#cs au inspired

[sweet-cuddlebug]

Rage aspect and meta. Pre and post retcon. Homestuck au inspired by csau. Past Gamzee/Terezi. Gamzee makara recovery/dealing with the consequences of his actions. Post-sburb gamtav.

[The texts in this post are mostly my own messages copied and pasted from HS Discord. It's recommended that to better understand this rant you read my other posts about Gamzee and these concepts, not necessarily mandatory.]

Ok so listen yall im thinkin about the rage aspect and post-sburb au

My understanding of Rage and Hope is that one is more connected to reality, and the other to fantasy. In Rage's case, it's everything that's true and exists as it is, while Hope is all the infinite possibilities of what can be. So I figured maybe a rage player could gain some sort of insight/understanding into the reality of the story and their place in it.

That's why Gamzee can do what he does, he's passively destroying reality/the story.

SO

Rememeber how Terezi recovered the memories of her past self (before retcon) due to her mind+seer powers and emotional turmoil

I'm writing an au where that also happens with Gamzee in the retcon, maybe after they defeat LE and destroy Cal (<- VERY important for that to happen), due to the sudden freedom granted to his mind Gamzee suffers some kind of emotional and mental shock, similar to what happened with his chucklevoodo (unconsciously giving John nightmares etc etc)

And I'm not even sure if this happens to Gamzee in canon, but here he gains some understanding of the meta and manages to regain his memories from before the retcon

And then comes the emotional spill and meltdown blah blah blah his reality is shattered and he's miserable etc etc

THEN

This contains OCs and I'm not gonna go into too much detail but they're the ones who are mainly in charge of getting Gamzee through the door

TIME SKIP

FOUR YEARS LATER

Gamzee received professional help and support in addition to getting used to this new life outside of anyone's or anything's control, but he also has to deal with the consequences of his actions

WHICH LEADS US TO Gamzee meeting and having a conversation with Terezi (also Nepeta, Karkat, Equius and Tavros etc BUT MAINLY TEREZI FOR NOW) and both of them talking about their relationship and what happened before the retcon, since it's only them + john + time players + sprites who know

I forgot to talk about this on discord but it is in this conversation that both manage to reconcile and receive the answers/apologies they deserved IMPORTANT THAT THIS HAPPENS 4 YEARS LATER OR MORE AFTER THE GAME both need time to heal and improve at their own pace

We continue with the discord messages

OOOOOOH I THOUGHT OF SOMETHING

similar to the scene with Lapis Lazuli, Gamzee is with a group going about their normal day and things take an unexpected turn and now Gamzee is having a breakdown, he's questioning if what he's doing is okay, questioning if he can really be a better person, and ADMITTING that sometimes he "misses" what he went through in the game, AND IT'S CRAZY BECAUSE NOTHING GOOD HAPPENED TO HIM, and he's like (I don't know how to replicate gamzee's speech, I apologize) "i know it sounds bad but sometimes i think i miss the purpose LE gave me" and someone (I didn't put any specific character but I imagined this scene happening with Tavros, I'll explain more later) retorts with "but he was evil and he made you suffer!" and gamzee retorts with "IM EVIL, I MADE MY FRIENDS SUFFER, I TORMENTED KARKAT AND TEREZI AND I KILLED EQUIUS AND NEPETA AND A LOT OF OTHER BAD THINGS" and maybe he mentions something he did before the retcon and everyone's like "what when did that happen" and gamzee gets worse because he remembers that only a few people know the damage he really caused

Okay, as I said, I was going to talk more about Tavros. In my AU, I plan to make flushed Gamtav canon, but like with Terezi, for that to happen, I need a time period where the characters involved can heal separately, so the development of their relationship would not begin until almost 4 years after the game. And just like in csau Tavros gains the confidence (and wings) that he previously lacked/wanted, and the dynamic between Gamzee and Tavros changes.

Tavros becomes more confident and assertive about the type of relationship he wants to form with Gamzee (<3), while Gamzee is now the one who doesn't know if he wants to pursue that (because he doesn't trust himself and that he's not going to ruin everything again). They first begin by forming a friendship; both are different people and must learn to love this new version of themselves. But as time passes, it's clear that Gamzee isn't talking about some things that bother him and prevent him from expanding his friendships/relationships (idk maybe they should mention the makeout with his decapitated head, maybe who knows). This would lead to the scene described above.

Original messages:

[catsushinyakajima]

I’m sitting by a trash can at the bus stop waiting for the bus for the past TWENTY minutes and I am also late to class (my own fault for going to the gym instead of heading to class early :/) SO ANYWAYS-

Voltron headcanons (realistic and college AU, also inspired by my own college misery):

- they’re all stem nerds. All of them. I know a lot of people HC them as liberal arts major which is great! but they are canonically astronauts (one part of canon that I like)

- Lance would be the kind of guy to be like “WE GOTTA HIT THE GYM EVERYDAY THIS SEMESTER RAHHHH” and then dip the second midterms start. Every single semester. Without fail.

- Keith found lectures useless since he could just “read the textbook”. He never showed up to a single class except for exams and somehow passed. He only stopped the habit when multiple friends scolded him for it.

- Coran would be in twenty different clubs. Correction: he would be PRESIDENT of twenty different clubs. No one knows when he joined them. The clubs range from archery to competitive coding to mental health awareness. (“Hey Coran are u free tonight?” “No sorry, the Roleplaying Ancient Romans club is having a bake sale tonight” “the what-)

- hunk would do a LOT of volunteering. He’s probably cook for shelters but I can also see him tutoring underprivileged kids in engineering :)

- Pidge would have a surprising amount of school spirit. Not bc she likes the college or the sport. She just wants to hate on the other teams. Also if her tuition is going to the football coach’s salary, she might as well be passionate about it.

- Allura is a triple major. Maybe even a quadruple major?? She’s the girl you see constantly stressing about their schedule. “Okay so should I take this class…that makes me have eight classes total all back to back” “WHAT” “what if I did a minor in psychology?” “Allura how tf are you going to fit that in there”

- Shiro is a TA (teaching assistant) for calculus or physics or something. Because the world hates him it’s an eight am class where the professor teaches wrong content and then dumps twenty hours of grading on him. “So you find the derivative under the curve” “Professor that’s not-“ You will never see him without a coffee.

- Hunk has beef with the Dining halls. They don’t season their food and they don’t even have much to begin with. On the other hand, Lance practically lives there. He’s making the most of the meal plans he paid for.

- At least he sticks to tastier things. Keith, who also practically lives at the dining hall, will eat salt and pepper chicken four times a day (“it’s protein”)

- it’s how Keith and Lance have had most of their meals together. Notably, also alone.

- aside from living at the dining hall, Keith also lives at the gym. This explains why he’s never at class.

- pidge has a car on campus. It’s Matt’s car or whatever. Not only can she not park for her life, she also can’t stop getting parking tickets. She uses the tickets as wall decor for her dorm.

- Lance skateboards. He’s pretty good at it. He’s only fallen twice, and both times had been in extremely public settings. Once was in front of a bus stop with fifty people. He tried teaching Coran how to skate and Coran accidentally slipped and launched the board towards the main road.

- Pidge plays clash royale in class. Shiro roasts her for it but then secretly also plays word games in class

- on top of having four majors, Allura also has four internships??? Everytime she posts about something that seems relaxing, it’s misleading. She’ll post herself getting drinks and SIKE it’s a networking event. She’ll be going hiking SIKE it’s a colleague bonding trip. Girl cannot take a break.

- Keith hates frats. Even educational ones with job opportunities. Even if he knows all frat boys aren’t shitty, he refuses to budge on his stance

- Shiro is the kind of guy you’d be talking to and ten people come up to him to say hi. Everyone knows him. Even if he doesn’t know them.

[cs-blank-au-official]

Hey, Blank's creator

Who inspired you to make Blank? or your entire AU?

OHIFHFHDSJKHFKJDHSKFHDSJFHDSKJFHD I'M SO FUCKING GLAD YOU ASKED

These 3 in particular really got me into drawing my au since July 2023, and i started posting in August 2023!

People mentioned: Monialynn/Eliza - Detroit: Become Human - Mr. and Ms. Deviant Tiktok Webtoon Monica/Rebecca - Carmen Sandiego OC x Canon Tiktok Tumblr Kroi/999Kroi - allot of sona inserts Tiktok

[princess-and-the-swan]

Three-Shot Fic Rec: The Princess and the Apple Tree

By StubbleSandwich (LibraryBandit) | Rating: G

Princess Emma knows no better place than the expansive garden that was built for her as a small child. When a young thief dares to scale the garden’s walls, Emma finds herself befriending Killian Jones, a boy who lives in her kingdom. Over time, they become inseparable, and as they grow, so does their love for one another–until the day Killian mysteriously disappears, and Emma finds herself strangely drawn to an apple tree that appears in her garden. Based on The Princess and the Apple Tree by A.A. Milne.

Read it on AO3

[capricioussun]

These are red bodied swallowtails btw! (Pics and rambling under cut for bug cw 👍)

And I also found these guys, which I thought either could be fitting for Void! vvv

And I did like these a lot! The Hawk moth, maybe most fitting for Lace since their wings look like his nicknamesake 💖 vvv

Last thoughts on it for now but I also like the idea of Stretch maybe being ruddy daggerwing styled <3 vvv

Back when I'd been pondering on my own fae/fairytale au most monsters had more like, fictionally based wings tied to their appearance, like Levi had fin wings that were similar to her head fins and like, a little like sailfish fins? That's why in the initial sketch of Edge he has bone/dragon style wings, and Red would've presumably had similar (but probably one being significantly damaged, as is my usual modus operandi whenever giving him extra features, which can most prominently be seen in his mer-version's significant tail damage)

But! I really like the more classic spin with the more insect based wings!! I love looking at butterflies and moths <333

Found the old alt sketch and cleaned it up a little 💫

[const3llatio]

Summer’s Over

rin itoshi x gn!reader

Isn’t it strange how the shade can burn?

How you can go to school, but you can never learn?

synopsis ₊⊹⁀➴ Your grandma’s neighbors were the Itoshi’s. Staying at her cozy little house during the summer, you and Rin were inseparable.. Until one day, you stopped coming. Now, over 4 years after the fact, you’re back to take care of your sick grandmother year-round. And what makes this whole ordeal better? Rin is still right next door. And neither of you have forgotten.

status ₊⊹⁀➴ ongoing, updates every 1-3 days

warnings ₊⊹⁀➴ kinda a lot of writing , chapters w writing indicated w a [🏝️], childhood friends to enemies (?) to lovers, high school!au, rin is a little BITCH, swearing, kys jokes, mentions of reonagi, mild angst, mentions of death, mentions of divorce, rin kinda hates reader cs hes annoying asf, rin is STUPID and OBLIVIOUS and im gonna burn him at the stake, IM SO BAD AT WRITING, ooc? i hardly know her!

um okay so yes the smau was inspired by this song kinda and yes theres a playlist and yes u should go listen to it cuz i made it myself

Taking flights south when the weather changes,

We’ll be birds in our seperate cages

introducing..

fortnite duos (+ rin) | rip y/n 🦅

1. final destination ahh

2. this lwk funny! retweet! [🏝️]

3. brotein shake

4. reoccurring joke episode [🏝️]

5. im thinkering

6. dhmu im grieving [🏝️]

7. doctor its awake [🏝️]

8. 5 days in a week

9. you can palp it [🏝️]

10. shark_shark123

11. plain looking friend

12. literelally cryeibg

13. #dislike [🏝️]

14. kurona is like nyan cat

15. hes learning

16. farewell my friend

17. am i right fellas

18. what about my cocnut

19. kill niko yay or nay [🏝️]

20.

21.

22.

23.

Ask for taglist ! if your name is in teal, i cant tag you! (46/50) @rroxii @maiyz @mwezieclipze @risagichi @op81no1 @heavdly @levihanmyotp @ranzess @giaalorine @kaz-0e @kuromixheartzzz @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @kyeeeeeeeweeeeeeewi @ceramic-raven @veestar4911 @luphyllum @mivqko @luvsymai @vinzcoke @sapphireluv @emicatz @scoosh4you @kuronarnze @vampshxde @nishinoyaismycutie @l0v3ly-st4rs @bestboileeknow @veyyluvezcats @itoshiyom @gojosluvv @kyaanii @meikstv @lorisheaven @yinnywrites @sillymil @sugacor3 @cjutysjk @anaxugoras @karasu4life @jellychee @cutonmyhrt @rvm1ne @jnkosstuff @aceyqacey @kxltyy @kaidostwin

if you cant be tagged youll get removed after like a week btw

[sparklykaminarii]

"I'D UNDERSTAND "

[•~college!au, aged!up kirshima x reader~•]fluff/slight angst/smut

[•~synopsis: you find out your boyfriend was just using you, don't worry ejiro will help you forget all about that~•]

[•~a/n: inspired by a situation my friend was js in, send requests!!~•]

you couldn't believe it. after all that time? all those memories you two had together. it was all for nothing.

you and your (ex) boyfriend had been dating for a couple weeks. even though it was merely a couple weeks, you were convinced that he was the love of your life. you knew that he was the one. or at least you thought so-

gradually things got distant, he stopped making an effort overall, while you put in everything you had. you were confused and frustrated. you didn't do anything to him? so what was going on?...

then earlier this afternoon, you were catching up on some nearly-late homework assignments. as you scribbled your way through some equations a light buzz vibrated against your thigh.

curiously, you took out your phone and glanced over at the notification. you had got a message from your boyfriend.

you open his chats eagerly, for once he started a conversation with you. but your moment of glee soon came to an abrupt end as you read the first couple words.

