan, Connor crawls in through Evan’s bedroom window. It’s the middle of October, and freezing, and Connor has on shorts and a thin shirt. He’s shivering, in rage and because he’s cold.

After Evan gets done shrieking at the potential burglar, he loans Connor some sweats and makes him hot chocolate. He gets down all the spare blankets and make a cocoon in the living room.

Connor spends the night. The sweats are too short, but he wears them anyway. They don’t talk about what drove him to Evan’s house. They watch Food Network in near comfortable silence (though Evan can’t stop the worried look he keeps aiming at Connor, and Connor can’t fully relax until he’s passed out).

Connor crawls through Evan’s bedroom window three more times before Heidi (having caught on after the second time) gives him a spare key and a suggestion that he keep extra clothes in Evan’s closet.

“We’re always happy to have you over,” she tells him gently, closing his hand around the key she’s put in it. She’s smiling, her gentle amusement crinkling her eyes. “Just, maybe use the door?”

And so, there comes to be a small backpack filled with just enough clothes for an overnight visit and something for the next day.

At first.

Over time, the contents of the bag shift, as Connor comes over for impromptu sleepovers--and, as he and Evan became closer friends, more scheduled sleepovers--and switch out the clothes for fresh ones.

Eventually, Evan, kind of tired of how over-full the bag is getting (he keeps tripping over it when he needs something from the back of the closet), cleans out the bottom drawer of his dresser and puts all of Connor’s things in there.

It feels like something permanent, Connor having his own drawer in Evan’s house.

--

Connor drives, half-blind from the angry tears streaming down his face, until he reaches the familiar street that the Hansens’ reside on. He probably parks crooked.

He doesn’t care.

His hand is shaking as he pulls out his phone.

Connor: Im outisde

Fukc

Im outsidee

He can’t fucking type properly because his hands are shaking and he’s crying too hard and he hates this he hates his dad he hates himself he hates--

“--hey, Con, hey.”

He didn’t hear the car door open. Evan’s blurry figure is beside him, close but not touching. Connor nearly lunges to pull his boyfriend against him, immediately burying his face in Evan’s neck. He desperately needs the contact.

Evan is good at hugs.

(When Connor brings it up, their first month of dating, Evan goes deeply red. But he hugs Connor even more after that, so he counts it as a win.)

He breathes in Evan’s scent, a woodsy floral thing that never fails to send some signal to Connor’s brain that he’s safe . That, paired with the shaky hand running over his hair, practically hard-resets all the tension in his body.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, curled around Evan’s body, but eventually he finds himself pulling away. “I fucking hate crying,” he grumbles, voice crackly from tears. He scrubs at his face roughly.

Evan pulls Connor’s hands away from his face. He keeps holding them. “C’mon, you can wash your face. And you’re probably dehydrated now, so I’ll get you some water. Otherwise—”

“—otherwise I’m gonna end up with a migraine,” Connor agrees. He’s suddenly exhausted. He allows Evan to lead him inside.

—

Heidi is on the phone when they come in. Her back is to the door, so she doesn’t see them right away. “Yes, Cynthia, of course I’ll look out for him. Yes. As long as he needs to be here. He’s like a son to me.”

Connor can’t hold back the intake of breath at her words--she actually seems to mean them. It makes his chest ache. His eyes burn anew.

Heidi turns at his small noise. Her eyes go wide, and then soften with sadness and affection. “He’s here Cynthia. I’ll have him call you later.” She puts down the phone and immediately gathers him into a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Connor crumples in her hold, going limp against her. And, he finds, he is not quite done crying.

There’s a brush of another hand on Connor’s back. “I’ll go get you that water,” Evan says gently. He leaves the two of them alone.

Heidi leads Connor over to sit on the couch. He sits, curling against her like a little kid. She’s patting at his hair. It’s nice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Connor shrugs. “Did my mom tell you what happened?” he asks, after a moment. His voice is scratchy as hell.

“She said that you and Larry had an argument.”

He scoffs. “That’s putting it lightly.”

She waits for him to go on.

“I just.” He sighs. “You and my mom and Zoe--you guys were all happy when Ev and I got together. I wanted. Part of me just wanted Larry to at least…accept it.” He laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “It’s not like I’ve ever exactly hidden the fact that I’m not super hetero.”

“Sometimes we’re blind to things we don’t want to see,” Heidi says gently.

Evan sits down next to them, placing three cups of water on the coffee table. He takes Connor’s hand again.

Connor chokes on a sob. “I don’t get why the hell it hurts so bad? It’s Larry , I shouldn’t be so cut up about this!”

It’s Evan who speaks, squeezing at their laced hands. “He should’ve been supportive of you. It’s not your fault he’s a--a shitty human being.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Connor confesses. “I don’t--I can’t…”

“Well, you’re staying here, honey,” Heidi says, firm. “As long as you want. Cynthia is sending Zoe over with your stuff in the morning.”

“I’m sorry. I’m shoving all my garbage off on you guys.” He feels like such a burden.

“Hon, we care about you. The people in your life that care, they help carry anything you can’t.”

Connor sits up, rubs at his running nose. Evan hands him a glass of water. He drinks half of it down. “‘M tired,” he says.

“It’s late,” Heidi agrees. “You boys should go ahead and lay down.”

Connor and Evan are still holding hands as they make their way upstairs. They curl up together on Evan’s tiny bed, but neither of them sleep yet.

Evan is tracing circles across Connor’s back with his free hand. His voice is quiet. “How would you feel about leaving this week, instead of next?”

Connor slumps in relief, giving a brief, jerky nod.. “That would actually be perfect.” His hold on Evan tightens. “I don’t…I can’t stay in the same town with him. I think I’ll lose my shit if I see him.”

“Valid. I think I might punch him if I see him.”

“Babe.”

“I’m serious. He hurt you, I hate him.”

--

They’re driving down to Harriman State Park, their first stop--mainly due to its proximity to Bear Mountain and the Appalachian trail.

It’s sunny, but not hot. It’s the perfect temperature for a hike. At least, according to Evan.

Connor has to sit down on a rock twenty minutes in. He’s sweating buckets and glaring at Evan. Evan is entirely too cheerful. “How are you so upbeat?” Connor whines. He reluctantly accepts an offered water bottle. “Don’t you hate sweating?”

“Of course I do, but when I’m sweating because I’m doing something I enjoy, it doesn’t affect me as much.”

Connor smirks behind his water bottle, giving Evan a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shut the hell up, you know what I meant!”

“Do I?”

“I’m not the one wearing black!”

--

The sun is just beginning to set when they make camp. Which is something that Connor actually knows how to do.

Those few years in Boy Scouts that Larry forced him to do are actually useful.

Connor scowls. He’s not going to think about Larry. He’s on a trip with his awesome boyfriend and he’s not going to let anyone ruin that. Not even himself.

It’s still early enough in the summer that night time is significantly cooler. It’s the perfect temperature for cuddling. Evan and Connor take full advantage and curl up together.

“Jeezus ,” Connor squeaks, flinching away from the icicles currently assaulting his legs. “Why are your feet so cold?”

A somewhat devious giggle slips out of his boyfriend. “I have p--I have poor circulation?”

“How come I haven’t noticed this before?”

“I usually wear socks at home, but I’m not going to sleep in sweaty socks. That’s gross.”

Connor heaves a long sigh and submits to Evan sticking his freezing toes all over his shins. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Evan hums happily and says, far too seriously, “I love you, too.”

It should be a big moment, them saying those words to each other for the first time. But, Connor likes this better. He likes that they’re calm and pleasantly sleepy from the long drive and difficult hike. His muscles ache in a good way (though he won’t likely feel that way come morning). And he is cuddling with his boyfriend, who loves him.

He snuggles more firmly against Evan and drifts off to sleep.

[kpopisamood]

Queen’s Clan { 3 }

Summary: y/n is plagued by nightmares. She realizes that the more she runs away, the less frequently they haunt her. However, in running away, she’s also running straight into her ultimate demise. Will she be saved in time by those who would lay down their lives for her, even if they don’t know of each other’s existence?

Monsta X/Reader, Human/Vampire(s), Reverse Harem, future smut?, violence, language

Word count: 1.69k

***

Your head was about to explode. Minhyuk and Hoseok tried filling you in on lots of details, many of which made them seem like they escaped from a loonie bin, and were doing a horrible job of making it make any sort of sense. They would stop a part of the information to tell a story then go back to filling you up with fun facts and weird trivia items all while telling more stories.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” You started slowly, piecing things together in your own time. You were currently sitting in the back seat of your dilapidated car, Hoseok driving, Minhyuk sitting passenger, occasionally turning back to explain more stuff. “I’m some sort of Queen. I’m not entirely human. Neither are you guys. I’m also not the only Queen around. These shadows, or whatnot, are the reason for my panic attacks and fainting spells and the only way to fight them back is to use power that stems from using myself and you two as direct resources, correct?”

“Yes, that’s the gist of it.” Minhyuk sighed, relaxing into the seat, proud of their explanations that ran rampant.

Hoseok looked in the mirror to gauge your reaction and smirked. He gave it a few seconds before—

“ARE YOU TWO BAT SHIT CRAZY?!”

There it is.

Minhyuk about jumped through the roof of the car in a panic at your tone, wanting to do everything he could to avoid you lashing out at him.

“If you think this is crazy, you won’t survive hearing about your own personal harem.” Hoseok chuckled, turning the car onto another street that led to the highway.

Minhyuk glared daggers into his partner’s head. Just finding out you weren’t entirely human was enough to shock you, but to find out this new piece was too much even for a Queen. You were new to this and humans sure as hell didn’t have harems waiting at their beck and call.

Okay, you’ll bite for a slight second. “By harem, you mean…”

“I mean,” he pulled the car to a stop, parking in front of a dark, two-story house. It had vines almost crawling all over the windows, trees that hung low to shadow the view from the harsh moonlight. It screamed haunted in your head and you wanted to just about run the other direction. Especially when Hoseok said, “It’s a group of possible suitors for you to continue your royal lineage as well as protect you from other Queens or Kings and possibly lost shadows who want you dead.” He quickly got out of the car to avoid your harsh screeching as you tried to pummel him, a small chuckle leaving his throat as he paraded himself to the trunk of your car and pulled your belongings out, throwing them over his shoulder.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” You pushed, throwing yourself out of the car and slamming it, much to its chagrin.

“It doesn’t have to. Just know we will keep you safe if you let us.” Hoseok dismisses, walking to the front door and kicking it open. Minhyuk waited with you while you put more things together.

“Look, I appreciate you both helping me get away from what could have been the worst night of my life. But I don’t think I should stay here.” You looked wearily at their place. You vaguely remember driving through a pair of black gates that had the name of the establishment, but this small house didn’t seem like something that warranted such high security. Sure, it seemed homey, but what would happen should another episode come? You didn’t even know these strange men, yet you went with them to some house in the middle of the woods. This may not be a prank show, but it was turning into one of those dateline documentaries about the people who go missing.

“My Queen, Wonho is a bit rash sometimes. We never thought we’d be able to find our own Queen to serve and we quite literally stumbled upon you. I know that we are strangers to you, but to us, we would die for you if you asked us to. It’s a very intense thing, but Queens are highly revered in our species. Now, you’re free to do as you please here. This place is yours to do with as you wish.” Minhyuk explained softly, guiding you to the front door. “If you want to leave, we will help you get established some place else but for the time being, we don’t think it wise to be out and about when lost shadows have seen you awaken.”

There’s that word again. Awaken.

“Minhyuk,” he snapped his attention towards you eagerly with a “My Queen.”

“Minhyuk, what do you mean by awaken?” You questioned. Just this morning you were a regular everyday joe making a cup of...well, joe. Now you’re some sort of Queen?

“I think we should go inside and further discuss this.” He said with a bright smile, though you could see a hint of cautiousness in his tone.

For whatever reason, you followed him inside.

***

It was like a punch straight to his chest.

That’s impossible.

He frowned curiously before shaking his head.

“You felt her too?” His second-in-command queried.

A slight nod was all he gave before he gave an order.

“Get everything together. We will find her.”

***

Hoseok avoided you for the rest of the evening. Minhyuk tried giving you the “grand tour” but you told him you needed space after a couple of rooms. He agreed with you immediately and set off to go do something but not before he told you they would have someone coming tomorrow to better explain things for you. A guardian of some sort.

You were currently in some sort of den, a small fireplace was to your right and a whole wall of glass panes in front of you. It seemed to overlook some sort of deck outside but perhaps that would be better to explore in the daytime. You really did love being outside, though. The fresh air did wonders to calm your racing thoughts and kept you grounded. Would it be okay just to sit out there for a moment or two?

Screw it.

Chancing it, you heaved open the glass pane and stepped out. As soon as you touch the wooden deck, small lights that decorated the edges lit up. You gasped in wonder, gazing at the twinkling lights around you before going to sit on a bench and staring up at the night sky, a smile edging its way onto your face. If you had decided to stay here, this could very well be your favorite spot.

If.

Your smile dropped and your mind kept going back and forth through today’s events.

Awaken. Queen. Harem. Shadows. Kill.

You wondered if your parents knew about this. Surely they would have told you such a preposterous thing if it was true, right? Or did they know? You still had so many questions left unanswered yet you were still giving these strange men a chance to prove themselves and a chance to help with your episodes.

With a huff, you leaned back and laid against the flat surface, staring straight up at the stars and thinking of your past. Was there something you missed? Something that hinted to this sudden change?

“You know, if you can’t sleep, me or Minhyuk would gladly service you.” His cocky voice appeared. You grumbled to yourself before you turned your head to see him leaning against the wall, arms folded. He was wearing a tight fitting white T-shirt with gray sweatpants that hung perhaps a little too low for your comfort. You weren’t a prude by any means, but you were used to being on the run. Taking long looks and fawning over people wasn’t exactly a priority.

“You know, if you want to keep pissing me off, you’re doing a great job.” You quipped back. Focusing back on the stars.

He muttered a low “ouch” before chuckling and came to sit on the ground right below you.

