#was waiting for release to post but my life's been unraveling and it slipped my mind

[persepaien]

Cover art for OFYR's, now Kiss From a Ghost, debut album Disconnected.

If you miss the sound of late 90's and 00's melancholy rock with that gritty ethereal feel like early Evanescence, Lacuna Coil, Deftones, Smashing Pumpkins, give them a listen.

Typography and cover design by Laís Tomaz.

[sad-baddie001]

Rough- Nicolas Brown

Not going to lie this was completely self indulgent and I made this in like January but my life is crumbling so why not post it and give my tumblr some love. Anyways please enjoy.

WARNING: Smut

Yn POV

   I was sitting on floor doing my yoga stretches as soft music played in the background. I heard keys in the front before it opened and an exhausted Warren and Nicolas walk in. Nicolas was hunched over stumbling and barely able to walk. Warren had his arm around his torso holding up his partner.

   "Really Nicolas, again?" We layed him down into the couch.

   "I'm sorry" he signed. I sighed and turned to Warren. "Let me look at you." He swiftly tried to walk out of the apartment. I grabbed him by the half ponytail and he turned around.

   "I'm fine, all good."

   "Sit down and let me bandage your side" I said as I pointed to the blood and gash on his arm. He sighed in defeat and closed the door before having a seat next to Nic on the couch.

   "Okay fine." I went to the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit and water for both men. I walked back into the living room and kneeled down next to the couch to tend to Nic first. I handed Warren gauze to apply pressure to his would as I helped nic with a cup of water and examined his wounds.

   "So who's going to tell me what happened?" I glanced at the cuts on Nic's arms, face and deep purple bruises on his torso. When no one spoke I stood and motioned for Warren to stand. He stood as I grabbed what I needed to bandage him up.

   "Nicolas, you're pretty quiet." I glanced over at my 'drowsy' boyfriend of 2 years waiting for his to sign to me. He gave a small grunt before sitting his cup down and rolling onto his back. I looked up at Warren as he tried desperately to avoid looking at me.

   "Okay, that's fine. No one wants to tell me what happened. I'll just bandage you guys up like the on call nurse I am." I rolled my eyes as I began to bandage up Warren. When I finished I checked to make sure it was secure.

   "Here, take these twice a day for a week and you should be fine. Don't miss any or you'll get an infection." I handed Warren the antibiotics and kneeled on the floor next to try couch to give Nic my attention.

   "Okay, thanks Yn." I gave a nod as I began to clean and bandage Nic's cuts. "See you tomorrow Nic, you owe me a new shirt." Nic gave a grunt before signing "whatever fucker." Warren chuckled before leaving and closing the door.

   "Why do you keep doing this? I hate when you do this." Neither of us bothered to make eye contact. He gave me a grunt in response to my question.

   "You always take way too many. You're doing damage to your body. You were doing so good. Is this about us?"

   He turned his head as he usually did when he wanted to avoid conversation when I cornered him. It's been about a month of Nic not abusing his meds and he was doing so well, earlier this week he and I had a conversation. Nic is such a sweet man and it definitely shows when it's sexy fun time. Looking at the tall and broad man you wouldn't expect him to be such a softie, but he is. During love making he always made sure I was okay and took his sweet time with me.

   Earlier this week we sat down to talk and I told him I wanted to try something different in the bedroom. His curiosity was peaked until I told him I wanted him to destroy my insides. I didn't phrase it like that of course but that's the best way to summarize it. His face dropped as if he wasn't interested in talking about it anymore. I tried to convince him that it was okay to be rough with me and it could help with his pint up frustration. He convinced me to drop it and we would talk about it later, but later never came. Ever since that conversation he's been a more irritable than usual. I'm not sure what exactly made him so upset about the conversation but it needed to be resolved before he goes too far.

I huffed as I moved onto his torso to bandage his midsection. He sat up and I placed my hand on his knee as I sat the bandages down to sign.

   "Theses nothing wrong with being rough with me. I can take it." He let out a grunt.

   "I don't want to have this conversation right now."

   "Then when? You said we would talk about it and every time I try you avoid it."

   "Yn were not going to have this damn conversation right now." His hands moved in an aggressive way showing he was serious.

   "Fine" I said aloud. I slid his button up down his toned and muscular arms before sitting the stained garment down next to me.  I picked the bandages up again as Nic leaned forward for me to bandage him. I began to wipe him down and bandage up his torso. After I finished I looked up at him and began to sign.

   "Look, I don't want to upset you while you're like this but I just want to try something new. I know you won't actually hurt me I just want you to meet me halfway Nicolas, that's it. Take your antibiotics." I picked up the bloody shirt and walked into our shared bedroom. I put the shirt in the bin for me to wash and repair later. I layed on the bed and rolled up under the cover. My eyes began to get heavy causing me to slip off into slumber.

—HOURS LATER—

I felt the bed dip in next to me causing me to stir in my half awake state. I felt eyes on me and a hand on my arm. I open my eyes to see Nic staring at me.

"Take a shower with me." I had no chance to respond as he unwrapped me from the blanket and picked me up. He carried me to the bathroom and stood me up as he turned on the shower. The bathroom began to fill with steam as I watched Nic undo his belt and pants. He grabbed the bottom of my shirt pulling it above my head. He dropped his pants as they pooled at his ankles. He stepped out before I stood up. He grabbed onto the waistband of my bottoms and pulled them off of me. My leggings and underwear pooled at my ankles. I stepped out and into the shower; Nic stepped in behind me. The hot water hit my chest and shoulders causing me to awaken. I turned my back to the water facing Nicolas.

   "How's the water?" He signed.

   "Amazing" I said as I ran my hands over my arms.

   "Tell me your boundaries." I looked at him in confusion. "If you really want me to be rough with you then I need to know your boundaries."

"I'm yours for the taking. Do whatever you want to me." I placed my hands on his chest as I saw a glint of something new in his eyes. He turned us around before signing again. "On your knees now, and keep those beautiful eyes on me."

—SPICE HEAD—

I dropped to my knees ready to obey his every command. My head was tilted upward looking at him as he stepped closer. His large hand landed on the top of my head before sliding to the back. I looked down as his hand began to stroke himself. His hand gripped my hair as he tugged making me meet his gaze again. I placed my hands on his thighs as I began to move then upward. I felt his tip meet my lips causing me to open my mouth. I stuck out my tongue as he tapped his dick on my tongue a few times before hitting the back of my throat. I kept my eyes on him as I began to use both hands to stroke while I suck.

Deep groans left his mouth as He began to fuck my face. He held a firm grip on my hair as he moved his hips. I relaxed my throat allowing him to fuck my face however he wanted. Removing my hands I pulled his hips forward and took his full length into my mouth. His head went back as I watched him begin to unravel. Seeing the water cascading over his chest and shoulders as he let out moans of pleasure was all the motivation I needed. I slowed down teasing him causing him to look back down at me but something was different. There was this dark look in his eyes that I'd never seen before.

He readjusted his grip on my head before stepping closer causing me to lean back against the wall. He stood over me as he ruthlessly fucked my mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes as I took his length the best I could. Animalistic groans and moans left his parted lips I began to play with his balls. I felt his dick twitch in my mouth as I pushed it as far down my throat as possible. A loud groan left his lips as he came down my throat. I swallowed as he continued to move his hips. He pulled his wet dick out of my mouth as he released his grip on my hair. His hand slid down to my mouth as he wiped dripping saliva and cum from my bottom lip.

"You look like such a slut with my cum falling from your lips. Stand."

I did as told rising to my feet only to be turned to face the shower wall. Nic began to kiss on my shoulder and neck leaving bites and hickies in his wake. I moaned from the painful pleasures he granted me. He placed one hand around my neck as the other traveled to my clit. He began to rub in circular motions causing me to moan. His grip around my throat tightened as he pulled me back into him and kissed me. He slid his large fingers inside me mid-kiss causing me to release a loud moan. He took his opportunity and pulled my head back further. His large tongue entered my mouth as he kissed me roughly. He pulled my hips back while pushing my torso forward making me bend over and breaking the kiss. He removed his fingers making me miss his touch immediately.

His warm tongue came into contact with my clit as he began to eat me out from the back. I let out a loud moan as my legs buckled slightly. His thumbs spread my lips apart as he devoured my hot sex. His large tongue worked wonders as moans escaped from my mouth. Feeling myself coming closer to my release I began to try and grip the wall. My eyes began to flutter close as my eyes rolled back a little. Feeling my release so near I tried to find something to hold onto. I clawed at the wall in a deseparate attempt to stabilize myself but just before I was able to cum he removed his mouth. He gave my ass a rough slap causing it to sting in pleasure. He turned me back around to face him.

"I want to see the look in your face while you unravel in front of me. Show me you're my slut. My personal little prostitute."

   Nic POV 

   I gripped her thighs firmly before placing them over my shoulders. I placed my hands on her ass and lower back as I swiftly lifter her up. I pushed her hips forward as I nuzzled my face into her sweet wet center like a feral animal. I swirled my tongue on her clit as she kept eye contact with me. My eyes traveled back and fourth between her eyes and mouth as she moaned. Seeing her mouth move and not being able to hear her moan was such a tease. It's so tantalizing, sure I've got a pretty good idea of what she sounds like but I want to know for sure. I nuzzled my face deeper into her wetness as I continued to swirl suck and lick on her clit. Our eyes locked in a deep gaze as she began to grind her hips against my face.

   "Right there" I saw her lips move. I sped up as I felt her clit swell against my tongue. Her body began to jerk as she grabbed fistfuls of my hair. I pulled her as close as possible, gripping her waist to keep her close as she came. I lapped up her sweet cream moaning from the beautiful sight unfolding above me. Her body shook as her eyes rolled back. Her beautiful hair framed her face as her beautiful breast bounced. I stopped cutting her orgasm short. I turned off the shower and carried her to our bedroom. I tossed her on the bed before walking over to my katana picking it up. I leaned it again the bed as I watched her pant trying to catch her breath. What a beautiful sight.

   YN POV

   "I told you to keep your eyes on me and you didn't so now I'm gonna have to punish you."

   He picked up his sword and unsheathed it. He held it to my throat causing my cheeks to go red. A chilling sensation ran through me as I felt myself getting wetter with every moment he held his blade to my neck. It was thrilling in the most arousing way possible. My clit began to throb causing me to squeeze my legs closed tightly leaning my head back and breaking eye contact. Shit.

Nic's rough calloused hand came into contact with my throat squeezing. My head snapped back to it's original position causing me to make eye contact once again. Leaning on my elbows I felt something cold and slightly ridged on my thighs pushing one leg away from the other. Nic stared daggers into my eyes. Never breaking eye contact, he spit. I felt the cool ridged object on my clit causing me to release a moan. He released a grunt before pointing to my eyes and down to my vagina. His hand returned to my throat as I looked down.

   His large hand gripped the blade as he slowly pushed the handle of his Katana into me. I moaned as I saw blood begin to trickle down the sharp blade. The muscles in his hand tightening as his veins in his hand began to protrude. He started movement angling upward to hit my g spot. My legs jerked, one quickly coming into contact with his elbow and the other being gripped firmly by the hand previously around my throat. He pushed my leg down against the bed roughly and adjusted his grip on the blade. Grunts left his mouth as he facial expression twinged in the slightest way.

Before I was even able to notice his movement his hand was gripping my throat harder than before. A mix of emotions rushed over me as my body shivered. He started his movement again hitting my g spot like a target. Lewd sounds filled the room as I dripped down the handle of his katana. He left bites on my shoulders along with rough kisses. I kept my eyes on the thrilling object entering me not daring to look anywhere else. I bit down on his shoulder trying not to shake too much as my orgasm creeped up on me. Nic began to suck on my breast sending me over the edge. Every muscle in my body tensed as a hit rush flowed through me. I squirted on his weapon as his movement never stopped. I grinder my hips upward riding out my orgasm. He dropped the wet and bloody weapon to the fool.

Not missing a beat a mischievous grin painted his face. His hand left my neck as he began to stroke himself. He ran his bloody hand down my face before grabbing me by the jaw and squeezing to open my mouth. He opened his mouth allowing saliva to slowly drip from his tongue as his eased his way into me. I moaned from the pleasure as I impatiently awaited his dripping saliva. It dripped closer and closer to my open mouth as he thrusted into my roughly. The moment it touched my tongue nix pushed my hips down and thrusted upwards into me as he played with my clit.

"Ah—I..."

I trailed off not being able to finish my sentence as I clawed at his chest and shoulders. My eyes rolled back as he leaned down to bite and kiss on my ear. He quickened his pace on my clit as he returned to towering over me. The pleasure along with the powerful aura surrounding him sent me into a wonderful bliss as my orgasm washed over me again. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as animalistic sounds escaped both of our mouths. His hot seed filled my insides as every muscle in our bodies tensed. Nic continued to thrust riding out our orgasms.

"I love seeing you drip like this."

Bonus

He pulled out and went to the bathroom coming back with two rags. He used one for my face and the other to wipe the rest of my body. I struggled to catch my breath and keep my eyes open as I sat up. Nic returned from the bathroom again and met my gaze. I signed to him "let me see your hand." He walked over to me and I grabbed his hand looking at the large gash on his hand. It was larger than expected and beyond my skills. As I looked at the gash I took a moment to think back. He kept me still so I wouldn't hurt myself and didn't stop until I came. I smiled up at him softly and planted a kiss on his lips. "Let's get you to the doc." I wrapped his hand and we threw on clothes before heading out the door.

—time skip—

"You idiot, what the hell even happened?" The doc asked as he unwrapped the bandages and took a look at Nic's hand. Nic sat in silence as he usually does whenever the doc talks shit. The bandages I had put on him were gone showing the previously covered wounds. The doc looked over Nic's injuries before stopping and turning his head around slowly toward me. He glanced at me causing me to get a little nervous. I pulled up my turtle neck a little and readjusted my stance. It was like a light bulb went off above his head. He sighed and turned back to Nic looking at his injuries again.

"I don't even want to know." My gaze met Nic's as he gave me a small smirk. He's such a softie.

[featherxquill]

So a million years ago, it feels like, I tried to write a Berena fic for Yuletide but couldn’t finish it, found it impossible to write for something that was ongoing every week and might change in the middle of the writing. But I was just looking for something in my google docs and I found this, and it’s nothing but UST but actually I think it’s good, so I’m posting it here for your enjoyment, as is. Set while they’re locked in Serena’s office.

The blinds are closed, finally, clumsily, and Serena's mouth is hot. There are fingers in Bernie's hair and too-warm skin under cool silk, and nothing matters - not distance, not mistakes, nothing but here and now and yes. Bernie can hear herself humming, moaning, deep primal noises that she's never made before, never allowed herself to release. There's a thrill in being so blatant and unrestrained, in pushing Serena back against the desk and breathing into her, pressing against her, letting all those months of restraint loose in an explosion of heat. She might have come to Holby in the aftershock of an IED, but this is how she wants to burn.

They're tangled, animal, Serena pressed back against the desk and pulling Bernie against her, all arms and mouths and gasps. Serena's hand clutches at Bernie's back, Bernie's fingers slide up Serena's side. Now that her desire is loose it's like a wire, Bernie thinks, something wrapped up and stretched taut and suddenly snapped, unravelling wildly with a sharp lashing end, flying too fast for anyone to catch.

But Serena does. With Bernie's fingers half under her blouse and a pained little moan of her own, she pulls back.

"Stop," she gasps, breath hot against Bernie's mouth, chest heaving. "We have to stop."

"Why," Bernie whispers, fingers against Serena's skin now, burrowed under her camisole. Her response isn't even a question, though, and as she says it she feels the heat curl up, pull back into her, the wire still sizzling at the end but contained now, turning her electric.

"Because," Serena says, and now her voice sounds more prim than ever, but heady, like she sounds when she's had too much wine but is trying to pretend she hasn't. "I'm not going to fuck you on the desk in our office while my nephew's got his ear pressed to the door."

It's the first time Bernie's ever heard Serena say that word, and the way she says it - all crisp at the end but with a husky weight on the 'u' - sends something rocketing right down through Bernie's body to leave her thighs shaking. It's just like Serena to name it, to put all their unarticulated desire into a single word.

But she isn't finished. Fingers gripping Bernie's waist, she leans in again until her breath is hot against Bernie's ear. "Before you left, you wanted to know what I wanted. Well, I've had plenty of time to think about it, and the first thing I want, the thing I couldn't stop thinking about the whole time you were gone, is having you…" Her teeth nip Bernie's ear: "...in my bed."

"Tonight," Bernie whispers, almost a growl, half demand and half promise. She's molten inside, jelly, has never wanted anything more in her life.

"Tonight," Serena repeats, turning back into a professional scheduler now, pulling back to prompt Bernie to extricate her fingers. She slips away around the desk, straightens her clothes and fixes a popped button, smooths her mussed hair, does everything but check her calendar. "I assume you'll come to my place for dinner, then? I can't imagine you've much in the kitchen."

"Bottle of wine," Bernie murmurs. "Bag of crisps, probably. A phone to order takeaway with. Enough to keep us going." She can taste Serena in her mouth, can still feel her scalp tingling from the fingers in her hair, has no desire to compose herself. She takes some pleasure in it, actually, licks her bottom lip and stands there staring and rumpled, fingers twitching. Serena's gaze, distracted earlier, is now pointedly averted, darting around the room at anything else, and, far from being bothered by it, it gives Bernie a little thrill of power. You can't even look at me feels like a badge of honour now.

"Yes, well," Serena starts, then falters when her eyes meet Bernie's again. "It's, er, it's lasagne tonight. Jason…" Bernie doesn't look away, and Serena's cheeks are a fresh shade of pink. Bernie can feel herself smiling. "Shall we say seven?" Serena manages.

"Seven," Bernie echoes, still smiling. In a nod to rearranging herself, she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I would say 'until then', but you know we still have to wait for someone to come and unlock the door."

"Oh god," Serena whispers, and Bernie laughs, humming with energy, feeling it grow and crackle into her. She's always been most confident under fire.

[writtenbyrain]

Day Two of @post-reveal-revelry: Miscommunication:

Adrien was sweating, his hands slick as he nervously twirled his ring around his finger.

Normally, going to school felt like a relief, but today it felt more like a death procession as he internally debated whether or not to turn around and say hello when he took his seat in class. Luckily, he was still several blocks away from campus.

And several blocks from having to make a decision.

“Oh, no.”

That was all Marinette had softly gasped the day prior, once Ladybug and Chat Noir had agreed to release their transformations and reveal their identities to one another.

Oh, no.

The two words, all but immediately lost to the breeze as she uttered them, had haunted him for almost 10 hours, 32 minutes, and 47 seconds.

But hey, who was counting?

As soon as Adrien had returned to his room and detansformed for a final time that night, he dove haplessly onto his bed and wasted no time burying his face in the soft mattress, pressing the nearest pillow over his head.

Not that muffling the already-muted sounds of the night could erase the memory of her gasp from his mind.

Plagg, meanwhile, settled unhelpfully onto the pillow next to him—Adrien knew by the signature stench of Camembert that somehow wafted over him, even with his head covered—and told him that he was being, well, utterly ridiculous.

“Come on, kid,” he moaned when Adrien refused to unearth himself from his makeshift bed-burial. “So Ladybug knows you in real life. So she was surprised when you revealed herself. So what? Can you honestly tell me you weren’t a little surprised to find out Ladybug had been Pigtails the whole time?”

With a sigh, Adrien relented, removing the pillow and turning halfheartedly toward his kwami (though half of his face remained glued to the bed).

“Well, a little, I guess,” he admitted. “But she was more than surprised, Plagg. I mean, come on, did you see her face?”

As if the memory of her words wasn’t punishment enough, her face at that moment flashed through his mind, as well: Bluebell eyes wide, cheeks flushed in shock, one hand flying to her mouth in dismay as she took a step back.

Oh, no.

Well, that was decidedly not the reaction he was hoping for, no matter who was under the mask.

“She must be so disappointed, Plagg,” Adrien said softly. He closed his eyes. “So disappointed that it’s… me.”

________

“Tikki, this is a disaster!”

Marinette had popped open her purse and was whispering to her kwami as she paused at the crosswalk on her way to school. Most days she found herself desperate for Tikki’s optimistic reassurance, but today?

Well, today she probably needed a miracle, and then some.

Oh, no.

Why, oh why had she said that? It was hard enough knowing how she had hurt Chat Noir in the past, but knowing now that it was Adrien that looked so dejected on that rooftop? There was no way she could face him at school today. No way.

“Marinette, you need to calm down,” Tikki squeaked just as the crosswalk turned green. “It was just a miscommunication, that’s all! You were surprised, but it’s not too late to just tell Adrien—Chat Noir—how you really feel.”

As per usual, Tikki was right. But while Marinette could find it in her to scale buildings, throw herself into the chaotic fray of an akuma battle, and even dodge numerous of said villains while traversing Paris’s sewers, speaking to Adrien had always been… something else entirely.

Especially now, seeing as “oh, no” was decidedly not what she wanted to first say to her partner, no matter who was under the mask.

“Just a miscommunication,” Marinette sighed, her stride slowing. “You’re right, I was just embarrassed, but I… I don’t know how to tell him that.”

By this point, Marinette had reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to the entrance of Collège Françoise Dupont.

Steeling herself for what was likely to be her most awkward arrival to class yet (and that bar was already set pretty high), she took one final breath before ascending the stairs and marching toward her classroom.

Not that her resolve lasted long.

Just as she reached the doorway, her hand hovered over the doorknob, her hesitation nearly giving rise to full-blown panic.

What if he hates me now?

Wait, what if he won’t want to work with Ladybug, anymore?

Oh God, how in the world am I going to manage this without Chat Noir if he up and leaves because of my slip-up yesterday?

And if I can’t defeat an akuma without him, then Paris—

“You can do this, Marinette!” Tikki peeked up and out of the purse with an encouraging smile, stopping Marinette’s runaway thoughts in their tracks. “Just a miscommunication, remember? All you have to do is take it one step at a time.”

One step. Right. Well, she was one step away now, wasn’t she?

Marinette nodded. “Thanks, Tikki.”

Finally, she closed her eyes, gripped the door handle tightly, and pushed into the classroom.

________

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat.

Oh God, his hands were going to start sweating again. He wasn’t ready for this.

He was standing in front of Nino’s seat—scavenging through his bag for class notes he meant to give to the other boy—just as Marinette pushed through the doorway. Her whole countenance froze as soon as she looked up and accidentally made eye contact with him.

Adrien swore he could hear his own heartbeat.

Thump, thump, thump.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

Suddenly, Marinette squeezed her eyes shut again, her mouth sloping downward and her brows furrowing as though she were trying to keep herself from crying.

Then, before Adrien could so much as blink, she had rushed forward and thrown herself around him. Her arms snaked up and over his shoulders as her face buried into the crook of his neck.

“I’m so sorry, Chaton,” she whispered. “And I am so happy it’s you. Please, please believe me.”

The moment finally unraveled, and relief crashed into his body with nearly the same force Marinette had.

Adrien found himself wrapping his arms around her torso, pulling her in just as he had waited so long to do.

He could breathe again.

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Ten: Justice

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: so many tears, mention of child neglect and abuse, child custody battle, court. This is essentially the chapter we’ve all been waiting for. I’m so nervous to post this so please let me know what you think and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated.

Word count: 5000>

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Ten - Next

Just like the past few days, you had been rudely awoken by a phone call from Diana Prince. This time, you were back in Maxwell’s king sized bed in D.C., with Alistair sandwiched between you and Max.

“Di?” You asked, rubbing your tired eyes.

“Barbara is here. Now. You have to come over. I’m trying to get her to renounce her wish but she’s fighting back. Come in your Amazonian gear and don’t forget your lasso. Hurry!” she exclaimed before hanging up.

You yawned and put the phone back on the hook. You could stay in bed with Alistair and Maxwell forever but, if Diana needed your help, you had to provide. You followed her instructions and headed out without saying anything to Max. You shouldn’t be too long anyways, you decided. Everything would be okay.

***

When Maxwell eventually woke up and you weren’t by his side, he was confused. In fact, to say he was devastated would have been an understatement. Today was his big court date-- the battle where he’d fight for Alistair’s custody. He had faith you’d be there, just like you promised. Only, there was one small thought haunting him in the very back of his mind.

What if you had become too powerful for this world? What if you already had to go back to Themyscira? No. It would be fine-- Max reassured himself. Maxwell got all suited up and Raquel came to the door.

“Thank you for agreeing to watch Alistair.” Maxwell sighed, adjusting his cufflinks.

“It’s really no problem, Mr. Lord.” Raquel smiled graciously, taking Alistair’s hand.

“Daddy?” Alistair asked, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Yeah buddy?”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I really hope you win today.” Alistair confessed before turning around and leaving with Raquel.

***

“You… Diana!?” You shouted, running up to Barbara and untying her from the bed. Barbara’s eyes locked onto you as you helped release her. “Hey listen… I don’t know what’s going on but I’m your friend. I don’t want to hurt you.” you promised, locking your gaze onto her ocean blue eyes. The colour alone was enough to remind you of the beautiful oceans back on Themyscira.

A tear slipped down Barbara’s cheek and you quickly wiped it away, smoothing out her blonde wavy hair. “I feel so foolish,” she choked out, shaking her head. “Just for once I wanted to be the greatest. And all to prove a point.”

“It’s okay,” you shushed her, cautiously wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into a hug. You wanted to be careful not to smother her. Barbara had done terrible things, no different to Max, but you knew that it wasn’t really them. That they were both possessed by the power of the wish. “Did you speak to Diana?” you asked eventually, truly wondering where your sister was. She’d called you and yet she wasn’t here.

“I came after her… for-- for the dreamstone,” Barbara confessed as her tears soaked your tunic. “She told me it had been destroyed but that’s… that’s impossible.”

You exhaled. “No Barbara, it’s true. Max and I… we--” you tried to explain but Barbara cut you off.

“Babajide said only true love can--”

“I know.” you sighed, looking down at your feet.

“Oh.” Was the only sound Barbara could bear to omit. “You love him?”

You smiled weakly and nodded your head. “I’ve never really been in love before, I don’t think. But I have this feeling in my heart and no words can describe it. I’ve read about it in mythology… like the story of Orpheus and Eurydice and when I’m with Max I just feel… complete. I feel whole.”