"y/n. we need to break up"

you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. your stomach dropped making the guilty and panicky feeling overtake your senses even more.

you continue reading the paragraph, each word making that sick feeling grow in you. you couldn't believe that this was happening. it had to be a nightmare.

"tbh i was desperate for a prom date cs all my friends going had one and i didn't wanna be left out and at that point they were making fun of me so yea i shoulda js told the truth from the start instead of lying"

emotions flooded your mind. betrayal. disappointment. anger. were just to name a few. you were at a loss for words. you thought he actually loved you. he treated you better than any other guy you were previously with. and you get played?

you drop your phone, tears flooding your eyes as you fall onto your bed, head buried in the pillow below you. the only thing you felt like doing now was to cry your eyes out dry. sob until you got better if that was possible anymore. you felt stupid.

teardrops dampened the pillowcase below you face as you say there in sorrow. but your moment of mourning was soon interrupted by a series of knocks. a familiar voice following.

"y/n? you left your textbooks in the library-"

you quickly fix yourself up, taking in a couple deep breaths and wiping the tears off your cheeks. you swiftly get up from your bed, praying that the faint pink tint plastered all over your face wasn't too obvious.

your hand curls over the doorknob and you open the door slowly. being greeted with a familiar red haired boy. eijiro kirishima, your best friend. one of his arms holding up a stack of books, while the other was shoved in his jacket pocket.

"h-hey eijiro... thanks for bringing me these" you whispered, hiding your shaky rattled voice. eijiro looked down at you with a small frown. "you okay, y/n?" he asks, handing you the books, worry and concern evident in his tone.

those three words were all it took to make you crack. you erupted back into that familiar sorrow, eyes overfilling with water.

you then feel strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a warm and comforting embrace. without any thought you cry into his chest, a spot in his hoodie getting soaked.

a hand strokes your back softly as his soothing voice whispers in your ear "let it out, it's all gonna be okay y/n, I promise..." you hug him back even tighter, too lost in your emotions.

a couple moments pass before eijiro pulls away for a quick moment, arms still wrapped around you.

"you wanna tell me what's wrong?..."

you explain to kirishima everything that had just happened. he knew about this boyfriend you had and wasn't too trusting of him to begin with. he has a gut feeling something was off but he didn't want to burst your bubble so he kept quiet.

at least that's what he told himself. in actuality he couldn't tell if he was just jealous of him or if he actually had a guy feeling. something eijiro had never told you was that he had the biggest crush on you ever since you two had met. and every time you mentioned or introduced him to a new guy the only thing he could think of was how much better he was.

this moment was no different either. you told him in the past about how your boyfriend was treating you. from all the dry and lackluster conversations to the lack of attention. he heard it all. and he tried his best to comfort you, to try to look out for the both of you. when in reality he wanted you all for himself. he wanted to tell you how much of a better boyfriend he could be.

his blood boiled and his heart was full of fury. "that is so messed up." he grumbled arm wrapped around one of your shoulders as he held you in close, inhaling tye sweet scent of your shampoo.

"I know... im so tired of this ejiro. am I really that unlovable?.." you ask, glancing back up at the red haired male, eyelashes decorated with tiny teardrops. kirishima feels his cheeks reddened and blush as he thinks carefully about his reply. he could ruin your friendship if this doesn't go his way. but if it does workout, his dreams will come true. a moment passes before he replies.

"y/n, honestly I can't even hide this anymore from you. I love you. I mean it I swear. it drives me mad seeing you let these guys take advantage of you like this, you're too pretty and perfect to be treated like this. please- let me show you how good I could treat you-"

and that's how it all started. you were laid down on your back, thighs pushed all the way to your chest as kirishima towered over you.

"relax for me mamas... ima make you feel so good..." he cooes into your ear, hand caressing your cheek. you listen to him and let go of all the tension you were holding in, a breathy exhale leaving your lips.

kirishima teases his tip in between your fold and clit, making the both of you let out a small moan. soon enough he gently pushes himself in, groaning at the way your wet walls clam down on his length. you grip the bedsheets next to you as the feeling of the pleasureable yet painful stretch engulfs your senses.

"you okay princess? can I start?..." he asks, checking in for any signs of discomfort on your face. it took everything in him to not start moving and pound the life out of you, he had fantasized about this moment since forever and it was finally in his hands.

you nod, and kirishima starts moving at a slow pace, making sure you were okay, after all the last thing he would ever want to do, is to hurt you. but soon enough he picks up the pace gradually, making you cry out for more. "your takin it so well for me mamas..." he praises, his hips bucking into your cunt even quicker.

"f-fuck she was made for me hm? bet that lameass boyfriend couldn't get ya like this" he mumbles, pointing your chin down to make sure you maintain eye contact with him.

he begins to get rougher, hands quickly shifting your legs from pressed against your torso to now your calves on his shoulders. the new position made him ram into that spongy spot, making your moans even louder.

it all felt so good, from the way his cock was now even deeper in you, the way his thrust became harsh and passionate you could only shut your eyes from the ecstasy.

"don't close your eyes on me mama, keep them open or I'll stop." he commands, drilling into your hole even faster now, the sound of skin slapping follow suit. you open your eyes, listening to his warning. he smirks and whispers down into your ear "good girl... you're so obedient for me mamas" he grins.

he pounds into you harshly, faint mumbles of " so-so sorry mamas... can't hold back anymore" as he drills into you, his grip on your hips was sure to leave a purplish bruise the next morning.

you feel the familiar know in your stomach tighten. "m'so close eijiro please!-" you mewl. "cmon baby... tell me who fucks you better? me or him?" he teases. "y-you do..." you mutter out, somewhat inaudible. he lightly slaps your cheek "the fuck was that?. tell me who the fuck you belong to-" he grunts out. "y-you, I only belong to you eijiro-" you cry out

"good girl, listenin to me so well..." eijiro grins and places a hand on your bud, digits rubbing quick circles all over it. bringing you over the edge.

your back arches and your thighs tremble. you let a loud moan as you feel the pleasure overwhelm you. the sight alone was enough to make kirishima reach his own high. he pulls out and begins to stroke his cock, letting out pretty groans as his lips part slightly.

long ropes of cum decorate your stomach as you both pant out heavily. you close your eyes, as you catch your breath. while you do so kirishima notices your phone on the other side of the bed, open.

he grabs it quickly without you noticing and snaps a quick photo. hurriedly tapping on your exes icon and sending him the photo.

"kinda sad that you let such a pretty girl like her go. it's okay i'd understand, you didn't deserve her anyways"

[unintentionalseductress]

Hi! I had a request if it's okay and I thought I'd send it to your inbox like you asked me to :))

The vision I kinda had for it was ultimately inspired by the fanart and now that I actually think about it, perhaps it's something like rafayel's an outlaw and she's the future queen or sm and they're having a secret affair and ultimately they're caught one day and so her father's furious cs like as you said in the Nanami one, she's supposed to be absolutely pure until marriage so when she's caught with Rafayel doing the dirty, it's absolutely js like 😨😡🤯 for her father, I didn't know how else to explain it srry 😭😭 but yh and so now her father's in a rush to marry her off without further embarrassment but then her and rafayel elope but they go through the deserts, like in the fanart, so nobody can chase after them and uh yh 😭 the only smut I envisioned would be at the beginning of it cs personally, I can't see them doing it in a hot and sandy desert 😖 so uh yh

But tyyy 🫶🫶🫶

-📚

Promised Sands

Warnings: MDNI, sex, angst, mentions of death and violence, reader experiences depression and thoughts of taking her own life briefly A/n: Book anon and I had a chat about this fic, and after getting more details, she said she wanted it loosely based off the Aladdin AU I wrote for Nanami . I am still writing the Zayne and Dawnbreaker fic but inspiration somehow found me and this ended up being written quite quickly. And this is only my second oneshot for Rafayel, like WHAT?! I don't write enough for him.

You sit miserably on your bed, staring out of the barred window at the silhouette of the city in the distance. The bars were a recent addition, placed to discourage you from trying to pull a Houdini a few days before your wedding. 

Your future in-laws were already at the palace, no doubt being shown the lavish grounds and amenities they could expect once their son officially became your husband. The thought made you sick to your stomach because you neither asked nor wanted this wedding. The setting sun cast long shadows across the palace grounds and painted the sky various shades of gold, tangerine, and magenta, and your mind couldn’t help but wander to last week, when you had been unburdened by the prospects of marriage and your heart had been full of love. 

You supposed you should have known better, but how was one expected to resist the natural pull of desires coming alive when your loved one was near? The longing of wanting to be tucked into their embrace, of feeling their lips on yours, and the press of your skin coming together as passions overflowed, the magic of it all glowing like embers from a fire, rising and disappearing into the air.

No one had suspected the Lemurian initially. It was well-known he was a gift to you, and that due to their unwavering loyalty bond, he would never be able to take advantage of you. But what the royal family hadn’t anticipated was that you would consent to being taken advantage of by the Lemurian.

Rafayel had been your steadfast companion for years, since you were a child and he had been presented to you on your birthday. And although you had given his freedom, he returned to visit regularly, bringing back gifts each time; bangles for your wrists, fancy hair ornaments, and little glass figurines that littered the small tables all around your room. No one had suspected that as both of you grew older, that you’d develop feelings for each other that went beyond master and servant. No one thought the princess with the blessed heart would choose him, someone that they had considered less than human, unfit to be your romantic companion in their eyes. But how wrong they had been, and when the king had discovered the extent of your affair, his wrath was terrifying. 

When Rafayel had been discovered in your bedchamber fully clothed, while you lay naked on the bed with nothing more than a bedsheet wrapped around you, the king had demanded his life as retribution. You had screamed, begged and pleaded, and the memory of the king’s look of disgust was burned in your mind as you kneeled at his feet, clutching the bedsheet like it was armor. It had taken 4 men to restrain Rafayel, and as they dragged him away, you could still hear his grunts of pain as the guards had kicked and punched him as they took him away to the jail underneath the palace. 

It had been a week since then, and you had trailed pathetically behind the king ever since, until he had coldly informed you that Rafayel had been beaten to death. There was no remorse in his tone, not even a slight offer of comfort. In the same deadpan voice, the king had informed you that your marriage to the prince of a neighboring kingdom had been arranged, and that no one needed to know you had been “ruined” before your wedding night.

Shortly after, he had hired some servants to put bars on all the windows in your bedchamber, and security constantly patrolled the wing where your living quarters were. It wasn’t necessary; you had lost the will to fight after learning about Rafayel’s demise. 

You cried, feeling like your heart was breaking into pieces, bleeding, yet cruelly refusing to stop beating. Why couldn’t it halt, just give out and end it all? You’d considered taking your own life, yet each time you eyed the small dagger that you’d hidden under your mattress, an overwhelming bond held you in place; perhaps your self-preservation instincts were too strong. And thus, you fell into a trance, a state of being on autopilot. Dutifully, you had presented yourself to the prince, had allowed your handmaidens to preen and fuss over you, dressing you in fine silks, painting your lips the reddest of reds and patting rouge onto your cheeks to give you the look of a blushing bride besotted with her betrothed.

Internally, you were screaming, but your body felt too exhausted to muster the energy to match the rage boiling inside you. You had looked in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection that stared back at you. There were bags under your eyes, a grief-stricken droop in your posture, yet all your ladies in waiting tittered on about how beautiful you looked, and that once you were married you’d have more dresses than your wardrobe could accommodate. You felt ashamed. If any other person had been as close to you as Rafayel had, you’d be wearing the standard black gown that signified mourning. It felt like a smear on Rafayel’s memory that you were lamenting his loss so keenly, yet unable to show it in your attire. 

Now with two days left to your wedding, you had resigned to your fate. Dusk had fallen, yet you can hear the cacophony of voices from the balcony. A pre-weddng celebration. Delicious smells wafted into your bedchamber, accompanied by the sounds of laughter and music. Everyone was celebrating your upcoming nuptials except you. Your handmaiden had attempted to get you dressed for the evening but you had been so uncooperative and listless that she’d given up, settling for the reassurance that at least you weren’t trying to escape anymore. 

Suddenly, your stomach roiled, feelings of deep disgust welling up inside you and bubbling out like molten lava. You slammed all the windows shut, making no effort to hide your disdain for the sham of a welcoming party the king had put together for your supposed fiancé. You locked the door and began to tear apart everything in the room. You knocked over lamps unflinchingly as the delicate glass shattered onto the floor. You threw the fairytale books from their shelves, ripping out pages from some of them, tearing the pretty illustrations depicting princes and princesses getting their happy ending. You dipped your calligraphy brushes into various pots of ink and dragged them along the walls, haphazardly stroking chaotic lines of color into the walls. And you screamed all the while this happened. Tears flowed unrestrainedly down your cheeks. If they refused to let you honor him quietly in black, then you’d do it loudly, in the most violent shades you could find. 

This was your grief. It was not theirs to control, and you felt the dam of emotions you had been holding back come flooding through. You allowed yourself to remember everything; nights spent on the balcony whispering your fears and secrets to him, using little henna cones to trace patterns onto his hands, and letting him do the same for you, marveling at how much bigger they were than yours, with those long, slender fingers. You remembered the softness of his hair and how the wind messed up his bangs and how his eyes turned into the most breathtaking shade of lilac as the sun caught them. The way his eyelashes rested like fans on his cheeks while he was sleeping, and the gentleness of his lips as he kissed you. 