He was quiet for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “We didn’t want this either, Y/N.” He said seriously. You turned a curious look to him, prodding him to continue. “It’s just, we felt that you were in danger. Earlier today, at the coffee shop I was minding my own self and then when you spoke to me, I don’t know, your voice just snapped something into me. I’m not even sure what it was, but I knew I wanted to serve you in any way I could.” He confessed. He rolled his eyes at his openness before standing up. Not looking at you, he said, “There will be more suitors coming for you. I wasn’t kidding about the harem you could have, should you want it. This is all very new to you, but for many of us, this is something we’ve wanted for years. I don’t want to pressure you entirely, but I don’t exactly want you to dismiss us, should you want to. You do have a choice here, but as your first major duty, you’ll have to decide whether to turn us away or not. We can service you in any sort of way be it friends, family, or lovers. More will come for you and it will be up to you and only you on whether or not you’ll have them as well as me and Minhyuk. Think about it, Your Highness.”

You heard his retreating footsteps before you closed your eyes, a small pressure making its way to the base of your skull, insinuating the migraine that was to come.

Well, shit.

Please do NOT repost! All rights reserved!

[rainbowmatic-stumpomatic]

*you're sitting alone in your room, maybe you're working on something for school or job, or maybe you should be listening to music and doing a hobby. Maybe you're even just staring at one of the your walls where you swear the previous night a whole had opened up and the eyes of millions appeared in the darkness.

whatever you're doing you notice a radio somewhere in the room which is funny since you don't want to re-do it like that and even if you do the one you have doesn't look like that. Slowly the radio begins to crackle to life and something clicks in your mind, drawing you in as you hear voices pipe up from the speakers*

Dallon Weekes: hello listeners my name is [REDACTED] but you can call me Dallon Weekes, and I'm here with a new co-host why not introduce yourself

Ryan Seaman: uh, right. I'm um... I'm [REDACTED] oh that's right you can't hear that.... Okay then I'm Ryan Seaman and I'll be the co-host with Dallon for now on here on I Don't Know How Radio

*there is the sound of scuffling and quiet mumbles but sounding like a chorus of voices regardless, your unnerved by this that you still listen intently as a state secrets were being told*

Dallon Weekes: tonight hearing Cain the sky is clearing the star shine like glitter on your old kindergarten project when your teacher made you make constellations. Not sure if anyone remembers Tak four-nine-eight but if you do that means you were in my grade and well maybe we should have told miss Kravitz about what Austin Brown was doing when he went outside the next day

I'm sure some of you may be wondering where [REDACTED] is but rest assured that he is fine. The boss and him disagreed on something and well he's no longer at the radio station at all. You can still find them of course down at the old Cafe near the cemetery to be exact, our Westside cemetery the please don't bring up the radio station. my boss informed me that if you do then his head will explode, which I'm sure just means you're giving me migraine but it would be a shame if you had to trouble the new young couple who moved in to clean it up!

Oh well listen to me going on and on, why did I give Ryan a shot at talking? remember everyone know mean letter sent to the station or else we will find you and I'm sure mr. When's wouldn't have a problem with me asking if I could borrow Bowie for a bit has anyone seen him lately? Such a lovely dog! He's growing again now he's roughly at nine feet and a second head is finally opened its eyes!

*the feed is cut suddenly whatever trance you were in his interrupted but what sounds like screams there static but just as fast as you were throwing your caught again as a radio host coughs*

Dallon Weekes: aha, my apologies, went off topic there. Go ahead Ryan

Ryan Seaman: um, thanks Dallon... So the... The weather this week has been pretty hectic right? I hate to be the cleaners with all those fish and frogs being dropped from the clouds today.... Wait wha.... What that's...that isn't normal

Dallon Weekes: of course it isn't Ryan! that's why you're telling the weather report, to report the strange weather

Ryan Seaman: oh, yeah I guess. right so like I said fish and frogs are raining from the clouds today around seven and didn't stop until ten-thirty. The cleaners had their hands full today because night school got out early-wait night school? What did they get out at-

Dallon Weekes: Ryan focus please

Ryan Seaman: the students are snatching up frogs and throwing them at each other, apparently when frogs make impact they pop into little green cotton balls. Who knew right, you think they were full of blood and guts but apparently these were special cloud frogs

*you notice Ryan son and mechanical then, as if a robot had taken his place momentarily. There is a static again though faint music is heard through it almost like a soft music box with its metallic notes*

Dallon Weekes: that was only had for the weather today, I'd say Ryan too great for his first time wouldn't you all? Anyway on to the news! We've got quite the interesting plethora today folks; like Ryan said some night school students thought it would be fun to throw frogs at each other like water balloons but instead of Gore like one might expect cotton balls dyed neon green fell to the streets. several students have now made themselves Cotton bowl rabbit pets and animal control is scratching their head as to whether they can detain these creatures and if they can even be classified as animals

next we have Cain's annual town meeting and I hope all of you will be willing to come seeing as how it's not only a welcome to Ryan but also to discuss what to do about the town hall infestation. I don't know about you all but the thought of skeletons just walking about is a bit unnerving to me especially since I'd rather not have to awkwardly handsome and back their arm if it falls off. the mayor thinks maybe we could use the old Craven estate to house them until they can find places for themselves, which I think is a nice idea but we have to make sure the floors were secure no one likes following through.

Ryan Seaman: skeletons are just piles of bones though they can't move on their own

Dallon Weekes: *laughs* well of course Ryan! that's why they're ghosts are possessing their skeletons, come on, everyone knows that kind of logic. but Ryan makes a good point if we do decide to send them to the Craven estate I ask all of you here and Cain to please participate and make sure none of them are injured and reduce the piles of bones-oh? Hang on...well hello! We've got a c aller! A little early I admit but alrighty. Hey Ryan, why don't you take it?

Ryan Seaman: yeah okay *a phone line clicks* hey, you're on the air

A female voice, young and probably in middle school: hi I know this is really early for the caller segment- oh and um, welcome to Cain! I think you're doing a really great job so far. anyway I don't know how long you've been here, but there's the cemetery south of town where some of us go to the library nearby and the zombie guy is back

Ryan Seaman: oh uh- first thanks for the compliment but I haven't been in Cain long...I think... so what zombie guy? Oh and who's calling

The caller: my name is Jenna,Jenna Wilkins. I don't know the zombie guys name, I can tell you his hair is green though and he has white eyes. Dallon did a segment on him last week weren't you liste-

Dallon Weekes: thank you for calling it another sighting, Jenna! It is very much appreciated. Can you please tell us what the zombies up to?

Jenna: oh, yeah sure. He's uh.... Well he's just walking like he always is. I mean he waved to me and my friend when we were leaving the library but he's not doing much like always

Dallon Weekes: well it's nice to know he's so friendly! Thank you again for calling in another sighting, Jenna, I hope you have a nice day

Jenna: wait but-

*the call is disconnected is a heavy sigh that clearly means irritation followed by slightly feared whimpering but not from the sigher*

Dallon Weekes: how about we do our caller segment now? however I'm going to put a rule down, don't ask Ryan questions about how long he's been in town. That's quite rude of all of you so I ask that you respect my rule. Ryan I think we have another caller, line four?

Ryan Seaman: hi, you're on the air

The caller: hey Jay Rockport. I don't know what that Jenna girl was talking about but uh, the zombie guy was just outside my work? He always stares about this one window of this abandoned apartment. there's a priest who always hangs around outside there too but the zombie kid just takes off running-and I mean it when I say running, we're lucky he doesn't try biting anyone

Ryan Seaman: but that's kind of impossible don't you think Mr. Rockport? Zombies can't teleport-wait zombies aren't even-

*again there's an explosion of static that makes you jump, what the hell just happened? it doesn't make any sense what you're seeing but the radio looks as if it's glitching and turning into mist all at once. In a hurried tone, you hear the first host again*

Dallon Weekes: thank you all for tuning in! I'm afraid we have to cut the segment short too many callers are causing our signals to ah-malfunction! Yes, a malfunction! tune in tomorrow at the same time as always to hear stories from a town with a modern day Cain

*first you blink, a little confused to be truthful, because what just happened within maybe the last hour? At least it feels like an hour to you. Frowning, you sit up and think you must have just fallen asleep wherever you were. for some reason a part of your mind is telling you to look at a certain area of the room... But for what? There's nothing there, you must just be really tired. So you walk yourself to your room and curl up under the covers, letting sleep slowly blanket you into a dreamless night*

[redgillan]

Missed Chances - part 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,845

Warnings: Language, Nudity, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Drug Use, Cliffhanger

A/N: This is so long, I’m sorry. I tried to make the descriptions fun, but idk. I added a few pics bc it was too beautiful. It took me a while to write this chapter, but I had so much research to do for this fic... yikes. I really hope you’ll like this chapter, I worked so hard on it.

Missed Chances - Masterpage

Steve woke up with a migraine, the mattress soft beneath him. His mother must have carried him up and tucked him in while he was asleep because he sure as hell wasn’t lying on the basement floor.

Soft silky sheets brushed against his naked skin and his brows immediately furrowed. He always wore pyjamas.

He tried to sit up, but soon realised that there was a weight on his left shoulder. He looked down at it and saw a mop of tousled light brown hair resting on his chest.

A woman!

His first reaction was to roll to the other side of the bed where he ended up face-to-face with another woman. A strangled cry escaped his throat, making the two women whine in their sleep.

“Mornin, daddy,” the one on his left slurred, her hand trailing up his thigh.

“Did you just call me daddy?” he asked. His voice was so low, he must have caught a cold during his birthday party.

“Isn’t that what you want, daddy?” she whispered into his ear, her hand cupping his groin.

He shirked and scrambled off the bed, taking the silky sheet with him. The two naked women sat up, concerned looks on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re naked!” Steve wrapped the sheet around his hips and gestured in their direction with his free hand.

Why did he feel like he was standing on a stepladder? His head was spinning, the room was spinning, too. He had to get out of here.

He looked around the darkened room and yelled, “MOM!”

A look of mild panic crossed the brunette’s face. She picked up her discarded dress and slipped it on. The second woman apparently had the same idea and together they quickly collected their things before they rushed out of the room.

“Wait!” Steve yelled, fumbling with the sheet as he tried to follow them.

He tripped over the trailing sheet and fell face-first onto the soft rug, accompanied by a muffled ‘oof A soft, vibrating sound made him raise his head and he watched in speechless awe as the natural light began to pour into the bedroom.

The room was large, yet simple. There was a King size bed facing floor-to-ceiling windows, offering one of the most impressive views of New York City Steve had ever seen.

Decorative pillows had been thrown to the foot of the bed. One of them even landed on a teardrop shaped settee near the door.

“Good morning, Mr Rogers,” said a sweet feminine voice with an Irish accent. Her voice seemed to come from the ceiling.

Startled, Steve sat on the floor and tugged the sheet around him while looking suspiciously around the room.

“The cook is in the elevator, he should be here any second,” the voice continued. “I’ll start the shower now. Would you like me to turn on some music?”

He had so many questions, but he couldn’t decide which one to ask first so he went with the most obvious one. “Where are you right now?”

The voice sighed. “As I’ve explained before, I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y, an artificial intelligence created by Stark Inc. I’m connected to all the devices around your apartments, including your personal and work phones and computers.”

He sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to make sense of what happened. He cleared his throat, hoping to get rid of that ridiculously low voice.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you have the wrong Rogers. I don’t know how I ended up in this apartment, or in New York, but I’ll give you my mom’s numb-”

“I’ll ask the cook to add pain killers with your breakfast,” she cut him off, sounding amused. “Perhaps you should lay off the Norwegian liquor for awhile.”

Steve was scared to leave the room, not knowing what he’d find behind the door. He didn’t want to run into the owner, Mr Rogers.

As promised, F.R.I.D.A.Y turned on the shower and, remembering the two naked ladies in his bed, he figured he could use one.

He walked to the windows and marvelled at the view for a moment. He lived in Port Chester and rarely visited the city. On second thought, it wasn’t so bad. At least now he had a funny story to tell Bucky.

He followed the sound of running water and opened the door that led to the bathroom.

The bathroom was equally luxurious with its inlaid stone rain shower that could easily fit eight people. There was also a long vanity with double sinks and a mirror facing the shower.

Mouth agape, Steve let the sheet drop and padded to the shower.

As he passed the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a naked man and threw himself to the floor. He slowly peeked over the vanity, an excuse ready on his lips, but he realized it was just a mirror.

Frowning, he lifted his head a little and let out a small gasp as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, my god,” he swore, straightened up to his full height, “It’s me, I’m... hot!”

He didn’t look sickly anymore; he was strong and muscular and at least a foot taller. His hair was a darker shade of blond and slightly longer, too. He had a full beard and stared at it for a full minute. He’d always wondered if he’d ever grow facial hair.

“What’s happening?” he said, staring at his reflection.

He ran a hand through his hair, combing it back from his forehead. His hair seemed to naturally fall back into place, like he’d done this gesture so many times that his hair knew exactly where to go.

Yesterday was his thirteenth birthday party and today he woke up looking like a thirty-year-old man. How was it possible?

Oh, the birthday party....

I want to be an adult. I want to be thirty, I want to find love.

“No,” Steve drawled out, disbelief lacing his voice. “That’s so cool!”

It seemed completely crazy, but there was no other explanation.

He took a step back and checked himself out in the mirror. His body was, for lack of a better word, impressive. Wide shoulders, broad chest, tiny waist, massive arms and thighs...

“Tattoos?” he whined, inspecting his body closely. He had one on his left shoulder, a quote under his clavicle and another one on the right side of his chest. “Mom’s gonna kill me!”

The shower was already running, the steam fogging up the mirror. He stepped into the shower, his eyes focused on his blurry reflection.

Showering was a strange experience. He ran his hands over the hard planes of his broad chest and tight abs, discovering this new body more intimately.

His breathing hitched and he felt himself growing hard. Chancing a glance down, he saw the evidence of his arousal sticking up straight from his body. Then, suddenly, the water turned ice cold and he hurriedly leapt out of the shower stall.

“What the hell?”

“You always end your morning shower with a blast of cold water,” the A.I replied. “It increases alertness and closes up the pores.”

“Yeah? Let’s not do that again.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You can call me Steve,” he said, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel. “So, um, I live here?”

“Yes, Steve, 45 East 22nd Street, apartment 60FL. Is there anything else you need?”

“Clothes?” he replied with a shy grimace.

Following F.R.I.D.A.Y’s direction, he took a deep breath before he opened the bedroom door. He was scared to run into someone, even though the A.I. had informed him that it was just him and the cook.

He entered the walk-in closet tentatively and gasped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned on the lights. It was twice the size of his bedroom, with a round sofa in the middle of the room and a small staircase that led to another closet with mirrored sliding doors.