“I know the feeling because I feel it too.” Barbara sniffed, pulling off you and crossing her arms over her chest. You could immediately tell that she was feeling vulnerable.

“You do?”

“With Diana.” Barbara confirmed.

“...You-- you’re in love with Diana?” You asked with a small gasp.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.” Barbara sighed into admittance.

“Then you will know that love is the most powerful thing in the world. Barbara… if you renounce your wish then--”

“I know.” Barbara whimpered, rubbing her tearful eyes. 

“The wish might have given you all this power, but I promise you there is nothing more powerful than the love you have for Diana,” you reassured Barbara and took her hands. “And the love she has for you.”

“The-- what?” Barbara asked.

“I’m the goddess of family, Barbara, I have a pretty good judgement of knowing when somebody is in love. I see the way she looked at you in the tomb back in Athens. You could have something so beautiful together,” you smiled, giving Barbara’s hands a light squeeze. “Renounce your wish. For Diana.”

Barbara turned and looked out the window, her lips trembling before she looked back at you. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I renounce my wish.” she declared, and you felt a breeze-- and wind, almost, gush through your hair. The grip on her hand became electric and you pulled off her, noticing the way your body began to glow. Barbara’s eyes snapped open and her jaw slackened as she watched your feet leave the ground. You were floating, a glittering golden aura similar to the lasso of truth highlighting your entire body. It was blinding.

The walls of Diana’s apartment began to crumble around you and you eventually fell to the ground. Barbara gasped upon seeing you again. “You-- you’re outfit. You’re glowing…”

You looked down at yourself and your eyes widened in disbelief. Your typical Amazonian tunic had literally changed colours. What was once brown, was now gold, red and blue-- the traditional colours of a child of Zeus. “Like Diana,” Barbara mumbled. “It’s beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you admired the way your new armour looked. The Gods had blessed you with this transformation, and that must have meant you had done something right. You had gotten Barbara to renounce her wish, after all.

No, love was what had gotten Barbara to renounce her wish. 

But the walls around you were still crumbling down and the ground beneath you was splitting. “Oh my-- Barbara. I have to go. I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” you said in a panic.

“What? I’m sure Diana doesn’t mind you being here.” Barbara replied, scratching the back of her neck in bewilderment.

“No. The World of Man… I’m too powerful I-- I have to return to Themyscira,” you said in a fluster. You remembered that Diana told you-- with the combination of both of your lassos, you could create a portal that would ensure you returned back home safely. “I have to go now.”

“What about Max?” Barbara asked, standing up and staring at you.

Shit, Max.

The court case.

You were already so late.

“Barbara, I have to go. Keep Diana informed. I-- I have to go see Max and tell him… tell him…”

“Tell him you love him.” Barbara confirmed.

Could you really do that when you were leaving so soon? You opened the window and unravelled your lasso of truth before signalling one final goodbye to Barbara. In a panic you flew out the window and glided through the air, overhead the bustling city beneath you. You had to get to court, at least before the verdict. You couldn’t let him down.

***

“Can both parties please rise?” Judge Edward Wilson requested.

Maxwell felt sick to his stomach. You weren’t here. You were supposed to be here; fixing all of this. You had promised. And you were nowhere in sight. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fingers into a fist. He heard the scraping of the chairs as Julianna and Theodore stood. He followed their actions just a few moments after. It was fine. He could do this without you. Maxwell had come from nothing and he had gotten this far in life completely alone, he could do it again. Maxwell took a deep breath and flattened his suit down before shooting the judge one of his charming, albeit fake, television smiles. The judge grinned, excited to be working on a case with the Max Lord.

“Your honor, I am Theodore Thomas, esteemed family lawyer and I will be representing Miss Julianna Grey on this child custody case.” Ted introduced himself, holding himself high and mighty.

“I’m Julianna Grey, your honor. I’m the biological mother of Alistair Lorenzano and I am here today to request full custody of my son.”

The judge nodded in understanding before turning to Maxwell. “O-oh,” Max shuffled uncomfortably upon realising it was his turn to speak. He looked at the jury of twelve that sat before him. Twelve randomly selected members of the public who were about to learn his true identity. The identity he had kept so well hidden for the last twenty years. “I’m Maxwell Lor-Lorenzano and I’m the biological father of Alistair Lorenzano,” he looked back at Julianna and Theodore who were glaring in his direction. “And I am here today to tell you that I love my son so much.” Maxwell exclaimed.

Judge Edward Wilson adjusted the brimless reading glasses that sat on the curve of his nose. “Mr Lorenzano, you do agree to the case proceedings that will be occurring today, yes?”

“Yes. I do.” Maxwell affirmed, placing both his palms flat on the oak wood table.

“And you do not have an attorney?” Judge Wilson quizzed further.

Maxwell sighed. You should be here. “No I do not. But if possible, may I request a publicly funded attorney?” 

“Now now,” Judge Wilson reprimanded, pointing his finger. “I will be the judge of whether or not Mr Lorenzano’s lack of care is sufficient for the transferral of custody.” 

The jury murmured amongst themselves, questioning whether or not Max Lord didn’t have a jury because he was broke. They raised their eyebrows, judging the businessman who stood before them. “Unfortunately, with this being a civil case, you are not entitled to a publicly funded attorney.” The Judge hummed, rearranging his stack of papers.

“With all due respect, your honor, we gave Mr Lorenzano ample time to find a representative for this case. This right here is an example of Mr Lorenzano’s lack of care for the minor child in question. If he wanted to even stand a chance at gaining custody of Alistair, he would’ve gotten a lawyer.” Theodore scoffed incredulously whilst Julianna tried her hardest to suppress her smirk. Maxwell knotted his eyebrows together as furiosity consumed him.

Thankfully, Judge Wilson knew better to just dismiss his comment. He turned to Maxwell. “Mr Lorenzano, you said you were ‘busy doing other things’, indicating that those other things are the reason you did not find an attorney to represent your side of the case. May I ask what those things were? Perhaps a work commitment? Or a family commitment?”

Maxwell was still glaring at Theodore for his out of pocket comment. “I care about Alistair, so much.” Maxwell told the court, but his dark eyes were trained only on his ex wife and her current boyfriend. “I would argue that a week in advance is not enough time to hire a lawyer and familiarise themselves with the facts of this case. I was busy doing other things.”

“Facts?” Theodore laughed. “Your honor, Mr Lorenzano knows nothing about ‘facts’. This man is deceitful. He has built his whole career on lies. Don’t you think young Alistair deserves two good role models to look up to? For example, a stay at home mother such as Julianna who can give him her full attention and care, and a family lawyer such as myself, who fights for justice in society?” Maxwell felt nauseated as he was being forced to hear the absolute bullshit Theodore was spouting out. He was painting himself as some kind of hero to a courtroom who knew no different. But that’s what Theodore Thomas did the best. And that was why he was the most successful lawyer in Washington D.C.

“Uh,” Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut. “Not exactly. It’s complicated, your honor. I was in Athens with a friend.” He hated the way the revelation left his lips. But it was the truth. And if he had learned one thing from Diana, it was that the truth is beautiful. But was truth going to win the case?

Judge Wilson blinked momentarily as silence filled the courtroom. A smile flexed upon Theodore’s lips. “You were in Athens with a friend?” Judge Wilson repeated, gritting his teeth.

“Yes, your honor.” Maxwell sighed in admittance.

“Mr Lorenzano,” Judge Wilson addressed Max before glancing towards the jury who were taking notes. “I hope you realise this does not sound good in your favour.”

Maxwell cursed in his mind. Of course it didn’t. He’d gone with you to Athens to help you find and destroy the dreamstone. But he couldn’t say that in court. Hell, he couldn’t say that to anyone. You trusted him with your secret and he wasn’t going to expose you like that. Then again, you had broken your promise. You hadn’t shown up in court. You lied to him. And Maxwell was hurting a lot. He felt betrayed. Nevertheless, he still loved you so much. No doubt the jury would even believe the fact a magical goddess came into Max’s life and encouraged him to accompany her to Athens to destroy a wish-granting stone possessed by the God of Lies. That would just be ridiculous.

Maxwell didn’t reply. “On that note,” Judge Wilson grimaced before turning back to face Julianna and Theodore. “I ask that the claimant address all their points as to why they believe Mr Lorenzano is an unfit father to Alistair Lorenzano.”

Julianna clapped her hands excitedly. Maxwell figured she must have spent her entire life preparing herself for this moment. Max knew that he’d likely have to sit through possibly hours of Julianna and her sleazeball of a boyfriend demonizing him and pushing him down. Nothing new. But when it came to illustrating the point whether or not Maxwell was an unfit father, he didn’t want to hear it. To Max, Alistair was an angel. He deserved the best and Maxwell had always wanted to be the best for his son. None of this would’ve happened if Max hadn’t been led down such a dark path in the first place. Yes, Maxwell often doubted his capability as a parent, but at least he was trying to change. Julianna didn’t even care about Alistair. She was a neglectful mother, always dumping Alistair upon Max without warning so she could spend time with Ted or go shopping with her friends. Maxwell loved his son more than anything else in the whole world.

“Mr Lorenzano, as I’m sure you all know, is what I’d once describe to be a ‘successful’ businessman. Now I personally think he’s just a businessman,” Theodore smirked and Maxwell rolled his eyes. “He’s a television personality who goes by Max Lord. He’s a liar. A con man. Not only has he lied about his identity to the whole world, but he’s tricked the weak minded into investing into his ponzi-scheme.”

“Hey!” A juror interrupted. “I invested in Black Gold Cooperative!”

“Well-I mean, obviously you’re not weak minded.” Theodore quickly backtracked.

“He did just call you weak minded.” Maxwell muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. The juror frowned and sat back down.

An hour passed and both Julianna and Theodore were still taking turns to drag Max down. He felt like giving up. You were his only hope, and you weren’t even there. “Mr Lorenzano,” Judge Wilson began. “Do you have any objections to the claimants allegations?”

“Yes, I object to it all!” Max exclaimed.

“I should rephrase,” Judge Wilson sighed. “Are they telling the truth about you?”

They were. They hadn’t lied. They’d compiled a list of all of Maxwell’s mistakes, errors, and flaws. They had him backed up into a corner he couldn’t get out of. On occasions, were they making a mountain out of a molehill? Of course. But were they honest? Yes. Maxwell had fucked up.

“They are.” Maxwell nodded, his knees becoming weak with anxiety.

“Okay,” The Judge replied, his tone dripping with disappointment and perhaps even sadness. “It’s now your turn to speak, Mr Lorenzano. Although I have no doubt the jury has already come to a decision.” 

Maxwell turned to face the jury who were looking at him with identical stone cold expressions. Like he was some kind of villainous monster. A lying criminal. And it was all thanks to Theodore’s stupid little speech. 

“Uhm,” Maxwell stood up and brushed down his suit again before walking over to the jury. “Theodore is right. I have done bad things and I have lied to many people. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying to get better. For my son. For Alistair. He gives my life hope and reason and purpose. I believe that he makes me a better person. I’m not sure if any of you have kids of your own but you know how hard the pressure can be. The truth is, I never considered myself a family man. I never wanted children but when Alistair came into my life… for the first time I felt like the universe was on my side,” Maxwell took the polaroid out of his pocket and slid it over for the jury to look at. “This was the day he was born. I had never felt so much love.” Maxwell smiled faintly at the memory. 

“Quit it with your sob story.” Theodore moaned, rolling his eyes.

“Let Mr Lorenzano speak.” Judge Wilson snapped back. Max nodded his head with gratitude.

“I never used to believe in love before Alistair was born. And then recently, I got lost. Things didn’t make sense and my mind became clouded with just about all the wrong things. And then this girl came into my life and she reminded me of how it feels to love and be loved in return. So now I do. I believe in love. I believe that love conquers all. That love can end all wars and quash all hatred in the world. Please, I ask that you empathize with me. We’ve all made mistakes. If I could go back and fix it I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Alistair.” Max croaked, letting a real, genuine tear slip down his cheek. 

Silence filled the courtroom and deciding that Maxwell had nothing else to say, he sat back down in his seat. He knew he’d lost. You weren’t there to help him. He had no attorney. And like Diana had warned him; the consequences of his actions lay in his fate with Alistair. He was going to lose the little boy he loved so much. His only son.

Maxwell knew he was a lot of things but he was not an unfit father. He was prepared to give Alistair the world. An unfit father would be his own father. A man who spent his days drunk and abusing him and his mother. Both physical and mental torture. Max would never ever do that to Alistair. Ever. He tried so hard to be a positive, influential figure to Alistair because he never had one himself. 

“I believe the jury has come to a conclusion,” Judge Wilson announced, taking a painful amount of time to open the envelope that had been handed to him. “The jury have decided that full custody of Alistair Lorenzano will be granted to Juli-”

“STOP!” You screamed, using your full force to push open the sturdy double doors that led into the courtroom. 

The scene ahead was something straight out of a courtroom drama movie. Maxwell’s jaw dropped upon the sight of you and the jury gasped, muttering words of bewilderment amongst each other as you ran up to Max. And oh, you were a sight.

Maxwell didn’t know what happened, but there you were, dressed in red, blue and gold. He pinned it down to an Amazonian warrior’s outfit, for sure, because there was no way any Sears’ or Macy’s or Bloomingdales’ would sell anything like that. You were sparkling, your tiara fit perfectly on your head and your gladiator sandals tied in neat ribbons to your kneecaps. You looked like a real-life Goddess. In your element.

“I thought you weren’t coming,”  Maxwell gasped as you ran into his arms. You hugged him tight and he tried to hold back his cries. “Thought… you’d already gone back to Themyscira.”

The thought of you leaving Max without a proper goodbye was debilitating. He was the man who took you in, gave you a home and comfort, and showed you what real, true love was. 

“I couldn’t leave without keeping my promise.” you sniffed, cupping his cheeks and offering him a small smile. You spent a moment just gazing into his chocolate brown eyes. In the past day, his eyes looked like they had aged ten years due to all the stress he was under -- but they were still the most beautiful things you had ever seen. 

Gods, you loved him so much. And you wanted him to know how much you loved him. He deserved to know. But right now, you had to focus on keeping your promise. The reason you had come to the world of man in the first place was to reunite Alistair and Max, so that was exactly what you were going to do. You hadn’t constructed a plan, and you knew that would be your fatal error -- but it had to be now or never. All you could do was hope that, somehow, everything would fall into place. You cleared your throat and presented yourself in front of the judge, before introducing yourself. “I’m here to represent Maxwell Lorenzano in the custody battle for Alistair Lorenzano.”

The judge sighed, adjusting his white wig. “The case started two hours ago, ma’am. With all due respect, the jury has already reached a verdict. Unless you have any valid evidence as to why you believe Mr Lorenzano would make a worthy father, or Miss Grey an unworthy mother, there is nothing more I can do.”

You felt your heart stop in your chest and it was like everything around you was in slow motion. Goose pimples pricked your arms as you looked around the courtroom at all the different faces. You were standing in front of fifty or so people, easily and they were all staring at you. Of course you knew why… you weren’t exactly dressed like a ‘typical’ citizen of the world. But you just had to suck it up because you had made a promise to Maxwell, all those days ago. You had a duty to fulfil as the Goddess of home and hearth, and you knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but in that moment you knew exactly what you had to do.

“I have evidence.” you said with a shaky exhale.

Maxwell narrowed his eyes and leaned into you. “What?” he asked, just as confused as everyone else. Julianna and Theodore exchanged a nervous glance as the jury and audience continued to murmur amongst each other.

“Trust me.” you smiled a tearful smile and you felt your lips begin to quiver with anxiety. You closed your eyes and tried to regulate your breathing. It would be okay. It was going to be okay.

“Well, present your evidence.” Judge Wilson sighed and you nodded your head with affirmation.

Taking your lasso of truth, you began to unravel it, and showed the courtroom the way it glowed golden upon touching it. “What is that?” you heard one of the juror’s ask.

“This is the lasso of Hestia. It belonged to my mother and it’s powered by the truth. The truth and purity of the universe.” You explained, and the jury were in complete awe.

Julianna was the first one to burst into laughter. “You can’t be serious? A magical lasso? What? You got that from the costume and prop store on 2nd Street? Please. This is actually a serious case. Get outta here.” she snarled, her lips curling into a frown.

Maxwell went to snap back but you quickly stopped him before slowly padding towards Julianna and Theodore. And you smiled. “May I demonstrate?” you asked her, and Julianna gulped hesitantly. “If it’s just a prop from a costume store then… you have no reason to be afraid, do you?”

Julianna turned to Theodore who just shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. Fine.” Julianna sighed, holding out her wrists. You carefully tied them together with the lasso before trailing it across the courtroom.

“Ted, Max, Judge Wilson… feel free to hold on to the lasso,” you pulled it to where the jury was sitting and made sure that each member held a tight grip onto it. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” you promised.

“What are you doing?” Maxwell gritted out. “I can’t let you do this. Exposing your powers in front of all these people… it’ll turn you into a mortal.”

You knew that. But it was a sacrifice you were willing to take. If this past week had taught you anything it was that love was the most beautiful thing in this universe. And that love truly does conquer all. You were able to tell Barbara that with your whole chest-- so just for once, maybe you should listen to yourself. You deserved your happy ending.

And you were never happy on Themyscira.

But here, with Maxwell and Alistair? You were happy.

You were finally happy and you wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.

Taking a deep breath, you shrugged off his comment and turned around to speak to the courtroom. 

“The lasso of Hestia compels you all to see the truth about Alistair Lorenzano.”

You watched intently as their eyes snapped shut and they saw the truth. They saw how neglectful Julianna and Theodore had been, and how loving Maxwell was. How Maxwell flew home from Greece just to be with his son whilst Julianna left him in the house alone. They saw the way Julianna verbally abused Alistair, and Maxwell winced as it paralleled his own childhood memories. They saw it all. They saw the truth.

But-- it was draining you. It was like you could slowly feel your powers slip out of you. You were losing your immortality, and your strength. You felt yourself become weaker by the second until eventually, it was over. They opened their eyes and looked at Maxwell in shock.

You took the lasso from each person and you whimpered slightly at how weighted it suddenly felt in your grip. Attaching it back to your tunic, you took Maxwell’s hand. “Did it work?” you asked weakly, hoping and praying that your sacrifice would change something.

Maxwell swallowed but before he could open his mouth, a juror spoke.

“The jury would like to change their verdict.” he announced, and the judge looked down at the envelope. He rubbed his teary eyes and sighed. The Judge had been… crying?

“Well, I hereby grant custody of Alistair Lorenzano to his father, Maxwell Lorenzano.” Judge Wilson declared before banging his gavel down on the desk.

Julianna screamed. Members of the audience cheered. You turned to Maxwell who’s cheeks were tearstained. “Oh my Gosh Max, we did it!” you cried, and Maxwell let himself fall limp in your arms as he sobbed uncontrollably.

“You-- you just-- I can’t believe--” He cried before pulling off you and flashing you the most precious grin. It was enough to make your heart swell with happiness. “I can’t believe you sacrificed your powers for me and Ali--”

“Well, believe it.” you said, leaning in and pressing a soft yet passionate kiss into his lips. Max’s hands fell down to your hips as he held onto you and relished your taste. He pulled away from you and instinctively smoothed out your hair.

“I love you so much,” Maxwell admitted finally, unable to keep his true feelings to himself any longer. “I’m so in love with you.”

And now, it was your turn to cry. It was the words you had longed to hear from the moment you came to the world of man. “I love you too Maxwell Lorenzano,” you confessed, running your fingers through his golden hair. Max choked back a sob as he gazed into your eyes. “Come on,” you encouraged, rubbing the small of his back. “You have a son to get home to.” you giggled and Maxwell’s eyes lit up.

“Does this mean you don’t have to return to Themyscira?” Maxwell asked hopefully and you felt your cheeks flush with heat as you shook your head.

“No, I don’t have to return to Themyscira. I’m a mortal now, just like you”

Somehow, you thought you’d be hurting more. You just gave up your powers-- your whole life. But this… this felt perfect. Like it was meant to be. You weren’t hurting, in fact, you had never been so elated in your life.

“Well, you’ll always be a goddess to me.” Max confessed, pressing another kiss into your lips. “Come on. Let’s go get Alistair.” he grinned, tugging on your hand as you excitedly ran out of the courtroom together.

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First Time Sex After Baby (Henry Cavill X Female Reader)

Warning: Smut and fluff. 18+ Do not post my work anywhere else. Reblogs on Tumblr are fine.) @thereisa8ella Thanks for the prompt, love. Hope you like it! It’s long, but you know....after 6 weeks of no sex taking it slow is important LOL! 6 Weeks. 6 long, damn weeks before you can have sex with Henry after giving birth to your perfect baby. You both love your daughter so much. Henry’s smitten with her and is a devoted father already. But...the sex deprivation between you, especially since you’re used to going at it damn near every day, is killing you both. You both marked this day on the calendar. Six weeks, not one day more, not one less. Tonight, it is on. It’s been way too long, and you both need some physical release. You’ve been stealing lustful glances at each other, and he’s been staring at your full breasts. A great perk of having a baby is the size of your boobs has increased even more.  The only issue is that you’re not ready for a random sitter. Leaving your precious girl at only 6 weeks old is tearing you up. Henry knows this and just like you, he doesn’t want to separate from the little one for long, especially with someone who isn’t family. After many conversations, you both decide to let his mom watch the baby at her home. You both trust her and she has other grandchildren, so she is a pro at it. You drive back from your mother-in-law’s home, and you’re sniffling. This is the first time away from your baby girl, and you’re so upset. Henry places a hand on your thigh. 

“Should I turn back, love?” he asks, concern filling his voice, both for you and for himself. He misses her too already.

You shake your head. “No, she is fine. Your mom adores her and I trust her. It’s just...I am not used to being without her...”

“I know, Y/N. It’s going to be okay,” he says and gives you a reassuring smile. “I think it’ll do us some good to be alone for a bit.”

You smile back and wipe away a tear. “I do miss you, Henry.”

“Me too, baby. I adore how great you are with our daughter. You are the best mother I could have ever asked for my child. But not going to lie, baby...I miss some attention too.” He returns his attention to the road, but leaves the hand on your thigh, stroking it slowly.

You know what he means. You miss your hunk too. And right now, you can’t wait to show him just how much you’ve missed his sexy big muscles wrapping around you, his lips on your neck, and his grunts and moaning when he’s unraveling inside you. The thought alone makes you wet already. You get home and get inside. Henry tells you to wait in the living room and tells you to stay there for a few.

“I thought we’d be going into the bedroom...” you say, confused.

“Just...wait.” He beams one of his smirks, making your knees wobble. 

You wait on the sofa for what seems an eternity and finally, he returns. “Okay, come.”

You follow him to the master bedroom but he leads you into your bathroom. The lights are off but the soft glow of dozens of candles cast a beautiful golden light everywhere. The oversized garden tub is filled with water, and you can tell a bath bomb is fizzing away. Rose petals are scattered around the tub and the tiled floor. You stare in awe. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you had enjoyed a romantic romp in the tub.

“Oh my gosh, Henry,” you nearly weep. “This is so amazing.”

He comes over and starts peeling your top off. His entire demeanor has changed from casual and talkative, to silent and intoxicating. His fingers brush against your flesh as the shirt comes off over your head and it sends tingles over your entire body.

He unzips your jeans and peels them down. You’re aware that your figure is a bit different than pre-baby, but Henry has done nothing but tell you how gorgeous and sexy you are the entire pregnancy and even the last six weeks. The way he looks at you in the black bra and panties tells you he means it too. His breathing becomes heavier and he unclasps your bra. With your bare breasts freed, he begins to caress them softly. “Fuck, baby, I miss you so much,” he whispers.

You moan, already feeling like you could come from his touch and voice alone. He slips your panties down so incredibly slow that the pleasure you feel may kill you. You already want him inside you, railing you, but it’s been a long time and you want to savor this night of freedom you have and take your time. He draws back and takes your hand, then leads you to the tub.

“Get in,” he orders softly. You step into the warm water, heaven filling your pores. You sit and get comfortable, already feeling all tension leaving your muscles. You’ve been devoting every minute to your daughter, who you love so much and would take care of for the rest of your life, but it has taken a toll on you physically or mentally. This bath and alone time with Henry is well overdue. Henry starts undressing. Fuck, he’s been working out, even more, to deal with the lack of sex and his pent up frustration, and his muscles are bulging even more. He’s fully naked, his organ already erect and begging to be near you. He climbs in the tub and shuffles behind you, so that you are sitting between his legs.

He begins rubbing your shoulders, his hands massaging you smoothly. He then trails down your back, kneading and massaging. You moan quietly, the tension trapped in your muscles fading away.

His lips begin planting kisses all over your back, while his hands caress them do your sides. He continues kissing as his arms circle you from the back and his hands find your breasts already. He cups them and begins kneading the nipples, which are sensitive from nursing. He takes his time, really feeling them in his big hands and showing appreciation.

His touch is getting you high, and being this close to him makes you want to lose your mind. You swivel around, your eyes locking. His blue eyes are full of impatient lust and you’re pretty sure yours are too. He pulls you close as you straddle him. His lips crash against yours and his tongue wastes no time. You lean into him, taking his kiss and the roughness of it. He is passionate and all of the build-up of the past weeks is evident as he hungrily bites your lower lip. “Baby, I need you now,” you say, pulling away for air. You shuffle on his lap to align to his hardness.

“So it’s okay to do it...right?” he asks, concern on his features. “Will I hurt you or something?”

You giggle, even as your own breathing is labored. “Wait is a precaution. And we were good.” You kiss him again, the tip of your tongue teasing his lips as you pull back. “We waited like the doctor said.”

“I’ve been a good boy,” he smirks, his hands cupping your ass and pushing you up. You release a whine as you settle right over his hardened tip. “A patient one.”

“You have been,” you coo. “Time to reward Daddy for being so patient.”

As if unleashing all the frustration and lust bottled inside of him, he grabs your hips and brings you down slowly onto his erection, the tip slicing through you and filling you halfway. The new sensation of having him back inside you seems like the first time you ever slept with Henry. You whine loud, already feeling your core grip tightly around his erection. Then he thrusts up, completely filling you to the hilt. You both enjoy this first thrust, just letting him settle there.  Your eyes are closed and your head leans back in ecstasy. Man, you’ve missed this feeling so much. Just having you so deep inside you, your souls mixing, his flesh merging with yours. This is what made your baby. Your soul connection and the incredible way your body just fit together like puzzle pieces.