You didn’t care about the purity laws. You had done nothing impure, nothing worthy of the scorn the king had been giving you the past few days. What was revolting was the way everyone else was behaving, acting nonchalant like your childhood companion hadn’t been beaten to death within the very walls of this palace you had called home. So you kicked, your voice calling out his name like a wild animal, holding yourself to prevent your being from falling apart at the seams, your fingernails leaving little bloody marks in your sides as you did so. 

When the rage finally quieted down, the room was in shambles. It brought you a great sense of satisfaction, your throat raw from your lamenting. Exhausted, you collapsed on the bed, and the anguish turned quiet. You could feel it still crawling under your skin but the cathartic destruction of your bedchamber had dulled it. 

You knew you’d never love the man who was to be your husband. How were you to sleep with this man? This person who hadn’t even questioned the circumstances under which this marriage had been proposed? 

Shivering from the adrenaline withdrawal, you bury your face into your pillow, desperately recalling all the times Rafayel had made love to you. Your hands start to wander, softly touching yourself, cupping your breasts, and sighing as your fingers wandered to the space between your legs.

Rafayel’s lips were cool against the heat of your bare skin. You were blushing from your lack of experience. There’s a playful mischievousness in his eyes as he trailed kisses down the column of your neck, coming to the valley between your breasts.

“Is your highness pleased?” He had teased, looking up at you slyly, enjoying the way your cheeks turned pink. You had averted your gaze, trying not to make it obvious how much he was affecting you, which had only amused him. 

“It pleases me when you’re pleased, ya know?” His mouth had closed over a pert nipple, suckling with the perfect pressure that had made you whimper needily, feeling moisture gathering in your core. Heat gathered in your belly and your toes kept curling into the sheets as he pleasured you. 

When you dared to look at him again, his eyes glittered with dark desire. 

“Tell me my lady,” he had whispered as he’d pushed your knees apart to settle in between them. “Are you in need of my services? All you need to do is ask.”

Your breath had caught in your throat as his fingers gently spread your wet lips apart, revealing the little engorged bud in between them. Rafayel’s tongue gave it a wet lick and your back had arched in pleasure, a wanton noise escaping you. You had waited for him to continue but when you felt nothing, your eyes cracked open for a second only to see him gazing intently at you.

“I await your command my princess,” he had said patiently even though desire was eating away at him. 

“Rafayel, please,” you had gasped. “I’m yours.” 

Relief had flooded your system as his tongue found purchase between your folds, his spit gathering onto the swollen membranes as he tasted you. Your body felt like it was in heaven, becoming lighter and alive under his ministrations. The room had filled with the lewd, moist noises of his tongue lapping away at your slick folds, sucking your clit with care until your mind was a mess of hot need. You had struggled to reach the peak, almost losing concentration until Rafayel’s hand had reassuringly held yours and your fingers had interlaced with his.

The thoughtful gesture had been the thing needed for you to find the courage to tip into the abyss of desire where all that existed was him and the desires of your own body. You felt all the senses leave you as you orgasmed, your clit spasming in ecstasy as your hole fluttered in urgent need. Your thighs trembled and you moaned his name as he licked through the aftershocks. 

After every last drop of your pleasure had been drawn, he’d held you against him, helping you come down from the intensity of the high. You could feel his erection pressing hotly against your thigh, barely contained by the thin fabric of his underwear. Boldly, your hand had slipped into it, grasping his length and stroking, drawing a hiss from him. 

“Impatient princess?” he had asked with a lilt, trying to fluster you again, but his teeth were gritted at how good your small hand felt on his cock. He’d guided you, showing you how to hold him, how much pressure he liked, and once you’d mastered the movements, he’d allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence, surprising you when he stilled your hand.

“I won’t last long if you keep this up.” His hand brushed your cheek and he’d kissed you before rolling you under him. 

“I promise this won’t hurt too much.”

Your body tensed when you felt his thick, rounded head probe your entrance, carefully notching into the tight space.

“Don’t worry.” Rafayel snuggled your body close to his, peppering your face with little kisses. “I’ve got you. Just keep breathing. Nice and deep.” His hands cushioned behind the back of your head and you trained your eye to focus on the fine ring of inky black that surrounded his mesmerizing irises. Your body stretched around him, the tightness almost unbearably painful, and Rafayel had paused several times to let you adjust, gently sheathing himself inch by inch, kissing away your tears. He’d stilled when he had finally bottomed out, and you realized your body no longer felt like it was being split apart. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in, and everything inside you changed.

Rafayel gave a testing roll of his hips and when you clung to him moaning, he’d picked up the pace, thrusting into you, merging your bodies into one. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and you held on tight as he pushed into new realms of discovery. 

You withdraw your sticky fingers from your cunt, skin slick with sweat, glowing with the effort of giving yourself that orgasm. They could marry you off, tell the world whatever they wanted, but they couldn’t take away what Rafayel had shown you. You would play the obedient, meek, little princess for now. But someday, you didn’t know when, you would leave. You would find a way to escape from this gilded cage, and never look back. 

This newly found resolve calms you, and you manage to fall into a fatigued sleep. 

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

There’s a tapping noise on the glass of your window, and you awaken abruptly, eyes blinking to adjust the darkness of the night. You find your heartbeat quickening as you spy a shadowy figure lurking outside the glass. Who had managed to get up there? You glance around your room for a weapon, then freeze when an achingly familiar voice calls, muffled through the closed window.

“Open up!”

You blink, looking wildly at the blurred stranger. It couldn’t be. He was dead. You scramble to your feet, trying to calm your frazzled nerves. 

A ghost? Had he come to say goodbye? 

With a trembling hand, you reach out to undo the lock, not daring to breathe as a tall man dressed in black leather pulls out a strange looking tool, cutting the iron bars in one go before swiftly entering your room. 

“Rafayel?” Your voice is unsteady. You can tell he’s injured. His wrist had been splinted and his beautiful face bore bruises. 

“Yeah, who else did you think it was?”

“They told me you were dead!” The words were a broken whisper.

“What, did you think I’m that easy to kill?” Rafayel tries to smile but his lips bear a half-healed cut and he winces as he does so. “Princess, I could never die so easily. Didn’t I promise that I’d get you out of here someday?”

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. Needing confirmation that he was indeed whole and human, you cup his uninjured cheek with an unsteady hand, feeling the heat of his skin, and the soft expulsion of air as it left his nostrils. Rafayel’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight hug, reassuringly patting your hair. 

“I’m here my love.” He presses a kiss to your hair. “But we have to move. Quickly. My comrades said they’d keep watch, but it won’t be long until they give the signal. We need to leave as soon as they do so.” 

He looks around the room, inspecting the havoc. “What happened here?” 

You manage a watery smile, dashing away a tear. “A funeral.” 

No sooner had you said the word than a sudden flash of light burst into the sky. Peering outside the window, you see it ascend into the sky, before exploding like a firecracker, the lights arranging themselves to form a fishtail. Screams erupted from the palace grounds which had otherwise been peaceful.

“We’re under attack! Call the guards!” Voices echoed from the din, panic setting in amongst the citizens. 

“That’s our cue.” Rafayel looks at you and there’s a hint of uncertainty in them. “Unless you’d rather stay?”

“Never.” You quickly tiptoe to plant a kiss on Rafayel’s lips. He’s startled for a brief moment, then breaks into a wide grin. 

“Time to go my beautiful bride.” 

He takes your hand and helps you out onto the narrow ledge of the window. It was pitch black outside, the fishtail signal’s brightness engulfing all the stars glimmering in the background. 

“We jump.” He holds your hand firmly. “One, two, three!”

You wisely hold in your scream as you leap off the edge with cold nothing underneath your feet, plummeting a few feet before you suddenly bob up into the air. Looking down, you realize you’re standing on something soft and fluid. A flapping noise can be heard as whatever it is rises into the clouds and whisks you away from the palace. Night air wipes your hair as Rafayel holds you tightly to his side. 

Once you begin to sail through an unbroken patch of moonlight, you glance down to see your vehicle was a giant manta ray, its flat, pancake-like membranes lazily undulating in the sky as it carried you into unknown lands. 

Rafayel helps you sit on the massive creature’s back and joins you, protectively pulling you against him to shield you from the wind. You glance up at him. 

“So you heard about the wedding then.” You probe and Rafayel nods, but you notice a flicker of rage in his eyes when you brought it up. Hastily, you add, “I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it. I only asked because you called me a ‘beautiful bride’.”

He turns to look at you, lowering his hood as he does so. “If I recall, I called you my beautiful bride.” The intensity of his gaze makes you blush and you quickly avert your eyes to the starry sky. 

“What do you mean?” you ask shyly, then your breath catches in your throat as Rafayel digs into an inner pocket of his garb and pulls out a ring of gold, with a large sapphire set in the middle. 

“My beautiful bride,” he repeats, and wordlessly slips the ring onto your finger. You look at it with tears in your eyes, then sniff as you’re pulled into his loving embrace. It was almost presumptuous of him not to ask, but wholly unnecessary in your opinion. You didn’t want to be anyone else’s but his. 

Very little was said for the rest of the journey, but words weren’t needed. You knew there would be plenty to talk about once you got off this ride, once you were presented to Rafayel’s entourage, wherever they were. Instead you settled for the knowledge that he was alive, and that you were free from the expectations of the palace. 

It was uncertain how much time had passed, but the manta ray began to descend, the air growing warmer as it got lower to the ground, casting a long shadow as it did so. You look around and sense the dry quality of the air, seeing the sand dunes that were everywhere and realize you were in the middle of the desert. The area was still and quiet as your ride landed with a soft thump on the sand. You and Rafayel disembark, and the creature vanishes into thin air. 

“Where-?”

“Back to the sea. A god never forces a creature of the deep to remain on land for too long.” 

You glance around and squint, seeing silhouettes in the distance that seem to be heading your way. 

“That’s our party. Right on time.” Rafayel offers his hand to you, smiling.

“Let’s go say hi. I want to properly introduce them to the future queen of Lemuria.”

Your heart swells with affection, remembering all the times you’d talked about marrying him, about being completely his for all of time. Holding onto his entwined fingers, you take your first step into a life of beautiful freedom. 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6 @xiaoderrrr @evansdmitri @ravenclaw-jojo @cordidy @hesperisms @redactedbimbo @erebus-et-eigengrau @cheesemachine44 @decileste @thesoftuglywrites @belt0-0 @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @wynter-lily @delphiakira @melpomenes-muse @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen

[snowbellewells]

@kmomof4 Good heavens, Krystal!!! 😭 What exactly are you trying to do to me?!? I’m seriously just in your prologue, and I was tearing up and almost bawling, not once, not twice, but three different times!!

You wrote Killian’s guilt and inner turmoil of loving his brother’s wife so well that my heart was breaking for him - even before the horrible, heartrending event happened. You have always been a brilliant writer - better than you give yourself credit for, I think - but you get more masterful with every story you put out, and this is very definite proof of that. 😍😍😍

I did love the joy and happiness and affection that was clearly present in Emma and Liam’s union. It was beautiful to see, even if just for a little while. And I loved the playful comraderie between the three of them, family and best friends, even with the pained turmoil Killian was hiding away. Emma was right about his loyalty and honor; he would have hidden it forever and never said a word, and would have preferred that to the pain losing Liam brought to the both of them. I loved their easy conversation and how well they understood each other as in-laws and friends, as evidenced in their evening walk…and then it was just shattered so completely. 😭

The abruptness, the quick finality and the unfairness of Liam’s loss so soon. And then her not even having the comfort of his child with her! 💔 It seems like more than Emma, and all of them really, should have to bear. You did such an intensely vivid and powerful telling of that scene though. From Killian’s hearing Emma scream, to the sight of his brother already gone, to Emma stumbling across the room and begging him to wake Liam - wow! I couldn’t breathe or look away until that scene was finished, even as I wanted for it not to be happening. And then Emma’s strength, even though her pain is clear, and Killian’s struggling to do his duty and wanting to be there for Emma but not being able to without revealing his secret. You’ve evoked all of it so well, but it was just tearing me up in the best and most dramatic of ways. I have been accused more than once 😏 of liking the hurt and angst, and I guess that’s true, because this was SO GOOD. I guess, if the hurt is this painful, then the comfort when it comes will be all the more satisfying? 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sheesh! I know I am not saying enough- and I’m not sure I am doing all the feels you produced any sort of justice, but what a start!!!

And the. Emma comes to see him, wants to know why he is staying away, and he can’t tell her!! And then he’s going to leave!! You are breaking my heart! But you know I’ll be back for more! 💔😉💔

A Scoundrel… Or a Gentleman?

Ohhhhhh, I’m so happy to FINALLY be posting this fic!!! Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story, When He Was Wicked, I wrote the prologue - 8k words - last September, then took a six month break before sitting down and getting the rest of the thing written. I so hope I did the story justice and that you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

And now thanks to whom thanks are due!!! @jrob64 is a LITERAL SAINT for everything she did to make this fic better. She is an outstanding beta and a dear friend, but I seriously tried her patience going back over and back over and back over AGAIN trying to make this just right. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my friend, for EVERYTHING!!!

To @hollyethecurious for all the historical info that she shared with me and asking the questions that needed to be asked and answered before the fic was ready for posting. Her support was absolutely invaluable. Thank you, babe!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper for her work on the Prologue artwork shown below. It is soooo beautiful, I could stare at it for hours!!! Thank you so much, darlin!!! Please give her lots of love!!!