Suits, shirts, trousers, jeans, shoes; there were enough items for him to open his own store. He took his time and tried on several outfits before he found the perfect one.

“Steve,” the A.I. interrupted, “Your morning coffee has just finished brewing. Breakfast is served. I should also remind you that Mr Rumlow will be expecting you in the hall at 8 a.m.”

“Brock?” Steve squealed, suddenly excited to see a familiar face. “I’m still friends with Brock! That’s awesome!”

“Indeed, it is,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied in a monotonous voice. “Are you sober enough to find the dining room?”

He bashfully told her he had no idea where the dining room was and she provided directions again. She sounded like a real person: annoyed, sassy, amused... It was strange to think she was just a voice in the wall.

What Steve had seen so far was nothing compared to the living-slash-dining room. It looked like a page out of a magazine.

There was a large and modern dining room table for formal meals that led to a windowed eat-in kitchen with marble countertops and custom-designed cabinetry.

The living room was spacious and bright, decorated with modern artworks and furnishings. Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, he had a 360-degree view of New York City, looking over the borough of Brooklyn.

“I could get used to that,” Steve whispered to himself.

He sat at the breakfast nook and glared at the tray of food in front of him. His breakfast consisted of a green concoction in a tall glass, a slice of grapefruit and a bowl of sliced bananas in plain yogurt. He poked the grapefruit with his spoon and screwed his face up in disgust.

“Um, ma’am,” he spoke, looking up at the ceiling. “Do you have cereal?”

“You cut out sugar from your diet,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“That sucks!”

He ate a few spoonfuls of yogurt before he pushed the tray away. It was almost time to meet Brock downstairs so he took the elevator down to the lobby, excited to see his friend.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” a voice startled him as he stepped into the lobby.

A man, most likely in his thirties, stared down at him, incredulous. His black hair was short and styled with gel and he wore a perfectly tailored beige suit with no tie.

Steve looked down at his own clothes and frowned. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a matching jacket and a light blue shirt.

He really liked this look and it was really popular, especially after the American Music Award where Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears showed up wearing matching denim outfits.

“Denim-on-denim?” Brock said with a smirk. “Trying to bring sexy back?”

Steve cocked his head to one side. Was that a reference to something? He had no idea. “Brock? That’s really you? Whoa, you’re old!”

Rolling his eyes, Brock turned on his heel. “Fuck off, Rogers.”

Brock was on his phone when the doorman opened the door for him. Steve trailed after Brock like a lost puppy and greeted the man at the door with a polite smile. The man looked at him incredulously before his face broke into a similar friendly smile.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked as they walked to the car parked in front of the building.

“Work, dude.”

“We work together?” Steve said excitedly. “That’s awesome! Okay, what do we do?”

Brock threw him a side glance. “I knew I should have stayed last night. The party must have been wild, you look so stoned. What’d take? Cocaine? Heroin? Meth?”

“What?! No, I don’t do drugs,” Steve objected.

“Yeah, right,” Brock scoffed, “me neither.”

It only took fifteen minutes to go from his apartment to his workplace in the garment district of Manhattan. Steve looked out the tinted window as the chauffeur pulled to the curb before a large mirrored-glass building.

His bodyguard opened the door and Steve slowly climbed out of the car, his eyes widening when he saw a plaque above the double doors that read ‘STEVE ROGERS HEADQUARTERS NYC’.

“Nice outfit, sir,” his bodyguard said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks,” Steve replied, still flabbergasted.

Brock rounded the vehicle and pulled Steve aside. When Steve continued to look around in wonder, Brock grabbed his shoulders and shook him once.

“Man, you gotta pull yourself together,” he whisper-shouted. “You’re a fucking fashion designer. You can’t enter this building looking like Justin fucking Timberlake on Prozac.”

Brock glanced around to make sure no one was listening and spotted paparazzi on the opposite side of the road. He moved in front of Steve to block their view.

“Here’s what you gonna do,” he continued. “You’re going to enter this building, drink a large fucking coffee and lock yourself in your office. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, but you owe me big fucking time.”

Steve gave him a hard look. “You say the F-word like a lot.”

Brock sighed, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face. “Man, I don’t know what you took, but next time I want in.” He pulled him into a hug and patted his back. “Stay hydrated, ‘k?”

They entered the building together. There were a lot of people in the atrium; tall, skinny models who turned their heads when they recognized Steve and employees who watched him with a mixture of fright and admiration.

They seemed to move out of his way like he was Moses parting the Red Sea. Steve was too speechless and confused to focus on them. They took the private elevator and stood in silence while the elevator made its long ascent.

“I’m a fashion designer,” Steve spoke quietly, mostly to himself.

“Yup,” Brock mumbled as he pulled out his phone and started typing a text message. “Time’s person of the year in 2012 and 2017, youngest billionaire in the world and the wet of every boys and girls on this fucking planet.”

“I must be dreaming,” Steve said slowly as he processed what Brock had just said. “Ow!” he cried when he pinched the tender skin on his neck.

“Not dreaming,” he said, “now let’s go.”

Brock walked over to a woman with long golden hair. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. She gave him a thumbs-up and turned to Steve with a bright smile.

“Oh, my God,” Steve cringed, looking for a place to hide. His employees were busy looking busy and didn’t pay attention to them.

Brock and the woman walked back to him. “Wanda’s gonna take care of you.”

Steve took Brock aside and explained that he woke up next to this Wanda girl just a few hours ago. Brock laughed and called Steve a ‘fucking stereotype’ before he headed toward his own office. Steve turned back to Wanda with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said. “So, um, who are you again?”

“Wanda Maximoff, your assistant for the past two years,” she replied with a frown. “You really scared us this morning. Mr Rumlow said you weren’t feeling well.”

Steve replied with a casual shrug while she led him to his office. She informed him that Brock had already transferred the files he needed for the meetings and that he was free for the rest of the day.

“Clint will drive you home when you’re ready, sir.”

“Ok, cool,” he replied.

Involuntarily, she let out a loud laugh as the words passed his lips. He was always so professional and stern, definitely not the kind of boss who treated their employees like family members.

But when he was not at work, he was completely different.

Wanda had run into him in a very select bar the night before. He had danced with her, offered her fruity cocktails and she had really liked the attention. When he invited her and her friend over to his apartment, they eagerly accepted the invitation.

“Oh, by the way,” she turned back to him and handed him his personal phone, “I took your phone by mistake this morning.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the rectangular device in his hand.

She left the room, closing the double doors behind her. Steve plopped down on one of the sofas in his office and took a good look around the room. One thing was for sure, his 30 year-old self was a materialistic person.

His office was a mess, which was strange since his apartment was absolutely spotless.

There were mannequins everywhere, sketches and pieces of fabric clipped onto wooden boards for future reference. He also had a large collection of fashion magazines, sharpies, pencils, erasers, rulers and sketch pads.

He sat in the comfortable leather chair at his desk and flipped through various files. He soon realized that work was his whole life and that he probably spent more time in his office than at home.

Steve loved to draw; it was his safe place. His mother didn’t make enough money to buy him GI Joe dolls or remote controlled cars, but she always came home with pens and scraps of paper stuffed in her bag.

He was looking at some of his drawings when an alarm on his phone went off. He had never owned a phone before, but Bucky’s mother had one –a Nokia 3310- and it didn’t look like this one at all.  He managed to turn the alarm off and read the reminder.

Chez Francis, 8PM

The computer on his desk was a lot thinner than what he used to use at the public library, but he recognized the Apple logo. He was relieved to see that Google was still a thing and after a quick search, he found the restaurant located in Greenwich Village.

Since he was technically allowed to leave, he asked his chauffeur-slash-bodyguard to drive him home. Clint was a quiet guy. He seemed nice, though a bit on the scary side.

Steve learned that he owned ten apartments in the tower; the penthouse, the first five floors, which were for his employees, and four others for his guests.

Like Uncle Scrooge, Steve was swimming in money.

But something was missing.

No one had mentioned his mom, you or Bucky and it was starting to stress him out. Plus, now, he had a dinner date with a mysterious guest. He could have bailed on them, but his mother had raised him better than that.

He arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare and decided to stay outside while he waited for his guest. It seemed like a lovely place; French food, but not too pretentious. He hazarded a glance inside, but the lights were dimmed.

French food and dimmed lights? This wasn’t a casual evening, it was a date. A wave of nausea hit him and for a second he thought he might throw up. If he had a girlfriend, then he was the world’s shittiest boyfriend.

He woke up that morning with two naked women, neither of them seemed to be his partner. As a kid, he’d promised himself he’d treat his partners with respect, especially after his father left his mother for another woman.

His mother was his hero, but as far as he was concerned, his father could rot in hell.

Outside the sun had set and there was a distinct chill in the air. Steve tightened his coat around himself and looked around. There was a man, not far away, busy typing away on his phone.

He was tall, probably in his late twenties, and dressed smart casual. His shoulder length hair was tied up in a bun and he was wearing a long coat above a navy blue shirt.

“Bucky?!” Steve exclaimed, recognizing his best friend.

The man looked up from his phone with a frown and met Steve’s eyes. Steve’s face split into a wide smile as he walked over to him.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, pulling him into a hug. Bucky’s body was stiff, but Steve was too happy to notice that. “Look at us, all grown up and stuff!”

Bucky didn’t say a word, he pulled back quickly and smiled tightly at Steve who was still beaming.

“The craziest thing happened to me today,” Steve continued, undeterred. “You’re not going to believe this. When I woke up th-”

“I’m so sorry I’m late. It’s rush hour, I had to fight my way into the train,” you said breathlessly. You had seen someone with Bucky, but you only realized who it was when you turned to him. “Steve?”

“Hi,” Steve replied, looking down at his shoes.

The last time he’d seen you, you had run away after Brock asked you if you wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with Steve. You had broken his heart that day. It might have been 17 years ago, but, to Steve, it was only yesterday.

“Are we waiting for someone else?” he asked.

Your eyes widened. “We?”

You and Bucky shared a look, the two of you had become masters in the art of silent communication. Bucky curled his arm around your waist and tucked you against his side. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

What?

No...

“Steve,” Bucky said after clearing his throat. “I don’t know who you’re meeting here, but it’s not us. We,” he paused briefly, “we haven’t seen you since high school.”

That comment made Steve’s head snap up. “High school? We’re not friends anymore?”

You were taken aback by his tone. It was pleading, almost childlike and it made your chest tighten. You had to remind yourself that this man, as nice as he was trying to be, wasn’t the sweet kid you used to know.

He was a celebrity, a billionaire and women threw themselves at his feet. He lived a scandalous life. He wasn’t your Steve.

A pretty blonde with long legs and a perfect white smile came up to them and kissed Steve on the cheek. She turned to you and Bucky and greeted you with a cheerful ‘hello’.

“Looks like you found your date,” Bucky told him watching you shake the blonde’s hand.

Steve caught the gleam of the solitaire on your ring finger. Caught off guard, he stared at you with a wounded look on his face. Bucky tightened his arm around your waist.

“You’re married.”

“Engaged,” you corrected, smiling at his date when she grabbed your hand and took a closer look at your engagement ring. She commented on how beautiful the ring was and you agreed, turning your head to smile at Bucky.

He shook his head, bashful, and kissed your temple. Steve was frozen, unable to look away and unable to close his eyes. His whole world came crashing down around him.

“We should go,” Bucky whispered into your ear as he linked his fingers with yours. He straightened up to look at Steve and his date. “It was nice seeing you. Enjoy your evening.”

“Likewise,” the woman said with a smile. “And congratulations.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Yes, congratulations.”

He watched you and Bucky enter the restaurant. A myriad of emotions washed over his face, none of them pleasant.

Be careful what you wish for...

Part 3

[accio-ambition]

No Good Deed (3/15)

Summary: Killian Jones is a gentleman. He and his brother pride themselves on the matter, even if it ends with harm to them. So when an angry ex of Killian’s client bites him, he tends to the wound, watches it heal, and thinks no more of it.Until he wakes up in a closet on his ship with no memory of what happened the night of the full moon. Fleeing from the unknown, the brothers Jones find Storybrooke, and with it, Emma Swan, who is a lot more familiar with their situation than anyone could expect. And when an old foe comes to their new home, Killian has to rely on new talents to keep those he loves safe. Rating: M for language, violence, some sexual content. (better safe than sorry) Content warnings: violence

happy friday friends! time for another update, literally just in the nick of time (I PROMISE I’LL GET BETTER). anyway, hoping that the mods won’t hound me too bad about this chapter ;) as always, muchos gracias to Taylor aka @killiarious for her beta-ing skillz, @wellhellotragic for her art that I absolutely adore and will properly praise this weekend properly, and the mods at @captainswanbigbang who know what they’re doing and get me sucked into this project each and every time. :)

Ao3 if that’s the name of your game

Chapter Three

"Oy, Jones!"

Killian turns to see Gus running down the gangplank to catch him. He waits, though he's eager to get home, shower off today's grime, and settle down with a drink and the game of the night on the telly. In the few days since Gold’s attack, Killian’s been tired beyond belief. He’s also had more headaches, at least one a day, since the occurrence. It’s probably got something to do with the pills he’s downed to keep the pain of his bite at a minimum, or the lack of sleep caused by more frequent and vivid nightmares of that night.

All he wants to do is go home, but he waits for his coworker to catch up to him.

"I was hoping," Gus says, breathing deeply. Holding up a finger of pause, he bends over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Killian does all he can to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the man's dramatic action - he's in fine shape, he shouldn't be this winded from a slight jog. When Gus finally believes himself to be ready, he straightens.

"Sorry. I was hoping you could cover me next Tuesday. It's the night shift, which I know you don't normally do, but my son placed in the science fair and I-"

Holding up his own hand in interruption, Killian says, "No worries, Gus. I've enough warning so I can stock up on sleep." Grinning, he holds his hand out for a shake, one that Gus gratefully takes part in. "Tell the lad good luck."

"With pleasure!" Chuckling to himself, Gus claps Killian on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver."

When the Tuesday in question comes around, Liam, the sodding fool, hands Killian a brown lunch sack as he's on his way out the door.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Killian asks. "I'm not in school anymore, or have you forgotten that?"

"It's dinner, you arsewipe," Liam explains, flopping on the couch. "Nothing's going to be open by the time you get hungry, so I made you a sandwich and threw in some pretzels if you get hungry in the meantime."