You savor this moment but the need is too strong and overdue and Henry needs you more than ever. He brings your hips up, his hands tight on your hip bones, but you welcome the pain. Then, he slams you back down on him again, forcing a loud moan out of you. Instead of settling into another long moment, he looks at you with those “Gonna fuck the shit out of you” blue eyes.

You use your knees to ride him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts in no time. It might be a while you’ve had sex, but you reconnect immediately, your bodies reading one another perfectly. Your drape your arms around his neck as he keeps thrusting up, his speed becoming faster and you impaling yourself deeper on him.

“Fuckkkkk,” you scream.

Water splashes out of the tub, and you know there’ll be a flooded mess on the tile. But who gives a shit?

Henry surely doesn’t, because he leans forward, his back peeling away from the tub. He positions you better on top of him, so that he can control your body with each thrust. One of his hands wraps at the back of your neck and he fucks you deeply, pumping you up and down, his grunts filling the bathroom.

You know you can’t last long. You both cum at the same time, an explosion of overdue lust that is now culminating. He releases inside you with a loud groan, You are not far behind and as he gives you another slamming thrust, your walls clench and tingle, till the orgasm takes over.

Minutes later you’re both enjoying the last of the warm water, leaning back as he cradles you into his arms.

“Man, I missed this so much,” he whispers into your hair.

You nod. “As have I....but...”

“...you miss her too,” he finishes with a smirk.

You look up at him sheepishly but he smiles. “I do too,” he replies. “Let’s do it again then go pick up our sweet angel.”

[cockasinthebird]

To @withoneheadlight, and a huuuge thank you for the inspiration!!!❤️💕 I deviated a bit from the “original script,” I hope that’s ok 😌

I just couldn’t stop thinking about your post??? I dropped everything to write it, and it might be a bit rushed because of it, but it was so much fun!! So please, do enjoy~

-

The sun is too bright, the cars outside his window too loud, the fucking seagulls cawing and screeching.

Billy hadn’t come home yesterday again, and at this point who even knows how many times he’s spent the night in someone else's bed.

Not that it’s really any of Steve’s business, of course, they just live together, barely even friends but on tolerable terms, at least. Tolerable meaning they’ve made peace; Billy apologised during Steve’s last year of high school, and when he started working at Scoops Ahoy after graduating, Billy always saw it fit to come by-

“Picking up my shitty sister,” as he put it.

And when Steve started working at Family Videos-

“Waiting for Max to finish up at the arcade,” he’d claim as he browsed, “You, uhh, recommend anything?”

Not that it isn’t still hostile between them, but maybe that’s just how Billy is, and maybe that’s just how Steve likes him. Mean and rude and inconsiderable at times. Yet Steve’s favourite cereal is always stocked up, laundry washed, dishes done, and he feels guilty.

Guilty that he doesn’t do more at their shared apartment. Guilty that he never really thanks Billy for what he does. Guilty that he has an undeniable crush on his ex-nemesis now roommate.

With a heavy sigh, Steve drags himself out of bed, head throbbing from having drowned in sorrows in a bottle of straight jack. Slips on a pair of socks so as to not touch the chilly floor, and a shirt, large and black with Metallica printed on front; a shirt that isn’t his, that he “stole” from the dryer a few days ago. He gives the collar a sniff and it doesn’t smell of Billy - it smells of the laundry detergent they use, but knowing that Billy has worn it before is enough to warm his aching heart just a slight bit.

Stupid stupid stupid, he repeats in his mind as he inches toward the door of his bedroom.

Save for the floorboards creaking underneath his sluggish weight, it’s quiet. No tv running, no music from Billy’s bedroom, no grunting as he lifts weights on the bench that takes up far too much of the living room.

He’s not here. Billy’s not here. 

Steve continues reminding himself how idiotic it was of him to even come out here. California is far away from his parents' reach, a place where he can maybe find out who he is, and Billy always talked about coming back here, so them moving in together was “convenient.”

However, so far all Steve has found out about himself is that he doesn’t know how to cook, gets sunburnt so easily that it’s laughable, and that he’s all too invested in Billy’s personal life.

When he opens the cupboard and finds Kellogg’s Apple Jacks™ on the shelf, a new and unopened pack, he groans in defeat as his heart does its usual dance and song, because of course Billy had ensured there was food for Steve. He always fucking does.

He pours them into his favourite bowl, a white one with fancy flowers painted in blue, stolen from his old home to just have something from his parents with him, and next goes milk. He yawns wide before shoveling in the first mouthful, the one that’s always perfectly crunchy and having just started tasting of cinnamon before it all becomes a soggy mess.

About halfway through the bowl, the floorboards behind him creaks and he nearly drops the bowl as he jumps, spilling a bit of milk on the floor.

Steve spins around to find Billy there, dressed in only his sweatpants, eyes cast down at where he was apparently staring at Steve’s ass, who’s quick to realise that he hadn’t bothered with underwear because he was oh so convinced he’d be alone for at least two more hours.

“O-oh, Billy, I-I didn’t hear you come in last night,” he stutters under the intense stare, placing the bowl on the counter and hopes it isn’t too noticeable when he gathers his legs.

Billy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, simply looks down Steve’s naked legs, eyes burning and hungry. When he finally meets Steve’s gaze, he wets his lips before rasping out,

“I came home like an hour ago, was about to take a shower but wanted coffee first, and…” he trails off, and so does his eyes again.

Steve is… unnecessarily excited under those heady, ocean blues as they take in all that he is. Feels himself swell at the attention, but paralysed by shock of having been caught by Billy in Billy’s shirt and practically nothing else. 

And Billy steps through the door frame into the kitchen. Keeps walking slowly, cautiously maybe, he makes his way to where Steve leans against the counter, fingers curled around the edge with anticipation and a bit of fear.

Normally he’d have guessed that Billy would call him names, mock him with a poisoned grin, but with such heavy lids and mouth slightly open, that doesn’t seem like the most likely outcome to this, and it only thrills Steve all the more.

Billy comes to a standstill in front of Steve, feet almost touching, and he leans closer, places his left hand next to Steve’s, thumb touching skin there. And he bites into his plump lower lip, eyes dancing across Steve’s features just to land on his mouth, mind clearly working away at something.

Up this close Steve catches a whiff of cigarettes and the usual cologne, maybe a bit of sweat from whatever he’s been doing all night. Or whoever. He can feel Billy’s calm and collected breathing ghost across his lips, and his heart stops beating in anticipation, lips quiver, dick hopeful.

“Is that my shirt?” Billy mumbles out and tugs at the hem that stops mid-cheek on Steve’s slighter frame. 

He might be taller by a few inches, but he still swims in the shirt stretched out by Billy’s broad shoulders and chiseled pecs.

“Y-yeah…”

At that, Billy’s fingers let go of the shirt, then spread out against Steve’s skin. He takes an all too loud breath at the electric jolt Billy’s warm palm urges out, shooting straight to between his thighs where his cock gives a curious little kick.

The hand wanders, across his thigh to his front, moving at a pace so slow it can only be deliberate, Billy teasing him, or maybe waiting for him to say stop.

But he doesn’t, so he doesn’t.

Smooths the tips of his fingers higher up, through the coarse pubic hair, till he reaches the base of Steve’s shaft, the palm of his hand grazing against the lazy head, effectively making him grow harder, and gasp out a breathy, “Fuck.”

Billy moves closer again, knee pushing Steve’s legs apart, noses nuzzling together, lips like feathers, daring Steve to kiss him.

He moans instead, as the hand tickling his skin closes in an expert fist, possibly giving away just how many times Billy must have done the same notion to himself. A thought that delights Steve to impossible extends, knowing that the hand Billy jerks off with is now stroking him under the shirt.

“Fuck, Billy,” Steve whimpers and brings a hand to steady himself on Billy’s firm shoulder.

And he can’t wait any more; presses their lips together and is immediately met with the same fervor he offers up - soft lips in a hard embrace, touching each other as if they’ve always wanted this, as if all the strife in their past was just tension and unresolved shit that culminated to punches and bleeding noses.

The motion of Billy’s fist is relentless, and Steve has to break away to breathe. “A-ah, shit, Billy!”

He bites his way down Steve’s neck, painful and delicious, stroking his now fully erect cock like he’s eager to have him cum, wanting to watch Steve unravel and cry out his name.

And just as Steve is seconds away from ruining the shirt, Billy pulls off, leaving behind an ache that makes Steve cry out from the edge of release.

“Fuck! Billy you asshole, why-” he doesn’t get to finish that thought before he’s spun around, a hand on his upper back pushing him against the counter, head throbbing worse than his filled dick. “Billy- Billy!”

“Want me to stop?” Billy snaps a bit too loud, a bit too sudden, but the answer is inevitably,

“No,” and Steve is set on that. 

He’s wanted this for far too long; suspects that he’s been craving Billy since before he graduated, but didn’t dare think about it too long. Spent some extra time restocking the porn section of Family Videos in the backroom behind the curtain, borrowed a few gay ones in secret. He was more than curious, he was interested.

Now he’s here, cheek pressed against the cold surface of their kitchen counter, eyes closed to the world as he focuses on how Billy’s holding him down with one hand, the other squeezing his ass, spreading him, exposing him, and-

It is slick and wet and weird when Billy licks his fat tongue flat across his hole. Not bad weird as far as he can tell from the way his entire body squirms with pleasure, his prick leaking, and he gasps when Billy does it again.

And again. He grabs on with both hands as he sloppily eats out Steve’s ass, sucking with wet lips, tongue sliding over the rim time and time again, the tip prodding at his entrance, making him moan out, whimpering for more without as many words.

Billy seems almost happy to oblige, shoving his tongue in, and Steve knows what that looks like, but to feel it? His body is on fire, burning hot and white, feeling better than he ever thought it actually would; he knows the men on those tapes are just actors, always just believed they were exaggerating, but no.

Steve has never been this aroused in his fucking life, 21 years old and hornier than he ever was as a teenager surrounded by hot girls. None of them he ever slept with made him feel this… incredible, and he has none other than Billy fucking Hargrove to thank for it. With every lick and suck and penetration he’s nearing the edge again, faster than he ever thought he could, to be honest, but it’s just not enough to get him there.

“Billy- Billy please, I’m so close, please touch me,” he begs with a voice all indecent, drooling a bit on the counter as he stays flat and powerless, simply unable to do anything.

Then he’s left alone, ready to complain and tell Billy, “Fuck you,” but when he glances over his shoulder, he sees Billy whip out his fat cock, and Steve sucks in a quick breath, eyes wide and amazed. He’s seen it before, in the showers at school, accidentally in the shower of their apartment, but never like this… so girthy and veiny, red and shiny with pre.

Billy grabs Steve by the hips, and for a moment he thinks that Billy’s just going to fuck him, right here right now, unprepped, dry, it’s probably going to hurt, but Steve’s so curious to finally find out what that feels like- what Bill’s dick feels like, what it’s like to have sex with Billy.

Yet he’s still relieved when he instead feels it between his cheeks, rubbing through the spit and across his rim. He gasps and moans all the same though, lets Billy control the pace as he with a bruising grip on Steve’s hips pulls him into his thrusts, skin slapping together in an obscene fashion that makes Steve’s cock drip and throb, keeping him on that sharp edge of orgasm.

“Shit, Billy, ah-h,” Steve whines out a plea.

When a hand closes around his aching cock again, he moans unadulterated, the pleasure of Billy’s every touch pushing the hangover into the background. The rhythm is erratic in a sense, quick then slow, all the way up or shallow, but in tact with how Billy’s hips meets Steve’s cheeks, keeping him from cumming as if he’s wanting to time it, have them both cumming together at once.

But Billy cums first; he’s quick to pull up the tee and paints Steve’s back with hot and warm semen, grunting a few times as he stops pounding against Steve’s ass. He then bends over to get a better grip on Steve’s cock as he jerks him to completion with a few practiced flicks of his wrist, Steve being loud in comparison and definitely less controlled, eyes rolling back to watch the fireworks as he spills over the cupboard beneath them.

In that moment he’s beyond thankful that Billy’s there behind him, supporting him and keeping him caught against the countertop, or he might just fall to the floor as his legs give out. As he lays there, for a moment in complete bliss with no headache, eyes closed, panting, he feels Billy wipe his back clean with a napkin.

“Can you stand?” he sounds all too amused, hands down on Steve’s hips, rubbing where his fingers might just have left a few bruises.

“I’m… I’m, ahh, yeah,” Steve exhales and pushes himself up and standing.

He turns around to watch Billy tuck himself away again, chest heaving a bit, a rather relaxed expression on his face, and when their eyes meet he smiles. Not a grin, nor a smirk, but an actual smile, and it makes Steve’s heart throb and bleed and hope.

“You can keep the shirt, I guess,” Billy shrugs all nonchalantly, as if they hadn’t just been doing whatever they were doing. “I’m gonna take a shower now, wanna join me?”

[tiffdawg]

Shift This Weight | Javier Peña x Reader

Gif: @bestintheparsec

Series: Confessions | Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem;no y/n)

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: E | Warnings: Angst. NSFW - smut, oral (male receiving), sexual language, mild cursing. 18+ only.

A/N: I set out to write some soft!Javi, but this ended up kinda sad and much smuttier than I originally intended. This is going to be a three-part series I’ll be posting over the next week or so and I promise you, soft Javi is coming after this. I suppose a little angst is unavoidable when Javi’s in love. smh. 

My Masterlist

Read on AO3

... . ...

Shift This Weight

You’d known Javier Peña for years. Your stints at Quantico had overlapped however briefly, but it was more than enough time to strike up a casual flirtation with no expectations.

While it never amounted to anything, you’d enjoyed his game of cat and mouse in between classes and training sessions in the weeks leading up to your graduation and subsequent departure. You’d been assigned to a post as a field agent on the other side of the country, and, you jumped at the rare opportunity, more than eager to prove yourself.

Looking back, you realized the two of you never said a proper goodbye. There was just that one stolen kiss and a softly muttered congratulations in a deserted hallway after your commencement ceremony. You felt the brush of lips against yours even days later as you boarded a plane bound for Los Angeles, one-way ticket in hand. You’d thought you’d never see him again, but perhaps you some small part of you knew even then it wouldn’t be the last you crossed paths with the young hotshot from Texas.

… . ...

The City of Angels was good to you. The ridiculous traffic was a small price to pay for the gorgeous weather and endless coastline and despite a few missteps at the beginning you settled nicely into your new role as a DEA agent. But even though work was steady and you had a close circle of friends, you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. When you were offered a position at the US embassy in Colombia, you shocked everyone, yourself included, when you took the position without a moment’s hesitation. 

You were only half surprised when you walked into the embassy building on your first official day and crashed right into Javier, literally colliding with the man from your past as you scrambled to find your new office.

“I heard you might be coming down,” he said with a smirk and without missing a beat, “Happy to see the rumors were true.”

You couldn’t help but return the smile, happy to find a familiar face amongst unfamiliar surroundings. You were both older and it showed; you could see it etched into his handsome features, felt it in your tired bones. The realities of the job had worn down the bright-eyed kids you were at the academy into hardened agents.

“Happy to be here, Agent Peña,” you shot back with a wink, suddenly feeling much more confident despite your disorientation.

“Follow me, chiquita.”

How could you resist?

… . ... 

Javier resumed his flirting with you as if no time had passed, as if you weren’t his colleague and partner, as if he wasn’t sleeping with half the available women in Bogota. You played along with his game even as you felt your feelings for the man blossom into something new and dangerous.

Still, the professional in you had managed to hold yourself together well enough. At least you did until everything came to an unavoidable crescendo one fateful night almost a year after your arrival in Colombia. You’d had a frightfully close call during a raid on some low-level sicarios hiding out in Medellin. The kind of near miss that made your whole past flash before your eyes and made you rethink your present and future.

Javi was standing close to you, the rise and fall of his chest matching yours as you both fought to steady your breathing post-shoot out. He scanned you for injuries with his deep brown eyes, closely inspecting the cut on your cheek with a gentle prodding fingertip. He was remarkably unscathed save for the mental scarring of narrowly missing a bullet meant for his skull. 

You weren’t sure whether it was the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins or the thought of him almost dying that propelled you forward as you cupped his face between your still shaking hands and kissed him. It wasn’t some chaste, teasing peck like before. It was a needy, messy melding of mouths. He reciprocated immediately and eagerly, pulling you flush against him despite the awkwardness of your bullet proof vests. It was everything you didn’t know you’d been waiting for all those years.

... . ...

A few months later, you found yourself sitting in a dimly lit bar not far from the embassy. That day had been stressful, to say the very least. Murphy, ever the optimist, at least when compared to Peña’s special brand of skepticism, had suggested drinks after leaving the office, inviting both you and Javier. While your illicit office romance was still very much a secret, Murphy definitely knew. Javi wasn’t shy about undressing you with his eyes from his desk across from yours, especially now that he knew what was underneath your pantsuits, and your witty remarks to his advances held a lot less bite than they did before.

You tried but failed to drown your frustrations with tequila and polite conversation with Steve and Connie, but by your third drink it was clear you needed something stronger. And from the way Javier’s dark eyes found yours over the rim of his glass and across the bar top, he shared your sentiment.

If you couldn’t drink away your problems, maybe you could fuck them out of your system.

Which is how you ended up back at your apartment an hour later, stark naked and straddling Javier’s lap as you rode him as fast and hard as your shaking legs would allow. 

The closer you got to your climax, the more your steady rhythm faltered. “Hey, I got you, hermosa,” he said, and your eyes snapped open. He started to thrust up, taking over for you. “Touch yourself. Cum all over this cock.”

Your fingers found your clit, just as he’d told you to, and with a few well-timed strokes you were coming hard, unraveling on top of him. Your body went completely limp, with only his hands, one on your hip and the other grabbing at your breast, to hold you upright. You felt yourself clenching around his thick length as you rode out your orgasm and he spat out a string of intelligible curses in Spanish.

“Where? Where, baby?” he said through gritted teeth.

You released yourself from his grasp and knelt between his legs, taking him into your mouth completely. A few more errant thrusts and you were swallowing around him, taking every drop he gave you. When you pulled off, you opened your mouth to show him it was all gone.

“Fuck you’re perfect,” he mumbled, taking your face between his hands and kissing you obscenely. He pulled you back up his body, never breaking the kiss, to lay next to him. You giggled as he continued to kiss you through ragged breaths while he came down from his own release. His greedy hands still roamed your body, kneading the soft flesh of your thighs and ass. “So fucking perfect, hermosa.”

You smiled into his kiss, basking in the afterglow and feeling something akin to actual happiness. Something you’d long thought was out of reach for someone in your line of work. Everything just felt better with Javi. He made your life better, made you better. Even when the world seemed to be crashing down around you. Even when catching Escobar seemed like an impossible task.  

You wanted to come home to this, to him, every damn day and he deserved to know just how much he meant to you after all these years. Those very words were overwhelming you, begging to be spoken into existence.

“I’m in love with you,” you said against his lips. You felt him still beneath you and you pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, wanting him to see that you truly mean what you were saying. You needed him to know it wasn’t some post-orgasmic slip of the tongue. It was real. “You don’t have to say it back. I know you probably don’t even want to hear it, I just- I needed to tell you. It was suffocating me not to tell you. I love you, Javi.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t so much as blink. Usually you could read him easily, his ever-expressive eyes always betrayed his emotions, but that night his face gave nothing away. The only indication that he heard you and was contemplating your words was the gnashing of his jaw as he ground his teeth.

Finally, he placed a firm hand on your cheek, bringing you closer so he could press his lips to your temple. He forwent his usual cigarette to lay with you, settling you firmly against his chest. 

His reaction startled you; it certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. You doubted he felt the same, and part of you thought he might run out of the apartment or even throw a few curses your way for shattering what was supposed to be a casual arrangement. His silence and the way he cradled you to his chest was more than a little confusing.

Eventually your racing thoughts lulled, and you started to drift off to sleep, allowing yourself to fantasize that he might stay the whole night with you. That you might at least get the luxury of waking up next to him in the morning, warm golden sunlight streaming in through your thin curtains to bathe his tanned skin like you’d always imagined. 

Instead, he slipped out from beneath your sheets, gathered his clothes strewn about your room, and quietly left.

You laid there for a while after that, stomach turning as you watched the red numbers of your alarm clock rise steadily, signaling the coming dawn, and you replayed the night in your mind. You didn’t regret what you said. No, you’d learned from your past heartbreaks that being open and vulnerable was the only way to be true to yourself. As hard as that was sometimes. You knew you were taking things in a direction he never wanted to go, but it was stifling to remain standing at the proverbial crossroads of loving him silently or never speaking your truth. It was a relief to say those three little, weighty words out loud. Still, you wracked your brain trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his actions. He hadn’t said another word the rest of the night, but he’d stayed.

Until he hadn’t. In the end he left you without so much as a goodbye. As you frustratedly buried your face into your pillow and willed yourself to fall asleep, you wondered if that was the last night you’d ever spend with him, if your confession would drive him away forever.

... . ...

Spanish Translations

Chiquita: little girl

Hermosa: beautiful

… . ...

Thanks for reading!

[serararku]

Back from the Black

Giggles whispered in the wind. Soft voices mumbled amongst each other. In the hot dark Era felt things touching her face, but she was powerless to stop it; her arms and legs were bound, and she was drifting, spinning, spiraling onward into the void again. Not that it mattered to her anymore… all she wanted was to be in his arms again, to feel his breath on her neck, to hear him tell her everything was going to be okay. But he was gone. They all were. Lost their lives in the sacking of Ul’dah, their peaceful eternal slumber cut short by the will of a necromancer. “I will avenge you all…” She thought, writhing and wiggling in her invisible cocoon. “I will kill that creature and put you all back to-”

Era opened her eyes to sudden blinding sunlight and three pairs of big bright eyes. “EEP!” The kittens shrieked, leaping a dozen ilms off the ground as their stubby tails bristled. Yuun suddenly snapped awake as well, rising from her seat with fury burning in her eyes.

“You little brats! I told you not to touch her!” Her mother grabbed the closest thing she could- a makeshift broom, and gave the fleeing children beatings they wouldn’t soon forget. Era winced at the glare of the sun, but when she tried to roll over, she found herself swaddled tightly in blankets- just like she was when she was still a misbehaving kitten. “Era honey… are you okay?!”

“Euugh…” Was all she could manage. Her head ached, her mouth was dry, and she was sore from teeth to tail; but something about the concern in her mother’s face and the soothing warmth of the sun helped convince this was real. 

“Don’t try to move… here.” She sat down beside her and pulled her head into her lap. Era’s ears perked when ice cold water touched her lips. Gulp… gulp… gulp… “Slowly, Era… I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

“Guhh… a… again…?” She repeated, trying to catch her breath with lungs that weren’t ruptured in a body that wasn’t torn apart by wolves.

Yuun closed her eyes and slowly nodded. “I thought I knew them. The Elders… they’re supposed to be the bridge between Azeyma and her children. But once that accursed cave was discovered a few moons ago, they’ve done nothing but devour strange foods and hallucinate, and they’re taking more and more of our tribe down with them. When I heard the Elders had summoned you, I thought… I would lose you.” She opened her eyes and began wiping away the ‘art’ those three kittens were drawing on Era’s face. “The next time Grandmother puts her vile hands on you will be the last time she has hands.”

Now that she had birthed five daughters, one for each astral moon in accordance to Azeyma, Yuun was officially recognized as a Matron when her last daughter and final kitten was born two years ago, and therefore was under no obligation to mate with Vahli or any other Tia that would eventually take his place in the years to come. Following closely behind the spiritual leadership of the Elders, and the military prowess of the Nunh, the Matrons represented the third pillar of the Zu Tribe, providing guidance to the kittens and new mothers alike. Thanks to the combined tragedies of the drought eight years ago and the addicts in that ‘sacred’ cave, Yuun was now the only Matron left. And she took this responsibility very seriously.

“Ahem…” Vahli cleared his throat loudly outside the tent, making his presence known long before he revealed himself. “Yuun, good morning. May I speak with Era alone?”

“Of course.” Her mother planted a gentle kiss on her forehead before pulling a corner of her blanket out of its knot, unraveling Era and setting her free from her prison. Their Nunh took her offered hand when she rose to her feet, and lightly kissed her knuckles on her way out. Era remained quiet, awkwardly laying on her back, waiting for him to say something. For a long time he simply stared off in the distance, before crossing his arms and sitting down beside her. “I’m sorry for sending you to the Elders.” Vahli was reluctant to speak; apologies must be a rarity for such a proud and accomplished man. “They told me they could help you. I should have asked for details.”

“It’s not your fault.” Era assured him. “I planned on speaking with them the day I decided to return to the tribe. Though… now knowing what happened... and what the search party had to do to me...”

“It was for your own protection.” He explained, finally glancing down to meet her gaze. “Your mother demanded I stop the Elders from influencing you. Once I formed a party to storm the caves, you were already gone. It took us… a lot of time and effort to comb the surrounding lands.”

Era didn’t like how vague he insisted on being. “How long was I missing?!”

“Three days.” 

That knocked the wind out of her lungs. She felt like she had been trapped in that hellscape for almost a full year, but to know she was hallucinating for just over half of a week…

Vahli wasn’t finished. “We found you out in the wastes, completely naked and covered in blood that wasn’t yours, dancing alone in the middle of nowhere... laughing, crying and screaming. We thought you were possessed by an evil spirit, or worse… suffering from the salivating sickness. Everyone feared you would need to be put down… myself included. I’m glad I was wrong.”

Era didn’t want to think about that nightmare any longer than she had to- that trip was not something she would ever endure again. “So I’ve snapped out of it… what’s next?”

Her Nunh leaned against a post and furrowed his brow. “Some of our youngest are scratching at themselves enough to remove hair. Others aren’t able to hold solid food down for long. The mothers insist they’re sick and they don’t feel safe with the Elders treating them. I’m at my wits end.” Slowly he rose back up to his feet, and began pacing nervously. “I know the tribeless cities may have the solution we need. Can I count on you to be our emissary?”

“Yes…!” Era answered quickly, jumping at the chance to be with Zevi again. “I know just the woman who can help them! I won’t let you down!”