The fic is complete with a total of 9chs. I’ll be updating twice a week- Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires?

*spoiler alert- of course they will. It’ll just take them a little while to get there…*

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Words: almost 8400 words of approx 59,5k

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s Story, Smut in Later Chapters

On ao3 if that’s your preference.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

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Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never bothered to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother, Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland… no originality among his ancestors there, who were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, they attached it to everything they possibly could... Anyway, the Abbey couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside. 

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. The only semblance of honor he’d maintained in his heart over all these years was the fact that the only times he’d slept with married women was if their husbands were tossers, and they’d produced at least two male offspring. Three, if one was sickly. He’d also never seduced a virgin, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him now. Because this was the one thing that truly blackened his soul beyond all redemption. 

He coveted his brother’s wife. 

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Now Emma Nolan Jones. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother, the Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days, thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

Now, looking around the room where he, Emma, and Liam were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, he had to rise and cross the room to the decanter, pouring himself a drink to avoid the thoroughly besotted eyes Liam and Emma were making at each other.

“What shall we do for our second anniversary?” Emma asked, sitting down at the pianoforte, her long delicate fingers tickling the keys. Killian swallowed a low groan.

“Anything you want, darling,” Liam answered. He smiled gently at his wife as he opened the evening edition of the Times. She turned her attention to Killian.

“What do you think?”

“About what?” he asked, turning to her, a charming, lopsided smile on his face. No one took him seriously when he smiled like that, which was exactly the point. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Killian relented slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What should we do for our anniversary?”

If she’d thrust her own hand into his chest and squeezed his heart to dust, it probably would have hurt less. He shrugged indifferently. He was, after all, an expert at hiding what he really felt.

“It’s not my anniversary.”

Emma rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting in amusement. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Killian spent far too much time studying the lips of his brother’s wife.

“I’m aware,” she huffed. “I was asking if you had any ideas for us.”

Killian lifted one brow quizzically. “Why would you ask me, when I have absolutely no experience in the realm of marriage or the anniversary celebration of such?”

The amusement left her face and was replaced with irritation and no small amount of sympathy. Emma rose and moved toward him.

Oh, God, he thought. Please no. There’s nothing worse than when she…

She placed her hand on his arm.

“You won’t always be unmarried, you know,” she said gently.

She shouldn’t be touching him. She couldn’t be touching him. His next words were with the singular purpose of getting her away from him.

“Am I to become your project then?” he bit out. “‘Killian can’t possibly be happy living his life of debauchery and aimlessness, so I must see him married,’” he mocked. “I am not interested in marriage, thank you very much.” 

She removed her hand from his arm and backed up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a small o of hurt. Thank heaven, it bloody worked, he thought, even as the guilt surged.

“We care about you, Killian, and we want to see you happy.”

And there it was. We. Not I. We. They were a unit. Liam and Emma. Lord and Lady Kilmartin. She may not have meant it that way, but that was what he heard. As if he’d ever forget it.

“I care about you, too.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and he shot pleading eyes toward his brother who finally gave up all pretense of reading.

“Emma,” he chastised lightly. “Killian is a grown man. Let him find his happiness when he’s ready. In his own time.”

Emma shot her husband a disgruntled look. Killian had to bite back a bark laugh. He knew Emma almost as well as he knew his brother, and he recognized the root of her irritation was at being thwarted in her attempt to arrange the people in her life to her satisfaction. Liam smirked at him and picked his paper back up as she returned to the pianoforte and sat down, her visage contemplative. It suddenly lit up and Killian’s heart rate increased with it. 

“I should introduce you to…”

“Emma.” It was only a single word, but Liam’s voice held a note of reprimand in it. Leave him alone.

Emma deflated and Killian could have kissed his brother. He may have only thought he was saving Killian from Emma’s nagging, but if he had to suffer the woman he was in love with trying to find him a match - a match he was wholly uninterested in - it might be the final straw of his sanity. Truly. 

“We should all go for a walk,” she said suddenly. Killian looked out the windows where darkness had finally descended over London.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asked.

“Not with two strong escorts,” she cheeked.

“I’ve an appointment in an hour,” Liam said. He winced and rubbed his temple. “And I’ve got a headache. I think I’ll lay down for a bit before leaving.” He looked at Killian then. “But you should go.”

Absolute proof that Liam hadn’t a clue about his brother’s true feelings for Emma.

“Parliament?” Emma asked. Liam nodded and rose. “Do you want me to wake you when we return?”

“I’ll ask my valet to do it, darling,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. Killian averted his eyes. He’d never begrudge his brother and his beloved their happiness, but he certainly wasn’t going to watch them bask in the clear love between them. 

“I’ll just be a moment,” Emma assured him once Liam left, a soft smile on her face, her forest green eyes glowing. Perhaps it should disturb him how certain he was of the color of Emma’s eyes when she wasn’t even in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dreamed in shades of green these days. Emma green, the color should be called. He poured himself another drink and slammed it back, trying to steel himself for their impending constitutional. 

He knew he shouldn’t be accompanying her. He knew he shouldn’t ever be alone with her. But when she smiled, he was helpless to resist her. It may leave him wracked with equal parts guilt and desire later, but he couldn’t deny himself any amount of time in her presence. Because that’s all there would ever be. He’d never act upon his desires. Never betray his brother in that way or sully Emma’s reputation. There’d never be a kiss, meaningful glances or touches, whispered words of love and affection, or moans of passion. 

All he’d ever have was her friendship, her smile, and her company. And besotted fool that he was, he’d be happy with it.

She came back down wrapped in a soft yellow cloak and he held his elbow out for her to take. Resigned to his fate, he escorted the love of his life out of the house and to the street below. Lucky him.

~*~*~

As Emma and Killian walked along the street, Emma couldn’t help but think what a dear man her brother-in-law was. Oh, he’d be certain to scoff and list all the reasons his soul was as black as they came (none of which, she was afraid, were exaggerated) if she expressed those sentiments out loud, but she knew him nearly as well as she knew her husband, and Killian Jones possessed a heart of honor and had a capacity to love that was unequaled among the men of her acquaintance. And if she didn’t find him a wife soon, she’d go mad.

“Killian,” she began, turning to look at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted. “Didn’t Liam just suggest that you let me find my happiness in my own time?”

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, my dear,” he said, looking at her and booping her on the nose. Emma huffed indignantly as they continued their walk.

It was funny. When she met Liam, she fell head over heels in love more quickly than she ever imagined possible. He understood her in a way that she’d never experienced before. Of course, she loved her family immensely, but as the youngest of six siblings, she often felt lost in the shuffle. Killian was the only sibling Liam had, and removing herself from the hubbub of London and her large family felt like a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the actual fresh air of Scotland, her new home.

But then there was Killian. She hadn’t met him until the day before her nuptials to Liam, since he’d just recently returned home from the Napoleonic Wars on the continent. He was handsome, to be sure, but there was an undeniable connection between them that she felt from the moment she met him. If Liam understood her the way no one ever had before - the opposite side of the same coin - then Killian was like a puzzle piece that fit her perfectly. A puzzle piece she never knew she was missing. He completed her. Besides Liam, Killian was her very best friend and that was why she wanted him to be as happy as she was. And the only way that was going to happen was if she found him a wife who’d make him as happy as Liam made her.

“Finding me a wife is not among your duties, Lady Kilmartin,” Killian spoke again, drawing her from her musings.

She huffed again. “Well, it should be.”

He laughed, which delighted her immensely. She could always make him laugh.

“Very well, then,” she said, dropping the subject for now. “Tell me something wicked. Something that Liam wouldn’t approve of.” Her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smirk that he returned in kind. It was a game they played, that spoke again to how Killain somehow completed her. As much as she loved her husband, hearing about Killian’s exploits was always immensely entertaining. And she knew Liam enjoyed hearing about them, too, even if he gave a token admonishment whenever he was also present. Killian never shared too much, he had too much discretion for that, but he’d share hints and innuendos that never failed to amuse her greatly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I’ve done nothing wicked this week,” he said with a sigh.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s only Tuesday, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware,” she shot back, “but aside from Sunday, which I’m sure you’d leave sacred…” She shot him a look that belied her words completely, earning her another laugh, “that would leave Monday, and a man can get up to quite a bit of mischief on a Monday.”

“Not this man,” he assured her. “Not this Monday.”

“What did you do then?”

He was quiet for a moment as they continued walking. 

“Nothing, really.” 

There was a tone of melancholy blanketing his words and Emma stopped and turned to him. His blue eyes shone under the street lamps and Emma was shocked at the intensity she found there. A moment later it was gone and the thought occurred to Emma that Killian Jones perhaps wasn’t really the man he wished others to believe him to be. Even her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “We must find you something,” she whispered into the night.

He held her gaze a moment longer then he looked up.

“We must return. Liam will have my head if you catch a chill.”

“Liam will blame me for my foolishness of insisting on a walk after dark, and well you know it. This is just your way of saying you have a woman waiting for you, probably wearing nothing but a sheet.”

He smirked. A devil-may-care grin that made Emma roll her eyes and recall why the female half of the ton fancied themselves in love with him, even without the title.

“Don’t be jealous, my dear,” he said, the teasing clear in his voice, making Emma roll her eyes again.

“As if I ever could be,” she scoffed.

He stopped and faced her, the way his black hair flopped over his brow making her long to brush it back. The intense look was back in his crystal blue eyes and Emma had trouble drawing a deep breath.

“I know.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “It’s the only reason I tease you.” He reached up and lightly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “You’re the only woman I know who would never stray. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.”

“I love your brother. I could never betray him.”

“I know that, too.” His hand returned to his side. He was so handsome and so in need of love, Emma felt her heart would break. If only he’d let someone, anyone, into his heart. If anyone would care enough to look beneath the handsome, yet devilish facade, they’d find the man she knew- kindhearted, loyal, and true.

They continued toward Kilmartin House and Emma took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I was just feeling so closed in, claustrophobic almost. The fresh air did me quite a bit of good.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service, milady,” he said as they climbed the steps to the front door of Kilmartin House. The door opened, the butler obviously looking out for them, and Emma undid and handed him her cloak and gloves.

“Will you stay or must you go?” she asked Killian. She could just see Liam’s valet coming down the stairs out of the corner of her eye.

Killian checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait for Liam, if he hasn’t left yet. I came on foot, so I might as well avail myself of his carriage after he’s done with it.”

Emma nodded and turned to the valet. 

“Has his Lordship left yet?”

“No, my lady. I’ve rapped on his door, but he must be sleeping quite soundly. Do you still want me to wake him?”

Emma sighed. As much as she wished he could sleep longer, she knew how important this meeting was.

“No need,” she assured the man. “I’ll wake him myself. Thank you.” She nodded at him and Killian and hurried up the stairs.

Moments later, Emma’s scream pierced the night.

~*~*~

Killian had no memory of taking the stairs three at a time to rush to Liam’s bedchamber, one of two thresholds in the house he’d never breached. He suddenly found himself there, staring at the bed on the other side of the room, barely conscious of Emma screaming from where she sat on the edge of the bed as she shook the shoulders of his unnaturally pale and still brother.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Whoever that was lying on the bed, it wasn’t his brother. His brother was gone. He’d seen death in battle, but death wouldn’t dare come for Liam. Liam. Who was so strong. So steady. The pillar of their family. The one they all relied on. The picture of good health. 

He took a laborious step forward.

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, and unsurprisingly Emma made no indication that she’d heard him, her screams continuing unabated. When she finally stopped to take a breath, her face turned to him.

She rose, her movements so slow and graceful, her face nearly as pale as Liam’s, Killian could have mistaken her for a ghost. She glided toward him and as she got closer, he could see the splotches of color high on her cheekbones, the sunkenness and redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand, her grip so tight her knuckles were white.

“Wake him up, Killian,” she begged, more tears spilling from her eyes. He met her gaze, knowing the same devastation she wore on her visage was reflected back to her on his own. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in tightly, automatically, like some kind of machine. She grabbed the lapels of the coat he wore and buried her face in his chest, moaning like a wounded animal. “It was just a headache.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “It was just a headache. How could this happen? I don’t understand!” 

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t offer her any sort of comfort beyond holding her as he was now because he didn’t understand either. Between Eton, Cambridge, and the Royal Navy, he’d been trained for everything the life of a gentleman had to offer. But he’d never been trained for this.

She pulled back suddenly, the cry falling from her lips coming from the depths of her soul. 

“WHYYYYYYYY??!!”

Just as suddenly as she pulled back from him, she collapsed in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. He stared, unseeing, at the far wall, wondering why he wasn’t crying. He was numb and his body felt heavy, like his very soul had been crushed. Killian’s internal cry echoed Emma’s.

Why?

~*~*~

“Could she be with child?” 

Killian sat behind Liam’s desk, and blinked at the question posed to him by Lord Isaac, a short and thin man who rather reminded Killian of a rat. The representative of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords had a self-important air about him that grated on Killian’s nerves. Liam hadn’t been gone - he still couldn’t bring himself to say or even think the truth - twenty-four hours and here was this bastard, demanding an audience and droning on about some sacred duty to the crown. He turned his attention back to Lord Isaac, his brow furrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Her ladyship,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if Killian had no idea of whom he spoke. “If she’s carrying, it will make things… difficult.”

“I don’t know,” he said, enunciating his own words just as carefully. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this right now. “I haven’t asked her.”