His brows furrowed and a slight frown on his lips, Killian unravels the opening of the bag to peer inside. As he said, Liam had packed a sandwich, a ziploc bag of pretzels, and what looks like some cookies wrapped in plastic.

"If I didn't know any better, brother, I would say that you have a heart."

Liam laughs, his head falling on the back of the couch. "It's been known to come to life every once in a while."

The television clicks on and Jeopardy appears on the screen as Killian throws on his jacket and boots. "You'll need your strength and wits tonight. Supposed to be a full moon."

"And what, pray tell, does that mean?"

"Crazies come out in droves." Killian's popping his collar when he catches Liam's eye. "And, you know, werewolves and such."

"Ah yes, such a prevalent problem in the post-Twilight day and age," Killian quips. His keys jingle when he snatches them from the ring they rest on. "Alright, I'm off. Don't wait up."

"I won't."

“Thanks for caring.”

“Never a problem.” Killian’s scoff is overwhelmed by the slamming of the door shutting behind him.

The public transport ride down to the harbor is never been particularly notable. The occasional dancing crew or street musician sometimes serenades his ride, but at this hour, everyone is heading away from the water, for the most part. Sure, there’s a couple dressed nicely further into the car, probably heading down for a dinner cruise along the river. Everyone else has got families to attend to, laundry to do, errands to run before the shops close in Midtown.

Killian spends his time thinking mostly unconsciously on his wound. Especially as he comes up from the underground station, something about the sea breeze makes Killian scratch his injury a little more forcefully than he probably should. It's been hurting over the past couple of days, a soreness and itch that he attributes to healing, but currently is at its worst yet. The skin’s scarred over, flaked off, and knitted itself back together, but it's still obvious that the crazy man broke quite deeply into the skin. Frankly speaking, he should’ve probably gotten stitches, but Liam’s first responder skills seemed to the job well enough.

Still, he probably should have gotten it checked out. But, as he’s grown to do, Killian ignores it, jogging across the street in the last seconds of the crosswalk timer without a second thought. Thatch’s office window is alight, second story of the marina office building, one in from the corner. It’s a little quirk he’s picked up over the years, checking to see if the boss man was in and what the chances were of any surprise inspections or visits before setting sail. When that happened, Killian could always makes out his pacing figure in the lit window.

The windows are empty now, void of any person or object moving or otherwise. He’s safe from any surprise scolding for the night.

He strolls down the docks, head down as he makes his way past the line of anxious travelers. He walks up the gangplank, nodding to the lads in the crew he recognizes and the odd passenger whose boarded early due to age or disability. He’d stop to chat with them all, but he hasn’t the time. Gus’ men are good men, Killian knows that, or otherwise Thatch wouldn’t have hired them in the first place. Killian just doesn’t know them as well as he knows his own crew, and therefore can’t guarantee that they’d do all the tasks needed to safely get across the Hudson. With a final itch at his injury, Killian sets off to check all the stations, make sure proper switches are flicked and such before settling in at the captain’s wheel for the evening.

After checking everything and requesting his second in command for the night, Tom, double-check behind him, Killian waves at the man on the gangplank to let the line file on and find spots on board. He closes the door of the helm behind him, ready to get going. The lights are dimmer up here to make sure sailors can see whatever lies beyond the ship. Others’ faces only illuminate due to the dashboard lamps and button lights. Killian checks the place over quickly before opening up a window and waiting for the signal that the ropes were untied and secured.

It comes in and Killian pulls away with ease despite the darkness falling around them.

With a contented sigh, he sets course for Union City.

They make it over uneventfully the first time, and then they make the return trip without consequence. But the third time, as the saying goes, is the charm.

It comes on suddenly, his migraine. He's been known to have them on occasion, but they're usually more gradual, his body having courtesy enough to give him a wee bit of warning before his head feels like it's about to split in two. But this one strikes him harder than the rest: even the deck lights from passing vessels and the dull dashboard blinkers are too bright, the few thoughts in his own head are yelps and howls, and that thoughtful dinner Liam packed him is more than threatening to make a reappearance.

"Sorry, lads," Killian groans, the mere movement of the ship and the action of speaking worsening his condition. "I need to take a minute."

"Go for it, Jones," Tom says, "people aren't supposed to be that color."

Barely able to nod, Killian blessedly wanders below deck, off to find some secluded corner of the ship that's dark, quiet, and hopefully has something he can lay horizontal across.

He hasn't felt this ill in ages. The last time it was this bad, he must have been in high school and, though he retains his youthful glow, that was easily a decade ago. Could it be food poisoning of some sort, he questions himself. Maybe Liam was finally sick of some of his more dickish tendencies and decided to off him.

When he finds a closet big enough for him to lie down on the floor, Killian is hobbling instead of walking. The clang of the closet door as it shuts behind him throws him to his hands and knees. For some reason, he looks up, his eyes caught by the light of the full moon shining through the porthole window above him. This light source - nature's nightlight, a guardian that used to calm him before closing the bedroom door and submerging a purely frightened Killian into darkness - seems to be the only one that doesn't bother his vision. Curious, Killian thinks, before his stomach rolls and causes him to curl into the fetal position.

There might be something impeding him from laying down, but he's too far gone to even bother. Eyes closed, Killian focuses on his breathing, hoping that maybe settling that will settle the rest of him.

It doesn't work much.

He might fall asleep, but it's fitful to say the least. The strangest dreams plague him. They're animalistic in nature, but, for some odd reason, he's on the water. It's sort of calming: even in his subconscious, the water has that affect, makes him stop whatever he's doing in the dream and take a breath. Somehow, he can even tell it's the Hudson, the very body of water his physical body sails across. It's something in the scent, the dirt and oil and rubbish that New Yorkers and New Jerseyans constantly bash it with.

(He's never been a huge believer in dreams having hidden meanings, but the appearance of this water makes him at least contemplate googling it.)

When he comes to, Killian feels oddly refreshed. It feels like he's gone on a run, one meant rid him of all the excess energy he sometimes has, and his muscles are beautifully sore. He goes to sit up and then the pleasant feelings he's got start to disappear. His back is blessedly achy, and when he twists around to see why, Killian finds a loose nail right where his right shoulder blade was. That, and the floor of the closet he's for some reason still in is pure metal.

"That can't be good," he mumbles to himself, his voice hoarse speaking about the errant screw. Clearing his throat, he notices it feels sore, as if he's coming down with strep or something similar, or like he'd spent the evening before shouting imitating his favorite screamo band's top hits.

(He doesn't have one. A favorite screamo band.)

Shaking his head, Killian glances out the porthole window. It's bright, but not too much so. "Early," he says to himself. Liam's going to be worrying: Killian should've been home a couple hours ago. The ship isn't swaying anymore, meaning they must be docked, probably fueling up for the day's cross-river trips.

Going easy on his body, Killian stands, brushing his clothes off. Or, he should say, what's left of his clothes. His pants stop at the knees now, tatters dangling from the fabric. There's also a rather sizable hole near the seam of his crotch that wasn't there when he boarded last night. Killian grabs at his shirt. Half of his left sleeve is missing, the skin showing scratched up and crusted over with dry blood.

"What the -" Searching his surroundings for any clue as to what might have happened or who might have attacked him in such an odd manner, Killian sees something curious. As he approaches the door to the closet, his hand reaches out to trace what looks like claw marks, deep ones, in the grain of the door. "Bloody hell."

Everything after that seems a little bit fuzzy, or at least that's what he'll tell the psychologist he'll definitely have to see because of this incident. In the moment, Killian is disoriented, sure, but more so, he's hyper aware of exactly everything that happens to him: the smell of the diesel filling up tank, the face of everyone he passes. The bracingly cool feel of the Hudson as he stumbles getting off the gangplank and trips into the water. Sand and sludge greet his feet, the water pretty shallow, thankfully, and after a quick scan, Killian swims to the closest ladder unharmed. Dripping wet and even more confused, he makes his way down the docks and back to land. He doesn't have the patience to deal with public transportation and, at this hour, it's run is limited, so he calls for a Lyft.

(Thankfully, working on and around the water for so long has taught Killian to invest in waterproofing his phone. His wallet, however, and the other various small things in his pockets aren't so lucky.)

Once safely back in the apartment, Killian leans against the front door, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut. His breathing is harsh. When he tries to remember what happened last night, his memories fail him. He knows he wasn't feeling well, had told the lads that he needed a lie down to get rid of a migraine. And then waking up this morning. Something must have happened in between the two memories, especially taking in to account the injuries and state of his clothing.

"Killian? Is that you?" Liam's voice breaks him from the point of falling apart. It sounds like he's in the kitchen, meaning it's early enough for him to be getting ready for work, but not so late that his brother's rushing out of the house. That's comforting.

Pushing off the door, Killian heads toward his brother, asking, "What time is it?"

"What time is...?" Liam's scoff turns into a chuckle as he comes into view. He's fixing a cup of coffee, back to Killian. He's got his police department shirt on, yet hasn't changed out of his pajamas pants. "Little brother, where the hell have you..." Turning around, Liam trails off. Killian can see his eyes widen. Placing his mug carefully on the counter, Liam rushes up to him. "Killian, what the bloody hell? Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" Killian laughs at the notion. Gesturing wildly, he adds, "Do I look like I'm alright?"

Liam's hands inspect the scratches on his arm, then frantically search the rest of his skin for marks. He finds some on his other arm, and even more on his neck, face, and calves. "What the fuck happened, Killian? Did you get in a fight?"

"No!" Running a hand through his hair, Killian sighs. He can feel his pulse speeding up again, and an irrational sense of anger and frustration wells up in him.

"Move," he growls at Liam. His brother takes a step back and watches him cautiously as Killian begins to pace.

When he calms down a bit, is more able to string words together sensibly, Killian breathes deeply and stops in front of Liam. "I don't know what happened," he tells him. "I was feeling ill around eleven, so I went to one of the closets to rest and I woke up this morning looking like this."

Liam's brow arches. "You woke up this morning in one of the closets looking like a drowned rat and smelling like sun-baked shit?"

"Ugh, no," Killian says, shaking his head emphatically, "I fell in the river trying to get back home."

Shrugging his shoulders, Liam makes a noise of understanding.

Killian grasps his brother's arms, forcing him to pay attention and focus. "Liam, I think something's wrong with me."

"I would be more concerned if you didn't believe there something to be wrong," he says.

Releasing himself from Killian's hold, Liam places a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"We'll figure it out together, little brother, worry not." He gives him a comforting smile and squeezes his shoulder gently. "But let's get you in the shower and then dressed in something clean. Then we'll figure out the rest in time."

0000

Confusion and slight trauma of blacking out aside, Killian recovers for the entire experience quite well. Nothing a shower, some sleep, and a bottle of rum couldn’t solve.

When he comes back to the Jolly Roger after a day off, Thatch, Gus, and the rest of the men welcome him back as if nothing had happened. They were worried for him, sure, but they thought he’d been struck by a bad 24 hour flu.

Killian asks Tom, Rob, and everyone else who was on the ship with him that night. All they could recall was him going down below complaining of a headache. No one saw him leave the ship, yet didn’t question it because, as captain, he was often the last one to leave as it was. No one checked on him, figuring that he would be angry if they woke him or would appreciate the chance to rest. It’s a wee bit disconcerting, but at least Killian can argue that his crew is thoughtful enough of his well being.

A few weeks go by with nothing unusual to report. Life goes on and on. Killian keeps reporting to the Jolly Roger, each time pushing away the concern of his blacked out night. Liam keeps his shifts at the station, sometimes staying on duty over 24 hours to follow that ‘good form’ he drilled into his younger brother. It’s not very often they get to share a meal together, but when they do, it’s over DVR-ed games and alcohol.

It’s the night before one of those nights - Killian’s off for the next couple days, but Liam’s working on his last graveyard shift of the week. Tomorrow, they’ll be able to spend the day together, or at least the afternoon depending on how late Liam decides to sleep, for the first time in a while. The forecast calls for rain - torrential downpours at times - so the chances of them spending all of their time in pajamas, probably unshowered, and a questionable amount of alcohol is quite likely.

Killian’s already preparing for it.

For his last night of solo freedom, he’s conquered the couch, sitting in the middle cushion and sprawled out. No cares. Chinese food on the coffee table and a beer in hand.

Save for the slight headache grinding his brain, the night is pretty perfect.

He’s zoned off enough to only catch the tail end of the local weather report, the meteorologist warning of thunderstorms and higher tides due to the full moon.

He rolls his eyes at the weather report, and instead, settles on a rerun of Friends, something familiar, funny, and mindless. If he falls asleep - a likely outcome, given the growing severity of his headache - he won’t feel like he missed out on anything.

(Liam never liked watching Friends, he was always more of a Seinfeld person, so that’s an additional reason to get in an episode while he can do so without complaints.)

Idly scratching the scar left Gold left behind, Killian relaxes on the couch, fixing his feet on the table. He takes a sip of his drink as one of the characters begins complaining about her hair. Throughout the first episode, he closes up his dinner and lays down on the couch. On about the fourth episode, his eyes begin to droop, his headache unwieldy. He stays conscious long enough to turn the volume almost all the way down, hoping that will help soothe his aching head, before fading off to sleep.

Shooting awake an hour and a half later, pain wrecks his entire body. Killian can’t help it: he howls. His headache is wreaking havoc, somehow having gotten worse as he rested. The grinding has evolved into pulsations and mumbling, incoherent voices and questions unanswered. His muscles feel like they’re ripping apart, the pain manifesting in another, longer howl. Waves hit him, radiating from his wrist, right where Gold bit him. The voices and noises he hears are getting louder by the minute. Thank gods Liam was working that night, though the same can’t be said for their neighbors. He’s definitely woken them: they might have already called the police or banged on their shared walls.

Despite his better judgement, Killian tries to stand from couch, immediately collapsing. His skin is too tight: he feels like he’s going to explode. His clothes already seem to be doing so, the seams of his sweatpants tearing and his shirt hanging from his shoulders.

He grasps for the coffee table, his fingers sinking into the wood like putty. His eyes shoot to his hand.

It’s not his hand.

Rationally, he knows it’s his hand, can feel the coffee table splintering beneath his grip, but it’s not his hand. It’s far too large, too hairy, too pawlike to even be human.

Pain ripples through him again, another wave curling him up on the floor. Whatever illness he has, or attack that’s struck him, is ending him. Killian is convinced this is how he dies, in the fetal position on his living room floor.