Vahli pursed his lips disapprovingly at her sudden enthusiasm. “I’ve heard of the tribeless cities and their… vices. Make sure anyone you bring back to our lands is dependable… and willing to adhere to our way of life.” He paused for a moment before adding, “No witchcraft. Thanalan suffers enough already.”

“I understand…”

“Do you?” Vahli began to pace back and forth. “My instincts are telling me to keep you here. That sending you off to those havens of heresy is a grave mistake. But… our kittens need your help. I need your help.” He stopped near the entrance and placed his hand on the drape. “Come back to us. I know you’ve spent a lot of time out there… but your place is here. With me.” Era’s ears drooped as she slowly nodded. When she rose to her feet, and her blanket slipped from her body, Vahli couldn’t help but stare at her scars again.

Unable to stand this awkward staring contest anymore, Era scooped the spare change of clothes waiting for her in the corner to cover herself and assuredly muttered, “I won’t abandon my family. Not now… not ever.”

“Good.” Once her body was covered and her scars were out of sight, her Nunh blinked away his stupor and left without another word. Era was left alone to put her clothes on in silence.

The intense Thanalan sunlight began its ruthless beating the moment she stepped out of her tent. The glare from the morning was not doing Era’s headache any favors- it was difficult to focus on just about anything, and she was still disoriented and uncharacteristically clumsy. That bitter soup the Elders gave her had surely run through her system by now; if any one of these side effects became permanent, she could kiss her training goodbye. Hopefully Zevi wouldn’t mind shouldering their financial burdens if she was left unfit for wor-

"BLOOD SPEAKS TO ME!"

"BWAH!" Era leapt a full three fulms into the air before she was snatched up and pulled into a strong hug; the side of her face was smashed against the coarse beak of a zu skull, and her blood ran cold. There was only one woman in the entire tribe that would even wear a skull outside of an actual battle. 

Yhaba the Undying. The leader of the Zu Tribe’s warrior clowder, and top contender for the most deranged and bloodthirsty Miqo’te in Thanalan. To call this woman a lunatic would be an understatement. She was as unpredictable as she was ferocious, and amidst the chaos of battle, she had no equal. Drenched in the blood of her tribe’s enemies was perhaps the only time she ever felt truly home. She had lost her tail ages ago along with most of her fingers and toes, but she could eviscerate and disembowel a fully grown goobbue patriarch in a matter of seconds. If she wasn’t so good at killing, she would have likely died a long time ago.

"Yhaba…! Unnf! You're c-crushing me…!" Era squeaked out, before being suddenly released and dropped into the dirt. She stopped herself from gazing up into that skull, clutching at her pounding heart while gasping for breath. Only a fool with a deathwish would provoke Yhaba’s malignant barbarism; as a result, no one truly knows what she even looks like under her bone helmet anymore. No one that lived to tell about it at least. 

"Mountains watch us. Wait for us to die." Yhaba mumbled, scratching at the scabs on her arm. "The green speaks of buckets filled with tongues. Don’t open your mouth if you see them."

"R-right… I'll be careful…" Era slowly rose to her feet, more than eager to give this psychopath a wide berth before her mere presence set her off.

Yhaba watched her turn and leave in an unsettling silence before she opened her beak and said, “You hear the ringing? Feel the seething sickness? The voice telling you to paint with blood?”

Era stopped dead in her tracks but she didn’t turn around. “How do you know this…?” She demanded indignantly. “How could you know?!”

“I hear them too.” Yhaba pulled an ear from her necklace and held it to her temple, as if she was listening to something. “Silence loves to talk. Don’t answer when they call your name. Fly away little bird. Go where the mountains can’t watch you.” She took a few long strides toward Era and grabbed her by the wrist; she then pushed a small linen sack into her hand, and refused to let go until she closed her fingers around it.

“What is this…?” Era meekly asked, fearing it was a small bag of ears.

“Eat when the ringing returns.” Yhaba began slinking back toward a shady nook in between two tents. “Then you will never die. Spite the mountains.”

Then she was left alone, standing under the pummeling sun with more questions than answers. Era slowly opened her palm and hesitantly opened the small sack- the substance closely resembled fine red sand, or perhaps even cinnamon. A cautious sniff revealed nothing, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to taste it; that would make it the third time she ate something given to her that she shouldn’t have. Instead the woman tucked it into her pocket for safe keeping, and aptly decided to put this strange encounter behind her. 

The fastest way back was the same route she took reaching the heart of her tribe’s territory; through the air. Nossk took her up into the sky to soar high above the barren wastes again, only this time she did it by herself. With the wind in her hair and the sun tanning her skin, all she could think about was leaping into Zevi’s arms again. A relief washed over her when she saw Ul’dah emerging through the brown dusty haze, glad everything was going better than she expected; one slip up and she would have had to choose between her lover and her family. She wasn’t exactly out of the woods yet, but the hardest part was behind her. Now she could just lean back, close her eyes, and let the wind pass across her face as this giant zu cut down her return trip by over half of a day.

It was evening by the time she felt safe enough to fly over the city. Using the cover of night, Era remained far and above, partially hidden between the sparse clouds, before identifying the Goblet and diving earthbound. Nossk opened his wings last minute, swooping down through the canyon along the border of the residential district to avoid startling any guards. As silent as the grave it soared below, slipping beneath two bridges before spreading its tail feathers and tilting up toward the ledge; his long curved talons easily shattered the stone railing, crumbling it into dust beneath his weight. 

“Crap…!” Era squeaked, hoping no one heard that. She slipped from his back and wrapped her arms around his jagged beak to press her lips atop his head. “Go home, Nossk…! I’ll see you soon, okay?” The bird clicked his tongue against his beak a few times before spreading his wings wide. Era made the horrible mistake of stepping back to let him take off, thinking he would follow the same path they took to get here.

He didn’t.

Nossk launched himself high into the air with a single flap of his mighty wings, and almost scraped against a nearby tower as he made a bee-line back toward Valhaas Barrow to the southeast. Era’s ears flattened when she heard the startled screams of Lalafellin residents having heart attacks at the sheer size of Nossk soaring above their heads. He was certainly fast enough to escape before the Immortal Flames could organize a task force to shoot him down… hopefully he doesn’t stop on the way home to snack on any fleeing citizens. Instead of waiting around for a passing guard to start asking questions as to why and how that railing got destroyed, Era slipped through the main gate of the estate and quickly stepped inside.

She heard familiar voices singing an unfamiliar song. Hurrying down the steps, and through the large sliding doors of iron, and across the metal grated rafters, Era finally reached the last flight of stairs that led into the basement bar.

“Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog! The bog down in the valley-o! Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog! The bog down in the valley-o!” K’thalen still had his pipes, with his boisterous singing echoing off the walls and carrying far throughout the whole of the estate. Mizuna was sitting on the piano bench with her back turned to the expensive instrument, clapping in unison with the rhythm and singing along in her own shy way. A Lalafell she didn’t recognize was doing a hearty jig in the middle of the group, his tiny legs kicking and twisting faster than she expected; the room was fairly crowded with faces she didn’t recognize, in fact. But sitting alone on the opposite side of the room, invested in the party but barely involved, sat her best friend and lover. R’zevi was nodding his head to K’thalen’s catchy song and half-heartedly clapping his hands together to the tune, but he looked like he was struggling to stay awake.

That is until he locked eyes with S’era, and his face lit up like a Starlight fireworks show.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[snowdice]

Folds in Paper (Chapter 3: Eye of Gold; Thigh of Blue)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Chapter Summary:  

Eye of gold Thigh of blue True is false Who is who?

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

AO3 Part 1 Part 2

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place in and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover said stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose. The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine, Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I’m supposed to call you.”

“My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement. Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes?” He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers with a happy “Thank you!” before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

“You did?”

“Oui, but I ran into some trouble”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him?”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

“I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

“I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

The man turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[saharamae21]

All of My Wrongs - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Topper x OC and Rafe x OC

Summary: As things at Rory’s home unravel, she finds herself reconciling with the one person she thinks life would be better off without her in it. Topper just wants for her to be okay and she wants to make sure she doesn’t ruin his life. As the events unfold, Rory opens up to Topper about things she’s never told anyone and begins to except that he might be good for her. How far is too far though?

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback, I love hearing what you guys have to say! Please keep commenting and sharing your thoughts with me.

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I knew I should’ve gone home that night, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I hated my mom right now and I didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t be there. Instead, I stayed at the place Rafe was crashing and tried to relax. I had to compose myself in order to go home and act like nothing was happening. It was the only way I’d ever get through the next few years living at home.

I woke up the next morning, still stuck between Rafe’s arms. He was so peacefully asleep that I didn’t want to disturb him. I knew I had to head back though. I tried to slip out of his arms undetected, but he tightened his grip and groaned. Mission failed. I smiled at him as his eyes flickered open. They were such a pretty shade of blue.

“Morning buttercup,” he said with the faintest of smiles. He looked so happy. I smiled and cuddled into him, wrapping my arms around him tightly. I loved when all of the worry left his eyes. I loved when he didn’t have a care in the world. If I could do that for him, maybe I wouldn’t be so worthless after all. He chuckled as I clung to him and kissed the top of my head. He was the only person who wanted me in their life.

“I should go home,” I muttered into his chest. He tightened his grip on me as if telling me to stay. “I’ve barely been home since we moved here, Rafe. I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise.”

“Fine,” he muttered and loosened his hold on me. I gave him a small smile as I got out of the bed. His face looked so calm as he looked at me. I wondered how long it would take for me to disappoint him…

The drive home was far too short. I stood outside the front door and stared at the knob. I didn’t want to go inside. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, but then I heard Skipper’s voice. He sounded distressed. I instantly reached for the handle and flung the door open. Inside stood my mom and Skipper. He was chasing her to the back entrance. She was carrying a plethora of things, my things. I called out and asked what was going on, but no one answered me. My mom acted as if Skip and I didn’t exist at all. She just continued to walk to the backyard. I ran after, bursting through the sliding door. Outside, there was a huge flame in the fire pit. Skip was trying to stop my mom from tossing more items into the flames, but with no success. I ran over and peered in the fire. Picture frames, notebooks, artwork. All of it was burning up and on top of the pile lied Newton. Tears filled my eyes as I tried to reach in to pull him out, but my dad stopped me. He screamed at mom and asked her what she was doing. He held me back as I desperately tried to grab my belongings from the fire.

“Stop yelling at me! This is her fault! It’s not like she wants to be a part of this family anymore!” my mom screamed. I listened to my dad yell at Skip to go inside. He told him to go inside and he would be in shortly after. After Skip ran into the house, dad released me. I had calmed down a little bit. I stood there motionless, tears streaming down my face. Normally I would just go inside. I would act like I was fine and this didn’t affect me. Not today though.

“What did I do to you?” I asked softly. My dad told me to go inside. He begged me. I couldn’t though. I had to understand her. “What did I do wrong? I’ve tried to be everything you’ve ever wanted and nothing is good enough! So, what did I do?”

“You existed,” she said coldly. I heard my dad yell at her. “You’re the reason I’m not happy. You’re the reason I can’t love Skipper. You did this to me. You ruined me!”

Her worlds swirled around my head, but for the first time they stuck. Everything was my fault. If I had never been born, she wouldn’t be like this. I caused the post-partum depression that led into her manic depression. I corrupted her like a computer virus. I broke down in tears as I rushed past her, desperate to get away from her. My dad called out after me. My tears made everything blurry as I ran towards the front yard. Something stopped me though. Something snagged my arm. I turned to look at him and the look on his face. Topper. Yesterday, he would’ve calmed me down and alleviated some of the pain, but today, I knew he wanted nothing to do with me. This was an obligation as a human being. Before he could say anything, I pulled my arm away from him and ran.

I drove to the beach and sat down in the sand. The sun was covered by layers of clouds and the wind was almost cold in a way. I sat there and let my emotions get the best of me. I cried and cried for the first time in forever. She never let herself spiral this far. I wondered if this would be a wakeup call or if we had finally reached the point of no return. I hugged my knees to my chest and buried my face in them.

A while later I felt a hand touch my knee. I looked up to see Topper’s worried face in front of me. He held out a new teddy bear to me and didn’t say anything. He just waited to see my reaction. As I looked at his face, I bursted into tears again. I took the bear from him and hugged it against my chest, needing to hold something in that moment. He wrapped his arms around me as I sobbed. The whole time he held me, he said nothing. He knew I just needed someone with me at this moment.

“I never should’ve been born,” I whispered. His arms tightened around me and one of his hands reached up to caress my hair. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t listen to her, Rory,” he said. I just shook my head against his chest. I shook my head over and over, ignoring everything he said after that. Nothing he said would process until I had calmed down a little more.

After 10 minutes of sobbing and shaking, I finally calmed down a little bit. I took a few deep breaths and squeezed the push toy to my chest. Topper released me from his hold and sat down in front of me. He told me that he was there if I needed someone to listen, but his words from yesterday were still rippling through me. I made myself smaller as he looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said. My head shot up at his apology. “I was mad that you felt like you owed Rafe an apology. You had nothing to be sorry about. I-I don’t know why I got so upset.”

I fiddled with my hands as he said that. I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him. He told me to stay away from him. I knew the only reason he was in front of me was because he felt bad for me. He didn’t care about me. It was just human nature to care for those struggling. He cared because I was crying, nothing more and nothing less.

“I’m okay, Topper,” I said. I lifted my head and plastered the same smile onto my face that I always did. “You don’t have to stick around. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop that,” he said. He moved closer to me and observed my face carefully. “Stop thinking about everyone else before yourself. You’re not forcing me to be here Aurora and I’m going to leave until you get that through your head. You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m here, okay?”

We sat there in silence for what seemed like forever. He just sat in front of me, carefully studying my face. I never looked at him though. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I thought that if I ignored him for long enough he would just go away, but he showed absolutely no sign of moving. He wasn’t giving up on me.

“You were right, y’know?” I said. I gave out a pathetic laugh as I stared at the waves crashing against the sand. “I’m a hypocrite. You just stay away from me.”

“Rory-” he started, but I held up my hand to silence him. I wanted him to just listen. I didn’t want him to tell me lies and try to convince me otherwise. I just wanted him to hear me.

“My whole life, I’ve been what everyone else wanted. Even at home I couldn’t be myself... because myself disappointed my mom. Isn’t that sad?” I said. I was smiling as I said it. It was a sad smile. The kind that you have one your face when you know things couldn’t get any worse because nothing else mattered anymore. I pursed my lips together and let out a huge sigh. “Have you heard of postpartum depression? My mom suffered from it. After I was born, my mom got really sad. She couldn’t find a way to love or connect with me, but with the help of my dad she got over it. Things were good for a while, but then she got pregnant with Skip. My dad was away with a nonprofit for most of her pregnancy and he didn’t see how she spiralled, but I did. I was too young to remember it, but that’s when it began. She never got better after Skip. Postpartum turned into bipolar and when she doesn’t take her meds she acts like this and it’s all my fault.”

“Aurora, none of that is your fault,” he said quietly. I turned to look at him, tears in my eyes. His face was contorted in worry as he pulled me into his arms. “None of this is your fault.”

“If my own mom can’t even love who I am, then who else will?” I asked. My voice was barely a whisper, yet he heard every word. I let myself collapse into his chest and his arms tighten around me. No one had ever comforted me like this. No one had ever cared that much. Even my dad was more focused on my mom’s sanity over mine.

“I will,” he muttered softly as he held me. I closed my eyes as he ran his fingers through my hair. How could he love me, when I didn’t even know who I was? That didn’t matter though. I had a feeling that he would help me find who I really was. I needed his help. I needed him.

As much as I told myself that I knew I would never be enough for him, there was no getting rid of him. I knew that I was too attached to the boy to ever let him go. I squeezed your eyes shut and tried to control my emotions, but it would take more than that to feel alright again. I squeezed the bear in my arms and moved away from Topper, looking at him sadly as he let me go.

“I know it’s not Newton, but I thought you might need something new to sleep with at night,” he said and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. I smiled and looked at the bear in my grasp. Somehow he knew exactly what would help me cheer up. The small gesture made my heart swell. “Should we name him?”

“Hm…” I said, smiling a little bit as I thought. “Should I name him Thornton?”

“Don’t name him what you think I would enjoy,” he said, ruffling my hair a little bit. I let out a small giggle as I pushed his hand away. “Start thinking for yourself. What do you want to name him?”

“Larkin,” I said without thinking. He laughed at me, but it was wholesome. I could tell that he loved the way my mind worked. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “So, Rory. If you could do anything in the world right now, what would you want to do?”

I thought for a while as he patiently waited. What would I choose to do? Why couldn’t I think of anything I truly wanted in life? I couldn’t think of one thing I wanted… I just didn’t want to be alone right now. I knew he would stay with me and that meant the world to me.

“I want to stargaze. I love laying underneath the stars and forgetting about the world around me,” I said. A small smile fluttered across my lips as I thought about the night sky. The sun hadn’t barely reached its peak though, so my wish was nearly impossible. He smiled at me and told me to come with him. I stared at him with a confused look as he helped me up and walked towards the parking lot. He seemed really excited, I could figure why though.

It was a short drive to the peer. I got out of the jeep and watched as Topper walked over to buy two tickets for the ferry. I just stared at him as he chatted with the ticket guy. Within a minute he was back by my side, grabbing my wrist and pulling me aboard. I asked him where we were going, but he told me it was a surprise. We sat on the ferry and made casual small talk as the boat headed to its destination. I knew nothing about the area, so everything about this was a shock to me. When we stepped off, we were in Chapel Hill. He pulled me excitedly towards some older buildings. It looked like a college, but I couldn’t tell.

“This is University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill,” he said. He smiled at me as he walked me around the campus. I still couldn’t figure out why we were here, but then we came to a round building. It had no windows and a dome for a roof. Something about it looked familiar. “C,mon.”

He pulled me inside and told me to wait in this lobby looking area. He walked up and talked to the college student at the desk. I watched the excited look on his face and smiled. He looked so cute right now. I pushed that thought from my head and tried to ignore my budding feelings for him, but how could I? He made his way back over to me and grabbed my hand, guiding me inside.

“Welcome to the Morehead Planetarium and Science Center,” he said as we took a seat in the pitch black room. I leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, following Topper’s suit. Then like a beautiful ray of light, the stars twinkled across the ceiling above us. I laid there and stared up, mouth agape as I observed the night sky above me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

“Wow…” I breathed out. I listened to him chuckle as he stared at me. “Do you want to know my favorite thing about the stars?”

“What?” he asked. I could feel his eyes on me and if the lights were on, you would notice how red I was.

“I love that when you look at them, you look into the past,” I said, staring up. I explained how the stars were so far away that they took millions of years for their light to reach our sky. I told him about how many of the stars we see above us had already burnt out, but their image is preserved in our sky. It’s almost as if they keep on living through us. I turned to see his face. His full attention was on me and the smile he gave me said it all. I smiled back at him. He made all of this possible for me. He made me so happy, even in a time that I thought I might never be happy again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome Aurora.”

____________________________________________

Tag List : @outerbankslut @jellyfishbeansontoast @jiaraendgame @bricksatanakinswindow @outerbongs @maybanksmalfoy @ilovejjmaybank @potterheadhollander @spilledtee @queenieloveswriting @multifandomlovess @starlightstarkey @tomhardybby @diverdcwn @sadcupofcoffee @maybanksbaby @teenagekook​ @kaitieskidmore1 @teenwaywardasgardian

[n3rdlif343va]

8, any of our mutual ships 😉 (liogalo is also acceptable btw!)

I figured since you are awake at this hour and I’m headed to bed that I would post your prompt now so you have something to amuse you :)

If anyone reading this is a Kaishin fan, please check out all of the amazing fics that were written for the @kaishinbigbang. You can find my other Kaishin fics on my Ao3 : )

Quarantined Prompts

Everything had gone sideways.

What had been a perfect plan seemed to have unraveled before Shinichi’s eyes, spinning wildly out of control until all he could do was shove those he loved to safety and accept his fate.

The stones of the front wall were still crumbling inward as Shinichi stumbled backwards as fast as he could. Glass from the shattered windows crunched under his feet and cut his hand as he caught himself from toppling over. Wood beams menacingly creaked under the weight of the collapsing roof, each groan whispering that Shinichi’s end was drawing closer.

Dust invaded Shinichi’s eyes as he tried to navigate the little space left in the room. A piercing pain in his side forced him to hunch over, clutching at a broken chair while he struggled to regain his control before tripping on. The blood was hard to ignore but even harder to push aside was the impending painful threat of physical change.

If he couldn’t find another way out of the disaster around him then the body that would be discovered wouldn’t be his, but instead his smaller form. As another alarmingly loud crash came from the other side of the room, Shinichi wondered if he would even be alive to answer their inevitable questions.

Sickness rose up inside of him making Shinichi lurch forward as he grabbed blindly at anything solid to support himself. Missing the edge of the tipped table he had reached for Shinichi landed hard on the ground. His groan mixed with the rumble of stones striking downward to their own crumbling demise. Closing his eyes, Shinichi fought back the tears that wanted to release themselves.

An unexpected breeze encouraged Shinichi’s eyes to flutter open again. A figure approached him, moving so quickly that Shinichi didn’t have time to protect himself from a potential blow.

Instead of more pain Shinichi heard a worried whisper of his own name.

Kneeling in the trashed remains of the once renowned gallery, Kid lifted a hand toward Shinichi’s face. His heart felt stuck in his throat as his eyes took in the bruises painting Shinichi’s handsome jawline and the blood seeping through the characteristically stiff blazer. Hesitantly, Kid’s hands floated over Shinichi’s body. “Can I touch you?” he whispered, unsure if he was asking for permission to provide comfort or to save Shinichi from his own excruciating end.

A groan escaped deep from Shinichi’s gut as he head fell backwards. Shaking fingers reached out to grab Kid’s cape, his mind barely able to piece together the words he needed. “Please…” he whispered, the single word causing his lungs to burn.

Weightlessness surrounded Shinichi as he was lifted from the ground. His mind faded, head falling against an angular shoulder and his senses being flooded with a familiar scent. Clutching with the last of his strength to the shirt of his savior, Shinichi bit back a moan as he was whisked away from his potential death.

A cool sweeping breeze kicked Kid’s cape out from behind him as he fled out of the back of the gallery. If it hadn’t been for his thorough casing of the building he would have never known of the secret entry through which the curators passed in order to take in well-deserved smoke breaks. Leaving the hidden door behind, Kid refused to look over his shoulder as the collapsing gallery met its final end.

Cradling his precious cargo in his arms, Kid moved cautiously through the line of trees until he reached the waiting car. Slipping Shinichi’s barely conscious form into the backseat, Kid didn’t hesitate to place a gentle kiss to Shinichi’s cheek. If he were awake, Shinichi would surely chastise him for being soft. As it was Shinichi only hummed and turned to brush his lips in the slightest hint of kiss to Kid’s lips.

There would be no time for them during this period of Shinichi’s transformation. By the time Kid smuggled Shinichi home to be cared for and tended to by Jii, it would no longer be Shinichi in his backseat. The reality of this hurt Kid in ways he didn’t wish to acknowledge but he still drove through the woods as if his own life depended on it.

In reality, although hard to admit and certainly harder for Kid to truly grasp, his life and his happiness did depend on Shinichi’s survival.

Gripping the wheel tighter, Kid glared down the darkening forest and fled toward the help he knew would be awaiting him on the other side.

[telmes]

all or nothing (fic post)

summary: gabriel wins.

note: my piece for the @gabenathminibang!! crossposted on ao3, linked here! the art for this piece was drawn by @shadowmayura, linked here!! and this was beta-read by @gabriel-fucking-agreste!

masterlist post!

please read this on ao3 though. because it looks better there.

disclaimer: non-chronological order, so it’ll get confusing fast.

word count: 11,536

Papillon held his closed fist above their heads— the same fist that clutched onto the Miraculous tightly.

There was neither glee nor condescension on his face. What was obvious was the quiet, lingering acceptance, dangling like a thin, unraveling thread.

He released the breath he held.

His quest was finally over. 

( . . . )

“I win.”

( . . . ) 

Emilie rolled over their duvet and gave Gabriel a startlingly bright smile. At six in the morning, she was the dictionary definition of sunshine, all smiles in the face of a brand new day. The way her eyes crinkled and her lips twisted, with how she slid a warm finger against his cheek, subtly reminded him that the sun was nothing compared to his Emilie.

The display made it hard for him to prevent his own smile from erupting on his lips, unsure and awkward, as though he was unused with the expression.

“Good morning, ma chère femme,” he murmured sleepily, resting his forehead on hers.

“Good morning, mon charmant mari,” she replied, closing her eyes.

The quiet that settled between them was a comfortable one. Gabriel held onto Emilie’s hand and, in the privacy of his mind, recited his vows to her (as he did every morning since their marriage). His grip on her was soft but firm, and his thoughts decided that he would rather fall off the face of the Earth than ever think of letting go.

Their shared space rumbled with anticipation. Seconds passed until a knock echoed on their bedroom door. Gabriel’s eyes darted towards the entrance while Emilie opened hers.

Adrien’s head peeked through the crack after it opened, bright green shining with delight when he saw his parents staring in his direction. Emilie’s mirror image watched them smile at his appearance and it was Gabriel’s voice that coaxed the youngest Agreste to enter with all the force of a hurricane, unminding the early morning and the disdain that his father tended to express with the early hour.

Still, it was hard to begrudge Adrien when he happily bounded towards their prone forms, sliding beside Emilie and snuggling with her. The messy bedhead Adrien sported stood in every direction and his eyes still bared traces of stardust. It was clear that he was wide awake and ready for the day. 

Gabriel wished he had that sort of power, to wake at what he considered to be an ungodly hour and be as energetic as Adrien and Emilie, but he had never been a fan of such early mornings.

Nevertheless, as his eyes flickered toward the two people he considered his whole life, he found himself content. 

To see them both so happy was enough.

.

“Mère, Père, may I go out to see my friends today?”

Adrien’s voice was both sheepish and bold, sitting on their bed and pulling his knees up to his chest. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his smile was as wide as the Seine— clear, white teeth showing. A quiet spell transcended between the couple while Adrien waited for their response, with Gabriel searching for an answer within Emilie’s eyes. 

The glare she leveled him was familiar. The past had taught him that to enrage her, at such an early morning, was the last thing he should do. The effects of it would be felt until the day ended, and really, he had so much to do that to be on the receiving end of Emilie’s wrath was not on his schedule.