“You need to.” The man sniffed indignantly. “I’m sure you’re eager to assume control of your new holdings, but before you can do that, we must determine if she’s carrying. Furthermore, if she is, a member of our committee will need to be present at the birth.”

Killian was stunned. There was no other word for it. “I beg your pardon?” He was amazed he was able to get the words out.

“Baby switching,” Lord Isaac said grimly, with all seriousness. “There have been instances…”

“For God’s sake…” Killian interrupted, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“It’s for your own protection as much as anyone’s,” Lord Isaac assured him. “If she were to give birth to a girl, and no one is there to witness it, what’s to stop her from switching the babe with a boy?”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to dignify that with any kind of response.

“You need to find out if she’s carrying,” Lord Isaac insisted. “Arrangements will have to be made.”

“She was widowed yesterday,” Killian bit out. “I will not burden her with such intrusive questions.”

“There is more at stake here than her ladyship’s feelings,” Lord Isaac continued, haughtily. “We cannot properly transfer the earldom while there is doubt as to the succession.”

“The devil take the earldom,” Killian snapped.

Lord Isaac drew back in visible horror. “You forget yourself, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord,” Killian growled. “I’m not anyone’s…” He stopped suddenly, realizing almost too late that he was perilously close to tears. He glared at the man in front of him, trying to stave them off. This little weasel, who didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just an Earl who had died, but a man. 

His brother.

He expected that as soon as the abhorrent little rodent left, the door was locked behind him, and Killian was sure no one would observe him, the tears would finally come. 

“Someone has to ask her,” Lord Isaac said.

“It won’t be me,” Killian murmured.

“Then I will.”

Killian could take it no longer and was out of the chair like a shot, grabbing Isaac by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him against the wall before the man could even blink.

“You will not approach Lady Kilmartin,” he growled, menacingly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the damnable man choked out. Killian realized he was turning an alarming shade of purple, so he stepped back, releasing him.

“Get out.”

“You’ll need to…”

“Get out!” Killian roared.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, when you���re in a more calm frame of mind.” The man left quickly with as much dignity as he could muster and Killian closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock before he returned to the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands and a single tear finally spilled over and tracked down his face. His chest was tight and his throat felt so narrow, it was a wonder he could breathe at all. A gasping sob escaped him and the dam broke. Killian’s anguish poured from him in a seemingly endless tide, the tears streaming down his face, soaking the loosened cravat he wore and the shirt underneath.

How had it come to this? Yes, as long as Liam and Emma had remained childless, he was second in line to the earldom. But no one seriously expected him to inherit. Liam was barely thirty and the picture of health. 

Word had already reached him that men at the club were calling Killian the luckiest man in Britain. What no one realized was that he’d never wanted this. He’d never wanted the earldom. He wanted his brother. 

And no one seemed to understand that.

Except Emma. Her devastation equaled his own, he knew. 

They’d put her to bed last night, him and her mother, Ruth, who’d arrived quickly after his urgent summons, and she’d slept soundly all night, too worn out from the shock of it all. Killian knew, because he’d spent the night opposite the large bed where Emma slept, in one of the chairs where he imagined Liam and Emma taking their morning coffee before starting their days. He couldn’t bear to leave her or be alone with his own thoughts.

When she woke this morning, he could see the moment she remembered the events of the night before. Her eyes landed on him and he saw a moment of alarm, surprise, confusion, and then finally realization. He stood on shaky legs as her eyes filled with tears. They only lasted a moment, however. He watched as a firm resolve took over her gaze, her movements choppy and stilted as she swiped away the evidence of her anguish.

He grudgingly admired her for that and stood before her helpless to do anything useful. What were they to do? Neither of them was prepared for this. They were young, happy, carefree. They’d never dealt with death before and all the myriad details involved with it.

Who would have guessed the Committee for Privileges would get involved? And demand a front row seat to an event that should be a private moment for Emma. If indeed she was with child. Which he was not going to ask her.

“We must inform Alice,” she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. Why he hadn’t thought of that, he’d never know. Their mother would be equally devastated.

“I’ll write the note.” 

Killian could only nod, wondering what he was supposed to do. The answer became apparent when Lord Isaac arrived. But he couldn’t think about that now, all that he stood to gain since Liam was gone. There was nothing good about Liam being gone. And if anyone dared to offer him congratulations…

His tears spent, Killian lifted his head and stared sightlessly out the window. He hadn’t wanted this. Had he?

He only wanted Emma. But not like this. Not at this cost.

He’d never coveted Liam’s title. The money or power.

He’d only ever coveted Liam’s wife.

And now he stood to gain everything that had been Liam’s. Except his wife. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart and threatened to strangle him. 

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.

“Killian?” Her soft knock and voice drew his attention to the door. The locked door. He rose and moved toward it, making no effort to hide his grief. He unlocked and opened the door and she stood there, as thin but strong as a young birch tree, her face pale, her green eyes round as saucers and beyond exhausted.

“I’ve sent a note to your mother,” she murmured. “Is there anyone else…”

Killian shook his head slowly. He knew he should say something to her, but his mind just refused to give him anything. He was too broken, too grief stricken. Just like the woman in front of him.

He gently took her elbow. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”

Emma shook her head, even as she allowed him to lead her into the room and toward a chair. 

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t stop. If I do…” She shook her head. “If I don’t stop, I don’t have to think. And if I don’t have to think…” she trailed away and her eyes filled with tears again. It didn’t matter. He understood perfectly.

Then she turned her eyes upon him and her mouth opened like she had something to say. He steeled himself against the despair in her eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

~*~*~

Seemingly overnight, Kilmartin House in London changed. 

First, Alice Jones arrived from Scotland. 

Second, Emma’s own mother, Ruth Nolan was a much more frequent guest than she’d been when Liam was alive. 

Third, Killian was a much less frequent guest than when Liam was alive. 

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d survive that last one.

Of course, it was a comfort to see her mother-in-law. They got along well and Emma loved her. And she’d known the grief of losing her husband. But now she’d lost her son, and in many ways was in as much need of comfort as Emma herself.

And of course her own mother was also a comforting presence, having also been widowed young, but Killian was the one she needed. Killian was the one who knew and loved Liam best, besides herself of course, and Killian was the one who most understood what she was going through.

He still came to visit occasionally, but when he did, he didn’t feel there. Not like he was when Liam was alive. His eyes were distant and he didn’t come anywhere near her, beyond what propriety demanded when greeting her or taking his leave - a formal bow, a slight brush of her knuckles with his lips, murmured words she could barely hear. He wasn’t the same.

And it was killing her.

But, she reminded herself, he was hurting, too. 

She reminded herself of it when she didn’t know what to say to him. She reminded herself of it when he didn’t tease her. She reminded herself of it when they sat together in the parlor and neither had anything to say.

She’d lost her husband. And she’d lost her best friend at the same time.

She was lonely. And so sad. Why had no one told her how sad she’d be? But would she have believed them? Of course not. There was no understanding this kind of grief without experiencing it for herself. 

Killian was the one link to the husband she’d lost - who’d loved him as she did - and she hated him for being here, but not being here. To walk beside her in their mutual grief. So they could be a comfort to each other.

It never occurred to her that in losing Liam, she might lose Killian, too.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Alice’s gentle question drew Emma from her musings. She blinked, momentarily unable to really comprehend the question, much less answer it.

“Uh, fine,” she said after a moment, with a slight shake of her head. The soft smile on the face of her mother-in-law, coupled with the joyful sadness in her eyes, prompted a small smile from herself as well. It brought home the fact that while Alice had lost her first born, the fact that Emma was carrying a piece of him brought a measure of peace to her grieving heart. “No different than I ever have.”

Alice sat down across from her and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“If it wasn’t for my missing courses, I’d never know anything was different.” And it was true. She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what to expect in the early weeks and months, and the only thing she was experiencing that might be a symptom of early pregnancy was that she was a bit more tired. But, of course, that could be the grieving as well. Her mother had told her she’d been tired for a year after her father passed. Emma experienced none of the expected quirks and illnesses other women had told her about.

She’d be happy to be losing what little breakfast she was actually eating each morning, if only so she could imagine the little one waving, hello, I’m here!

“I wonder if Killian will be visiting today?” Alice mused.

“He hasn’t been here in three days,” Emma murmured, “So I expect he will.” She’d never admit to counting the days between his visits, but she had been, and he was due for his bi-weekly visit.

“He’s grieving Liam,” Alice said softly.

“So am I.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d have liked. “So are you.”

“But it’s different for him,” she continued. “He’s a bit in limbo until you deliver. And that’s still six months away.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I just hope that he begins thinking about the future soon. If you do deliver a girl, he’ll have to marry and produce an heir.”

Emma scoffed. “Killian will do what has to be done, but he’d never marry while he’s still grieving Liam and it’d be dreadfully unfair to expect him to.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. “I just so want him to be happy. Even with Liam gone.” She sighed forlornly.

It was odd. Emma wanted Killian to be happy, too, but imagining him married was rather hard to picture. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to push Killian in that direction. But if she was really honest with herself, he just didn’t seem the type. For years, she’d had Liam and Killian had been their rather constant companion. Could she be happy for him if he found love and happiness and she remained alone? Was her heart big enough?

She was tired and feeling a bit weak as well. She stood, grasping the arm of the chair when a sudden wave of dizziness came over her. 

“I think I’ll lay down for a nap,” she said. “Wake me when Killian comes, if you please.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s a very good idea. You need your rest.” A sudden gasp escaped Alice and Emma saw that she wasn’t looking at her, but at the seat she just rose from. 

There in the middle of the cushion was a small patch of red.

Blood.

~*~*~

Killian stared at the almost full bottle of rum sitting on his desk. His life would have been much more bearable if that amount of alcohol was enough to get him drunk. But unfortunately, Killian was blessed with quite a robust constitution and could hold his liquor with aplomb and grace. 

He glanced outside the window to see it was still some hours from sunset. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself override the good manners and etiquette Alice had instilled in him from the time he was a small boy that refused to let him get bosky before the sun set. 

He tapped his fingers against the desk and wondered what he ought to do with himself. Liam had been gone for nearly two months now, and he hadn’t yet brought himself to move into Kilmartin House, still living in his modest apartments a few blocks away. According to Lord Isaac, whose lectures he was eventually forced to endure, the title would go into abeyance until Emma delivered. And if she gave birth to a girl, then the title and everything with it would be his. But given that that event was still six months away, Killian felt he could get away with not taking up residence in the earl’s house. He told himself he didn’t want to move in only to have to move out again in six months.

But the truth was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could survive living under the same roof as Emma. 

She was still living in the house. She was still the Countess of Kilmartin. And would be until she gave birth to a girl and he married. Which he was absolutely not inclined to do.

Because even if he did end up as the earl, Emma wouldn’t be his countess, and that knowledge was enough to make him seriously think about damning etiquette to hell and downing that entire bottle of rum between now and sunset.

He would have thought his grief would have overtaken the longing in his heart for Emma, that he could be near her and not want her so much he could barely breathe. But no. His heart still ached with the pain of loving her. Even being in the same room with her caused his breath to hitch and his heart to race. 

And now, all that longing was intertwined with a suffocating guilt. As if there hadn’t been enough of that when Liam was alive. 

Emma was in pain. Grieving. And he should be there comforting her. Who could better do so? No one had known Liam better than he did. The two people who knew and loved him best should be comforting one another in their loss. But no, instead of comforting her, he was lusting after her. What kind of bastard lusted after his sister-in-law, his pregnant sister-in-law, when his brother wasn’t even cold in his grave?

Him, apparently. 

And so he stayed away. Not completely. He couldn’t get away with that, not with his mother in residence at Kilmartin House. In addition, although the title wasn’t potentially to be his for another six months, everyone was looking to him to manage the affairs of the earl. 

It was the least he could do. For Liam. For Emma.

He may not be able to be her friend at the moment, but he could make sure her finances were in order.

She didn’t understand. And he knew she didn’t. She’d often come to visit him when he was working in the study of Kilmartin House - going over various solicitor’s and land steward’s reports - looking for their previous camaraderie, he knew, but which he was unable to give. Not yet.

“My lord?”

Killian looked up at the door to see his valet, Smee, and a footman wearing the unmistakable green and gold livery of Kilmartin house.

“A message from your mother,” the man said, approaching with an envelope in his outstretched hand. “She said it was urgent.”

His brows rose on his head. Urgent? That was new. His mother had sent him nearly daily missives, or it seemed like it anyway, but they were never more than just prattling on about the doings at Kilmartin House. She was likely just trying to keep herself busy.

Once Smee and the footman left the room, he opened the letter.

Come quickly, it said. Emma has lost the baby.

~*~*~

Killian himself was nearly killed several times, not to mention the numerous pedestrians who were in his way, as he raced on horseback to Kilmartin House.

But now he stood here in the foyer, holding his crying mother, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

A miscarriage they called it. It seemed like such a small word for such a profound happening. And why had they called him? This was the province of women and doctors. Of which, he was neither. What could he possibly do?

But then it hit him. He was the earl.

Slowly but surely over the last two months, Killian had been stepping into Liam’s shoes. And now that process was complete. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak. 

It took nary a thought to murmur comforting nonsense to his mother as he led her to the downstairs parlor, her sobs abating. 

“It’s like losing Liam all over again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed. And he did. While Emma had been pregnant, a small piece of Liam still existed on this earth. And while he wasn’t yet prepared to step fully into Liam’s shoes, by the time she delivered, he would have been, and he would have done everything duty demanded. For Liam, his child, for Emma.