And then it’s done. The sinews of his muscles return to their spots. His organs have halted their threat of explosion. He is fine.

Except now his eye level barely reaches the top of the couch arm.

And something heavy hangs from his ass.

Panic starts to set in. Killian’s somehow shrunk, and the idea throws him off balance. He thumps into the couch seat, then slams into the destroyed coffee table. He looks down and, instead of seeing his knees and his bare feet as expected, he’s met with the floor.

And paws. Not paw-like hands. Paws.

His head whips over his shoulder. The heavy weight is connected to him, switching swiftly from side to side.

He’s got a tail.

“Oh fuck,” he says. But it doesn’t come out in words. It’s incomprehensible, something like a moan or a man without a tongue trying to speak.

There’s a banging on the ceiling that Killian can somehow differentiate from the nearly identical banging three floors door. It’s two couples having sex, the woman above him having a much more pleasurable time than the other. He’s not quite sure how he knows that, but he can pick up the hitches in her breath.

“FUCK!” Killian barks. An actual bark.

Before he’s sure he’s made up his mind, Killian’s barreling toward the front door. He needs to get out of here, but without opposable thumbs, he’s trapped. That flusters him even further, his tail wagging furiously and running him into the wall.

Killian tries to headbutt the door down to no avail. Anger floods him, brings a growl from the depths of his stomach in frustration. He pulls back, adrenaline coiling in the muscles of his legs, and jumps, throwing the whole of his body weight against the door. It budges, and with another, more forceful headbutt, the door gives, leading Killian to freedom.

He’s running: where, he knows not. Killian can already smell the dirt and garbage in the air from the stairwell. He hits the outdoors, the fresh air as stunning as the puddle of rain his paws splash in. The colors of neon business signs flash as he runs by them, the lights far too bright, and the noises he usually finds comforting enough to fall asleep to far too loud. He can hear the garbage truck six streets over, the drunk conversation in the pizza parlor on the corner of the block, the rumble of thunder rolling southeast. It’s overwhelming to the point of nausea.

That is until he reaches a wooded area. What little part of his rationality remains realizes he’s somehow made it to Central Park and over the fence. He’d made what was normally a 20 minute subway ride in maybe ten on foot. The pavement here smells differently, damp grass and dead leaves mingling and growing stronger in his nostrils. He slows down to a trot, his senses calming. He can feel his heartbeat slow, the adrenaline leaking from his muscles. The noises are quieter here, more natural. Nocturnal animals scurrying around in search of a meal. Zoo animals breathing deeply in sleep. The occasional couple passing on the outskirts of the park.

This is a side of New York no one really ever considers. Even as a self-professed New Yorker for life, Killian sometimes forgets how peaceful New York is at night, especially Central Park when it’s closed to the public eye.

It’s nice.

Breathing deeply through his nose, Killian lets out a contented sigh. A crack of wood to his left catches his attention, the noise far louder than he’s used to. It startles him. It startles him further when he can tell that, whatever creature broke the stick, is smaller than him.

And panicking because it knows it’s been heard.

Before he can realize what’s truly happening, Killian’s running. His breath comes hard and fast. His muscles stretch and contract more than he’s ever really realized possible. His legs feel stronger. There’s an ache in his shoulders he knows will be even worse come morning.

The animal’s a coyote, rare in the park, but not unheard of. It’s running, far and fast.

Killian’s faster.

He catches up to the creature in less than a half a mile, a good effort on both sides.

Unsure of killing it, Killian lets the animal in himself take over.

This primal side of him sated, Killian carefully ambles back to the apartment. He’s not quite sure what the hour is, but somehow knows it’s late enough to be considered early. He’s been out for far longer than he should have been. It’d be wise for him to watch where he strays. The last place he’d want to end this transformative night is the city pound, especially when he doesn’t know what might happen come sunrise.

(He hope he isn’t...whatever he is by sunrise. That’s put a damper in some plans.)

The front door is just as he left it, slightly unhinged, just as he feels. Killian crawls through the opening, his back bristling as the wood scratches his spine.

(Idly, he hopes he doesn’t have weirdly-placed splinters on his back tomorrow.)

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, hardly shining through the grates of the fire escape outside the living room when he settles on the couch. He’s got nothing left to do but wait out this demonstration. Might as well catch up on some sleep while he does.

Killian nods off, only to come to when a noise pricks at his ears.

Someone’s coming up the building stairs. The gait is somewhat familiar, heavy.

They stop on his floor. Killian’s hackles rise.

The person stops short of the apartment door. There’s a brief scuffling, as if the person is looking around. In his throat, Killian feels a slight hum rising.

And then the door creaks open.

“Who’s there?” Liam’s threatening voice startles him and brings a growl from the back of his throat. Killian can feel the noise reverberate off the walls of the apartment. He hops off the couch and stalks toward the front door, hiding in the shadows of the couch.

When his brother comes into view, it’s a little unnerving. The door fully pushed in, much more wonky than it was when Killian came back earlier in the evening. Liam’s off duty, yes, but he’s still got his badge and his gun, leading him into the apartment. His eyes search the opening area quickly, methodically, until they land on Killian. Liam’s eyes go wide in shock, his arms falling slightly. He’s scared and Killian isn’t quite sure why.

And then Killian realizes: he’s the reason Liam is so frightened.

Coming out of the shadows, Killian cautiously approaches his brother, looking him straight in the eyes. When he’s within reach, he knocks his head against Liam’s knees, hoping that, somehow, his brother will get the message.

“Hoooooly shit,” Liam breathes. His eyes, if possible, go even wider. In an instant, his arms fall to his side and the gun goes back in its holster. His brother runs his hands through his hair, the exhaustion already on his face further emphasized with messy hair. He cocks his head for a moment, something like recognition washing over his expression, before asking, “Killian, is that you?”

Killian nods. There’s a weird sensation occurring on his head, high above his brows. He’s felt this sensation earlier tonight, but not enough for him to question it. New muscles are stretching behind him, and Liam’s voice becomes a wee bit fainter. His brother holds up his hands. “Don’t be afraid.” Killian tilts his head up to match gazes. Liam points at his head. “Your ears are back.”

Killian grumps. This weird body he’s inhabiting is so unusual. He already tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and now, it seems, his thoughts bubble up in his ears or his hackles. Killian stalks around the apartment, back toward the cushions and destroyed coffee table. Liam follows, as evidenced by his footfalls. Killian leaps onto the couch and sits, staring at his brother as he observes the damage inflicted.

“Christ alive, you’re a fucking wolf,” he mumbles. “What the fuck happened here?”

When he opens his mouth to explain, Killian is unfortunately reminded that his vocal chords aren’t as advanced as he’s accustomed to. His words come out as whimpers and grunts. With a groan, Killian rolls his eyes.

Liam chuckles. “Right,” he says, “I suppose you can’t really tell me anything that happened.” Looking around the living room, he must come to the conclusion that nothing more can be said - or barked - on the matter.

“Just tell me this. It’s a simple yes or no question. Are you okay?” Killian nods, his tail wagging behind him.

Nodding, Liam scrubs at his forehead and mumbles, “Go to bed, Killian. Or go to your bedroom. You don’t have to sleep, but I do.” Sighing, Liam stands, his joints crunching in protest. “Just stay in your room until morning and then we’ll discuss options.” He glances toward Killian once more. “Hopefully it won’t be as one-sided as this conversation.”

Killian watches as Liam heads to his bedroom. He hops off the couch and trots up to his brother’s side, his haunches coming up to Liam’s hips. Hoping his brother perceives it as the sign of affection it’s meant to be, Killian knocks his head against Liam’s knees again.

Liam chuckles, reaching his hand down to pat Killian’s head. “I know, brother,” he says.

“Don’t stress about things you don’t understand and can’t fix at the moment. Try and rest.” With a brush of Killian’s ears and a final pat to the head, Liam smiles tiredly and heads off to his room.

Following suit, Killian lopes into his own bedroom, bed still made from this morning and his sleep clothes still folded on the dresser. Unsure of what state he might be in come morning, all Killian can do is jump up on the bed, circle a spot in the center and plop down, his head resting on his paws. All he can do is close his eyes and hope that he can find some sleep and some answers tomorrow.

0000

A cold breeze wakes Killian. It runs over his shoulders, his bare back, and over his ass. He shivers so violently that his eyes shoot open and he inhales deeply and suddenly.

He’s caddywompus on the mattress, one foot hanging off one edge, a forearm and both hands hanging off the other. But they’re human hands, not paws anymore. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Killian takes a quick inventory. He’s naked, his clothes from last night mostly likely in tatters on the living room floor next to the destroyed furniture. He’s cold, yes, but goosebumps cover his skin, not his fur. All of his parts are in place and, save for a few scratches and bruises on his calves and arms, he’s unharmed.

Cautiously standing, his muscles scream from overexertion. Killian rifles through his drawers for some of his less-loved clothes just in case a repeat of last night occurs. Once clothed, he stretches further, reaching a high as he can and moaning.

Last night was interesting, to say the least. He remembers everything that happened, thankfully, and the migraine that preceded yesterday’s events has since disappeared.

That’s promising.

Shuffling out of his room, still a little disoriented, Killian makes his way into the kitchen. Liam stands at the counter, pouring out his own mug of coffee.

“Morning,” Killian grumbles, squinting at the light from the windows and the gravel in his own voice.

Liam glances over his shoulder with a chuckle. “Oh good,” he says. “I was wondering whether I’d have to go out and get some kibble for you, but it looks like you can find some breakfast on your own now.”

“Yeah, opposable thumbs are quite the invention.” He opens the cabinet and pulls out a coffee cup. He fills it to the brim before replacing the pot and taking a healthy swallow.

Turning to Liam, mug wafting steam up his nose, Killian asks, “How did you know it was me and not some stray dog?”

“Eyes,” Liam says solidly, pointing to his own. “I raised you, little brother. I’d know the family trait if I were blind.” Walking to the living room, Liam gestures for Killian to follow. He does, naturally, only to see the destruction from last night cleaned up. Liam sits on the couch as if nothing were unusual. “What happened, Killian?” he asks.

“I…” Clicking his tongue, Killian sits down on the other side of the couch. “I’m not quite sure. I think,” but that can’t be right, could it, “I think I ran to Central Park.”

Liam chokes, spitting his coffee messily back into his mug. “Excuse me?”

Killian shrugs. “It would explain the unhinged door.” The more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that it’s the only logical explanation. “Yeah. The noises on the street, the lights.” He looks up. “It was a lot to take in.”

“What happened in the park?” Liam inquires.

“Nothing.” Eyebrows furrowed as he mentally reviews what he did, Killian tilts his head.

“It was quite lovely, actually. It was quiet and dark. I got to hunt. No one bothered me.”

“I should think not,” Liam says. “Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t paying them much attention.” He’s pretty sure no one saw him, though the more he ponders on the topic, the more concerned he grows. Matching his gaze with his brother’s, Killian professes, “We can’t stay here, Liam.”

“I agree.” Killian leans back against the couch arm, confused.

Liam shrugs, pointing toward the door. “What? You were a goddamn wolf mere hours ago! We live in one of the most populated cities in the entire world.”

Setting his cup down on the floor, Liam rests his elbows on his knees, fingers templed over his mouth. “Look, I know human you has a heart of gold, but how am I supposed to know that animal you won’t attack someone in the building or on the street?”

“I didn’t this time, did I?” Killian responds petulantly.

“Beginners’ luck, I guarantee it.”

“Technically, this would be my second time going through this transformation.”

“Killian, you don’t remember the first time this happened and you wrecked this place the second.” He has to concede: Liam does have a fair point. “Come now, let's get some food and then we can start looking for a new town.”

As his brother stands, Killian looks into his mug. The liquid is muddy, just like his mind. There’s so much running through it - transforming, ruining furniture, searching for a new home. He feels slightly hungover. Still, Killian hangs his head, bringing his cup down to his lap.

“I’m sorry, brother,” he apologizes morosely. His voice is soft, but he knows from years of experience that Liam’s listening.

“For breaking so much of this shitty furniture?” Liam asks with a chuckle. There’s a clink signaling he’s put his mug in the sink. “We’re due for some adult digs.”

“No, not that,” Killian says, standing himself. “You know how much I hated this table.” He makes his way back to the kitchen, pouring himself another cup unlike his brother.

“This is home. This is where we became a family again. This is our safe haven and I’ve ruined it.”

Liam’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “No you haven’t,” he replies, shaking his head. “We are home when we are together. Don’t ever forget that. The weather, the city, the blasted kitchen table might change, but our love for one another never will.”

His hand falls on Killian’s shoulder. He squeezes comfortingly, drawing his attention. “I love you, Killian. I don’t say it often, but I do. We’ll find a new place to settle and we will figure out this Twilight thing of yours.” Lightly punching him on the arm, Liam laughs.

“This is the weirdest way to reveal which side of that fight you’re on.”

Killian scoffs, pushing his brother away. “Team Jacob for the win,” he says half heartedly. That makes Liam guffaw, bending at the waist to help get air in his lungs.

“Shut up. You’re only laughing because you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I won’t pretend to.” He’s still laughing as he heads back to his room. “Get yourself together. We’ve got a long day of finding a house ahead of us.

[dontfeedthebabytigers]

You’ve Got So Much Heart: Chapter 14

ao3 link (x)

He grew up on the rolling hills that bury Gotham; he used to find the city beautiful when he looked at its twinkling lights from his bedroom window. When he had been no older than five the truth about the city he once thought shone brighter than the Zeppelin’s spotlights that combed over the Narrows. He saw the crime that didn’t just run threw Gotham’s veins, but kept the city together. People died everyday under those spotlights in a city filled with more criminals than cops, and that went double for the clean cops. Then he discovered Batman and Robin and their mission to remind everyone what justice meant. He thought it would be the end of crime in Gotham, but no, crime went on. All signs pointed to the vigilantes being Bruce and Damian Wayne--- he knew that before he turned eight and still kicked himself for not discovering what seemed so obvious earlier. Hell, he lived next door to them all his life and it still took him almost two years to figure it out. He thought himself a genius back then, but he was still stupid enough to confront Bruce Wayne face to face--- not to mention trying again after every time Bruce turned him around. Eventually, he convinced Bruce that just because one Robin was on the way that he shouldn’t stop having a partner.

Look how that turned out.