He sighed.

“Of course Adrien. Tell us the details when you get them,” he finally said, shifting a bit so that he could sit. Adrien’s reaction was that of glee— he shot up, hugging his mother and his father, before shouting out a loud ’Merci à voi!’, and dashing out the room.

Once the door closed, Emilie all but pounced on him.

Figuratively, that is.

“Gabriel! How could you agree so easily?” Emilie’s voice rang against his ears, a little shrill despite the softness it had exuded mere moments ago. The confusion on his expression must have been noticeable (he always had difficulty holding in his reactions in the morning) that Emilie’s lips had been pulled into a deep frown.

“You were the one to tell me to let him go sometimes,” Gabriel said, half-wondering if he should go get someone to bring Emilie her morning coffee. A mug filled with black coffee often cheered her up. “You told me there was no reason not to let him go with his friends—” 

Something in the way Emilie’s face hardened made Gabriel take pause. The way she looked at him, eyes squinted and lips pursed, worried him. It only lasted for a few seconds before her expression softened. 

Emilie let out a sigh.

“Did I?” She shook her head. “I must have forgotten.”

( . . . )

“Are you ready?” Emilie’s question broke through Gabriel’s muddled thoughts.

Gabriel turned to face his wife, noticing the way the stark fluorescent light above her shone like a spotlight. It felt like any light source was a spotlight for Emilie Agreste. He blinked when all he could see was the glittering above, blurring in his vision. 

In the few moments he had seen Adrien that whole week, only one was spent in the same room for more than an hour— and it was only because he had to retake his son’s measurements for an upcoming project. Haute Couture Week was still months away but they had their charity gala in the works, and as one of the faces of the company, Adrien had to wear something suitable to represent them.

Emilie insisted he design a new suit for himself and their son, as well as a new dress for her. Naturally, he would, even without the reminder. 

Before he knew it, two weeks had passed and now, he had two suits and a dress prepared for the three of them.

But that wasn’t what he was facing today, wasn’t it?

“Gabriel?” Emilie’s voice came from behind him now. He blinked again and saw that Emilie had begun moving toward their seats, cordoned so that no one else would take it. The gymnasium was already filled with people, all loud and excited and too much for the fashion mogul. The urge to run back home with his tail behind his back flared within Gabriel, and apart from Emilie pointedly looking at him, equals parts exasperated and fond, it was Adrien’s upcoming match that helped him sit still and be comfortable

Or as comfortable as he could be, considering the circumstance.

It was only in that one moment spent with Adrien, when Gabriel took his son’s measurements, that his son had politely inquired if they were busy on the last Friday of the month. 

Emilie had been the one to answer, making sure that his schedule was spotless even before he could ask her. 

.

And when Adrien won, when he had a gold medal hanging on top of his heaving chest, he turned to his parents, and for once, Gabriel was a witness to his son’s bright smile.

It mirrored that of Emilie’s and he was falling in love with it all over again.

( . . . )

The screen of his tablet was awash with white. He could hear Nadja Chamack’s voice as she dictated the news— a replay of yesterday’s fight between Mayura against Ladybug and Chat Noir. Emilie stood beside him, surprisingly attentive, her hands curled into fists.

Gabriel glanced at her and saw how her eyes were fixated on the screen, staring at the footage of Mayura in all her glory. It was the normality of the situation, watching three super-powered humans fighting like they weren’t being observed like spectacles for entertainment by the entirety of Paris.

When Chat Noir landed a hit on the villainess, a loud crack that was audibly heard from his staff colliding with her shoulder, Emilie visibly flinched. His eyes narrowed at that, at the implication of it, and he couldn’t help but stare at Emilie’s shoulder, covered by the sleeves of her white sundress.

He wondered why his head immediately veered into that dangerous line of thinking, not when he knew Emilie to be fearless and undaunted even in the face of his anger. A sound, as loud and as painful as it seemed on the screen, shouldn’t have gotten a reaction from her.

But it did.

Without making it too obvious, he slipped a hand behind her back, settling on the shoulder he was wary of. Gabriel pulled Emilie close to him and while she was shocked at the sudden movement, Emilie melted into his chest. 

“Are you alright, ma chére?” His grip on her tightened. If it caused her any pain, she didn’t say.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” she lifted her head to stare at his concerned gaze, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit light-headed. I should, I should just head to bed.”   

She had no reaction other than that. Even when Gabriel gave her a tentative squeeze, even when she smiled as though he meant to impart some sort of concern for the sudden way her body lurched and toppled so easily in his presence— there was nothing else that could Gabriel any more reason for the strange thought that crossed his mind just minutes ago.

He had no choice but to let her go.

( . . . )  

In one of the many backrooms of the Gabriel head office, the eponymous CEO of the luxury brand stood still like a statue, listening to the snatches of conversation flitting through the cracks under the walls. They ranged from gossip, “I can’t believe that Mme. Agreste did that!”, “I know? That was so bold of her.”, to company news, “The poor assistant was crying when she left.”, “It was her fault, so really, she only had herself to blame.”, to fashion news, “Did you hear about the latest Chanel handbag? Apparently that was a collaboration.”, “Wait, really?”, “Yeah! With the Sancoeur house.”.

And then there was all of the above.

“Mme. Bourgeois is looking for M. Agreste!” Someone was shouting, passing through his hiding place. “Mme. Agreste said to look for M. Agreste! And to hurry!”

Hiding was unbecoming of him but he had no intention of showing his face after Emilie had the gall to schedule a meeting between him and Audrey Bourgeois. Despite the fact that Audrey singlehandedly propped him up from anonymity to fashion royalty to anyone who would listen, her general demeanor was one he had been stubbornly ignoring if only to preserve his sanity. 

It helped no one that her unpleasantness grated him to the core.

As he hid from the world, waiting away the hours before he could leave, the brooch pinned on his chest pulsed with the familiar rhythm of emotional distress. Fear echoed in his thoughts, slipping through the barriers of his mind. 

Nooroo flew out of the Miraculous, eyes wrinkling at the smoke by the soles of his holder’s shoes. 

“Gabriel,” he murmured, already weary of the shouting that had begun to build outside the room they were in. 

Months of working through the emotions that surrounded him had given Gabriel the ability to squash his own panic as it threatened to rise from his throat. Panic in itself was a detriment when he could feel everything around him. 

“Well, this is just the reason I need to cancel on Audrey,” he said. The kwami in front of him might have tittered with amusement. His holder had such good luck when it came to escaping the blonde woman that Nooroo often thought he was Tikki instead, manifesting her good luck. 

“Nooroo, transforme-moi!”

( . . . )

They knew that the appearance of Mayura’s sentimonsters were few and far in between. Most of the time, a week would pass before she ever thought to send another one and always with the intent to obtain the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. The heroes of -Paris were unsure of her objectives apart from that— they all assumed she wanted the power that came with the two Miraculous.

With up to five emerging in Paris in one day, Ladybug decided to call on the other heroes of Paris in order to help with the fighting. 

Naturally, Papillon wasn’t one of them, instead delegated to observing the rooftops for any sign of Mayura, hoping to catch her off-guard. His own akuma stood near, vigilant and alert, in case a stray sentimonster found its way towards him.

Nooroo had been skittish up until he transformed. There was something in the way his emotions flared as he floated beside Gabriel, an unsettling nervousness permeating his form. Gabriel had asked the kwami but received no answer, and throughout the day, while Papillon stood guard atop the streets of Paris, Gabriel poked through the back of his subconscious, willing Nooroo to share his problem.

He never got an answer. Gabriel didn’t think he would, all things considered. Nooroo was as secretive as he was quiet and while that suited Gabriel just fine, it felt as though there was something hidden beneath Nooroo’s unusual, jittery silence.

.

On her perch high above the streets of Paris, Mayura watched as chaos unfolded right before her eyes. Creating a sentimonster was taxing enough. Five at once was pushing herself to the brink. She would have preferred to be hidden back at her apartment or the sewers that snaked underneath the city but her sentimonsters needed guidance. 

The addition of four heroes didn’t help matters— Ladybug had called Rena Rouge, Carapace, Queen Bee, and Viperion, and with Chat Noir and Papillon, that made seven versus her six. They would soon realize that she still held the amoks powering her creations. Before that could happen, she needed to leave.

“Mayura.”

There was a thump behind her, followed by a rustle. Mayura laughed, waving her closed fan like a greeting. She hadn’t even moved before the intrusion appeared, content to bother her as she scrutinized the battle between the heroes and her sentimonsters far, far below.

Her time to leave was ticking slowly. He would see to it that she didn’t. 

“Papillon.”

She half expected the teenage heroes to land beside him and declare her capture. Why would Papillon confront her if not for the assurance that she would be swiftly defeated? Even with her sentimonsters, the heroes far outnumbered her and her creations.

But her connection to her sentimonsters never wavered. The rings she had on each finger, the items she had used in order to house all five amoks still burned against her skin, full of magic. Through her mind, she could still feel her creations breathing, evading the heroes with her instructions repeating in their minds like tapes looped on repeat.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Mayura purred, twisting herself to face him. Papillon, in all his glory, languid in his pose, stared back at her. The silver mask that covered his face, sans his mouth, gnarled to accommodate his disgust. Probably. She couldn’t read him at that moment, however much she tried to. Even his emotions were muted beneath the magic of his Miraculous. “Aren’t you supposed to be hidden away, letting the children fight for you?”

He bristled and her smile widened. That, she could read. “Must you be so rude? I thought you needed the company. Not even a sentimonster around to protect you,” he answered, his cane tap-tap-tapping on the concrete. “But you’re no different than me. Creating monsters to do your bidding. This is the first time we’ve seen you out in a while. Why is that, I wonder?”

Something in his grin was too familiar to discard as coincidence. Mayura found herself studiously ignoring the way her skin flushed a darker shade of purple and the way she could hear Duusu’s voice cackling at the back of her head. Her kwami always enjoyed it when Papillon found them, though Mayura never thought to ask him why.

This was why she hated going out in the first place.

“My lair is under renovation,” she drawled as though they were acquaintances sharing trivial chit-chat and not enemies trying to rip each other’s brooches off. “You know how it is in Paris these days. Too expensive apartments and this poor, defenseless woman trying to live through it.”

“You could always move in with me,” he blurted out. Two seconds later, he was stuttering and tongue-tied, unlike the charming and collected Papillon that often appeared alongside Ladybug and Chat Noir. If she knew any better, he almost seemed embarrassed. She filed that little reaction in the back of her mind, where Duusu’s laughter echoed.

The snort that left Mayura would be called inelegant but she couldn’t help it. 

“If you have an attic I could use to release my creations, I’d be delighted to take you up on your offer,” she said then, all the while laughing at his choking gasp.

( . . . )

The mattress was soft beneath his aching body but Gabriel wouldn’t stoop low enough to complain. The king-sized bed was always one of the things he enjoyed going to at the end of the day, regardless of whether he had stood in attention in front of his design tablet all day or he sat in the countless meetings he was beholden to attend as CEO.

“Gabriel—”

The whine of his wife echoed from the bathroom and Gabriel had to stifle a groan at her high-pitched voice. Gabriel loved his wife dearly. He would do anything for her. He would go through anything for her—

But maybe listening to her sing through her thirteen-step evening routine was pushing it.

As always, Gabriel held his tongue. He waited patiently on their bed, already done with his own routine. When the door opened and when he lifted his eyes, the sight of Emilie wrapped in a robe far too flimsy to protect her modesty greeted his vision. Her hair rested on her shoulder, long golden strands transformed into a loose braid. 

She grinned while settling beside him, sitting up as she coaxed him to lay his head on her lap. His short hair, normally coiffed and impeccable, was splayed around his head like a blanket. Emilie took advantage of it by running her fingers through his hair.

“Did you really have to tell Audrey that I was at head office the other day?” He asked, enjoying the feel of Emilie’s nails against his scalp.

Emilie’s head rolled to the side, resting on the headboard of their bed. Her fingers continued their ministrations, almost enjoying the way Gabriel seemed to soften at her touch.

“Of course. You needed to talk to her about the new winter line,” she answered.

“But you don’t even like her, let alone her company,” he countered like a child.

She watched him with her brows raised. “I do! Whoever said that I didn’t like her.” 

Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes as Emilie grinned again. “You really should talk to her sometimes, mon amour. If I answer the phone for you one more time, she might throw a tantrum,” she said, twirling a strand of his hair around one of her fingers. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he murmured, feeling lethargic. “Especially after the whole seating issue during our last fashion show.”

If Gabriel had glanced at his wife, he would have seen the surprise coloring her cheeks. If he hadn’t finally fallen asleep, spent from a day’s work and the lulling of her fingers, he would have heard her ask—

“What fashion show?”

( . . . )

Emilie danced along the edges of his sight, going around the room with an ecstatic Adrien in her arms. The fast beat of a local pop song, one that Gabriel couldn’t name for the life of him, filled the room. He enjoyed watching them, his two favorite people in the world, just letting themselves cross the expansive room with a skip in their steps.

Gabriel loved every little second of it, his gaze never leaving them as Adrien dodged his mother’s feet, as Emilie moved in her long tulle skirt, a hurricane in all but name. 

With each finished song and with each hour that passed, the impromptu dance lesson continued. Both mother and son ignored him while he remained in his seat, with his sketchpad propped on his knees and his pencil between his fingers. Whenever Adrien let out a peal of laughter, tripping over his feet, or whenever Emilie raised her hands and swept Adrien in a lifting hug, Gabriel made sure to sketch out the faces they had made then.

A video or a photo would have been easier, he knew, but a drawing was something special. In Gabriel’s eyes, it was a gesture of intimacy. He enjoyed tracing the lines that made up Emilie and Adrien’s smiles, at the pucker of their lips, at the crinkle of their eyes as the world embraced their laughter.

( . . . )

Gabriel struggled with each swipe of his fingers over his screen. The designs he had made were too simple. Everything he came up with lacked the sense of passion he often had with his previous works— the ones that caught the eye of the public and the critics that fancied themselves at the height of all things fashion.

He thought of the days when inspiration would gush out of him like an unannounced torrent, submerging him in years of designs that he would be too loathed to discard because trends tended to change at a moment’s notice. He remembered Moleskine notebooks filled to the brim with his drawings. Little pieces of post-its stapled together and stuffed in thick manila folders, all labeled ’For Future Use’. 

Where had that energy gone? Had he lost his drive? Was it time to hand in the reigns of Head Designer for this new set to someone else? He could rest, recuperate while the season moved forward. 

Yet he couldn’t decide. He knew that Emilie would be disappointed. She was looking forward to his designs for the winter season. Ever the drama queen, she waxed poetic about winter even when her visage clearly expressed spring.

Gabriel closed his eyes. The world turned into a caricature of his current atelier, emptier and fuller at the same time. Pictures of Adrien were hung on his walls and statues of Emilie littered the corners of his office. 

When he looked up from his design tablet, he could see someone standing by the window. Familiarity gnawed against his knuckles. He tried to pin the feeling down but only succeeded in making it grow. 

With nothing else to do, he began to draw. 

A full figure. Long sleeves. Turtleneck. A business suit. Red and dark blue.

Pumps. Long legs.

A smart blazer, buttoned-up. 

Lashes. Blue eyeshadow. A thin coating of blush on her cheeks. Red lips. 

Hair pinned into a tight bun. Dark blue. A clump covering her eyes.

Red highlights. A streak just above her short bangs.

Red and dark blue. Red and blue. Red.

A smile meant for him. The twist of her lips when he told her about his plan. The way she shivered when he lifted her up; when he knelt in front of her; when he held her hand; when he—

Stop.

He was used to drawing with Emilie as his model. It was expected of him. Emilie was his wife, and in that sense, was his muse as well. She brought to him a plethora of inspiration that he could thumb through any time he so desired—

She turned around and the blankness of her face unnerved him. He blinked and it began to fill with what he’d drawn on his tablet. 

—and yet, here he was, watching the figure of another woman, clad in red and black, parading around the room like she was meant to be there. Like a piece of a puzzle that he’d long since abandoned, until he found it stuffed in his drawer, gathering dust.

He tried thinking about Emilie again. Gabriel looked around, gazing at all of Emilie’s likeness. His atelier was filled with images that reminded him of his wife, of his devotion to his wife— of his love for his wife. 

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was a blank canvass that stared back at him. The curtains of his windows were closed, though he could see the silhouette of the outside through the thin fabric. 

His eyes were drawn to his door. The empty space near it felt odd. He remembered placing a statue there but having it moved the next day because it didn’t feel right. 

He just wasn’t sure why.

( . . . )

Nathalie made the mistake of feeling.

An odd mistake, considering her surname. Sancoeur, it read in big, bold printed letters. Sans cœur. Heartless. It was her surname, their brand built from the simmering beginnings of a woman who had lived through the aftermath of a war. It was what empowered her to push through with her thought of haute couture, even in the fledgling society built on rubble and destruction.

Despite her family history and how the woman she looked up to embodied and embraced the moniker of heartless, Nathalie had still made that mistake. A truly odd, wondrous one, considering the face of the hero standing in front of her.

They called him Papillon. It was the most straightforward name the group of heroes could come up with. Butterfly, because he used them to empower his chosen ones. 

.

Maybe her romance books were attempting to dictate her life with nonsense. Maybe she was projecting. He wore his mask like he was hiding from the world, unlike the other heroes who had noticeable traits to them. And unlike the villain of Paris, who bared her features for the world to see.

But there was no way he led that sort of life if he was a mentor to the obvious child-heroes that patrolled Paris’ streets.

.

Apart from that, he knew who she was.

And really, that was what really started it all.

Because, it was obvious, in a way, when Papillon fixated on her during the bank heist she had been a part of.   

The heroes, predictably, swooped in to take care of the robbers. Ladybug and Chat Noir, in their skin-tight spandex suits (really, why would children wear something that hugged their figures too closely) spent far too long with the men who had already gotten off with the money. And the hostages (including her), predictably, waited for them to either come back or for one of them to be akumatized so that they could be set free. That was how things went about, as the news articles loved to describe the play-by of any event that included the heroes.

What they didn’t predict was Papillon arriving as himself, along with a butterfly.

Nathalie watched, a little awed, more peeved, as Papillon descended into the room through one of the windows. The butterfly lingered above him like it was waiting as his creator surveyed the room. He caught her eye and immediately prepared herself for an akumatization, schooling her thoughts to indifference.

Instead of her, it had been the woman beside her that received the akuma. One by one, Papillon and his champion went to work and before long, the hostages were freed from their restraints.

.

Papillon was the one who had tended to her.

“Mlle. Sancoeur, a pleasure to see you,” he said, removing the bindings that kept her hands together.

Nathalie examined her wrists. The ropes had dug against her skin, leaving welts in its place. Had she not spoken out loud, maybe the robbers wouldn’t have tied hers a little harder than the others. 

“You know me?” She accepted the hand he offered. Her legs were sore but she wanted to stand and stretch them.

Papillon lingered beside her. He had yet to let go of her hand. “Of course. I do watch the news.”

He talked like they were acquaintances. In their other forms, maybe they were. Papillon couldn’t have known the link that they shared, but just to be sure, Nathalie muted the more obvious emotions that would connect her to her alter-ego, in case he could sense them.

At least she hadn’t worn her miraculous that day. God knew how much Duusu would have enjoyed being near another kwami, albeit transformed.

“Is that so? So you must’ve seen that awful interview,” Nathalie tried to laugh, tried not to feel suffocated with a paranoia that he would soon figure her out.  

“Awful? You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he remarked. “If anything, you did very well— even when Mlle. Chamack pushed you to answer that personal question.” 

He was charming, in a mysterious sort of way. He was something else, if the upturn of his brows as she fumbled with her wrists, feeling the sting of rope burn on her skin, was any indication. He was familiar, but not in the way that she’d been watching him on television for the past year and a half.   

Above all else, he was there, standing in the way of her getting the Miraculous of his two charges.

“I’m flattered,” she exclaimed. “It isn’t always that I’d find a superhero for a fan.” 

“Well, now you do,” he said, lips crooked into an innocuous grin.

.

Only when he left, when the officers had taken her statement, and when she had taken a taxi home did she realize that he (as a civilian, not as the hero Papillon) might have known her too.

Maybe she could use that against him.

( . . . )

There were moments when he felt off— like he had stepped onto another plane of existence. Like he had spent far too long upside-down that blood clustered in his head like thorns.

His atelier was a place where he found solace in spite of being surrounded by his work. In it, he was free to do as he pleased. And in his hands, currently, was a piece of white fabric with red stitches. The seams were tattered and he was bereft of time to fix it up before his wife came to take it.

When he looked up, it was Emilie staring at him. She wasn’t looking at the fabric.

Hands behind her back, posture ramrod straight— it almost seemed as though she held herself as he would so often do. She never did that before.

The similarities ended with the way her eyes averted his. It was unnerving to see Emilie so dim that she shrunk beneath his gaze. She was already so small compared to him, but now, now, it looked as though one exhale in her direction would send her flying.  

He opened his mouth to ask why, but instead of the question, all he could hear was ire. 

“I’m the only one who decides what’s good for my son!”

His features writhed with palpable rage. He stared at her, eyes sharp, blood simmering with the realization that she had made it her quest to undermine him with regards to his own son’s wellbeing. His son! Adrien! How dare she, how dare she— to do what should be his— Emilie would never—

Emilie.

Gabriel opened his eyes and blinked. His instinct was to recoil at the sight of a too-close-for-comfort face, even if it was his wife leaning far into his personal space. His fingers thumbed the white fabric he had been holding since that morning, feeling the seams rub against his skin.

The voice in his head echoed, fretful and decisive and confused. My son! My son! My son! 

A thought crossed his mind. 

Wasn’t Adrien— wasn’t he Emilie’s son too?

( . . . )

Mayura and Papillon were the only two adult Miraculous holders in the whole city of Paris. After the fiasco with Feast, there would be a surplus of them, though far away enough that they didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Paris was where the Ladybug and the Black Cat were at. That was where Nathalie needed to be.

She spent her day in her office, looking at news articles online. She was as invested with the heroes as was everyone else, although her reasons were more personal than natural curiosity. The clicking of her keyboard as she typed another line into her document drowned her thoughts about the new tab she opened in her browser.

Papillon and Mayura spotted at the Eiffel Tower!

The public latched onto the fact that one of the heroes of Paris had been seen together with the villain, and that both hadn’t been in the middle of a battle like they were prone to do. Instead, they sat together, watching the slow passing of the night sky. 

.

It started when Papillon offered Mayura a place to stay. That had given her a few days worth of laughter and it was all she could think to say whenever they met during attacks for a whole month. 

It started when Nathalie held up her hand to Papillon, so he could pull her up.

It started when Gabriel watched Mayura, wary and awed and frightened that she was his wife, but knowing that she wasn’t and being enamored by her presence anyway.

It started without them ever thinking too hard about it. It started when Mayura felt rattled enough to wander the Eiffel Tower in the middle of the night, the thought to breathe settling in the pit of her stomach that she made her way to Paris’ highest point only to watch the stars that blanketed the sky.

It started when he followed her, when he cornered her, and when he joined her.

It started and before long, it became a routine. She didn’t know what the other heroes thought of their nightly meet-ups. She hadn’t thought of what she would do if they were caught.

She didn’t care. 

Maybe she should. Maybe Mayura wanted to care. There was something about the way he would smirk at her during the night that was rehearsed and awkward, relaxing once they settled a foot apart. There was something overly intimate and nostalgic and familiar and warm of the whole thing, of her sitting and of him just being there.

Even after the article came out, even with the backlash that came with it— mostly directed at the Papillon, they still found it in them to meet up. Night after night, once they were sure no one would catch them a second (or a third, or a fourth) time, they found solace with each other, unminding the words that the press and the public had for them.

( . . . )

“Why do you want the Miraculous?” Papillon asked.

Maybe it was the calm night or the way that he wrapped her in a half-embrace. Maybe it was how he asked, stilted and awkward and too caught up in himself that she had just laughed at him instead of answering outright. The question was serious enough to warrant her undivided attention but Mayura couldn’t help the mirth that bubbled out of her throat. It was so out of the blue that Papillon stilled for the shortest of moments. 

For one, she never laughed, not like that.

For another, her amusement sounded divine. He wished he could always hear her laugh like it didn’t matter if she was a villain and he was a hero. 

“I’m not sure,” she said, eventually calming down. 

He already missed her laughter. “You’re not sure?” 

“I’m not,” she repeated. When he looked at her, he would see her smiling. “You might not believe me but I don’t know why I’m trying to get their Miraculous.”

“Then why are you?”

“I said I'm not sure. Compulsion? Power? I need them for something. I just don’t know what that something is.”

.

Papillon paused. “It’s been a year,” he offered.

“It has,” she agreed.

.

Mayura’s eyes wandered the expansive Paris skyline. “Why am I here?”

“Hm?”

“Here. In this place, in this life. I’ve felt like, like I’m not supposed to be here.” Mayura let out a shuddering exhale. “Like, this isn’t what should be.”

Papillon was quiet throughout, as Mayura continued. “Doesn’t it feel like a dream? Everything does.”

“Ma paonne,” he murmured. He didn’t know where she was going with her thoughts.

“It feels like we aren’t supposed to be like this, mon papillon,” she shivered. Her fingers gently traced the lapel of his suit, before hesitantly withdrawing. “Why are you here? We never really talked about that. Aren’t you trying to save your wife?”

Beside her, Papillon visibly recoiled. She looked up at the movement, watching as his mouth formed a thin line. It was only until he abruptly stood that she even realized what she had said.

Wife. 

Her own eyes widened and she jerked away, far too late all things considered. She wasn’t even able to apologize as he gave her a scathing look, one that belied the feeling of confusion that pulsed through his skin. She could feel it on her own, crawling electric across her spine.

Papillon brushed his suit as calmly as he could, and a breath later had jumped away, leaving her alone.

( . . . )

Ladybug stopped in her tracks, looking at the cleansed feather carried by the wind. The thought to reach out echoed in her mind but she ultimately discarded it.

They say catching feathers in mid-flight will grant you one wish.

Ladybug shook her head. “Chaton?”

“Yes, milady?”

Chat Noir was eager to get home, hoping to catch a glimpse of his parents before they retired for the night. He had yet to get his schedule from his mother, as the morning stretched so long that dusk replaced dawn before everyone knew what had been happening. 