But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t. Not yet.

That last fragile link to Liam was snapped and he was right back where he was two months ago.

“How is she?” he asked.

“In shock,” she answered quietly. “She’s been crying. She can’t seem to stop. She asked for you.”

Killian’s head snapped toward his mother.

“Me? Why?”

Alice’s face was surprised. “She wanted you.”

“But… I can’t…” he stammered.

“Yes, you can.” His mother looked confused at his refusal. “You have to,” she insisted.

Killian shook his head vehemently, his hands starting to tremble. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t abandon her!”

“I’m not! I didn’t!” he cried, the grief breaking free. “Liam abandoned her! Liam abandoned me!” he shouted. His voice shocked him. He sounded like a wounded animal - pained, panicked, confused. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “She was never mine to abandon!”

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” his mother cried, shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Mother,” he all but moaned. “She needs a woman. What can I do?”

“You can be her friend,” she said softly.

“No. I can’t. Not yet.” The anguish on his mother’s face was real and he knew his was the same. In a move of utter and pathetic cowardice, he rose and ran from the room. 

~*~*~

If there truly were nine circles of Hell, then in the month since he’d taken on his duties, Killian surely must have taken up residence in one of the lower levels of Hell on earth. With every new ceremony, each document he signed as Kilmartin, and every “my lord” he was forced to endure, it was as if Liam's spirit was being pushed further and further away.

Everything that had been Liam’s was now his. 

Except Emma.

And Killian was determined to keep it that way. He would not bring that last insult to bear against his brother’s memory. He’d seen her, of course. And offered his best words of comfort. Which were, truthfully, woefully inadequate. And both he and Emma knew it. 

He’d been more relieved that she was physically unharmed than upset over the loss of the child. But he couldn’t very well say that.

Their mothers, for some reason, felt compelled to describe the event in gruesome detail, a chamber maid trotting out the bloodied sheets as proof that Lady Kilmartin had indeed lost the baby. Lord Isaac had nodded in approval when presented with the evidence, but had then added that Lady Kilmartin would still need to be observed closely for the next few months to be sure she was not increasing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to circumvent the sacred laws of primogeniture, he’d asserted.

The rage inside Killian at that statement nearly propelled him to pick up Lord Isaac bodily and throw him out the window, but he managed to control himself by the most tenuous of grips.

He still hadn’t moved into Kilmartin House. He knew it was expected, but the circumstances at the house hadn’t changed, and Killian still couldn’t bring himself to live in the same house as the woman he loved.

Who now stood at the threshold of his study. She looked thin and pale, but her green eyes flashed.

“Emma?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He was shocked. He couldn’t deny it. She’d never been here. Not when Liam was alive. And certainly not after.

“I wanted to see you.” The rest of her statement, her accusation really, went unspoken. You’ve been avoiding me.

Was this improper? He hadn’t a clue. Their relationship now was so different and ambiguous, he couldn’t guess what rules of etiquette applied. He motioned to a seat and she took it, her fingers twisting in her lap. 

She finally looked at him, her gaze intense, grief and anger swirling in their depths.

“I’ve missed you.” Make that an even lower level of hell.

“Emma…” he tried.

“You are… were… my friend,” she said, angrily, swiping at the tear that tracked down her face. “Besides Liam, you were my closest friend!”

Emma, I…” he tried again. He was a fool. And a coward. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“Where have you been?” 

“I…” He was speechless. Brought down by an angry and grief-stricken face, and a mountain of guilt. Although guilt for exactly what, he couldn’t pinpoint any longer. It came from too many sources to make sense of anymore.

“I needed you.” The plaintive need in her voice nearly undid him. “You knew him best. You loved him the most, besides me. Why didn’t you come and help me?”

Killian looked down at his desk. He couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I don’t know,” he settled upon instead. She was quiet and Killian couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“That’s it then,” she whispered. 

“I guess so,” he replied sadly. The sadness threatened to consume him. In the eyes of the ton, he may have gained much, but in reality, he’d lost everything. And the one person who needed him the most… he couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t stand to be near her. Because the grief and the anger and the love and the guilt were a never ending flood, and he was drowning.

The ticking clock on the mantle was the only accompaniment to her swirling thoughts. She looked at Killian and took in his tense shoulders, his rigid bearing, the unbridled grief on his countenance mirroring hers. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he finally said, taking a tentative step toward her. Then another. Then another. Then he was kneeling before her, his hand on her knee. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma.”

“Why did this happen?” she cried. “I don’t understand!” The tears poured from her eyes and Killian gathered her into his arms. “It isn’t fair!” She clutched at his jacket, holding on for dear life as all the grief, all the anger, all the confusion that she thought she’d already released burst forth from her all over again.

“It isn’t fair that it happened to me!” she lamented. “It isn’t fair that this happens to anyone! Oh, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She could just hear him murmuring into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. And the comfort she felt from him holding her was almost more than she could bear. For the first time in months, she felt safe and warm. And not alone.

Her tears finally spent, she pulled back from him. 

“Will you come back? To Kilmartin House?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Will you stop ignoring me? I still need you.”

She could see the tears in his own eyes, grief and something else she couldn’t identify, as she waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what to say to you. Didn’t know what I could do, so I stayed away.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. She still clutched at him, unable to let him go, or the warmth and safety he gave. “I knew that’s why you were staying away, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He released her and stood, even as her arms reached for him again. “I’ll take up my residence in Kilmartin House.”

He could deny her nothing. And living under the same roof couldn’t possibly be any worse than what he’d already had to endure. And if it was, and it did actually kill him, then so be it.

“Thank you. That will… that will be a great comfort to me. And your mother as well.” She paused for a moment and rose. “You know, you were to be his father, in a way.”

Killian felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop. 

“What did you say?” The words were soft, weak, he could barely catch his breath to get them out.

“The baby,” she replied, turning toward him. “In the absence of his father, you’d have been the closest thing he had. And even with him gone, having you here will help me let him go. Let them both go.”

But Killian didn’t hear those last words. His heart started beating again at a gallop and the blood rushed in his ears. All he could grasp from her statement was that he would have been a father to the baby, and that knowledge destroyed him. 

The title, the lands, the money, the power, the responsibility were all his now. The only things that weren’t were Liam’s wife and child. And now Emma was telling him that wasn’t true either.

He grabbed Emma by the arms. He was shaking, and she looked frightened but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go.

“No!” he cried. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not Liam!”

“Of course you’re not,” Emma cried out, thoroughly alarmed at the sudden change that had come over Killian. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his grip on her arms painful, but her words to try and reach him, to get him to release her, fell on deaf ears. He looked wild, crazed, like a cornered animal that would either make a last desperate attack to try and save itself, or fall over and wait for the final killing blow.

“You can’t ask this of me,” he breathed, the strength and energy that fueled him, completely disappearing. He still held her tightly, but his eyes were finally seeing her and not some vision playing out in his mind. “I can’t do it.”

“Killian, you’re hurting me,” she whispered. “Please let me go.” He released her suddenly, the recrimination in his eyes and the restored blood flow in her arms bringing tears to her eyes.

“I’d… I’d better go,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked at him for a moment more, trying to make sense out of what just happened. She’d never seen Killian like that before and it frightened her. She wasn’t afraid of him, though. Even after that, she knew with utter surety that he would never harm her and would protect her to his last breath.

“Perhaps… perhaps it would be better if you remained here instead of Kilmartin House.”

“Y- yes,” he stammered, nodding with a jerky motion. “I think that would be best.” 

Not only had she lost Liam, and her child, but it was now clear she’d lost Killian as well. And she didn’t quite know what she would do about that.

~*~*~

Once Emma was gone, Killian sat back down behind his desk and poured himself a tall drink.

He’d made a promise to her and broken it almost in the same breath. He’d spent the last month fulfilling the duties of the earl and then Emma’s words made him realize something.

She truly had no inkling of his feelings for her, and as long as that was the case, as long as she didn’t understand how much he hated himself for every step he took in Liam’s shoes, he couldn’t be near her. 

And that brought him to a decision. Rarely in life had his path been this clear. He slammed back the rum and rose from his desk. When he arrived at his bedchamber, he found his valet carefully folding a cravat.

“Smee,” he asked. “What do you think of India?”

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Next ch will be up on Saturday!

[phantomamour]

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐝

coriolanus snow x test subject!reader

~•*⁀➷ part two

cw// little heavier in themes than usual with human experimentation - mention of blood, drugs, slight mention of Stockholm syndrome, and injury - dedicated to my favorite @milliesfishes who has listened to me talk about this concept incessantly in her inbox and inspired so many amazing thoughts for an au like this and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TBOSBAS <3

Subject 004717 - November 17 7:41pm

Injected ten milliliters of test drug into the left arm. CS.  Irritability noted after ten minutes. VG.  Sensitive to touch after an additional five minutes. VG. Hallucinations and emotional instability began twenty minutes after injection. VG.  Physical touch causes bruising. CS.  Blood drawn to confirm bruising due to lack of iron. VG.  Test reversal drug administered one hour post-injection. CS. 

Coriolanus had rarely felt truly disturbed by Gaul’s experiments. Her mind was dark and twisted; he knew his own mind wasn’t too far from that. However, he had learned far too quickly that you were becoming a limit to what he could handle in her mad scientist lab. You had volunteered to be poked and prodded and injected and tested. You had volunteered to be Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s personal project, and Coriolanus was far too attached to it. He knew the university’s tuition wasn’t inexpensive even while his education was funded by the scientist herself, but to see his classmate, someone intelligent and capable, have to stoop to the levels of letting Gaul use you was something entirely different.

He wanted to save you. He wanted to take you so far from Gaul that she couldn’t even think about touching you again. The sound of your screams kept him up at night, and the sight of your blood distracted him in the middle of the day. He didn’t know how to survive your torture any longer. Standing idly by and watching your suffer didn’t feel right. But he owed Gaul his life, didn’t he? He needed to thank her for what he’d done for her, and yet he cursed her name for slowly killing you every day. The effects of her experiments started to show. The bags under your eyes darkened, and you were slower in answering questions in class. He could see how you tried to hide your wince when raising your arm or stretching out your legs. He wasn’t sure how much more you could take. 

The two of you had developed a routine of sorts. He’d always spend a moment with you before an experiment, trying to keep your mind off whatever horrors Gaul had prepared for you, and afterward, he would clean you up and make sure you ate and drank some water before taking you home. If your insistence on volunteering your body to Gaul’s science hadn’t made your financial trouble clear to Coriolanus, the state of the apartment he dropped you off at made it more than evident. 

You lived on the outskirts of the city, neighborhoods overrun by those who were on their way to being kicked to the districts. Every time Coriolanus brought you there, he couldn’t help but think you didn’t belong. He wanted to adorn you in every luxury possible, have you experience what it felt like not to suffer. But in a way, it made him understand you more. He felt a kinship to you, an understanding beyond what others would have in passing. He knew what it felt like to be in your situation. So when you first let him take you home after an experiment, he knew it was a sign of your trust in him. The same trust you bestowed on him every night since.

Whatever Gaul had injected you with tonight left you shaking even hours after the reversal. You couldn’t forget the feeling of losing control. The hallucinations clouded your brain before Coriolanus was forced to lay his hands on you. Gaul had made him hurt you, and even in your drugged state, you knew it caused him just as much pain as it did you. Neither of you spoke as he cleaned you up and applied a salve over the bruises. You two did not speak a word when Gaul excused herself for the night, reminding Coriolanus to initial his parts of the experiment log. You flinched when the door shut behind her before tears muddled your vision, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and prevent their descent down your face. 

“Come home with me tonight,” his voice startled you, an interruption in the racing thoughts of your head, “Come home with me, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” This hadn’t been the first time he mentioned it to you. The last few times he dropped you off at your apartment, he tried to convince you to stay in the car, to follow him back to his penthouse, and to spend the night. However, you were always halfway out the door, thanking Coriolanus for his help before stumbling up the stairs to your apartment when he didn’t need to help you walk. Tonight, he hadn’t bothered to wait before asking, moving a hand up to cup your cheek and wipe the tear that fell against your will.

“Today was… We could both use the company tonight,” he explained quietly. You could feel the slightest tremor in his hands and could only imagine that he remembered tonight’s experiment just as sourly as you now did. Your feelings for Coriolanus were something you quickly discarded out of fear of Stockholm syndrome, unsure if they were real or not. But as his thumb rubbed over your cheekbone, you weren’t sure if you entirely cared about that fear for the night. 

“Just tonight,” your voice was shakier than you thought it would have been, but he made no comment on it, leaning forward to ghost his lips over your forehead before helping you stand. Your knees buckled, but he was quick enough to predict that and keep you upright.

“I’ll call for the car after we get you dressed.” His voice wasn’t much smoother than yours, but the kindness behind it made you wonder if it was reserved just for you, a distinct change in him that only you had the pleasure of seeing. You cringed when he helped you over to a new chair, one whose cushions weren’t soaked in spots with your own blood. Everything hurt. It usually did after experiments. But whatever Gaul had concocted this time was making you tired in the most uncomfortable way. Coriolanus’ hands were always gentle with you when he had the chance to be, as if alone with you, he could be something he never allowed himself to be otherwise. 