Seven years later, Tim took on the mantel of Red Hood from a deranged clown. He lived in the abandoned Drake Manor because Bruce’s guilt complex would never allow him to step foot on the grounds. Time basked in his solitude, conducted himself in the most efficient manner possible. In the morning, he made himself coffee on his single burner and ate a granola bar for energy. The rest of his daylight hours were spent compiling any evidence he could against the crimes committed by Gotham’s elite. The corporations that led to the deaths of thousands through malpractice and neglect were his largest targets. It was hard work that would have been a hell of a lot easier a few years ago, but slow progress was still progress. Once the sun set and he couldn’t risk any light from his computers shining out the windows, the Red Hood took to the streets. That, being the Red Hood, was the easy part. He let out a few drops of the anger that threatened to spill over the edge, unleash the pain on people he felt deserved to carry it.

If only pain could work on rich people like Jared Brand the same way it worked on the murderers and abusers he took out. But no, only martyrdom would fall on Brand if he were found dead in the morning. His company would continue on without fear. Tim needed to expose their crimes and then show others what would happen if they followed in Brand’s footsteps. The plan had faults. Greed would always be the wild card, but he couldn’t do nothing. He had to stop the people Batman didn’t touch. He had to do it in the way Bruce feared.

That night Tim found himself sat upon a tenth story window sill of an abandoned apartment building watching a Brand Pharmaceuticals representative overstock a local pharmacy with every opioid imaginable. He witnessed three of these shipments before and saved a handful of victims from overdosing from being overprescribed. Tim still lacked the evidence to show that Brand knew that these shipments were happening, but that had to wait until morning. Right now, Tim just needed a window to jump in and stop the shipment without hurting the driver or the store’s stock boy. They were just low wage workers without the medical knowledge to see that this many opioid pills were far too many. They didn’t know that they were committing a crime, so he had no reason to hurt them. Tim actually preferred the idea of getting in and out without them knowing he arrived at all.

However, they appeared to have started a lengthy conversation which meant Time had to get comfortable and wait them out. He even almost fell asleep until a light tap on the window leading to what was supposed to be an abandoned apartment made him jump right out of his hiding place. Only years of training kept Tim from shouting, but years of instinct had him pointing a gun at an unimpressed Robin.

Fuck, how the kid even found him without the Bat or Nightwing on his tail was beyond him. Tim could have sworn that they kept the kid on lockdown.

Tim put the gun away and sighed as he pushed up the window. “The hell are you doing alone out here?”

Dick signed an answer, but Tim wasn’t as good at ASL as other members of Dick’s family.

“I got every other word of that. Do you have any paper you could write on?”

The kid sighed, took a breath, and spoke. “No, it’s okay.”

It was the first time Tim had heard Dick speak in four years, He barely recognized the soft voice and hesitant words that came from the kids mouth. Time could still remember the mornings Dick’s happy chatter filled the halls and woke him from what little sleep he had gotten the night before. There were often days when Dick would destroy any chance of focusing on homework or case files with the need to conversate. Tim didn’t even need to speak; Dick would have carried the entire conversation for hours. Having him around during the days Tim couldn’t bring himself to say a word had been nice.

This wasn’t the same Dick Grayson, and he wasn’t the same Tim Drake.

“What are you doing here?”

Without warning, Dick joined him on the window sill--- Tim was just happy the kid wasn’t built like Damian had been as a child or there wouldn’t have been room. Not that Damian had been overly muscular, but most children were larger than Dick even at eleven.

Tim waited for Dick to answer him, but it became clear that wasn’t going to happen. “I take it things aren’t going well in paradise.” Still no response. “I’m not surprised. The Bat’s never been the easiest to get along with.”

“It’s his brand.” A smile slipped over Dick’s face like water.

“There he is.” Time nudged the kid and the smile came back for a second. “Seriously, what are you doing out here alone?”

Dick shrugged. It looked like he wasn’t going to say anything, and Tim was about to give in when, “I wanted to see you.”

Dumbfounded, Tim could only stutter out his response. “What? Me?”

“Why not?” His body curled in on himself like an accordion. “You’re my brother. I miss you.”

Crap. “None of them have any idea you left I’m guessing.”

All he did was shrug again. Damian was going to kill him. He stood up and pulled out his grapple. “Come one, we need to get you home before Nightwing skins me.”

Dick didn’t move.

“Did you hear me?”

Dick nodded.

“Okay, then let’s go.” Nothing. Tim sat down again. “Why are you really here, Dick? It has to be important right?”

A tear slipped from Dick’s eye and Tim froze. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait. What? Why are you sorry?”

“Babs told me.” Dick had trouble speaking through his tears. “Joker hurt you. I couldn’t save you.” He sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

What the fuck. “Dick, you don’t need to apologize.”

“But I didn’t---”

“Neither did I.” They both stopped breathing for a moment. Gotham was unnaturally quite tonight. “I couldn’t save you from the Court. We’re even.”

“Even?” Dick sounded unsure.

“Sure,” Tim deflated, his head leaned against the window pane. “Why not?”

Except that they weren’t even. Dick had the excuse of being kidnapped, but Tim couldn’t make those excuses. He had a function brain for most of that time until, well, the human body can’t take over point-one amps of electricity before dying, but .08 over the course of a few months would stop just short of death while leaving room for all sorts of side-effects. Tim’s lucky that he can function at all. But being Jokerized for a few days wasn’t like what being turned into a Talon must feel like. Dick’s makeup job wasn’t as extensive as the last time Tim saw him. Dick’s hands and neck were pale with black and navy veins. When Tim had been made to look like the Joker it had just been face paint. Tim couldn’t imagine the pain of having to see the creature that mad man turned him into every day.

“Tim?” Dick whispered, somehow curling tighter in on himself. “Do you think you can ever come home?”

He had never even thought about going back to Wayne Manor. Picturing himself, as he was at that moment, looking up at the Wayne Family Portrait seemed impossible. “I don’t think that I’m wanted.” He paused, something like nostalgia passed over him. “Maybe one day.”

That answer seemed to work for Dick, or he didn’t feel like talking anymore. Either way, Tim didn’t want to stay on the subject and let the silence fall. A headache began to come on and he didn’t have his migraine medication on him tonight, so he felt it best to try and keep himself from getting overly emotional.

“What are you doing?” Dick pointed at the scene below.

That was something Tim could talk about. “Stopping a bad drug shipment and ruining a billionaire’s day amongst other things.”

He nodded. “Can I help?”

Tim almost burst out laughing. Dick still remained the same crazy kid he knew all those years ago. “No, absolutely not. The last thing I need is news that the Red Hood and Robin were seen together.”

The kid even had the audacity to pout.

“Cry all you want, but I’m not changing my mind. You may as well go home before anyone notices you left.”

A nod and Dick stood up. He followed order and took out his grapple gun, but a stubborn hesitance made a once graceful movement stiff.

“Hey,” Tim said before Dick shot off into the night. “You don’t always have to do what Bruce, or any of them say. Rebellion looks good on you.”

The smile didn’t fade that time and Dick flew off into Gotham’s oppressive night. An engine revved and broke through the silence, and Tim turned to see delivery truck drive away.

“Finally.” Tim said as he shot off his own grapple gun and swung down to the street below.

[builder051]

hey my love.I was fall in love to your characters, your stories and your blog.If you have the time, I would like one story with sick and really nauseous Todd. You know, this couple Todd and Mel is so sweet! One day, I would drawing for them i promise. Please?Good job!Have a good day!

Hey, anon!  Thanks so much.  I’m happy to deliver, and a drawing would be so awesome!

I’ve fucked up the timeline again.  Since the last Mel and Todd story was set on Christmas Eve and the next event in their current arc is going to be their anniversary on January 8th, you’ll have to consider this one as happening sometime before the holidays.

Have I told you that migraine fics are my favorite thing ever?  XD

_____

Todd’s never been happier with his office’s arrangement of bathrooms.  The fact that they’re single-user and non-gendered is great.  But today it’s the easily accessible light switch that takes the cake.  Sitting on the floor without the oppressive hum and painful glare of fluorescent lights is heavenly.  Or as close to heaven as Todd can get when his head is about to split open.

He leans forward press his face into his knees.  It’s quieter in here than out in the shared office space where chatting coworkers and clacking keyboards are making a racket.  Still not quiet enough, though.  The faucet drips gently against the sink basin, and it may as well be a nail slowly pounding into Todd’s skull.

And whoever used this bathroom last must’ve sprayed perfume.  The faint scent of orange blossom hangs in the air.  It’s not unpleasant, but the mere fact of its presence turns his stomach.

Todd’s used to headaches.  He stares at a computer screen eight hours a day as he taps out software code.  But whatever’s going on now is different from the regular eyestrain and mild pain in the back of his neck.  It’s not something he can shake off.

The idea of shaking anything is practically vomit-inducing.  The coffee and ibuprofen Todd had swallowed an hour ago sit heavily on his stomach.  He wonders for a second if all of this is the result of low blood sugar.  Maybe he needs to eat.  But that can’t be it.  He had breakfast this morning.  And it feels like his eggs and toast are still there, ready to spill all over the floor at the slightest provocation.

“Yo, man.”  Someone knocks on the bathroom door.

Todd groans and wraps his arms around his head.

“You still up for taco Tuesday?”  It’s Mark.  Reminding him of their unofficial reservation at the café across the street.

Shit.  Nausea flares at the mention, and Todd swallows hard.  “No, thanks,” he mutters.

Mark apparently doesn’t hear, and he pounds on the door again.  “You ok in there?”

He has to do something to stop the racket.  Todd uses the wall to haul himself to his feet.  The pressure in his head swells with the change in altitude, and he firmly clamps his lips together as he blindly reaches for the doorknob.

After sitting in the dark, the office seems unbearably bright.  Todd squints and does his best to breathe normally.

“Whoa.  Dude.”  Mark takes a step back.  “You’re sick.”

“Nuh,” Todd grunts.  He pushes a few strands of hair off his forehead, then drags his wrist across to wipe the gathering clammy sweat.  “I’m ok.  ‘S just my head…”

“No, you’re not.  You look like a vampire,” Mark says.  “You need to go home.”

“Hm.”  Todd tightens his grip on the door frame.  If standing is this hard, he doesn’t want to think about driving.  He’s pretty sure Mel has the car anyway.  It’s a little worrisome that he can’t remember.

Mark’s still talking.  “Seriously, I’ll talk to Amadeo for you if you just wanna scram.”

“I gotta call Mel…” Todd murmurs.  He looks down at the toes of his shoes, willing his vision to stop blurring.

“Or I could drive you.”

“Thanks, but…”  Todd’s not sure how much longer he can hold down the nausea.  If he’s going to puke in somebody’s car it may as well be his own car.  He reaches shakily for his back pocket.  The glare from his phone’s screen is offensive.  “I got it,” he says, trying to shake Mark so he can struggle in peace.

“You sure you’re not gonna pass out or something?”

Todd’s not sure, but he nods dizzily anyway.  He finds Mel’s contact and presses his phone to his ear.

“Oh my god, is this a spontaneous lunch date?”  Todd’s not prepared for the degree of excitement in Mel’s voice.

“Sorry, babe,” he says.  “I just…”

“No, no, sorry,” Mel apologizes, changing tacts as she senses Todd’s tension.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, I… Well.  Can you come by and pick me up?  I really don’t feel good.”  Todd clenches his free hand into a fist and rests it between his eyes.

“Yeah.  Yeah, of course.”  He can hear her shuffling around, probably already shutting down her work station.  “What’s wrong?”

“My head hurts.  So bad.  I just…everything’s…kind of sick.”

“Ok.  Hang on.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The call ends before Todd whispers, “Ok.”

True to her word, Mel arrives quickly.  She helps Todd out to the car and settles him in the front passenger seat.  She pulls a crumpled grocery bag out of her purse and shakes it open.  “I don’t know if it makes it better or worse,” she says, handing it over.  “But I figure we should play it safe.”

“Thanks,” Todd croaks.  Heat flashes over his skin.  Just the thought of the plastic bag in his lap ramps up his nausea a few notches.  Mel shuts the door with a bang that makes Todd’s teeth hurt.  He rests his temple against the window as she rounds to the driver’s side.

The lunch rush has the traffic stop-and-go, and every change in speed sends Todd’s stomach further into his throat.  It’s so bright he can barely keep his eyes open, but closing them only adds to the feeling of being lost in space.

Todd’s drowning in bitter saliva.  He wonders if he’ll be better off spitting it out, but the urge to gag rises in his chest, and there’s no choice but to swallow heavily.

“It’s ok,” Mel says, not taking her eyes off the road.  “If you need to get sick, it’s ok.”

“Hm.”  It’s still something Todd wants to avoid at all costs.  Being trapped in a small space that’s too warm and moving too much is bad enough.  Adding taste and smell to the sensory overload…he shudders at the thought.

But he can’t stop the horrible discomfort from mounting.  His jaw feels like it’s sitting in his lap.  Prickling trembles ignite in his fingertips and run up Todd’s arms and through his core until every muscle is vibrating.  Even sitting against the car’s solid seat seems unstable.

“Almost there.”  Mel turns onto their street and guns it up the hill.  Todd swallows thickly again.  It feels like he’s on the ricketiest of wooden roller coasters even though the car’s motion is smooth.  Sourness leaches up the back of his tongue, and this time Todd can’t bite back the retch.

Lightning splits the top of his head as he jolts forward.  Todd’s vision greys out, and he’s not sure if he’s hunched over the bag or not.

“Alright, alright.”  Mel sounds miles away.  The car bumps over the lip of the driveway and suddenly stops moving.  The lack of motion feels foreign, and it’s just as dizzying as driving had been.

A door opens with the sound of a breaking seal, then another.  Cool air hits Todd’s face, and Mel’s hands come down on his shoulder.  “Here, you’re ok,” she says.

Todd heaves hard.  Liquid hits plastic in his lap.  He grips the edges of the bag with white knuckles.  The images before his eyes shift to blurry neon, and disorientation makes him vomit again.

He inhales a fleck of something and breaks off coughing.  An axe smashes his head each time his throat contracts.  “Ok, breathe,” Mel whispers.

Todd fights for control.  It doesn’t help much, so he lets himself go lax instead.  His head rests against the seat, giving him some sense of time and place.

“That was rough.”  Mel finds a few pieces of hair that’ve escaped Todd’s ponytail and tucks them behind his ear.