Plagg murmured deep in his subconscious, something about cheese. Chat stifled a laugh. 

“Who have we been fighting this whole time?” Ladybug asked, blinking at him.

Chat Noir watched her brows furrow. The question seemed to shock her as it did him. They’d been together for the last two years, so of course, she should know that it was Ha— “Mayura? We’ve been fighting Mayura.” He paused, tapping his baton against his leg. That was right, wasn’t it? He remembered feeling like a million euros after Mayura’s shadowy voice echoed in the streets of Paris, through her sentimonster. 

“It’s going to be the anniversary of the day we first fought her. Ugh. I don’t want to remember that stone monster she made.”

His shivering didn’t go unnoticed. Ladybug gave him a sympathetic glance. The way she exhaled was heavy— like there was more to her question but she hadn’t figured out how to explain herself.

“Yeah. Mayura, right. Sorry. I was just… confused about something.”

( . . . )

Gabriel Agreste rose from the dim alley Papillon retreated to, hands in his pockets and still clutching the Miraculous in his iron grip. He hid in plain sight, mask stripped and coat shredded, Papillon shed for him to traverse the way home. A quiet Paris greeted him as he walked, devoid of its inhabitants.

Likely, they were still watching the news or the replay of the fight between their famed heroes and the two villains. 

It gave him the chance to pass through the streets without much fuss. Often, he was the subject of the inklings of any type of paparazzi, swarming him whenever he found himself outside his mansion. The subject of headlines, because to see Gabriel Agreste in broad daylight, without his assistant flanking him, was a sight too rare to even imagine in Paris. The past year, his appearance only amounted to less than five times and truthfully, he preferred it that way. 

In going through the streets of Paris, he took in the rubble and the chaos left by his akuma. Without the Miraculous Ladybug, it seemed as though the city remained in shambles. Again, Gabriel felt the Miraculous in his pockets, almost burning a hole through the fabric of his pants, as if begging to be let out. He ignored it, of course. 

His ultimate wish was at hand and no force on Earth will let him part with the Miraculous until he saw it cast.

The mansion loomed closer, standing proud even with all the akumas that had made it their mission to destroy anything stamped with the Agreste label. It stood, much too tall for a house, overlooking the city. It was an intimidating structure but as far as Gabriel knew, it was home.

Gabriel slipped past through the open gates, indifferent that they were open in the first place. 

Grenier was nowhere to be seen, though Gabriel expected that he wouldn’t be able to return as quickly after having been akumatized yet again.

And Nathalie...

Nathalie was still out as Mayura. Asking her to bring the two heroes-turned-civilians to safety was not to soften the blow of their defeat— Gabriel kept telling himself that he wanted Adrien safely out of the way while he used the Miraculous. Knowing them, they would regroup before Adrien even thought of going home.

Once his wife was back, once Emilie was awake, only then will Adrien be able to see her.

A deep sigh escaped him. His excitement had been muted into horror. Explaining to his son the way they fought against each other was not a conversation he wanted to have.

He hoped for the best.

( . . . )

“Duusu,” Nathalie called.

From behind one of her potted succulents, the kwami of emotion ripped through the air, colliding with Nathalie’s chest and sending the woman a step back. Duusu was laughing with glee, rubbing his face on the ruffles that adorned the woman’s dress.

“I missed you! Where did you go? I thought you’d be home earlier!” Duusu startled Nathalie with his naturally loud voice, already in the process of showering his holder with little taps of his hands. 

She pressed a finger against his head, rubbing slowly. Duusu leaned on it. “You know I had to go out today. I did try to get back early but I had to talk to people.”

“That’s boring— you should have left earlier Nathalie!” The high-pitched whine grated Nathalie’s ears. She had to get used to it, being on the receiving end of Duusu’s needy cries, especially during the days when Nathalie left the Miraculous at home. All the same, she adored the kwami that continuously flew in circles around her head.

Nathalie smiled. Ever the attention-seeker, Duusu flipped in the air, regaling her with tales about how he went up against the cat next door, how he tricked the small child three floors down into being his friend, how the cheese smelled a familiar scent that he thought he’d taken a whiff during that one time Nathalie had taken him outside—

Her phone vibrated inside her purse. “We have work to do.” Nathalie gently interrupted the kwami. “I’m due to meet someone.”

He blinked, once, before his mouth grew into a wide smile, excitement palpable with the fluttering of his tail.  

The brooch inside her jewelry box hummed against her hand when she pinned it on her chest. There was no time to change into something appropriate for a casual stroll out at the park. If she were to be captured, let them see her in her work attire.

And yet the thought of being caught nagged at her. 

She pushed it away. 

“Duusu, transforme-moi!”

( . . . )

The way both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous shone against the pale light above the ceiling of his underground lair distracted Gabriel from how his assistant doubled over behind him. He heard nothing but the echo of a thousand voices in his head, telling him that he was a fool who will reap what he had sown that day.

They were a multitude of overwhelming sounds, overlapping to form a gurgle of words that he dismissed despite the pain that they inflicted on him. They were adamant that they were heard by the man who wanted to test fate. 

Gabriel’s eyes watered at the throbbing of his head. He bit his tongue and endured the pain. 

This is all for Emilie.

It was that thought, at the way Emilie flickered in his mind, as she mouthed “Bring me back, my love,” that allowed him a semblance of clarity.

Was it clarity or was it madness? He had yet to really sit and indulge his thoughts with that particular conundrum.

Gabriel stood, back ramrod straight, holding the Miraculous in his hands. The way he held onto them, with reverence, looked as though they were offerings to a god.

In his mind, Emilie’s coffin, surrounded by flowers and cocoons, white and thriving, might as well have been the dwelling of one.

( . . . )

“At last.”

Papillon prefaced his words with a somber grin, twisting the mask he wore at an odd angle. Better to still act the part of a gloating victor, of the villain who had won after his numerous attempts, after literal years— even when the insides of his stomach coiled and churned with something resembling regret. 

He had the ’flair for the dramatic’ with every little thing that he did, Mayura had told him once upon a time— when they were starting out and he was testing the waters of his power. Now, he was subdued in his reaction to winning; not unlike when he had almost won years ago, during Heroes Day, only to be humbled by the heroes who now knelt prostrate in front of him. 

There was joy somewhere, hidden beneath the crevices of his thoughts, as he held the two Miraculous he had sought after for his wish, at the thought of achieving what everyone else thought impossible. 

And yet, there was also guilt, lurking even deeper, as his hands shook at the sight of blond hair and green eyes. The jewels in his palm seemed to burn through his gloves, taunting him, almost as if they were sentient and gleeful at the loud ringing in his ears. 

The ring is, was, my son’s— Adrien’s Miraculous.

Adrien, with Emilie’s angry gaze; Adrien, with Emilie’s smoldering frown; Adrien, with Emilie’s hostility rolling out of him in waves. 

Papillon felt every pulse through his own Miraculous. With each one came scorching fury and with each sting came the overwhelming guilt that he smothered under the layers that made him, Papillon.

“At last,” Mayura echoed behind him, silently taking in the tension draped over Papillon’s shoulders like a heavy cape. She paused, watching him with bated breath, as he held his cane tighter, grasping at the impossibility that his son, his son, was his— their enemy all along. Even she felt the disappointment in herself, felt the regret crawling along the underside of her tongue— and it was all she could do to keep herself calm in the face of that startling revelation.

Mayura lifted her head and said, softly, “Papillon.”

Hearing Mayura calling out to him brought him back from the stupor he had been immersed in. His mouth tasted like copper, like shards of glass piercing through his tongue at the mention of his name. They were in the same boat, of knowing Adrien and his friend— Marinette, was it?— of knowing what they had done to the two, both in the past and currently, as they succumbed to Papillon and the finality of his goal. 

Still, he had made up his mind despite the revelation. The moment the ring fell off and the transformation lifted and those once bright eyes glared into his and green reflected light blue and lips pursed into a deep snarl— he would think about it later. He couldn’t let himself slip now.

Papillon’s voice rang above the din of white noise that filled the skies of Paris. The stillness of the city and of its heroes, unmoving on the ground, was all the confirmation he needed to declare his victory in so little words.

Ladybug and Chat Noir— that was, Marinette and Adrien hung low, foreheads touching cool metal. Papillon derived no satisfaction now that he could see the two clearer than ever. 

( . . . )

On his balcony, he could see everything. The dreams plaguing him have begun to have adverse effects on his designs. As much as he thought the woman in his dreams was beautiful, he couldn’t let it cloud his love for his wife. 

Emilie meant so much to him that he’d do anything for her.

Anything?

His thoughts stilled and his breathing hitched. What did anything mean in this case? What would he do if Emilie were to disappear from his life?

( . . . )

“Bring my wife back to me. Bring back my Emilie.”

( . . . )

Ever since he had met Nathalie Sancoeur, everything had become a blurred mess.

Gabriel was almost ashamed when he realized that the silhouette in his dreams, the faceless woman who stood in front of the window of his atelier, was the face of the Sancoeur brand. He hadn’t realized it until she’d shown up and held out her hand for him to shake— hadn’t realized until he felt the grip on his fingers, his palm— hadn’t realized until he could hear his wife calling his name, willing him back from his mind.

It was her red streak and stony expression, her rigid stance and her unshakable countenance— it was her that stood still, without fail, when exhaustion overtook him and he found himself back in that makeshift atelier, where Emilie’s large portrait hung behind him like a watchful sentry, green eyes trained on his canvass as he drew a different face every time he tried to will his hands to move.

It was familiar. She was familiar.

What was she doing there? What was he doing again?

“I’m sorry. He isn’t feeling well right now,” Emilie had said, apologetic at his display and already pulling him away from the awkward silence. Gabriel hadn’t even taken a glance at anyone but Mlle. Sancoeur before Emilie tugged him towards the other side of the room.

Even without turning back, he knew that blazing blue eyes followed him until he disappeared into the crowd.

He couldn’t get a sentence out even as they stopped near the doors, where Emilie swiftly fished out her phone and dialed Grenier and ordered him to fetch them. He was quiet in the car, on the ride all the way back to the manor.  

“What happened, mon mari? I know you aren’t used to people, but that was…” Even when Emilie flashed him an incredulous glare, shaking her head as she pulled him to their bedroom to get changed, he hadn’t said a word.

( . . . )

Nathalie, his ever silent companion, had fallen to her knees. Her body ached with pain, glorified by the increased pounding in her head. Anxiety swirled against her bruised shins and it felt as though the burning in her lungs would never cease.

Was this how she was going to die? Forgotten as Gabriel recited the words he had practiced in the privacy of his atelier— 

Bring my wife back to me.

The thought of Gabriel’s wish; of his wife in his arms, awake and alive and breathing, stung her deeper than she would readily admit. That thought; though dipped in honey and fed through a golden spoon, felt like her last meal. The moment she had declared herself loyal to Gabriel, she had known there was no other way this would end. She had accepted the reward that she would gain from donning a Miraculous that was never hers.

Her reward was death and she knew it. 

Nathalie, with her cheek resting on the cold steel of Gabriel’s lair, listened as he rambled on about his desire to see Emilie’s smile once more. 

A breath stirred over her other cheek. Duusu, as if sensing her needs, fluttered close by. Gabriel had yet to notice. She was sure that he wouldn’t— preoccupied with his wife as he currently was. 

She was so sure, so certain of the fact that it was a surprise to her when a hand found itself underneath her shoulders and pulled her up. Her wobbly legs helped her none as she immediately stumbled upon being held upright. Even when she wanted nothing more than to resume her usual gait, ignoring the pain as it racked throughout her body, it was hard with how she succumbed to the weakness that the Peacock Miraculous had already gifted her. 

But Gabriel supported her body anyway. He took hold of her once more, firm and secure, again pulling her to stand beside him. She leaned into his touch and his frame, felt the warmth of his body against the cold of her own, and basked in it. There was some grunting and huffing that came from being forced when her body wanted to lay on the ground. The voice was far too soft to be hers but she knew that it was and that unnerved her most of all.

“Nathalie,” he murmured.

“I’m fine.” The lie, so well-practiced, slipped past her lips before she could even think about it. At this point, it was an automated response to him breathing out her name in the same tone of voice he would with Emilie’s. 

Even so, she knew Gabriel didn’t believe her. Why would he, when she still couldn’t stand on her own? When her legs had decided that they wanted nothing more but to crumple on the floor? 

“Monsieur, I’m fine,” Nathalie repeated. Her grip on Gabriel’s arm never lessened, clinging to him even when her words went contrary to what she felt. “Gabriel, the wish.”

Gabriel looked at her. “The wish,” he echoed. “Of course.” 

Still, he waited for Nathalie to let go before he did. He made sure she could stand before he moved to face his wife. Again, he gripped the Miraculous in his hand, head spinning with the thought of Emilie back in his arms.

( . . . )

Nathalie laid on the ground, resting her back against the tiled ceiling. Her eyes were closed as she swallowed the air in, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of morning dew. 

The horizon was vast and was there, a sight to behold even when it dripped ink and stars instead of light. Paris was a quiet place in the hours just before dawn. Meadows which should be green look black to her and the building below her was nothing but a blur in the dark.

No one was awake except for her.

Nathalie looked at the sky. Stars littered the expansive burrow of space, still too excited to retreat as the day slowly started. Maybe she could touch them if she ever gets high enough to reach them. Maybe Mayura would give her the chance to.

Galaxies spanned her vision. Stardust swirled through her thoughts. The stars spun tales far greater than that of heroes and villains and she wished to read every single one of them.

In time, she will. In time, she will get the chance to be a star of her own.

When has she ever been such a romantic, to think of ideas like so?

Nathalie’s thoughts lingered on the brightest star as the horizon gave way to its entrance. She saw its rays, felt its warmth seeping through the thin layer of cotton sticking to her too-pale skin. Again, she closed her eyes as the day finally stirred to a start, content to lounge in peace.

The morning arrived with little fanfare. The stars in the sky vanished with a pop and a scatter, afraid of the biggest of all of them.

“Nathalie?”

Gabriel’s voice rang above her. Nathalie listened to the hoarseness of it, lined with a certain confusion that Nathalie understood as concern for her well-being. Gabriel has always bled such instinct, especially after the whole debacle concerning a certain Miraculous. 

Her eyes opened to the sight of a bleary Gabriel Agreste, blinking with that surprising worry at Nathalie’s prone form.

The Butterfly Miraculous glinted against the growing light, pinned on Gabriel’s undershirt. Nathalie felt something in her bones, something different from how she usually was. Maybe it was the sleep-deprivation— she hadn’t really gone to bed the night before. Sleep was a commodity she had been denying herself for the last few weeks, though not wholly her fault. 

And yet, as though that were the force that provoked her bravery, Nathalie grinned, teeth and all, patting the space beside her. 

That early in the morning, they were neither boss nor subordinate. Nathalie knew, as did Gabriel.

Annoyed as he was (and she knew that much; because waking up at ungodly hours in the morning was not a Gabriel Agreste thing), he sat.

Glimpses of white flew over Nathalie’s eyes. Gabriel’s robe fluttered with the wind until he bunched it up in his hand. The laughter that pervaded the air sounded half-asleep and Nathalie only realized that it was hers and that she was slowly succumbing to her body’s desire for rest. The finality in her thoughts, about remaining awake to spend even that short a moment with Gabriel ceased all forms of lethargy from seeping through her pores.

The moment when Gabriel set himself down, folding his legs beneath his robe, was when Nathalie turned to stare at him.

“What are you doing out here, Nathalie? You should be resting,” he asked, speaking with the curiosity of a friend who had awakened to the morning, at the cold breeze brushing past his fingers, with drowsiness prevalent in the downturn of his lips.

“Au petit bonheur la chance,” she murmured. 

“What was that?”

Nathalie hummed, turning back to stare at the sky. “Nothing. I was just admiring the stars.” 

Gabriel blew hot air against his hands. 

“I never would have thought you were the type to go stargazing,” he commented as silence settled between them. Nathalie sucked in a breath.

“It’s a new developing hobby,” she said after a beat. “Monsieur.”

He frowned. Whatever he was going to say next was kept to himself as Nathalie let out a yawn. It was a moment between them, always, that silence that never seemed too stifling or uncomfortable. He didn’t want to ask the question that he knew he should ask, and she didn’t want to answer any should he keep quiet. 

But the question never needed to be asked. Her hands curled, grasping at the robe she wore. Her teeth chattered. The warmth of the sun loosened her tongue. She was slipping.

“You don’t need to worry. I’ve decided on it.”

Nathalie could feel his mind racing. She pressed her face against his shoulder, feeling everything that her words implied. His hand rested on her head, as though attempting to comfort her. 

“I will always worry. This is your life. I will worry, even when you say I shouldn’t.”

“This is for Emilie,” she spoke, the hardness in her eyes unnoticed by Gabriel. “This is for Emilie and for you and for Adrien. Let me do this.”

She could hear him swallow. His hand had found its way across her shoulder now, where his grip tightened, each finger digging against her skin. It felt like he was trying to parse through her thoughts with the way he held on.

On the exhale, he asked, “Nathalie, why?”

If she were much more awake, or if the world wasn’t blurring at the edges of her vision, or if she wasn’t signing away her life for a cause that was doomed from the very start— maybe, maybe she wouldn’t have laughed. 

( . . . )

In the presence of the love of his life, Gabriel finally slipped on the two Miraculous. There was no time to dwell on the clashing accessories or how he purposefully wore the Black Cat’s jewel on his left ring finger. Emilie’s wedding band (which he had been wearing until that moment) was back with its true owner.

The appearance of the two kwamis that inhabited the Miraculous followed soon after. The Ladybug and the Black Cat emerged from their jewels and for a long moment, couldn’t decide if they were going to speak to Gabriel or not.

The Black Cat was seething. The Ladybug was morose.

Gabriel, meanwhile, was calm.

Before he could say a word, the wailing that was typical of Duusu rang against their ears. The two kwamis expressions flashed with shock and concern as they watched Duusu appear from his perch on top of Nathalie’s head, bawling his heart out. Nathalie did her best to hush the kwami like she was handling a child but Duusu simply wailed louder.

Nooroo found it in him to glide towards the crying kwami, leaving his own spot over Gabriel’s shoulder, wary of the eyes on him. 

“You—” The Black Cat could only say, rage clouding his vision, attention back at the man who was currently wearing his Miraculous. "You’re, you’re Papillon? I knew there was something fishy about you!"

“Plagg, please,” the Ladybug spoke, voice small.

“No, no, no! This is the guy that keeps holding my kitten back!” Plagg yelled, still facing an eerily calm Gabriel. “He hurt him, Tikki. He hurt his own—”

Eyes flashed wide. Gabriel waited for the storm to pass. He hadn’t realized that the kwami was protective of his son. They might be the same in that regard had Gabriel shown his protectiveness through better means. 

“You know— you know who he is. You probably knew even before you took us, didn’t you?” Plagg sneered, anger apparent with the snarl of his teeth.

Gabriel held his gaze. Staring into the eyes of a God whose rage felt immeasurable should have had him quaking in his shoes. It should have inspired him to beg for forgiveness for the trouble and pain he caused Paris. It should have made him regret that he had done so much to the people that had nothing to do with his grief.

But it didn’t. 

He had yet to answer when Duusu’s cries loudened considerably, echoing the thick tension through his tears. Plagg was quick to drop his anger, set aside as his attention fell on Duusu. He hissed at Nathalie as he approached and, unsurprisingly, she took it in stride, still consoling the crying kwami on her palm.

Gabriel glanced at the Ladybug kwami, watching as she floated silently. She seemed to debate whether to approach her fellow gods or not. 

“Why?” She asked instead, all wonder and surprise at the fact that Gabriel was neither reveling in his victory nor inflicting them with the cruelty he was known for. Gabriel could hear his own voice echoing from that one word, that similar query, directed at someone else, a little deprave, confused. “Power? Riches? What would you even want?” She continued, and he tried to reach inside him, an attempt to pull out any emotion other than regret and despair.

He almost felt hollow, for some reason, as his gaze returned to stare at Nathalie.

“I have no need for riches or power,” he answered honestly. Gabriel closed his eyes, and with that, was unaware of the glare that Plagg had given him or the astonishment that colored Tikki’s expression. 

He took a staggering breath. An exhale that washed away the burden of all his thoughts, if only for a moment. Cotton-mouthed and disoriented. “I just want my wife, my love, back.”

Understanding dawned Tikki and Plagg’s expressions. “You know that a wish like that would change everything,” Tikki whispered, reeling. Her eyes darted to the coffin in front of them, with the sun acting as its spotlight, making it all the more obvious. “Magic like that, it will need compensation.”

At her words, Duusu cried harder and louder and his voice echoed in the lair. He held onto Nathalie’s hand, sobbing so crudely and deeply that his voice seemed to penetrate through his skin, crawling through all the veins that made up his body.

“We’re aware,” Nathalie spoke for the first time since the arrival of the two gods. She stood, in Gabriel’s imagination, with her back ramrod straight, tension bleeding through every inch of her body. The implication of her words was thick and viscous like tar. Gabriel felt as though he was drowning in it.  

“You’re going to—” Tikki cried just as Plagg said, “Adrien’s going to be disappointed,” before retreating to Tikki’s side.

When Gabriel opened his eyes, the air around him felt heavier. Nooroo still lingered near Nathalie’s palm where Duusu lay, whimpering now. He hadn’t approached his assistant even when he could see the paleness of her skin or the way her knees trembled to support her. 

The fire in Plagg’s eyes had dimmed. Gabriel watched as he floated beside Tikki— and all the while, the red kwami implored Nathalie to think about what she was doing. Had Gabriel found his voice, he would have said that he had tried that— that he had already asked of her to step down and help him in ways that wouldn’t end with her death. But Nathalie wore him down, pushed and pushed and pushed him to the brink of agreeing and letting her do this because this is for your family. 

Let me do this for you, Gabriel.

“If it’s to bring his mother back, I don’t mind. I never had.”

Gabriel wanted to say something but in the face of Nathalie’s conviction and in the presence of his wife, he could only nod. This couldn’t be what she wanted but there wasn’t time to question her. He didn’t know if this was what he wanted too.

He took one last look at Nathalie’s face, at Nooroo who never left his assistant’s side, at Duusu who remained still on Nathalie’s palm, at Tikki and Plagg who would never understand— and then at Emilie who slept peacefully, unaware of everything.

( . . . )

There was a point to his call, maybe. Papillon held his cane near his mouth, the screen flashing Mayura’s image. It rang and rang and rang, and on the seventh ring was when she finally picked up.

A wet cough, and then, a raspy voice on the other line said, “Yes?”

For a moment, Papillon was silent, blinking as he heard a faint thrumming in the background. After all, he didn’t think she would pick up. It had been a quiet week between them. Not even a sentimonster graced the city after he had run off, matching the expression of dread and confusion on her face when she realized when she had said that he had a—

Wife.

.

Emilie. 

He had been reminded of Emilie that night.

Jumping across the rooftops of Paris, he was reminded of his wife— asleep at home, resting beneath the covers of their bed. When he slipped into his attic and felt through the darkness, he was numb to the bone. The quick transformation from Papillon to Gabriel, and then quiet disappearance of Nooroo to his own sleeping quarters in his atelier below, all passed him without so much as a fuss. 

Normally, Nooroo would watch him, eyes narrowed, every time he entertained the thought of meeting up with the villainess. He would accuse his holder, though limited to glances and the occasional side-eye, because the implication settled heavily between them—  and really, that was what it looked like, considering the circumstance.

And wasn’t that the crux of his problem. Knowingly going through with his nightly meetings with Mayura, even when he had Emilie beside him the morning after. The guilt that would have eaten him alive all but vanished in the presence of the woman, because inasmuch as he would like to ignore it, the feeling that Mayura was familiar to him often overrode his need to stay away. 

How could he trust her, when he didn’t even recognize who she was underneath the glamour of magic? It was there and he was constantly at odds with himself because that glamour hid the one part of her that he wanted to figure out.

.

Mayura didn’t know about Emilie, of course. Or did she? He hadn’t asked then. He hadn’t asked even after he had cleared his head, let the thoughts linger, and let his emotions settle. He hadn’t tried to ask even when he heard his phone ringing, Mayura’s picture alight against the screen of his cane. 

She had tried to contact him after that night. It might have been petty on his part to ignore her even when he was transformed and he could hear his cane ringing against the emptiness of his attic. Could he even call it pettiness? He wasn’t mad at her for correctly assuming that he had a wife. He wondered how, of course he would. He had never let it slip, to the children he looked after, to the press; he never shared the fact that he had a family.

.

And so the week passed. No sentimonsters, not even a peep from the villainess. Papillon hadn’t entertained the thought of going back to their meeting place, not until he could think clearly.

But now that she answered his only means of reaching out, Papillon couldn’t help but breathe out. Another cough brought him out of his stupor. 

If his hands were clammy with sweat underneath his gloves, and if his heart beat faster than it normally would, well, Mayura would never know. Papillon cleared his throat, and for the first time in a week, spoke—

.

“What now?”

 .

 .

 .

 .

 .

 .

end.

[ajokeformur-ray]

If you, it’s you... // Arthur x Flavia // personalised!

Summary: You’re falling apart at the seams and Arthur’s trying to stitch you back together, he is. But his seams are unravelling too and it’s all either of you can do to keep the other one from falling apart. As the sky falls and you crumble, so too does Arthur. But you will follow each other into the dark and make your way back into the light together.

A/N: A personalised gift for @jokerownsmysoul​. I mentioned doing you a piece a while ago as a thank you for being here for you and for comforting me and for being your wonderful self, and I finally thought of an idea worthy of you and the love you both share! So here, my love. To make it more you I stalked your blog for personal posts and they were the inspiration behind this piece, as well as some of how I’m feeling, too. 💜 I hope that you like this and please don’t be shy to say otherwise; I’m happy to write you something else!💙 Arthur and I both love you and we’re so, so proud of you!

Word count: 1, 904.

Arthur had seen that look on your face many a time but never, in all the time that you had been together, had he ever been able to get used to it. Oh, how he hated to see you suffer. It was a look which he saw every time he dared to look in the mirror. Oh, but he hated the things he saw. He was too old for you, too poor for you, too ugly for you, and you deserved someone who was kinder, stronger, more present within his life. You deserved so much better than anything Arthur felt that he could give you. These insecurities plagued him so ferociously that every day did he fear that today was the day his insecurities became truth, as if the intensity of his thoughts had so manifested into reality. But he was strong and he fought against himself every single day... just as you did.