Those same gentle hands were the ones lifting your blood-soaked hospital gown off as his eyes trailed over your skin. Every scar became a reminder of past experiments, and he could recall most of them just by the placement and length of the scar alone. One along your collarbone had been the test of a new poison Gaul had created and soaked a blade in. The raised tissue on your side was a bite from one of Gaul’s newest mutants with the hope of saliva that would drive the tributes to the brink of insanity. Perhaps the scar that haunted him the most lay down the center of your chest, long and still red. She had performed surgery on you while you had to lie there awake, giving you a sedative that turned your body numb but kept your brain racing. Coriolanus held you for hours that night, fingers tracing along your arms to remind you that you could feel again. 

He washed your skin so lightly with a wet cloth that you weren’t sure if you were imagining it. Each scrub took away the remnants of the experiments that were left, the dried blood, the tears that left salty streaks. The only thing he couldn’t wash away were the bruises, the bruises he’d inflicted on you. When you caught sight of him staring at one on your shoulder, you grabbed his hand to stop him from wiping at it anymore.

“You didn’t want to. I know that. I knew it even when it was happening,” you whispered, voice tender and comforting as he took a deeper breath.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No. But it makes you better than her.” Those few words sent a warmth to his chest he hadn’t known he needed. When he didn’t respond, you leaned forward to rest your head on his chest with a small sigh, unsure if it was with pain or relief. He tensed at the touch at first, like you found he almost always did before he brought a hand to the back of your shoulders and carded his other hand through your hair. He didn’t need to say anything, and neither did you. You both knew that being close was the only thing that would fix the anguish in your chest tonight. 

You two stayed like that for a few minutes, letting your chests move in sync with each breath until you took. Everything between you and Coriolanus felt foreign but in the most comforting way. He wasn’t the same as the rest of your life, and you weren’t the same as his. You became each other’s comfort even in the most uncommon of circumstances. Scientist and test subject were no longer an apt fit to describe the connection you carried. It had become something more profound than you knew how to define, which needed protection. 

He took his time dressing you, fingers trailing gently along your skin like he could heal you and everything Gaul did to you just by a soft touch. When his lips lingered by your forehead, he pressed them flush into a kiss this time. It felt like your insides had turned to pure liquid, a feeling stronger than anything Gaul’s drugs had given you before. You watched as he called for a car to be brought around before he helped you into your pants that had been discarded earlier for a gown. Your hand moved on its own accord to push his hair back from his eyes as the gel he usually kept in it loosened; the late hours and his incessant need to run his hands through his hair anxiously showed the slight curls you wished you could see more often. 

“Car’s here,” he spoke as he looked up at you, doing up the last button of your pants like a routine he knew all too well. Your lips tugged up in a soft smile as you nodded and let him help you back up, ignoring his offer to carry you. Your legs were weak, but you could still walk with his arm around your waist. His driver knew better than to ask questions about your state, but you felt their eyes on you as you slid into the back seat before Coriolanus moved in next to you. He stated that the only stop would be his penthouse tonight, and another small smile graced your features. 

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before his fingers interlaced with yours. Another minute before you moved closer to him. Two minutes before your head rested on his shoulder, the weight of everything dissipating with every second further from the lab. You were halfway to the penthouse when your eyes finally closed, and he felt your breaths deepen against his side as you fell asleep. He was slow in moving you to rest your head in his lap, positioning your legs up into the seat and covering you with his jacket. He would find a way to get you out of this, out of Gaul’s hold. But until then, he’d let you rest and give you peace. Until he could find the words you so desperately needed him to defend you with. 

[mxxndazed]

So Kiss me - T. Mitsuya

Pairing: Rival!Mitsuya x Stubborn!reader

TW: reader stubborn & ignorant ash, Mitsuya is Reader's opp, hurt to comfort-ish, cursing, not proofread. (lmk if I missed anything).

WC: 2.7k

A/N: hai lovies! This story is somewhat inspired by Kiss me by Sixpence None The Richer. Decided to go for a lil college au cs I long to start college again. August couldn't come any quicker </3

・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight 

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

You dreaded showing up to this class. The subject alone wasn't the issue; even if you have no clue in the damn world, what is actually happening in Life Science class. The problem was him. 

Mitsuya Takashi. 

You couldn’t say you hated the guy, but you definitely couldn’t stand him. Just the thought of him irritated you. You hated the way everyone kissed up to him like he was some kind of prince. In your eyes, he was anything but prince-like. Hell, even the stats Professor adored him. 

You quicken your pace, somewhat jogging to your class. Praying that you can at least make it on time before class officially begins. Arriving at the door a minute before class starts.

‘Yes’ you silently cheered, maybe today you’ll be spared a lecture for your chronic tardiness. 

Opening the door, with your right hand while you gripped your backpack strap with your left. 

“You’re late.” Your professor's voice booms from behind you as you take your first step to your seat. 

“How?,” you gasped in utter confusion, “I got here right on time for once!”

“That you did Ms. L/n, but,” 

 “If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late,” she said,

 quoting the stupid sign on the class wall. You shook your head in disbelief. 

“Maybe you could learn a thing or two from Mitsuya, he was here even before I arrived!” your professor said with a soft chuckle. 

You clenched your jaw as you made your way to your seat . You sat alone at the abandoned science table in the back corner. Not having any lab partners due to everyone wanting to be teamed with The Prince. 

You let out an irritated sigh as you watched the girls in your class swarm Mitsuya, bothering him about who knows what. There giggles growing louder, he smiled back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

The class felt never ending. The professor would crack jokes only she would cackle at while you drilled holes into the clock on the wall as if it was going to make the time go by any quicker. 

“Now, we only have a few minutes left of class so I’ll be taking this time to announce your group projects,” she said, walking back to the computer in front of her as she presented a document of names on the projector. Rambling on about the project, rubric, and what she expects from the students.

“I say group project lightly due to this being a partner project rather than a group. I have presented the pairing names so take this time to find your partner and discuss the project and you discuss plans. You’re dismissed.” 

You get up from your seat, lazily reaching for your page before walking closer to the hoard or people staring at the projector. Squinting your eyes as you search for your name.

“y/n…” you whisper, finding your name. 

Your eyes flicking to the name displayed next to yours, just beneath your group name.

You could’ve sworn your heart fell to your ass. Rechecking your partner’s name just in case of the off chance your eyes have forsaken you. But they didn’t.

You were paired with the Prince himself. 

Mitsuya freakin Takashi. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” you muttered 

You heard a chuckle from behind you. 

“Guess we’re partners,” Mitsuay said, “this should be fun.” 

“Yeah. An absolute blast.”

“Here,” you say, grabbing your pen and sticky note from your side pocket before scribbling your number and giving it to him, “My number. Text me when you get the chance. I’ve got to go.” 

And with that you storm out the room, wanting nothing more than to just go home and rot in bed. 

You weren’t too sure when or how you began to dislike Mitsuya. But what you do know is that you hate being compared to him. He was Mr. Perfect. He did everything right, from how he spoke to how he presented himself. He was effortlessly perfect. Even his looks were perfect. He was one of the most attractive guys you’d ever laid your eyes on. His features luring you in like a siren luring in her prey. 

 And you… you weren’t so ‘perfect’. It always felt like you were fighting for your life just to stay afloat. The contorted concept of perfecting was foreign to you to say the least. You’d always tried so hard to do good, keep your grades up, take on all your own responsibilities and your families. Putting so much effort in making sure that nothing was missing, that you and your family had all the necessities and just enough for luxuries. And saying you were envious of Mitsuya Takashi, and the apple pie life you assumed he was, was an understatement. So what if it made you an inconsiderate pain in the side, not like you cared anyway… 

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •🍓•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“y/n!”  your mother’s voice startling you, “can you help me close up shop?”

‘I’ll finish this later,’ you thought, abandoning your school work. While getting up from your seat with a groan as you stretched. Back aching from sitting at your desk like a croissant.

“Be right there” you yelled back, before slipping on your work shoes and heading downstairs to the restaurant. 

For as long as you can remember you always helped your mom with anything she needed. Working from a young age to help support and provide for yourself so you didn’t take away from your mom’s hard earned money. 

Outside of working at a coffee shop, you would work at your mother’s restaurant on the side. But since you started college, it’s been harder trying to keep up with both jobs. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being as present as before, knowing your mother isn't the age to be working so much on her own. But you do what you can to lessen her load. 

“Thank you, y/n, I know you were busy with your school work,” she admitted guiltily. Your heart felt heavy. 

“Don’t worry about a thing Momma!” you smiled.

She returned it, patting your head before going back to mopping the floor. You continued cleaning up the dirty tables. Feeling your phone vibrate from your back pocket as you wipe the tables. 

[Unknown Number]

Hey l/n, It’s Mitsuya from science class. 

I apologize for texting you so late, I hope I didn’t disturb you. 

Text me back at your earliest convenience :) 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his texting style. Who does he think he’s talking to? The president? 

[You]

Email looking ahh message. 

Was all you said before going back to cleaning up the shop. 

It didn't take too long to finish up closing. Grabbing the dirty rags and tossing them in the sink then placing the mop back in the closet. 

“Okay mom! I’m going back to studying. Let me know if you need anything” you say loudly, making your way back to the room. 

Taking your phone out of your pocket and placing it on the desk while you changed into your pajamas. 

[Mitsuya]

My bad lol

I don’t really know how to text 

[You]

Go figure 

[Mitsuya]

So

When are you available to begin the 

project? 

[You]

Tmrw anytime after 3pm

[Mitsuya]

Okay, would 3:30 work for you? 

[You] 

Yep 

Where should we meet? 

[Mitsuya]

My place works, if that's okay with you? 

[You] 

Sounds good. Send me ur address.

See ya tmrw. 

Turning your phone off and throwing it on the bed. Going back to finishing the homework that was left over. Calling it a night a little after. 

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •🍓•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

‘Shit’ you thought, rushing out of the shop uniform still on but you couldn’t care less. running down the street. The weight of your loaded backpack slightly weighing you down. 

You got out later than you hopped from the coffee shop. The shop was understaffed today leaving only you and your manager to do everything; rush hour was horrific to say the least.

[You] 

Running late. 

Be there soon.

Luckily Mitsuya’s place wasn’t too far from your work. A good 10 minutes give or take. But maybe if you run fast enough, you’ll get there in 5? Nonetheless, you ran like hell. People staring at you like you were running from the law. 

Finally arriving at the apartment complex, walking up the stairs felt like you were climbing Mount Everest. Your body is dragging as you walk to Mitsuya’s front door; knocking aggressively on the door wanting nothing more than to sit down.

You can hear Mitsuya yell, “Be right there.”

Soft scurried footprints make their way towards you. 

The door opened widely, Mitsuya was greeted with the sight of you toppling over losing your balance. Your huffing and puffing catching him completely off guard. 

“l/n!” he exclaimed, “are you alright?” 

“I’m sorry I'm late.” was all you could muster up the energy to say. 

Mitsuya walked away, and into what you assumed was the kitchen. You stumble inside, flopping down on the couch. 

He chuckled while walking up to you, glass of water in hand. 

“I’m assuming you ran over here?” he asked, squirking an eyebrow.

“Mhm,” you hummed, taking the water and chugging it almost immediately.

Setting the glass on the coffee table in front of you, “I got out of work later than expected, didn’t even get a chance to change.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I noticed.” he said slyly, eying your apron and silly work hat. 

“Piss off, Mitsuya.” you mutter. 

You couldn’t help but admire his apartment. It was so neat and put together. But you did notice quite a few children's drawings hung up around the living room. 

“So, should we begin?” Mitsuya questioned, “We can plan the layout and roles for tonight”

“Sure. Let’s just get this overwith.” 

Turns out, Mitsuya already had it planned even before you arrived. His journals scattered on the kitchen table. You know you were being irrational, but this drove you insane. Irritated at his ability to have everything so put together, so neat, so perfect.

“Dammit, does everything you do have to be so perfect?” 

Mitsuya’s eyes shot open by surprise, “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m–,”he began, but you cut him off immediately. 

You get up fast, the chair you were once sitting on has fallen on the ground. Staring into his big violet eyes. 

“You’re Mr. Perfect. It’s like you’ve never known failure. Like you’ve never struggled before. You’re top of the class, you know every damn thing. You’re always on top of your shit. Always the first to raise your hand. You’re always everyone’s first choice. Don’t even get me started on the favoritism. You’re everyone's favorite, hell you're the damn professor’s favorite.” you snap, only pausing to catch your breath. 

“You’re so good at everything. You’re perfect at being on time, organizing your work, our projects. You’re so freakin perfect. You alone are perfect. Your hair, your style, your piercings, your hair, your damn face is so damn perfect.” swinging your arms around. 

“Just looking at you makes me nervous, it make me–” 

You were interrupted by a pair of lips on yours. His soft plush lips moving 

All logical thinking left the room. Your lips move in sync with his as he cups your face with his one hand. Seconds that feel like minutes pass by, lips detaching as you both gasp for hair.

“Why’d you do that…?” the after shock hitting you like a bullet train. 

“‘Cause you wouldn’t shut up,” he defended. 

“And if I’m being honest… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted shamefully, cheeks tinted red as he stares at your face, trying to understand your unreadable expression. 

As you were about to speak, the front door swung open as two little girls ran. 

“Brother!” They both cheer, making a bee line to Mitsuya. Engulfing him in a warm group hug.

“Who are you?” the older girl asks, taking notice of your presence. 

“Luna, Mana, this is–” 

“y/n,” you interrupt, “you can call me y/n” 

“She’s a friend of mine from school.”

The two girls stare at you a bit before heading to their rooms.

“Luna, Mana, wash up and get ready for dinner.” he yells to them from the kitchen. 