“Ugh.  Yeah,” he breathes.  A dry heave bursts from him.

“You’re gonna be ok.”  Mel lays her fingers across the back of Todd’s neck.  “Do you wanna go inside?  Get some water?”

“Not really.”

“Ok…” Mel draws the word out.  “You just want to sit in the car?”

With the doors open, the breeze feels nice on his sweaty face.  “Yeah.  F’r a minute.”

“Well.”  Mel drops to her knees and trails her comforting touch down to Todd’s elbow.  “Ok.  For a minute.”

[angevon]

Souyo Nov Writing Challenge (prompt list)

Day 23: Christmas

Links

AO3

ffnet

DW

an overly white american christmas souyo

Edit: oh yeah it takes place in Days Without Nights universe

After a long, long day of retail hell, Yosuke came home to this.

Have a holly, jolly Christmas~~~

As soon as he heard it, he screamed. His scream was so loud it probably carried to the Ito family residence all the way down the road.

Soon Souji was rushing in from another room. "Yosuke?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

It's the best time of the year~~~

"Why," Yosuke growled, drawing his fingers down his face like claws. "I listened to this crap all day at work, so why, why, are you willingly playing it here!?"

Say Hello to friends you know~~~

"Because..." Souji said slowly, "it's Christmas?"

"I don't care, I don't want to hear it!"

Souji watched him for a moment without blinking. Then he nodded his head. "Okay," he said.

He headed into the kitchen and soon there was blessed silence. Yosuke sighed in relief. The migraine he had wouldn't go away soon, but this would help.

Souji returned with an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry," he said. "I just wanted to set a mood, since it's Christmas and all."

"No, I'm sorry," Yosuke said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't take it out on you."

"Rough day?" Souji moved around him to help him take off his heavy winter jacket.

"Yeah," Yosuke said, shrugging out of the jacket. "You don't need to know the details."

"You can tell me anyway. You know I'll listen."

Yosuke flashed him a brief smile. "Maybe later."

He tried to step forward, intending to head to the bedroom and get changed into something more casual, but found Souji hugging him around his waist.

"Souji?"

"What can I do," Souji said, "to get you in the holiday spirit?"

"Uhh... Do I really need to be in it? I mean," Yosuke rushed on to explain, "we're Japanese, we don't really do Christmas—"

"Daaaaad!" called Kichirou, and a moment later the boy joined them at the entryway. He was wearing a Santa hat that was a little too big for his head and some cheesy holiday clothes.

Seeing how Souji was hugging Yosuke, Kichirou quickly joined in by hugging his dad's legs.

"Welcome home, dad..."

"Thanks, Ki-kun," Yosuke said, "but uh... can you two let me go now?"

Kichirou stepped away only to tug on his hand. "Come on, Dad, look what me and Uncle Seta did today!"

Kichirou led him into the living room, which was suddenly decorated in all manner of Christmas. It hadn't been this way this morning. Pictures of cartoonish angels with trumpets were on the wall, bell-patterned streamers hung from the ceiling, a 2-foot tall fake tree stood next to the TV, which was covered in blinking lights, and the couch had a red and green throw over its back.

"Do you like it?" Kichirou asked.

Stunned in his surprise at the sight, it took Yosuke a moment to answer. "Uh, it's great," he said. "I can tell you two had a lot of fun."

"We baked cookies, too," Souji said, walking into the room with a bowl in his hand. Yosuke noticed then that Souji was wearing an ugly-as-sin green sweater with a cat on it with text that said, of course, 'Meowy Christmas.'

"Uh, yeah?" Yosuke ventured. Come to think of it, the house did have a nice homey baking scent in the air.

"Yeah!" said Kichirou. He reached for the bowl in Souji's hand. Souji 'nuh-uh'ed at him and held the bowl out of his reach, making him pout.

"Let your dad have some first," Souji said. He offered the bowl to Yosuke.

Yosuke peered inside and found red, green, and white frosted ball cookies. "What, are these a different type of strawboball or something?"

"Mintoballs?" Souji said. "I don't know, I didn't really think of a name. They have peppermint in them. You see how they're striped, like candy canes?"

"Oh, that's different," Yosuke said, taking out a green one. The striping wasn't done that well, making it look more marbled than anything. It was probably Souji's first time making them.

"It might be too minty," Souji warned.

Yosuke shrugged and popped it into his mouth. The taste was strong and nostalgic somehow, though he couldn't quite place why.

"So, uh," Yosuke said after finishing the cookie, "it's Christmas but uh... I mean, I didn't get you guys anything, like gifts." He glanced at the little tree, noting that there were a few boxes under it.

"That's fine," Souji said. "I didn't warn you that we were going to celebrate or anything. It's our first Christmas together, though, so I thought we should at least get into the spirit and decorate."

"Geez," Yosuke said, feeling more than a little embarrassed. "You're so cheesy sometimes."

"Speaking of cheese," Souji said. He left for the kitchen and returned with a tray of cheese bricks and sliced meat. He put it on the low table. "I got this cheap at the grocery store. I think they were trying to get rid of them. Sit down and let's snack out!"

Yosuke took a seat and speared a cheddar block with a toothpick.

Kichirou took a seat on the floor and peered over the selection. "We need crackers!"

"Oh, right," said Souji. "Be right back!"

Nibbling on the cheese, Yosuke mentally shook his head. He hadn't expected this at all when he'd come home. Honestly, after that stressful day at work, he'd planned to take some headache meds and conk out. But now his raging headache was just a faint pulse at the back of his head. It might even go away by the end of the night.

Maybe all he'd needed was some love and festivity.

Kichirou had been munching on a cheese block too. He made a face and tossed his half-eaten block back on the table. "That one's gross," he said.

With a curious frown, Yosuke speared it and put it in his mouth. "Oh," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "It's Swiss cheese."

"Blech!" Kichirou said with extravagant overreaction.

Yosuke tossed a mintoball at him. "Here, get the flavor out of your mouth with this."

"No way, Dad!" Kichirou said. "Minty cheese? That's even worse."

"Here," Souji said, returning from the kitchen and placing a tray of crackers next to the meat and cheese. "This'll do the trick." Kichirou took three crackers and put them all in his mouth at once.

Souji joined Yosuke on the couch and turned on the TV with the remote.

"Oh, oh!" said Kichirou through a mouth full of crackers. He swallowed then continued, "Are we gonna watch it now?"

Yosuke glanced at his son curiously, then looked at Souji, who was nodding.

Souji smiled at Yosuke. "Kicchan told me you can quote this entire movie from memory."

"Oh my god, I know exactly what movie this is going to be..." Yosuke began to grin. "It's your first time here with us but you sure know our family holiday tradition."

"I haven't seen this," Souji said. He leaned back on the couch and pressed the play button on the remote. "So this is going to be fun."

Yosuke couldn't wipe the grin from his face as the opening to the Featherman rendition of 'A Christmas Carol' began to play. Kichirou grabbed a blanket and joined the men on the couch, snuggling himself comfortably between them.

"You know," Yosuke said, "when this first came out, Ki-kun watched it every day for a week straight. Sometimes twice in a day."

"Umm," said Souji hesitantly. "Nice?"

Yosuke chuckled, knowing Souji didn't care for Featherman. It was a surprise he was willing to watch this with them now, but he figured Kichirou had probably begged him for it, and no one could resist that.

Kichirou giggled, and then the movie finally started. Both Yosuke and Kichirou simultaneously said the opening line: "Black Condor was not a humbug. But his heart told a different story..." The narrator followed just a fraction of a second later.

The movie was just as ridiculous as Yosuke remembered, but sharing it with Souji made it different. Despite his professed disinterest in Featherman, Souji got into it, asking Kichirou what was going on. Kichirou explained it as well as he could, but without the full lore, Souji was probably missing half the story. It didn't matter. They had fun anyway.

And then they were at the cheesy finale.

"A Christmas without love... is not a Christmas at all," Yosuke and Kichirou quoted.

"The end," Yosuke said after. "What'd you think, partner?"

"That was pretty cute," Souji conceded.

"Yeah!" said Kichirou. He looked up at Souji. "Can we watch it again?"

Yosuke saw the mischievous glint in his son's eyes and almost laughed. Oh, he knew Souji didn't care for Featherman. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Maybe," Souji promised cheerfully. "But now... it's about time for bed, hmm?"

"Already?" Kichirou made a pouty face.

"Let him stay up a little more," Yosuke said. "It's Christmas, after all."

"Yay," Kichirou cheered. "Oh, can we have hot chocolate?"

"Good idea," said Yosuke.

"Is this another Hanamura family tradition?" Souji asked as they headed into the kitchen to make the drinks.

"Nah," Yosuke said. "But we can make it one, along with your mintoballs."

Souji smiled at him, and Yosuke had a feeling that was going to be a promise.

The hot chocolate was just what a cold night asked for. Kichirou put too many marshmallows in his, leaving him without much to drink, and Souji put a mintoball in his to give it a minty flavor. Yosuke didn't get fancy and just drank his straight.

They were enjoying their drinks in the living room when Kichirou said, "Dad, I think... you should look out the window."

"Huh?" Yosuke looked towards the window. Since it was night, there wasn't much to see except the outdoor lights from the home across the street.

"No," Kichirou said. "Go over to the window, and look out." He grinned. "You too, Uncle Seta!"

Yosuke glanced at Souji, who was hiding a smile behind his hand. He knew what this was about. Yosuke didn't, though, so he just shrugged and followed Souji to the window.

He looked outside, straining his eyes. Maybe Ki-kun and Souji had made a snowman or something out there? He couldn't see anything of the sort.

Souji tapped his shoulder. Yosuke looked and found that Souji was was pointing a finger straight up. Yosuke followed the direction it was pointing. Right over the window, someone had put mistletoe.

Yosuke began to say "Really?" but then Souji was kissing him, sealing the words forever. The faint taste of mint was left on Yosuke's lips.

"H-hey," Yosuke protested when Souji drew back, his face warmer than the hot chocolate had been.

Souji's eyes were half-lidded, his smile serene. His hands held Yosuke's lightly between them. "Merry Christmas," he said.

"Yeah..." Yosuke said. "Merry Christmas."

They looked into each others eyes for a long moment, hardly blinking.

"Was this Ki-kun's idea?" Yosuke murmured. "The mistletoe?"

"You know it," Souji murmured back.

Yosuke ignored his son's giggling as he moved in to kiss his partner again.

[1023080197-blog]

Old Hook Takes On Storybrooke

Who: Old!Hook, Rumpelstiltskin, Killian Jones, Emma Swan. [Mentions of Henry Mills, Regina Mills/Evil Queen, Robin Hood, Gideon] When/Episode Base: 6x11. Where: Storybrooke. Triggers: Almost smut, sex jokes, drinking. What: What would happen if Old!Hook went through the portal after Emma, Regina, and Robin? Word count: 3,814 Author Note: Hi, everyone! Being an aspiring writer, I’ve been wanting to start writing CS/OUAT fan fiction for awhile now. I wrote this one-shot after joking around with @badasslass about Colin wanting a sitcom based around Old!Hook and funny events that would take place during it. I tried to bundle all the plot ideas into one story. I thought it came out not bad for my first fic and I decided I wanted to share it. So, please be kind! I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for taking the time to read! <3

** ~ * ~ * ~ **

A thunderous boom erupted in the midst of the dark forest, bursting through the trunk of a tree, sending the bark flying in several directions. The old, well-rounded man stumbled his way out as he coughed. He squinted as he stared around drunkenly, a nearly empty bottle of rum in his hand as he ran his palm over his unkempt salt and peppered scruff.

"The blazes am I?" He slurred, stumbling as he walked out and took in his surroundings.

The old pirate remembered waking up on the Jolly Roger and taking a stroll with his rum in hand. Somewhere along the walk, he came across what he assumed was a tavern and entered to find it deserted, with a very strange tree trunk in the center. Now he was here. Wherever here was.

** ~ * ~ * ~ **

Old Hook strolled through the strange town, taking sight of everything. He felt a migraine forming as if he was already beginning to become hungover; everything was so new and fascinating to the old pirate. Except for a few street lamps, the little town was quiet and dark. As he passed a shop with its lights on, he stopped and peered in through the window. Hook's vibrant blues took in all of the neat nicknacks, taking a liking to a few things visible from his stance. He might not have been as young and adventurous as he was back in the day, but he was still a pirate and prone to taking things of his liking. Hook's hand found the doorknob, jiggling and turning it to the best of his ability. Though, the damn door wouldn't budge.

He hummed to himself as an eyebrow darted up and his lips pursed. He swiftly turned on his heel as he tucked his thumb into his pants, looking from left to right to left again. Hook turned around once more, let out a long charge screech and ran straight into the door, left shoulder first. He stumbled back, losing his balance as he bared his teeth in pain and tottered down to the sidewalk. Hook panted as he gazed up in anger at the gold lettering, furrowing his silver brows.

He sat up and tried to pull himself to his feet, wiggling his out-of-shape body as he grunted and gritted his teeth. His eyes squinted in determination to make it, but he fell back again. The out of shape pirate rolled to his side and onto his huge belly, slipping a foot upright, resting his brace against the shop as he ungracefully brought himself to his feet, groaning louder and more dramatic than Frankenstein. Usually, the old salt would've tried to break down the door once more but realized getting himself up from the ground was a larger challenge than it should've been, so he decided to try the next best thing.

Hook sucked in a breath and threw his hook through the glass, shattering it. His hand carefully reached through the sharp shards remaining in the frame, searching for the lock. Once his fingers found it, he let out a cheer of victory, a grin bestowing upon his face. The door swung open and Hook waltzed in, humming as his fingers touched anything and everything, examining anything that he deemed possibly worth riches or fair trade.

"What are you doing, pirate?" He heard an unfriendly sneer from behind, turning to face a strange man.

Hook took him in, furrowing his eyebrows. He seemed familiar, but he just couldn't put his half-drunken aged finger on it. Old Hook drew his sword, as he stepped closer. Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows, glaring at him in disbelief.

"And why are you dressed like that?" He sneered once more in distaste.

"Why are you dressed like that?" The pirate shot back, waving his sword in a circular motion at his appearance.

Gold's suit and tie surely were strange to him, and then it hit.