You were strong, almost impossibly so, and you were always so brave. You got up every single day even with how you felt and you tried to get through the day, even with the thoughts which plagued your mind and threatened to turn you even against yourself, so incessant and so relentless were your thoughts. You were so full of love and so full of the will to do and to be better and your soul just radiated love and light and warmth and Arthur had only ever gravitated towards you, hoping even in part that by hanging around you would he be able to absorb even some of your natural energy, so in love with you was he that he wanted a piece of you with him always.

Arthur cooed softly as he padded across the room to get to where you were sat on the worn sofa. His footsteps were muted by his white socks, which pooled at his cute little ankles, and dark curls bounced atop the sharp angles of his shoulders as he bent in front of you. His weight was rocked back onto the heels of his feet and two weathered, slightly bruised hands came up to hold yours. Nimble fingers slid into the spaces between your own and Arthur squeezed to get your attention. Your eyes met his green oceans and Arthur smiled both in pain and in understanding. “Hey,” His soft rasp made you smile, you smiled and Arthur positively beamed at you, his adorable crooked tooth glinting in the natural light of the room. “What is it, Flavia? Talk to me, angel.”

With your tight grip continued, you pulled Arthur’s hands so far across your lap that the tips of his fingers brushed against the shirt which you wore, and Arthur smiled, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers deftly slipped beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingers stroked soothing, firm circles at the point where your jeans met your flesh and you shivered, a warm tingle spreading easily from the base of your spine to the very nape of your neck. You felt yourself relaxing and you ducked down so that you could, with a slow and careful twist of your joined hands to prevent Arthur from jumping away from you, still so shy and unsure was he even after all this time together with you, press a tender and lingering kiss to the soft, delicate skin of his inner wrist. There was a small cut there from the too tight bite of the handcuffs left over from his last stint in Arkham, which hadn’t fully healed yet, and it was here that you focused your loving attention. Arthur cooed softly and leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips brushing against your hairline, so far up was he, as you kissed his inner wrist and in this moment were minds, hearts and souls aligned. Oh, how you loved each other, so reverently and so completely.

It was the first and last time that the two of you would ever love like this and neither of you would ever have it any other way. 

There was no way for you without Arthur, not now that you knew what life with him was like, what it meant for you, and it was the same for Arthur when it came to you. He had waited a month shy of thirty six years for you, for he had had to learn to be patient, and he had been paid off extremely well, for you were everything he had ever wanted in his one and only person who understood him, to be with him in his space but not all alone. For how could he be all alone with the person who held his heart in their hands? Yes, while it was true that he sometimes felt alone with his thoughts, just as you did with your own, he never felt lonely, and he hadn’t ever since the day that he had met you. Indeed was it much the same for you, so equal were the two of you in your relationship and the love which you shared.

“I just feel like jelly.” Your hair fell over your face and Arthur rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, effortlessly shifting his weight and his centre of gravity so that he could slide his hands out of your reassuring grasp to tuck the strands which hid your face from him like dark curtains behind your ears. His hands fell back upon yours and the ghostly feeling which had made your palms feel cold and empty disappeared as quickly as it came. “All shaky and not... not right.”

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. “I know what that’s like,” His soft rasp caressed your inner ears and you closed your eyes at the sound of his voice as your soul came home for the first time that day. “When you don’t even know whether there’s a tomorrow and you can only feel from one day to... another.” The last word was released along with a sigh weighted in unexpressed emotions and a soul deep weariness and sadness. You tightened your grip on Arthur’s hands and tugged upwards. Arthur giggled softly in understanding and he almost jumped up in his desperate need to be beside you, where he belonged.

The misplaced springs in the worn sofa clicked and cracked back into place and you felt one digging into your coccyx. The sofa was way past needing to be replaced but neither of you could afford to put a deposit down for another sofa this month and next month wasn’t looking so good either. But that didn’t matter to you; economically poor you were but rich were you for the deep and intense love which the two of you had and shared with each other. You had built the foundations of your love from a chance meeting in the street from which the birth of serendipity had occurred. Like a magnet was between your bodies did you lean automatically towards Arthur, unable to resist him were you, and Arthur’s arm lifted away from his side so that you could fit oh so naturally into the crook there. Arthur tucked you into his side and rained kisses down atop your head. His kisses were soft and reverent yet the pressure he applied to each one was such that you could feel him there. There was no denying this moment; not even your darkest thoughts could tell you that this wasn’t happening, that Arthur wasn’t kissing the top of your head like his life depended on it. He was making little mwah noises and the smile which came to your face was a direct contrast to the tears which began to run down your cheeks and drip off your nose.

You sniffled and swiped a hand over your face and Arthur cooed softly. A finger underneath your chin tilted your head up and Arthur shifted on the sofa so that he could wipe your tears away with the calloused pads of his thumbs. Those tears which his thumbs couldn’t reach were dashed away with his lips. Arthur didn’t shush you. He didn’t whisper sweet nothings. He didn’t tell you that it was going to be okay. Arthur only kissed and wiped your tears away with his lips and his hands, the tools he used to express the ache in his soul, so deeply and so ardently did he love you. He only stayed with you as you cried and as you found freedom in crying yourself out as your mind broke the spirit of your soul, Arthur allowed small giggles to escape his thin lips; they were unhappy noises soaked in pain, like a sponge was Arthur’s fragile soul for the filth and grime which the city threw upon him. 

Now was it your turn to coo. Positions and roles were reversed and soon Arthur was the one cradled in your arms as you rained down kisses all over the top of his head. Your nose nuzzled into the crown of his head and your eyes slid closed as you took a moment to just... breathe him in. He smelled of stale cigarettes, vanilla, of fresh laundry, and you burrowed into Arthur, who sunk down so that he could tuck his head underneath your chin, his legs drawn up underneath him and his toes flexing into the worn sofa cushion.

“Is it just me... or is it getting harder to get through the day?” Arthur’s voice was thick with tears his body wouldn’t allow him to shed and you tightened your arms around him in response. You were both exhausted in and of yourselves and it was all either of you could do to just... stay here within the moment, to stay alive.

You couldn’t say anything, for there had been a similar question in your mind for as long as you could remember. Instead, you squeezed Arthur into you, holding him as tightly against you as you could, and you pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Arthur. I want to climb inside you so that we never have to be separated.”

Arthur giggled again, the noise this time disbelieving but relieved, for indeed did he feel the same me. “Me too,” Arthur lifted his head and pressed an almost bruising kiss to your lips. You sunk into his touch and his body, tightly pressed against yours, and allowed Arthur to kiss you as he wanted to; which was to say, with his entire self. Arthur was a being made to love and he had been denied both the receiving and the giving roles of such an expression and with you did he now make up for that lack in abundance. You received all of Arthur’s love and it so often left you overwhelmed and breathless in the best of ways, and you gave him everything that you had, too, for you were also such a warm and radiant soul whom was made both to love and to receive love, most especially from yourself. “I love you so much, Flavia.” 

Arthur kissed you once, twice, thrice to seal his vow, and as you both settled into a loving, healing cuddle on the sofa, did you each feel your tried and tired souls reach some level of peace. It was the very least you both deserved, in the arms were you both of an angel.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara  @lynnesm @sagyunaro  @docsportello  @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokershyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty  @call-me-harley-quinn

[capnjay21]

A House is Never Still 1/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: It’s @csrolereversal​ and @cshalloweek​ time! I’m so excited guys, this is my first time submitting anything for an event and I’m bouncing off the walls about it.

This fic is dedicated, of course, to @hollyethecurious​, without whose wonderful artwork it would not exist. Thank you for your creation, and for giving this chapter a much needed once over! Please go give her some love! 

Chapters will be posting weekly. Enjoy! 

Rating: T Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

AO3

-/-

1 -- a house is never still

Present Day

Even after all this time, Killian felt something of a chill run down his spine as his Chevelle sped over the town line.

He had kept himself driving through the night, only stopping once for gas a little ways outside of Portland as he’d felt it would be better if he stayed focused on the road; that way he wouldn’t linger on the reason why he’d packed a few meagre belongings and gotten in the car in the first place. Naturally, with the long, empty and deathly still roads of upstate Maine rolling out in front of him, it had backfired completely and the only thing he had been able to think of since his journey began was the destination that awaited him. It was difficult not to mull on the anxious tone of the voicemail that David had left him, babbling and nervous and unsure. Impossible still to not dwell on its subject.

There’s something – I have something you need to see.

For the last hour the roads had been slippery, the rain-slicked tarmac a reminder of the storm that had hit the area earlier in the day, and a considerable amount of his attention was spent ensuring his back tyres didn’t slide out with every tight corner. Fatigue nestled around his shoulders like an old friend, urging him to shut his tired eyes and relax, but he did his best to ignore it. In the dark, the trees towered over the road in distorted, twisting shapes and the shadows cast by his headlights were just barely visible through the mid-autumn mist.

No, Storybrooke was exactly how he remembered it.

Suddenly the car radio burst to life and Killian jolted at the sudden disturbance, his movement causing the car to swerve dangerously onto the other side of the road as the tyres jerked to follow him. One hand scrambled with the volume on the radio as the other wrenched the wheel to regain control, and after a brief moment of wrestling with both he managed to restore the tentative peace he had endured for the last few hours, only his hammering heart an indicator that he had lost it to begin with.

The low, barely distinguishable synth of Yaz’s Only You was still pouring through the tinny speaker.

Killian, far more alert now and willing his racing pulse to slow, flicked it off.

It was an old car and often prone to such dysphoric outbursts, but that didn’t lessen the way the hairs at the base of his neck stood on end.

Piss off, he thought mutinously, ghost.

God, he needed to sleep.

Before long, the winding country road began to recede, and a taste of the Storybrooke suburbia began to trickle forth with a few dwellings by the side of the road, sporadic lots that quickly opened out into fully-fledged streets lined with house after house. He had agreed to meet David as soon as he got into town, although he doubted the man anticipated it being quite this late. Still, he didn't wish to waste any time. After a minute or so of tracking down the familiar turns, Killian was soon pulling his Chevelle into park outside a large, two-storey house. Once a brilliant white, dirt and age had weathered the paint until it was scratched and peeling. A single windmill lay spinning in the front yard.  

Killian tapped a brief message into his phone, before stepping out of the Chevelle and leaning against the bonnet while he waited. He didn’t wait long. After a few moments, the front door opened and David Nolan emerged, careful to shut it behind him as quietly as possible. Undoubtedly there might be a person or two inside not quite as thrilled to see him as the young man rapidly descending the stairs. He was wrapped in a thick coat and his breath was coming out in quick bursts of condensation.

To Killian’s surprise, the first thing David did when he reached him was pull him into a fierce hug.

He’d been expecting a lot of mixed emotions, certainly – trepidation, anger, disappointment. It had been a long time since he’d left the town under a similar cloak of night to the one currently slung over it. To his shame, he realised the entire drive there that he hadn’t once considered that David might be pleased to see him. Once again, he hadn’t given the man enough credit. Hesitantly, he returned the gesture with as much warmth as he could muster.

Some things, then, could still feel like home.

“Thanks for coming,” David said, once he pulled back.

“I’m sorry it’s so late.”

The other man waved away his apology. “Don’t be ridiculous… you look exhausted.” David tilted his head, as if finally noticing the way his eyes were desperate to wink closed again. “Were you driving all night?”

Killian let out a breath of mirthless laughter. “Something like that.”

Try all week.

David gestured to the house behind them. “Do you want to come inside?”

Tempting, certainly tempting. Still, he shook his head. “I doubt that’s wise.”  While he might have been wrong about which reception he should be expecting from David Nolan, he was positive where the rest of his family was concerned, his suppositions were entirely correct. For a moment the conversation stilled, and as Killian stared out into the dark road behind him he decided there was little point in not being upfront about the reason he had been summoned back to Storybrooke.

“So,” he began, “is it her?”

David’s countenance changed, a stiffness settling in his shoulders while his expression morphed into one of reluctance, of uncertainty. David Nolan had always been dreadful at masking his emotions, it made perfect sense that two years apart wouldn’t have had any impact on his attempts at duplicity. His lips parted, as if trying to perhaps voice a hesitant refutation, but Killian didn’t let him.

“You wouldn’t have called me if it weren’t.”

The other man shut his mouth, folded his arms. The wind whistled down the wide, empty street, sending gusts of curling, copper leaves up into the air. Killian waited.

David seemed to reach a decision. “It’s late,” he said, instead of an answer. “Let’s leave it for the morning, after you’ve had some rest.”

It wasn’t such a bad suggestion. He was exhausted. The answers he so desperately wished to claw from David Nolan could wait until he didn’t feel like any stiff wind might knock him over. He conceded the delay with a nod and a tight smile, one that David gratefully returned, and pushed away from the bonnet. As he tugged open the door David retreated a few steps back up to the house, wrapping his coat even tighter around him.

“It’s really good to see you, Killian,” he said, offering him the ghost of a grin that was almost – well. Almost sad. He then opened the door and slipped inside.

“Likewise,” he murmured to the shut door, and dropped down into his car.

The engine growled to life underneath him as he made to pull away from the curb, but as he paused out of habit to check behind him for any oncoming traffic, he thought he saw the trail of something white disappear behind one of the trees. It was brief, like the flash of colour from a light blinking out of sight. The trail of a dress disappearing from view. He was sure enough that he’d seen it to give him pause, for his hand to drop to the handle of the door as if he were making to get out again, but not quite enough to follow through. His hand tightened for a moment, but soon gradually released it.

It was late, he was exhausted, and he was seeing things. Or, as was often the case with him, he wasn’t, but whatever he’d seen he didn’t want to be dealing with until morning. Screw the brave thing to do; he was staying in the car. Giving the spot he had seen it one last lingering look in the mirror, he drove away.

The clock on his dashboard read just a little time before midnight, and while he considered spending the night in his car – it would be far from the first – truthfully he wished to avoid any run-ins with the Sheriff’s department where possible, at least until he’d reacquired his bearings. That left only one establishment that would remain open for a new patron so late into the night, and he realised with a jolt that his hands had steered him down the familiar roads before he'd really had a chance to think too much about it.

The exterior of Granny's Bed & Breakfast was barely visible, but from what he could make out nothing really had changed. It was made of the same chipped brick and shattered tile, the brush around the entrance long overgrown after decades of ill attention. The proprietor had always behaved like it was a complete mystery that business was never doing well, but hidden away behind the diner as it was and sheltered by woodland, most newcomers to Storybrooke would scarcely even know it existed.

Killian pulled into one of the parking spaces towards the back of the building, taking only his rucksack from the boot and leaving everything else. Although wary of such a choice at first, he felt everything else would probably be safer in his car than at Granny’s, not to mention aside from one disappearance presumed-murder several years ago, the crime rate in Storybrooke was almost non-existent. He clambered the steps and moved inside.

A loud bell rang out heralding his entrance, and he winced at the volume of the sound. Granny never wished to miss out on any potential customers. It was for that reason that the very same woman came bustling down the stairs with almost alarming speed, broad grin in place ready to welcome whomever had disturbed them so late into the night – until she realised who had done so.

Granny Lucas, small as she was, was a formidable woman. When her eyes narrowed with distinct venom, Killian immediately wished he had just decided to stay in his car.

“I have the right to refuse service to anybody that comes in here, just so you know.”

This was much more the kind of reception he had been expecting to receive from David, but it was late now, and he was tired, and he wasn’t ready to fight.

“Please,” he said. “I’ll pay whatever rate you deem is fair. Just for tonight. I can find somewhere else to stay tomorrow if need be.”

“If it’s that easy sunshine, you can stay somewhere else tonight, too.”

“Granny!”

He heard the admonishment before he saw the person who gave it, but a moment later Ruby Lucas had thundered down the stairs and emerged to join her grandmother.

She glared at her, fiercely. “You think business is good enough to turn anyone away?” The young woman immediately reached behind her grandmother to retrieve the heavy, cob-ridden guestbook and dropped it with a thud in front of Killian. She smiled at him, kindly, handing him a pen. “Particularly a friend.”

“A friend?!” Granny blustered.

“Here,” Ruby began rummaging for a key behind her, “you can take the square view.”

Killian hastily began writing his name in the book, before Granny Lucas either had a chance to assert her authority or pluck the pen out of his hands. In his haste, it became little more than a scribble. The ink smudged across the page made him think of the flash of movement he had seen by the Nolan house.

He needn't have worried. Granny Lucas let out a highly disgruntled noise, before clearly deciding she wished no part in it and stalking into the back room.

“Thank you,” Killian said, once she was gone. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Ruby gave him a look; a rueful, warm thing. “Don’t be silly. This is your home, too.”

The key she had handed him was the same as any other the inn provided, but it still made him ache. It was hung on a large metal keyring, the engraving of a swan at the top of it before receding into carved silver roses and thorns.  

“Come see me in the morning,” she suggested, “I’ll make sure we get you something good cooked up for breakfast.”

Killian thanked her again before mounting the stairs. He later realised, on closer inspection, that the silver swan was also engraved with another message.

Welcome to Storybrooke.

“Well,” he muttered, slipping the key into the lock, “we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

-/-

October 14th 2014 – 5 Years Ago

Emma’s desk jolted as two strong hands thwacked down on it with force.

“I’ve found it.”

God, just when she was beginning to make progress.

Unimpressed, she lifted her gaze from the calculus textbook in front of her, after all this time still a puzzling, blurred mix of numbers and symbols that was only just starting to penetrate her mind, as easily distracted as it often found itself. Given she had left a desperate plea on the sign by the quiet study section of the library that she was not to be disturbed, she fixed her would-be guerrilla opponent with an irate stare.

There, with his dark hair stuck up at all angles as if he had spent the last hour running through it with an agitated hand, eyes wide and bright but distinctly pleased with himself, like the cat that had worked out just which dressing complimented diced canary perfectly, stood Killian Jones.

Of course he’d be the one disrupting her precarious peace.

“Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.”

She held out her hands expectantly, offering him the sweetest smile she could muster.

Killian didn’t buy it for a second, and when he made to continue with that same eager glint in his eye, she cut him off.

“—Because that is the only reason I’ll accept you bothering me right now! Killian, you know how much math is kicking my ass, I have to work.”

“I know, but this is –”

“‘This is more important than hairspray to Regina’ better be how that sentence ends.”

“Aye, it’s—”

“More important than hairspray to Regina, say it.”

“Swan—”

She waggled her pen up at him threateningly.

“Say it.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Killian snapped, snatching her pen from the air with a huff of impatience. “Yes, it’s more important than – hair products, or – or David’s truck. There.”

David’s truck was a brand new (second hand) 1973 F-Series. It could manage nought to sixty in eleven excruciatingly painful seconds, but David could not be prouder of it if he’d birthed the thing and raised it himself, rather than receiving it as a seventeenth birthday present from Ruth.

Emma surveyed Killian carefully, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “That’s a pretty serious allegation you’re making, Jones.”

“Aye, and I mean every word of it.”

“I caught him singing to that truck the day before yesterday.”

“Every. Word.”

After a pregnant pause, Emma decisively shut the textbook.

Immediately pleased, Killian reached hurriedly behind him and scraped a chair across the vinyl floor so he could join her at the table.

“I found it,” he said again, and he had that same excited, agitated look on his face, like the news was practically spilling out of him to tell her.

“You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“It,” he continued, “Brooke House.”

Whatever jest had been waiting to spring from the tip of her tongue died immediately on parted lips. She watched him for a few seconds, trying to check the sincerity of the remark the same way she always did – but no, Killian wasn’t trying to trick her. Whatever he’d found, he genuinely believed it to be Brooke House. Which was impossible.

“Brooke House,” she said carefully, knowing how much of a touchy subject this must be for him, “doesn’t exist.”

Killian shook his head fiercely.

“It’s there. In the north woods, just like Liam said. I was hiking on the White Pine trail when I heard –”

“You were hiking?”

“Yes, when I heard –”

“Like, honest to God, timberlands and a windbreaker, hiking? You?”

Killian let out an exasperated sigh, and Emma could see she was rapidly getting on his nerves, causing him to react far too violently for her to continue the passing jest. While ordinarily she would enjoy getting her friend so riled up, there was nothing ordinary about Brooke House. Especially, she realised, since whatever he had stumbled across he sincerely believed to be the missing piece of a puzzle he had lived for years without.

With that in mind, she sobered up quickly. She should give him the attention he deserved.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Carry on.”

He couldn’t even spare an ounce of his nervous energy on feeling grateful.

“It was so strange, Emma. I don’t even remember when I left the trail. I must have been walking for at least ten minutes or so off-road – that’s how long it took to get back – but I suddenly heard this… creaking. Like the way the sign for Gold’s shop moves.” With an almost supernatural precision, the sign for Mr. Gold’s Pawnbrokers had a tendency to rock back and forth at the same pace, no matter how high or low the wind whistled down Main Street. “And I just… knew. So I followed it and there it was – Brooke House. Near the edge of the ravine.”

Emma chewed on her lip. “Okay.” Killian wasn’t a liar, or she’d never known him to be. So, he found a house in the woods. That didn’t necessarily make it anything more than a holidaymaker’s cabin. “How do you know it’s… Brooke House?”

“There was a sign.”

Emma sighed. “Oh, well that’s convenient, isn’t it?”

Killian frowned at this, but she knew at least one of them had to point it out. Killian had searched those woods a hundred times, more – the whole town had given a crack at it once the Storybrooke Mirror had sensationalised the whole affair, and nobody had ever found it. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that this was all some elaborate prank from somebody caught up on the story – somebody uninterested in the emotional weight it carried for those to whom it meant more than a spooky episode in the town’s history.

Those like Killian Jones.

“It’s the real deal, Emma,” he insisted, firmly. Emma remained doubtful. “I just know it. Don’t you trust me to be able to tell the difference?”

It wasn’t a matter of trust. It was a matter of knowing just how much even the possibility that it actually existed must have been fucking around with his emotional state all the way from the trembling moment he had stumbled across it to right now.

Hope had a funny way of making somebody see a ghost – they had all learnt that the hard way.

“Liam wasn’t crazy – and this is the proof.”

Emma remembered when Liam Jones had died. It had been four years ago, just prior to the first time she met Killian. He had driven his car over the edge of a ravine near the boundary of the north woods, close to the town line, and had crashed into the river beneath. The coroner had ruled that death would have been near instantaneous at the point of impact.

After an investigation, it had been declared a suicide.

Not for the first time, Emma couldn’t imagine what kind of damage that knowledge had done to Killian.

But Emma also remembered a scared, lonely twelve-year-old who, even while processing the sudden death of the person closest to him, had found it in himself to be kind to somebody even more frightened than he at all the harm the world had wrought her.

Probably without his notice, his hand had crept across the table to hers and linked their fingers together.

Emma noticed, though.

“Will you – come back with me? To see it?”

To an imaginary house in the middle of the woods, on a hunch that its contents might pertain clues to his brother’s mysterious suicide?

For him, anything.

“Of course,” she said, and Killian visibly relaxed. When he released her hand she realised it was throbbing a little from how tight he had been clutching it. “Just, erm… let me drop this stuff back to Ruth’s.”

She started haphazardly gathering her strewn out study materials.

“Thank you,” he added quietly. “I’ll meet you by the trail end?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

-/-

Present Day

Killian rose far earlier than he had been intending, but something in the town was preventing him from catching even a fading vestige of sleep. It was something in the air, a thickness, a sensation which hung heavily around him. As if from the moment he had crossed the town line he had become a pulse of disturbance, and with every twist he made in the scratchy sheets at Granny’s sent out waves of ripples out into the ether, like a beacon to his presence. He felt exposed, and he’d spent much of the last few years fighting to remain out of sight.

He had considered calling David, but even with his work at the shelter he couldn’t be expected to be as cognizant as Killian prior to six o’clock in the morning. Instead, his eyes heavy with the taunt of sleep, he had gone for a walk.

There was much of Storybrooke he wanted to see again, and the more he considered it, the less he wanted to be visiting them at more populous times.

After emerging from Granny’s Bed & Breakfast, he stopped briefly to check the handles and the windows of his Chevelle. It didn’t look like it had been broken into, and a quick glance in the boot abated his concerns for his equipment. If David was to be believed, he wasn’t sure what he’d need – possibly all of it.

The morning was bleak and grey, a dark cloud lurking towards the south of the town threatening to open up onto the streets below with little warning. Deserted, the only noticeable movement was the scatter of crisp, golden leaves across the centre of the Main Street as they were ushered further down by strokes of wind. He wrapped his coat tighter around him. The clock tower stood exactly as he remembered it, proud and unchanged, but it was the room underneath that interested him most.

The library had closed – not that he was surprised. There had been a significant decline in interest as most turned their attention to the new age of internet research and Netflix even while he had lived there, and it had been cobbling together its running costs through sparse donations from Storybrooke’s more sympathetic residents. Now it looked as if somewhere in the last five years it had conceded defeat, and the windows were now clumsily boarded up with a chain looped around the handle of the door.

Through cracks in the panelling, Killian could still spot the abandoned rows of books lining the shelves, now doomed to gather dust and little else.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

He winced.

The chain appeared weak, or a sturdy pair of pliers could probably make quick work of the lock; either way, he could definitely break his way in if need be. Given his less than warm reception from Granny the night before, he doubted he’d be able to conduct his study with any real privacy in a room at the bed and breakfast and he should be considering alternate locations. The library’s closure actually presented something of an opportunity.

There was one other place he had wanted to return to, but trepidation stayed his movements. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Besides, the town was beginning to wake, and it would be better if he got off the streets.

Going back the way he’d come, Killian quickened his pace but went a block further, rounding the corner to head into Granny’s Diner instead of the residential entrance – he sorely hoped Ruby had meant what she’d said about that cooked breakfast. The sign on the door beckoned open, so he slipped inside.

To his relief, Ruby was stood behind the counter, just beginning to tie her apron around her waist. When she saw who had entered, she offered him a reassuring smile, tying the bow off at the back with a flourish.

“Coffee?” she asked, brightly.

God, he couldn’t be more relieved people like her were still in town.

“Please.”