"Crocodile! I hadn't recognized you without the scaly-skin," he paused. "thing. Or without that ridiculous high voice of yours." He glanced back to the glass counter, picking up a gold watch before his eyes flickered back over to Rumpelstiltskin. He hopped as he imitated the Dark One's laugh, his belly jolting up with the rest of him. "Now, we duel." He pushed the sword out once more.

Gold just stared, genuinely uninterested. He waved a hand over the broken glass, the shards flying up from the ground and back into place as if it had never happened.

"You're drunk, pirate. I think it's time to get you home to Miss Swan. She can deal with you. I have more important things to attend to." He spoke, waving his hand once more and poofing Old Hook out of his shop and out of his hair.

** ~ * ~ * ~ **

"One hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, for the lady." Killian half-smiled as he carried a hot cup of Emma's drink into the living room, little plate on the bottom of it as some splashed over the sides of it. Another hot chocolate was wrapped in his hook, although it was plain. "And one for me." He beamed at the blonde.

He placed them on the coffee table, before taking a seat next to Emma. The blonde smiled as she placed her book face down on her thigh. She reached her arm up, moving it around his shoulders, playing with his soft raven waves. Henry was at Regina's for the night, giving Killian and Emma some time to be alone and enjoy each other.

Emma brought her other hand to his chin, running her thumb and pointer finger along his scruff, "You spoil me." She kissed his cheek before she leaned forward and picked up the hot chocolate.

"It's only what my Swan deserves," He quipped, moving his hand along her back, smoothing over it. “You were bloody brilliant tonight, Emma. You fought amazingly, give a pirate a run for his coin." He grinned. "I don’t believe there’s a thing you can’t do.”

Emma looked up at him beneath her lashes as she sat back up, her ponytail swaying. She turned a slight pink as she sipped at the edge of her cup. “Thanks, Killian.”

"Careful, love. It's hot."

"Just the way I like my hot chocolate," Emma took another sip. "And my pirate." She teased, her hand reaching across his lap and holding onto the curve of his hook, raising an eyebrow at him.

Killian grinned, cocking an eyebrow back at her before he thumbed her chin. "You've got some whipped cream on your - " He trailed off as she leaned in, his eyes falling on her mouth before closing as her nose brushed against his.

Emma's lips latched onto his lower, and he sighed contently, his body relaxing as he sucked off the little bit of whipped cream she had. He loved it when she tasted like hot chocolate and cinnamon, sure enough, the strong spice of rum on his tongue only improved the flavor.

"Mmm," Emma giggled, as she brought her hand around to the back of his head, her leg swiftly kicking over his lap.

Killian mimicked the moan, the sound rumbling inside his chest. Emma laughed, as she pressed her body into his, the kiss deepening on both ends. Killian's hand pressed into the small of her back, his brace holding her to him as well. A warmth ignited in his chest, and suddenly he felt very hot, his blood rushing south.

It was almost as if Emma could sense it, her hands moving along his vest and making quick work of his buttons. Her hands moved to his buttoned-up shirt, doing quick work of that too, occasionally stumbling on some buttons. Her hands pushed his vest off and impatiently tugged his shirt out of his pants. Her hands ran up his stomach and over his pecks, to his shoulders and neck, her fingers happily brushing over his wiry black hair.

"You know, things would be a lot quicker if you could just," Killian breathed, from the fear of their clothing ending up in shreds. "flick your wrist and make everything disappear."

"What's your rush?" Emma teased as she caught her breath, biting down on her bottom lip as she pressed her forehead into his, the grin unstoppable.

"Our hot chocolate getting cold." Killian taunted, making her laugh against him.

"We have a microwave," Emma reminded, her voice deepening with desire before she kissed him again, her tongue teasing his lips.

Killian groaned, shifting under the couch, as he gripped her thigh with his hand and hook, pushing himself to his feet. Emma let out a girlish squeal; if she had a choice between making that ridiculous very bar-wench-like sound and being caught dead, she'd pick the second one. She held onto her pirate and placed rapid kisses along his cheeks and scruff and forehead and nose as he held her up. He giggled himself, as he went to carry her towards the staircase. In all, Emma was just exceedingly happy, since - well ever - and too wrapped up in her pirate to care how she sounded.

Killian thanked the Gods as they reached the final step, Emma's lips now moving over the right side of his neck and collarbone, nibbling at his jawline, her touch weakening him at the knees. Once he reached their bedroom door, he kicked it open, as he tugged the black band that confined her hair out of it, dropping Emma to the bed and crawling over her. The blonde let out a breathless laugh as she tugged him by his collar, the Britishman happily shaking the shirt off his upper body before he enveloped her lips into a passionate kiss, his hips rolling down. Emma lifted her body up, her fingers wrapping themselves in his chest hair, her others deep in the raven hair on the back of his head.

The sound of floorboards creaking filled their ears, beyond the kissing and heavy breathing. Killian stopped, keeping his forehead pressed against Emma's.

"I thought you said Henry was at Regina's." He breathed, his chest rising and falling a bit heavier than usual.

Emma gently pushed up on his upper chest, the two rising, bringing the blonde up on his lap. Killian stared at her, furrowing his eyebrows. She met his darkened blues, frowning in a way Killian would usually find to be the cutest thing. The expression was cute enough for him to want to kiss the expression off her face and push her back down against their bed and make her forget if he wasn't so confused, or concerned.

"I thought he was." She spoke as she ran a hand through his disheveled hair, looking at him in the same confused manner.

"I'll check, though, I'm sure it's nothing," Killian kissed her mouth thoroughly and quickly before he slipped from under her.

Emma bit her lip, watching the muscles ripple in his back, taking in the large and oddly shaped scars that covered his body from his merciless pirating days, as she ran a hand through her hair. She really did hope it was nothing. Killian stopped, turning around to look at her. He had a saucy expression to his face, quirking an eyebrow.

"And lass, when I return..." He trailed off, raising his eyebrows once.

The tone and expression of his voice caused Emma’s heart to stutter in her chest, a light and pretty shade of pink blooming across her cheeks. He had winked before he resumed leaving the room.

Emma sighed as the doe-eyed expression faded and the school-girl mood went along with it as she got up, following his footsteps anyway. She knew the reason why he insisted on being the one to investigate; she knew he was still scared and in a frantic from her doomed fate, let alone watching her nearly lose her life tonight after being separated. All in all, they were a team; Killian said so himself during their first adventure and Emma and Hook both knew very well that she was a tough lass who didn't need saving. If anything Killian seemed to be the one always needing his ass saved. Killian just happened to glance up as he walked down the stairs.

"What are you doing?" He whisper-shouted.

Emma moved down the stairs quickly, taking hold of his hook. "Coming with you."

He parted his lips to reply before he furrowed his eyebrows and closed his mouth, shrugging, clearly thinking better of it. Emma was the savior, was she not? Destined to die as it was, anyway.

A shadow perched in the middle of the couch in the living room, Emma now a couple of steps ahead of Killian. Their arms outstretched towards one another, her fingers stayed wrapped loosely around his hook.

"Oh, no." Emma groaned, slapping her forehead, as she peered around to place a face to the figure.

There was Old Hook, sitting on the couch, drinking the hot chocolate.

"Hook?" Emma spoke, letting go of Killian's hook as she stared into the face of her pirate; her much older pirate, that is.

"What?" Killian deadpanned as he watched from behind the silver-haired man, clearly confused as to why she spoke his moniker in that tone.

Hook's eyes shifted up to Emma's, a grin spreading across his face as he dramatically flipped the long silver strands out of his eyes. "Ah! Princess! It seems as though fate has brought us together again."

He took a sway of a step closer, his belly pressing into hers. "Hello, love." He flirted, moving his finger up to brush along her left cheek, trying and failing to push her hair off her shoulder.

"What are you - " Emma shook her head, closing her eyes as she took a step back and held her hands up. "How are you - "

"Bloody hell!" Killian shouted from behind her in disgust, causing her to jump as she stepped back into him. "What kind of rubbish is this? What happened to me?" He demanded, his voice weakening with devastated and dramatic agony on the last question.

Emma looked back at Killian's displeased expression, before looking back at Old Hook, baring the bottom set of her teeth, just now noticing a thick whipped cream mustache spread across his upper lip, sprinkles of cinnamon in it. A weirdly unnerving part of her wanted to kiss it off, the way Killian did to her ten minutes ago.

Killian's hand pressed into Emma's hip, nudging her to the side as the two Hook's stared each other down.

"I know what you're thinking," Old Hook started to speak. "I'm better looking," He spoke with an unfazed shrug.

Killian raised his eyebrow, “A-are you serious?" He had asked with distaste.

Killian slowly leaned to the side slightly and unsuspiciously, before he whipped Old Hook's sword from his side.

"Ahh!" Old Hook yelled from surprise, holding his hands up in dramatic defense, his eyebrows raised, eyeballs popping out. Killian pressed the sharp edge into his rum belly, almost surprised the sword didn't bend.

"Killian," Emma rested her hand on his bicep. "This is Hook - this is you - from the wish-realm,” She stuttered, not sure how she was going to go about this explanation. “Regina - the Evil Queen sent me to. He must've come through the portal after me and Regina," She shook her head, nearly forgetting about Robin. "And Robin. He's totally harmless, I promise you." Killian continued to bore at Hook in shock, not relenting. "Put the sword away, Killian. He's no threat. He's you. He tried to protect me from Pinocchio."

"Ah, the wooden-man-child was there," Killian responded as if he were correcting her on the name.

He then swallowed, glancing back at Emma, who held her arm out to grab him in what seemed to be a protective way for his less charming self. He stared at her, a look of pity for himself, similar to a three-year-olds on his face, as he gently brought the sword down, locking his jaw. Hook grinned victoriously, bowing to Emma thankfully.

"It would appear I was the one in need of a dashing rescue. My lady," He bowed once more, stumbling over trying to balance his weight on one foot.

Emma couldn't help but laugh at him in amusement. Old Hook really wasn't that bad when he wasn't interrupting something extremely vital. In fact, Emma kind of liked him.

"A word, Swan," Killian grumbled, gently taking her arm and pulling her by the door.

"Is this," Killian trailed off quietly. "Is this why you're pushing me to lay off the rum?"

Emma laughed softly, squeezing his bicep. "Not so much for me, but for you.” Killian blinked slowly at her. “I mean, you're so devastated by this. It's kind of funny."

"Looking." Killian finished.

Emma stared over at Old Hook, studying him more than she did in the wish realm. He didn't look that bad; his eyes were still beautiful and vibrant and young. All he needed was to sober up, take a shower, and catch up on the grooming and he wouldn't be that bad at all. Oddly, she kind of liked the belly. He was her pirate, after all, she loved him, and she'd take him in any shape or form.

"Well, I think he's pretty dashing. He is you, underneath it all."

"That's the disheartening thing about it, Swan. He's me." Killian all but whined, his voice full of irritation and embarrassment.

Emma almost expected him to stomp his feet in a tantrum.

"I mean, all he needs is a bit of grooming, and he's a silver fox. I dunno, what do you think, Killian? Maybe we can get him cleaned up then he can join us in the bedroom, and we'll send him back to the wish realm after. As long as you don't punch him." She teased, pulling her lips into her mouth to fight the smile, swaying her body as she looped her fingers into his front belt loops, pulling him against her.

Killian looked down at her stunned, his voice growing high as he whispered, "Have you gone mad? Bloody hell, no!"

Emma's eyes flickered over to Hook, watching him guzzle down the other cup of hot chocolate. "Oi, Princess. What kind of magical beverage contraption is this? It's quite good." He stuttered around, holding it up to her.

She smiled, patting Killian's chest before coming over to him. She really could get used to having two Captain Hook's around, maybe three or ten, a version of him from every realm. She would really enjoy that. What a lucky woman she'd be.

"It's called hot chocolate,” Emma answered. “Now hold still.” She then waved her hand, her light magic coming over Hook.

His silver hair was magically pulled back into a neat ponytail, in what reminded Killian of his Lieutenant days, his pirate uniform now clean and his salt and peppered facial hair appearing well groomed. He really did clean up as nice as she expected him to. Emma looked back at Killian, shrugging in a told you so manner, but Killian still seemed a bit unnerved by him.

Hook furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the blonde before he quirked up an eyebrow and smirked at her. "Milady," He quipped, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Emma and Hook looked over at the sound of bottles clanking together, as Killian carried over a large and heavy looking box. He looked carefully at Hook, raising his eyebrows before placing it into his arms.

"What's that?" Emma furrowed her eyebrows at Killian.

"Me laying off the rum." He responded, resting his hand against her back.

Emma laughed. "Okay, just one thing."

The blonde stepped closer to Hook's side, grabbing his chin and pulling him over to her, hoping he wouldn’t drop the box of rum bottles. She placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before caressing his chin. As confident as Old Hook had seemed, he looked shocked that she actually kissed him, as she tenderly ran her hand over his scruff, smiling at him fondly. He looked as though it had been years since anyone has shown him so much kindness, let alone touched him. Killian locked his jaw as he watched in jealousy of himself before he looked down at the floor. As Emma took her hand back from his face, she flicked her wrist, and Old Hook disappeared into the air.

"There. He's back in his realm. With all of your rum." She spoke, walking towards Killian with a playful smile. “I think you’re going to regret doing that in the morning. Good thing I need to make a trip to the market, anyway.”

Killian sighed, rubbing his temples stressfully. "Every bloody time," He murmured. "If it's not that damn dwarf..." He trailed off as Emma took his hand and his hook, wrapping them around her waist, before she wrapped her arms around his neck and rocked on her heels, swaying them.

"I'm a little disappointed you didn't want him to stay. I kinda wanted to keep him." She laughed, running her thumb along the back of Killian's neck, before she rested her forehead against his, biting her bottom lip.

Killian pulled back, stared at her in a disgusted manner. “Why on bloody earth would you want to do such a thing?" He was clearly triggered enough by what he saw to rid himself of his rum.

"Because he's you, and I love you. Every part and last version of you," Emma spoke, leaning her face in closer and pulling his lower lip between hers for a soft, slow kiss.

Emma smiled at the sight of the beam upon his face, a scarlet blush forming. He looked at her as if she were the only other person in the world. “As I love you, Swan.” As his eyes scanned over her face, he shook his head in disbelief, as if to say, I don’t even deserve to love you, lass.

The blonde smiled sweetly at him, before turning the smile into a smirk. “Now, where were we? Pirate." She had teased before she flicked her wrist to travel them back to their bedroom; the two evaporating into the air as they began to kiss.