He unlooped his scarf from around his neck and dropped it on the counter, hastily warming up from the space heater Granny liked to keep on full blast above the counter as the months turned colder. The older woman had always been a little tight with her purse, but while she invested in central heating for the bed and breakfast at the behest of many a desperate customer, she had insisted the heat from the griddle and oven should be enough to keep the diner at a comfortable temperature. The space heater was the only concession she made, which usually kept the barstools constantly occupied at peak times and otherwise.

Ruby soon approached with a mug and a pot of steaming coffee, and Killian thanked her as she handed it over.

“You’re up early,” she mused. “Granny said she went to wake you about half an hour ago, but you weren’t there.”

Granny went to snoop, more likely. What kind of proprietor tried to wake their customers before seven? He shared a knowing look with Ruby, who had the good grace to look a little sheepish on her grandmother’s behalf.

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“Is it the guilt?” called a sharp voice from the kitchen.

“Granny!”

“Worse,” Killian bit back loudly, “your mattresses.”

Ruby looked part irritated, part flustered, and cast an angry glare at the door to the kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Killian, “just give me a sec.”

She disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and Killian watched through the pass as she exchanged some harsh words with the elder Lucas, who soon huffed and stormed out of sight. Killian thought he heard the connecting door to the inn swing closed.

“Sorry about that,” Ruby continued, marching back out to the counter, a forced cheeriness there that barely masked the fury he could see dancing behind her eyes. “Granny’s got some work to do, but Floyd will be here in like, ten minutes, and he’ll kick off the breakfast rush.”

“Fine by me. She’s, ah, still the firecracker I remember.”

Ruby sighed heavily. “Wouldn’t let a silly thing like a triple bypass slow her down.”

Killian smiled over the rim of his coffee. “Of course not.”

They passed a few contented moments in silence, Ruby running a cloth across the counter and switching on the milk steamer, and Killian had just about settled himself into it when she spoke again.

“So,” she began, “what brings you back to town?”

He was tempted to suggest Granny’s snooping should have given her an indication, but the words stopped dead on the tip of his tongue once he turned to look at her. She was concentrating perhaps a little too hard on the glass she was currently polishing, staring fixedly at the way the dishcloth had folded in on itself as she pushed it inside, determinedly not looking at him. It was too nonchalant, and everything else in her posture suggested her attention was still aimed solely at him. Lowering his coffee back to the counter, he realised why.

“You know,” he observed, “don’t you?”

Ruby refused to meet his eye.

“You do. Maybe I should be the one asking you questions.”

“I don’t know anything,” she insisted. “No more than anyone else in Storybrooke.”

Killian clicked his tongue. “I’m hardly what you’d call a local anymore, love.”

The waitress seemed more reluctant still, throwing a wary look at the door out to the kitchen. Granny Lucas hadn’t reappeared.

Eventually, she decided to continue.

“I’ve just – heard things. Rumours, mainly. People have been losing stuff they have no sense losing, hearing things they have no right hearing. Nobody has hiked in weeks because of some freak weather, and people are saying the trails are haunted. You know how Storybrooke gets in October.” Like most rural towns, every other house seemed to have a ghost story of its own.

Although, Killian thought to himself, at least one of them was true.

“Then there’s what happened to David, but I bet you already know about that. The moment he told me I had a feeling you’d be back.”

She wasn’t wrong, but Killian had a feeling there was more to this than she was letting on. He told her as much.

“It… it was only once. But as I was locking up two nights ago, I thought – well,” she bit her lip, “at the edge of Main Street, I thought I saw –”

The loud clanging of the bell over the door, along with the slide of the shutters against the glass, startled them both. Ruby almost dropped the glass she was holding, and Killian merely willed his racing heart to slow. Most importantly, he wanted her to continue talking.

“What did you see?”

Ruby shook her head tightly, quickly moving across to the other end of the counter to serve the new customer.

“Ruby –”

“Two coffees to – oh!”

With a start, Killian recognised who had just walked into the diner at the exact moment she realised he was sitting there.

Clad in a soft, lavender coat wrapped tightly around her, a grey scarf wound around her neck and a familiar looking beret atop her cropped dark hair, Mary Margaret Blanchard was staring at him wide eyed, a gloved hand having flown to her chest in surprise at the sight of him.

Gone were the softer edges of her jaw that he remembered from the last time he had seen her, replaced by the distinctive shape of womanhood, the muted hazel of her eyes just a little darker than he remembered them being. Clearly she was no longer the girl he had known when he was scarcely a boy himself, and this woman stood in her place, staring at him as if he were a ghost.

He wondered what she must see when she looked at him.

“Oh,” he echoed her, once he’d gathered his wits, “hello.”

“Hi,” she greeted weakly, uncertain. Five years had passed, and she was just a little less sure of them than he was. “Um two – two coffees to go, please.” This she directed at Ruby, who was happy to have an excuse to busy herself away from Killian’s inquisitive eye.

“I didn’t know you – how are you, Killian?”

He smiled; Mary Margaret’s first thought was always one of kindness. “I only got into town last night. I’m well, thank you.” Mary Margaret returned his smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Remarkably, she looked rather like she’d prefer to be anywhere than the tiny space of air three feet away from Killian that she was currently occupying.

Odd, he thought, when they had all once been so close.

“And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m – I’m good, too. Great, really. I work at the elementary school now.” Her body pivoted, as if intending to point out of the window but realising halfway through that it was pointless, as the school was all the way across town and, besides, he knew exactly where it was. “As a teacher.”

He almost said it. He almost did.

Emma would have loved that.

Instead, he offered his own congratulations. “That’s bloody brilliant,” he grinned. At least one of them had been able to get exactly what they wanted. “Amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Cream?”

Mary Margaret wrenched her gaze away from Killian. “Uh – sorry?”

“Cream,” Ruby repeated, not unkindly, “did you want it?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks.” She reached absently up to straighten her beret.

Deciding to take the encounter as an act of providence, Killian figured he might as well make the most of it. If even Ruby had been detecting something had shifted in the air, then somebody like Mary Margaret had to have almost as many explanations as David.

“I was hoping to run into you,” he began, “I was wondering if I could ask you –”

“Killian, I’m going to stop you right there.”

To his surprise, her interjection had been decisive, and left little room for argument. It was the sort of voice she had always saved for when she wanted to put her foot down, when things were ever getting a little too far out of hand and she had decided to put a stop to it. It probably served her well in the classroom, and the sparsity of its use had meant they had always taken her seriously when she used it.

And she had used it now.

“Alright,” he said, tilting his head to the side and encouraging her to continue.

Mary Margaret hesitated, as if searching for the right words.

“I’ve put it behind me,” she said eventually, with the same directness. “All of it. And I want to keep it there.”

She could do that? Like it was even possible?

“So if that’s the reason… if that’s why you’re back in town, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me. Not until you’ve found your peace, too.”

Peace, that was what she called it. Putting a lid on something too painful to carry and shutting it away where it couldn’t hurt her – if that was peace, he wanted no part of it.

“Have you?” she asked, almost hopefully. Found your peace?

In answer he merely shrugged, rueful and tired. “What do you think?”

Two coffees were placed on the counter in front of Mary Margaret and after a long moment she broke eye contact and reached forward to take them.

“Take care, Killian.”

She turned to go.

He made to go back to his own coffee, now lukewarm and bitter since being left untouched for a number of minutes, but paused as he watched Mary Margaret hesitate, then pivot on her feet to take one last look back at him.

She smiled, and he knew this was genuine.

“It really is good to see you. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He returned the sentiment, and before long the door was chiming and clanging shut behind her, the shutters bouncing off the back of the wood.

Killian couldn’t work out how he felt. It would be decidedly easier if he was angry, and for a number of moments he tried to be. Tried to be furious that she could leave it all in the past, that she could throw everything they had all been to each other into a place where she couldn’t see it, David included. But the fury wouldn’t come. Only the same tired melancholy he had carried with him for years, begging for him to let it all go. Not everybody could carry a torch as enduring as that, and it had been draining him for almost a decade – first Liam, then Emma. He couldn’t resent Mary Margaret for wanting to preserve her strength for the next phase of life, not the last.

It just wasn’t that easy for him. Or for David.

Which just left Regina.

After a moment, Killian suddenly remembered Ruby had been about to tell him something, but when he turned back to the counter he found Ashley, another waitress, in her place.

“Where’s Ruby?”

“She said she had to go prepare a couple of rooms in the Inn for some guests checking in later.” Ashley grinned, and proffered a fresh pot of coffee. “Refill?”

Rather dazedly, he realised the tired jukebox in the corner was now spitting out the second verse to Only You. Once he noticed it, he zeroed in on the sound. He gritted his teeth. 

Shaking his head at Ashley’s offer, he rose from his stool. He had work to do.

-/-

October 27th 2014 – 5 Years Ago

A large mug of a bitter, foul-smelling liquid was placed in front of him.

“There,” Sheriff Humbert said, settling into the seat across him. “You said you were tired. There’s a coffee for you.”

With difficulty, Killian raised his tired eyes from the steam curling out into nothingness from the mug, and tried to stare the sheriff down. He was sure the effect was less than pitiful, what with the dark circles that had settled uncomfortably underneath his eyes, red-rimmed and barely blinking open. Sometimes when he tried to focus on the Sheriff, he found his gaze drifting six inches or so to the left, and his thoughts were becoming muddled and bleary.

Only one thing remained crystal clear in his mind. Over and over, the scream that battered and ricocheted around his skull.

(Killian – Killian, don’t –!)

When he spoke, the words scratched the back of his throat and his voice was hoarse – he had been yelling all night, and in the pastel pink glow of morning that trickled through the barred window, he needed to rest.

“You’re not letting me go?”

The sheriff folded his arms. “I’m not satisfied yet.” Bloody fuck this man was coming after him like a rabid dog. Emma was – Emma was – gods knew what had happened to Emma, but Killian would have much preferred he was out there looking for her and not trapped in here under the doubtful scrutiny of the town’s only detective. Damn Mary Margaret and her insistence on this.

He knew at this very moment the woods were being combed through by any of the denizens of Storybrooke awake and aware of what had happened, and he longed to join them.

“So, let’s go over it again,” the sheriff continued. “You and your friends are out in the woods in the middle of the night for – well, god knows what. Then Emma Swan just – disappears?”

Her wrist stained red, angry welts erupting across her forearm. Eyes as dark as obsidian.

Killian wanted to cry. Already had. Had wept for hours as they tore through the forest.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

“Yes, she disappeared.”

“Your friends say she was with you when she went missing. That you were the last one to see her.”

“I was.”

The sheriff spread a hand, inviting him to continue. When Killian was not forthcoming, he pressed. “So, what did you see?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Killian snarled, even as his voice trembled and cracked. “Aren’t you the police? Shouldn’t I be asking you for answers?”

A wave of nausea rose from his gut to his gullet, and with difficulty he pushed it back down as he pressed a hand to his forehead. It came away wet, drenched in sweat and dew.

“Why were you out in the woods?”

He took a deep breath, tried to force himself to sound normal. “We were just messing around.”

“At midnight?” The sheriff stared at him doubtfully. “Near a ravine?”

The ravine, he knew he wanted to say. No use in either of them being coy about just why Killian, a seventeen-year-old, had become a target in this investigation.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Were you drinking?”

“No.”

“Had you been drinking?”

Killian’s gaze snapped up angrily. “No.”

Sheriff Humbert clicked his tongue. “Had Emma Swan been drinking?”

Without planning to, Killian’s fist swung down and slammed on the table, hard.

He’d not let an asshole like Humbert disparage her.

“Nobody was bloody drinking, alright?”

“What other reason do five seventeen-year-olds have to venture into the woods in the middle of the night?”

His wrist was still sticky with blood, and he knew he stank. His leather jacket had been flung onto the floor within five minutes of him being shut in the interrogation room, but his shirt was still foul with sweat and earth. He knew how it looked, but he hadn’t been thinking of that when the four of them had finally agreed to admit this had spiralled far out of their control.

Emma was gone. And they needed help.

But they shouldn’t have come here.

“Emma is missing,” he spat at the detective, fury and misery overwhelming him, and he felt the humiliating sting behind his nose that he knew would preface hot tears as his shoulders began to tremble. He had always felt things too deeply, that was his problem.

I’m not finished, Liam had snapped, don’t you walk away from me.

“You should be out there bloody finding her, not grilling me!”

“Emma is missing,” the sheriff agreed sharply, “and I assure you, I’m doing everything in my power to find her, but for that I need you to stop fighting me.”

Killian could scarcely remember a time when he hadn’t been fighting.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

The sheriff drummed his fingers on the table. “Are we on the same page, Mr. Jones?”

Wiping his eyes, he nodded mutely.

“You and your friends reckon she disappeared around midnight, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“Then why did no one come to alert the station until five?”

(Bring her back. You bring her back right now, Jones, or I swear –!)  

Killian swallowed. “We were – trying to find her.”

“You were trying to find her,” Sheriff Humbert repeated.

“We didn’t think it was serious. At first. We thought she’d just wandered off.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

“And you say no alcohol was involved?”

“No.”

“Then why in god’s name weren’t you a little more concerned that your friend had just – disappeared? If you had told us sooner, we might have –”

The door to the interrogation room burst open.

Dr Archibald Hopper (MD) stood in the doorway, quivering with a barely suppressed rage which he directed solely at the sheriff. Killian, far more overwhelmed and relieved to see him than he had ever been in his entire life, finally gave way to the weariness of keeping his emotions at bay and felt tears begin to spill down his cheeks. He quickly covered his face with his hands, but could hear the furious exchange between the social worker and the detective.

“Sheriff Humbert, I must insist you stop this instant. Killian, don’t say another word.” A pause. “How dare you?”

The sheriff was unapologetic. “He’s a witness.”

“He’s a minor, Sheriff, need I remind you. And he has been through quite enough today already.” Killian dropped his hands, and he could tell the moment Archie realised he’d been crying. “Do you have any idea what kind of irreparable harm you may have already caused this poor boy? Killian, get your jacket.”

Forcing his stiff limbs into movement, Killian knocked his chair back with a loud scrape and reached for his discarded jacket. It was torn in at least three places he could see.

“This was a voluntary interview, Dr Hopper – Killian came to us. A girl is missing.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Archie replied hotly. “That girl was put under my charge long before she became your case, Mr Humbert. And I will not have you waste valuable resources in here interrogating a child when you should be out there, finding her.”

He ushered Killian to the door who went, willingly. He felt as if he might be floating, was more relieved to have somebody else take charge; he almost staggered into Archie as he was led out into the hall.

“If you approach this boy again without my express permission you’ll be hearing from my attorney.”

“This isn’t over,” the sheriff growled.

“Oh,” Archie scoffed, a hand landing heavily on Killian’s shoulder as they began marching down the hall, “it really is.”

Killian tripped over his feet as he tried to keep up, and caught only the side of Archie’s stony expression as he looked over at the man. He had never seen him like this. Ever since he had moved into the group home Archie had been nothing but mild-mannered pragmatism, had endured a thousand wild tempers from Killian over the years with nothing other than an infuriating level of understanding, to the point where it had occurred to him on more than one occasion that it wasn’t even possible for Archie to get angry.

It had also never really occurred to him that the man cared a whit for him beyond that which his profession demanded, but perhaps that had been more Killian’s tendency to close himself off to the possibility. Emma had taken a long time to penetrate, too.

At the thought of Emma, another wave of nausea rushed over him and he tugged on Archie’s sleeve as they left the station, stopping in his tracks and hunching over the flowerbed near the entrance. He retched three times, but nothing came out. There was nothing for his body to expel. He realised he was hungry. Famished. Archie rubbed a gentle hand on his back until he felt well enough to straighten.

“Killian,” he said gently, much more the man he knew than the hurricane that had whisked him away from Sheriff Humbert. He stooped to meet his eye, and Killian could see the sorrow that had settled softly behind the rim of his glasses. “I’m going to ask you this only once, because I trust you to be completely honest with me.”

Killian nodded, quivering in the brisk air of morning.

Archie’s mouth was set in a thin, concerned line.

“Do you know what happened to Emma Swan?”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

It was a good thing Archie Hopper trusted him.

“No.”

Even if he shouldn’t.

-/-

October 20th 2019 – 6 Days Prior to Present Day

After a few moments, David realised he was awake.

Awake, but he couldn’t move.

As if there were some yawning gap between his impulses and his actions, when he tried to rise to a sitting position or even twitch a finger, he felt nothing stir. His ears had popped or, at least, that’s what it sounded like – the regular hums of the old house, the refrigerator, the electric heater on the landing that Ruth always insisted on leaving on, were unusually muffled and a distant ringing had settled there instead.

The room was dark as pitch, only a crack of light from the streetlamp outside falling against the opposite wall, and he knew Ruth must be asleep. Once again he tried to lift a hand, unconsciously intending to mop some of the sweat from his brow, but when nothing happened a swell of panic began to rise within him.

And all at once, he understood he was no longer alone in his bedroom.

With his eyes fixed on the ceiling David couldn’t turn his gaze to the unknown assailant, lurking as they were just at the end of his bed, but he could hear the gentle swish of fabric against the floor, the beams of light from the window winking in and out as the figure passed in front of them, and he began to breathe harder. He was desperate to take deep, gasping breaths but his lips refused to open further than a sliver, and the more he tried to regain control, the more agitated he became.

“Stop,” a gentle voice whispered, “it’s alright.”

David froze and his heart soared, but was immediately clutched by an intense and terrible terror; because he knew that voice.

Something touched his right hand, cold and dead and strange, clutching onto him tight and when David tried to flinch away he managed the barest flicker of movement. Pulse racing and bolstered by the progress, David focused all of his energies on his neck, stiff and unyielding, needing to turn and get a look at the intruder.

As their grip overtook his entire hand, with an enormous effort he managed to tilt his head.

Their eyes locked for a split second, and the darkness stole his cry.

The intruder stared at him intently. They wanted him to remember.

“Bring me the dagger.”

He blinked, and like a spell had been lifted David lurched onto his right side, gasping for air and resisting the urge to retch, a clumsy hand fumbling for the lamp at his bedside and slamming the switch. Warm light bloomed through the entire room, but David was alone again.

His mind kept whirling, replaying the image over and over and trying to process what he had seen – but that stranger, he couldn’t forget them. It was a face he’d spent every single day over the last five years desperate to remember and cherish forever.

It was Emma.

Not caring for the lateness of the hour, David scrambled for his phone left charging by his bed, and called the only person in the world who might believe him.

After stumbling his way through a greeting on Killian’s voicemail, he tried to get to the crux of the thing in the least alarming way possible.

“There’s something – I have something you need to see.”

[dahmerthepeoplenomer]

Hi all! So this will be my first writing post ever! I freakin’ love Hank and there’s not enough love for him so I decided to join on the Hank Love Movement <3 just some Sensitive/Soft Hank

Before Hank had even gotten to his office, he knew it was going to be a terrible day. One of the reasons being that you weren’t going to be there today since you had the day off. He absolutely HATED when you weren’t there!

You were, as he’s expressed to you before, his light. In fact, you could say the same about him. You’ve both saved each other. He saved you from yourself and you saved him from himself. If you both didn’t believe in soulmates before, you damn well believe in them now. There’s hardly a minute that goes by when he doesn’t think of you or even the things he’d like to do to you...

“Good Morning, Lieutenant.” Connor said, snapping Hank out of his thoughts.

Hank grunts in response.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“What, Connor,” Hank said in obvious annoyance. He loved that damn android like his own kid but he sure did get on his nerves.

“Are you aroused? I’m noticing you have high levels of dopamine which..”

Connor wasn’t able to finish his statement before Hank almost spit out his coffee and managed to sputter out, “Fuck, Connor! What the fuck!? Don’t....don’t ask me shit like that...Jesus Christ!”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I requested that I ask you something personal and you approved so I only thought that it was permitted.”

“Yeah, well, too personal!” Hank responded and began the long boring day ahead of him.

~——————-~

You had the day off so you decided you were going to do something nice for your favorite and most handsome being to ever walk this earth. You just weren’t sure what to do though.

‘I’ll start by cleaning this place I suppose’ you think to yourself, looking around at Hanks distasteful apartment. You went to put away some folded laundry in his dresser drawer when you noticed something at the bottom. It was a picture of you and him around the time you two first met. It was taken at a company Christmas party just over 1 year and a half ago.

You had just started a month or so prior and Hank was less than pleased to be at the event so you decided to cheer him up. You grabbed a Santa hat, which you already had on, and placed it on his handsome little head.

“Cute, y/n, real cute,” Hank said trying hard to hide his amusement.

“Come on, don’t be so bleh!” You stated chuckling. You decided to up the ante. Reaching into your pocket, you grab the piece of mistletoe you were hiding (silently hoping you could use it on him) and stood close to him and hanging it over your heads. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Oh! What’s that? I think that’s mistletoe Hank and you know what that means...” you almost whisper the ending of your sentence. You weren’t sure what gave you this boost of confidence, maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was something else...

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I dont play by the rules..” Hank said trying to make up an excuse not to lean in to you because if he did, it would completely unravel him. Ever since he first laid eyes on you, this is all he’s thought about. And you can say the same.

“It’s not rules, Hank...It’s tradition...” you speak very softly. You know he won’t budge but you see a sort of conflict in him. Unsure of what conflict it is, you hear him say “Y/n..” almost as a warning. That doesn’t stop you. You close the distance, lips crashing together. You feel his hand lightly come up to your cheek. Things start to escalate quick within you both when all of a sudden...

‘FLASH’...a light blinds you both as you look up to the person behind the camera.

“Aww!” the camerawoman says looking up to see yours and Hanks stunned looks.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just here to take photos for the municipal board. Saw a perfect moment and wanted to capture it. I think you ought to keep this one...Merry Christmas!” The girl says handing over the instant print photo of the two of you and walking away.

You look at eachother, nervously chuckling, before leaning in for another kiss.....

“Aww...He kept it..”, you whisper to yourself, feeling the prick of tears. You then realized what you were going to do next. Throwing on your shoes and Hanks detroit hoodie, you head out the door.

~——————~

This day is just ridiculous. Hank is just ready to get out of this hell hole and go to his girl, his world...his home. He lazily skims through the rest of his work and makes a beeline for the exit.

Connor is already waiting beside the car. They get in and head home.

“You’re noticeably happier, Lieutenant.” said the android.

“Yeah well..”

“I don’t understand. Why the sudden change of emotion?” Connor asked.

“Have you ever been in love, Connor?”

“I am not programmed to..” he is cut off by Hank.

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m not programmed to’ bullshit. I know you better than that and what you’re capable of.”

“Well, no Lieutenant, I’ve never felt love.”

“Yeah well, when you do, you’ll understand what I’m going through.” Hank said and left the conversation at that. The android sat there processing what Hank had just said.

~——————~

You’ve made this damn place spotless! You weren’t sure it was possible because of how it the house looked before but managed it somehow. You had Hank’s present in your hands walking to the living room when a deep voice startled you.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” His gruff voice asks, laughing at you jumping by the sound of him.

“Jesus, Hank! It’s a present.” You say handing it to him. Behind him, Connor takes Sumo outside leaving the two of you alone.

“For...?” He questions.

“Because I LOOOOVE you,” you say reaching up and squeezing his face. He just grins and opens the gift. His eyes widen a bit as he stares at the picture of you and him that’s in a beautiful, almost rustic looking, wood frame. On the frame there’s the time and date that the photo was taken etched into it.

“It’s not much but...”, you start to say but you’re cut off by his lips on yours. Neither of you say anything as he picks you up, lips still locked, and takes you both to the bedroom.

He places you on the bed softly and kicks the door shut. You’ve already started to remove your shirt but he says, “No, no, no, just relax, I’ll do it.”

He finishes unbuttoning your shirt, kissing your bare belly making his way up to your already exposed breasts. Latching onto one with his mouth, he teases the other with his fingers. Your hands grip into his hair as you stifle a moan. His mouth moves to the second mound but his hand travels down and slips underneath your pants. Your hips buck to his hand as he starts rubbing over your panties.

“Hank, clothes..”, you breathe out, pulling at his fully clothed body. He does he deep chuckle that you’ve fallen in love with and starts removing his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. He unbuttons your pants and throws them to the side. He starts to place kisses to your inner leg and makes his way up to your inner thigh. You’re practically begging for him at this point, grabbing his head again.

You can feel his nose slide right up over your bundle of nerves making you shiver and moan in response. He takes the hem of your panties and slides them off of your body leaving you exposed to him. He places a light kiss to the bud and then fully latches on. Pushing your hips against his mouth, you moan and gasp for air. Taking two fingers he delves into you. The knot in you keeps building and building. He fingers and mouth working faster and hard until...

“Hank! Ugh, Hank...”, you moan out loudly as he licks you clean.

As you come down from your climax, Hank removes his boxers and positions himself above you. He kisses you deeply and you return the kiss with the same passion.

“You ready, love?” He groans, positioning at your entrance.

“Please...”, you rasp out.

With your response he fills you up completely. Nothing else exists in the world, it’s just you two. Your legs wrap around his frame as you cling to him. He starts to move slowly and you start to move you hips in time with his. He’s grunting and groaning in your ear until he leans down to capture your lips as he starts to pick up pace. You break apart for air as he angles your hips up and he continues his thrusts, hitting just the right spot within you. You start to whimper uncontrollably as he goes faster.

“Ah, Hank, I’m..”, you force out.

“I know..I know..just let go, darling.” He moans.

He voice was enough to send you over as you climax hard around him. You clench on him for dear life. He follows with his own release, moaning in your ear, “ugh, y/n, I love you. I love you so much..”

Leaning down capturing your lips again, you both come down from your high.

“I love you too, Hank.” You say sincerely.

He then goes to pull out and roll off you but you stop him.

“Wait, just..stay like this for a minute. I like to feel you.”

“Alright but I don’t want to crush you.” He says and turns you both so that you’re laying on top of him instead. You lay there for a little while just feeling and being with each other until you grow uncomfortable and lay by his side. He wraps his arms around you, one around your waist and the other under your head as a pillow. You nuzzle closer to his chest, loving the feel of his soft hair.

“I assume you liked you gift then?” You laugh out.

“It’s beautiful, darling, thank you. So is the house, which I did notice. I love it and I love you...so much.” He sounds like he’s close to tears.

“I love you too, Hank,” you lean up and kiss by his eye, then down to his nose, and finally meeting his lips.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep leaving Hank to stare at your sleeping frame. In this moment he realizes that he’s finally, genuinely happy. You’re the person he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.