“I should get going…” you mutter, grabbing your things in a rush. 

“Actually, Y/n I was going to ask if you’d like to be our guest for dinner tonight…”

Your face goes hot at him saying your name. 

“Are you sure?” you question, “i wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all, I’m sure the girls would love to have someone else to talk to at the dinner table for once.” 

“Sure, is there anything you need help with?” 

“Nope i got it! But do you think you can help the girls get ready for dinner?”

“Yes of course.”

You grab your things, stuffing them into your backpack and leaving it by the door before you go and assist the little ones. 

Helping the girls was a unique experience, both girls lively and giggly. They would ask you random and bizarre questions leaving you speechless to say the least. Once you were done helping Luna and Mana, you left their room to check on Mitsuya in the kitchen.

“Hey Mitsuya,” you peak around the corner. 

“Takashi.” he said as he finished up the meal he cooked up.

“Wha–”

“Call me Takashi, not Mitsuya…” he said softly, you took notice of his now rosy cheeks. 

“Well Takashi,” you say slyly. “I was wondering if you needed anything else.”

“Nope, everything's set, mind getting the girls for me?

“Not at all.” 

You walk to the girls room, knocking on the door. “Food ready!” 

You hear the girls squeal from the other side of the door. Opening the door almost immediately. 

They grab you by the hand, dragging you with them to the dinner table.

“Sit next to us y/n” Mana cheers. 

You and the girls take your seats as Mitsuya serves the food.

“Hey brother? Is momma having dinner with us tonight?” Luna asks, a small frown appearing on her face.

“No, not tonight…” he said softly 

You sat in silence the first couple of minutes; unsure as to what to say. Family dinners aren't something you’re used to. But you soon settled in, laughing and giggling with Mitsuya and the girls. Telling stories and reliving memories. The girls explained that Mitsuya was like their mom, and they rambled on about their adoration for their big brother. It made your heart swell, but also feel heavy with guilt. You had so many suspicions and allegations and ran with them like they were the truth, without considering his story. The man you thought he was and the man he truly is are two completely different people. You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The girls have gone to bed, and you were getting yours stuff together before heading out.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you?” Mitsuya questioned.

“No, I'm fine! You don’t live very far from my place anyway,” you smiled. 

“Okay. But you have to text me when you get home.” he said, his tone serious like he was giving a command. 

“Yes sir,” you said, giving him a salute. 

“Hey Takashi,” you began, earning a hum in response.

“I’m sorry for assuming stuff about you and your life. I was being ignorant and you didn’t deserve that.” you admitted. 

“I forgive you…but you gotta make it up to me.” a smirk appeared on his face.

“Oh? And how should I do that?” you say, cocking your eyebrow.

“Let me redo the kiss.” 

Your body went still as your stomach did flips remembering the kiss from earlier. 

“When?” 

“Now.”

He grabbed you firmly from the waist. His right hand finding its way to your jaw as you grip onto the belt loop of his pants pulling him closer. Your lips centimeters away as you admire his features. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his lips on yours. Moving slowly in sync. 

You wish you could stay like this forever but your body had the audacity to need oxygen. 

“Goodnight y/n” he said, hand still cupping your face. 

“Goodnight Takashi.” you give him a playful peck before walking off and down the stairs. 

So, kiss me.

[2clever-clover]

Dot 😈it's me allen. drop the swap au lore....😈😈😈

HELLO? UH I CAN DROP SOME LORE FOR COLORSPREE heh. Character descriptions and relationships. Shizukus arent done but i can add on later

Nene Kusanagi:

     The leader of ColorSpree although she isnt that confident she still has a passion for performing. She looks upto Haruka Kiritani alot, seeing how she performs on a stage inspires her to be just like her. She comes off as brash and rude at times but she means well. She’s quite introverted and only feels comfortable around her group mates. 

    She formed the group after going to Phoenix Wonderland with her friend Rui Kamishiro. They had walked past the old, dilapidated Wonder Stage and Nene had wondered what it would be like if she could perform on a stage and bring life to a place. Throughout the course of the CS story her confidence slowly grows and the more she gets over her severe stage fright.

Relationships:

Mizuki Akiyama: Fellow classmate and unit member, they get along quite well. However when they first met Nene found Mizuki annoying but felt that less the more they hung out and bonded over shared interests. The one in CS that Nene trusts the most.

Haruka Kiritani: Fellow group member, she is the one Nene looks up to the most and sees her as a mentor of some sort. They also get along quite well but Haruka wants to know more about Nene. 

Nene tends to stick close to Haruka very often, much to Mizuki’s dismay of course. Nene see’s Haruka as her number one idol and hopes to be like her someday. When they first met, Nene just stared at her for about 5 minutes without a word. Then proceeded to quickly introduce herself and tell Haruka how much she means to her.

  Their dynamic is interesting because Haruka wishes to be more like Nene. Smart, blunt, and well less uptight. On the other hand Nene wants to be more like Haruka. Confident, outgoing, and powerful.

Shizuku Hinomori: Fellow unit member and someone she also looks up to.

Rui Kamishiro: Childhood best friend. He has been with Nene through almost her whole life and trusts in him the most.

Honami Mochizuki: frenemy for unknown reasons Nene heavily dislikes her. 

 Why would she hate her so much?

—-

Mizuki Akiyama:

The eccentric member of ColorSpree. The one everyone comes to for advice or just friendship, meeting Nene in their first year. They had always found Nene intriguing and tried everything to be her friend. They were worried they were being too pushy until Nene started to sit with them at lunch and they bonded over various anime and games. Being friends with Nene gave them a reason to come to school more often seeing as they hardly attended anyway.

  Mizuki was the first person to help Nene form CS. Seeing her just sitting on the empty Wonder Stage during a trip to Phoenix Wonderland. That also happened to be when they first entered SEKAI. 

Relationships:

Nene Kusanagi: Fellow classmate and unit member. as well as Nene’s self proclaimed best friend 

Shizuku Hinomori: Fellow unit member, met through Haruka. Mizuki thinks she’s absolutely gorgeous and loves having her model potential performance outfits. 

Haruka Kiritani: Fellow unit member. While not idolizing her, Mizuki shares Nene’s passion after hearing more about her.

An Shiraishi: Fellow classmate. They have known each other since middle school. 

Kohane Azusawa: Acquaintance. Met through Haruka. Mizuki is slightly jealous with how close she is with An

——-

Haruka Kiritani:

The third member of CS. Haruka is the fan favorite from CS for very good reason! Her soft voice and kind personality naturally drew many to her. Meeting Nene in her second year, she always found her way of speaking and mannerisms interesting. Hesitantly joining the group with the influence of Shizuku Hinomori.

  After quitting her life as an idol in her freshman year, Haruka was constantly bombarded with harsh comments and criticism for leaving her past group. Due to this, she switched schools her second year to join Kohane at (insert school name here), where she met Nene and Mizuki.

   When she was a kid her parents decided to train her to become an idol, and she did in fact become one. From a young age Haruka was taught how to behave in front of cameras and people in public. The older she got , the more she disliked this lifestyle until her freshman year of highschool where she told her parents she didn't want to do it anymore. While they were sad they supported her decision and enrolled her into (insert school name) for her second year

Relationships:

Nene Kusanagi: Fellow unit member and classmate. Nene looks up to and admires Haruka alot. She was also the first one of her “fans” that did not berate her for quitting her idol career

They are quite close and get closer the more the CS story goes on. Nene is the one who helped motivate her to get back on stage which brought more people to love her again.

Mizuki Akiyama: Fellow unit member, they bond over their admiration for Nene and how proud they are of her. Mizuki also loves destroying anyone online who makes fun of Haruka or berates her for quitting.

Shizuku Hinomori: Fellow unit member and were in the same idol agency (name here). Both Haruka and Shizuku were made idols at a young age by their parents although Shizuku quit earlier on (middle school I suppose) but kept in contact with Haruka. 

Shizuku was also the main reason Haruka was convinced to join CS.

Kohane Azusawa: Childhood best friends, they met when the were in elementary and their parents were close friends aswell. Kohane was with Haruka when her parents decided to have Haruka become an idol. Throughout that time it was difficult for them to hang out in public so they didnt speak to each other for quite a long time. When Haruka told Kohane she was enrolling into school, Kohane was able to convince her parents to enroll her at her school.

Emu Otori: Close friend and school mate

——

Shizuku Hinomori:

The fourth member of CS. Also known as the mom of the group. She is the one who looks after everyone especially since shes the oldest. From a young age she was trained to become an idol, which she genuinely enjoyed for years, until middle school rolled around and her parents decided to pull her out of it so she could live a normal-ish life

Mizuki was the one who convinced her to join CS, it wasnt hard at all since she had already been considering getting back into the music scene. She considers Haruka a good friend of hers and was to most determined to convince her to join.

[safyresky]

(in shrek voice) he didn't even get her the juice box...

Happened mere SECONDS after his toddler sister interrupted them and ruined the mood in the most embarrassing way possible.

[childotkw]

Hello! I just wanted to say how i randomly stumbled upon ur fics and now utterly in love i am with ybtm and cs, even when I'm not even part of the HP fandom - and haven't been for years. And that's saying a lot on how incredible your writing is. Though my only qualm is the wait for the rest of the chs, but I won't be complaining about that. Though instead i'm more curious about what exactly sparks your inspiration, or motivation to continue after so many years? What abolishes that motivation? Do you reread the story everytime so you won't miss details? Or do you already have all the key info, plot and ending planned so it's not necessary?

And at last, if you are ever planning, or have already published your own orginal work?

Im asking this out curiosity bcz I'm sure you know may know the hunger of needing to quickly devour a good story, and the pain of being left on a cliffhanger, but I'm also asking with the small hope of whether we can help out regardless of if you're a slow writer 🤧

Regardless, thank you again for writing ybtm and cs! I'm glad for the opportunity to read such a well written work after years.

Hi there! Thank you so much, that’s sweet of you 🥰

For sparks of inspiration, it could honestly be anything 😅 I have a very, very, very active imagination and spend a good portion of my day just churning out ideas or concepts. I could watch a show, or read a book, and just go huh cool, I wonder what this storyline would be like if it was in a fantasy setting instead? and then suddenly I’m knee-deep in a new AU or original story. My brain is primed to spew out creative story ideas 😂

As for continuing for all these years - it’s a mix of genuine love of the craft, stubbornness, reader engagement, and the cost-sunk fallacy. I do honestly love writing, it’s one of my favourite things to do and something I could see myself doing well into my twilight years. I’m too stubborn to give up something I enjoy so much, despite waning interest in certain parts of fandom life; and interacting with my readers is something that keeps me buoyant. You guys are a delight, and more often than not, the thing that gives me the push I need to get a new chapter out.

Abolished motivation, for me, comes from a multitude of things. It could be just a natural process of outgrowing something. It could be real life commitments just taking up a lot of my time. It could be from frustrating interactions with people. It’s never one thing, for me.

I reread portions of my stories all the time - particularly if I’m writing something that requires a call-back to an earlier part. But I don’t think I’ve ever sat down and read any of my stories from start to finish? 🤔 I do have a pretty good memory for the key info of my story, and I like to think I have some pretty solid themes and characters, so it’s easy for me to pick up a story I haven’t touched for months or years and just get back into the swing of things.

And I am planning to write original stories! I have several ones bubbling away at the moment - and I’ve tentatively zeroed in on one specific one to write!

It’s set in a feudal-magical world, where the man character is the leader of a Clan that were run out of their ancestral home and are now in hiding in another country. He ends up creating a new branch of elemental magic, and shatters the system that has been in place for over 2000 years. In doing so, he puts his country, his Clan, his allies and himself on the international stage and must deal with the consequence.

We’ll see how I go!

Thanks again - I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my work!

[princess-and-the-swan]

MC Fic Rec: We Make Our Own Fate

By @hollyethecurious | Rating: M

Emma Swan had been born on the cusp of the event that had changed mankind forever. A pestilence. A sickness that stripped away the humanity of those infected, those changed; abandoning the rest of the population to try and survive, not only the disease, but the crumbling of society itself. Nearly twenty-one years later, Emma finds herself at a crossroads - accept the opportunity presented to her by the handsome stranger she happened upon one fateful morning, or remain at the only home she's ever known, alone. Inspired by What Still Remains (2018). Complete.

Read it on AO3

[blossomzip]

deep dive: something in the orange

this is my unprovoked, 1.1k words long, unofficial official close reading/annotations post for something in the orange. i waffled about writing this out, mostly because i wanted reader interpretations to take more space than my intentions. but it has plagued me, even as i did annotations to kae’s annotations. in some way, this is a more organized version of the bits i dumped on poor kae that had nothing to do w their reading of the story lol

more importantly, treat this as what i encoded into the work—your own interpretation (decoding) is no less valid!

tidbits

let’s get the small trivia out of the way:

exchanging second buttons – lifted from a practice in high school graduations in japan, where boys can give the second button of their uniform (gakuran) to the person they like (some people say it’s bc this is the button closest to the heart)

my heart – lifted from cs lewis (“courage, dear heart”) but altered so it wouldn’t be too on the nose. also, i love the idea of my not as an expression of possession, but of devotion, and an acknowledgment that the other has full claim over their heart

boo-logs – i think i first heard it in a caratland vcr (the one where theyre old)? but it’s j extra cute cos it’s logs from mr and mx boo

d– and d+ - lifted from an ocean vuong interview i saved about how loss delineated his life into the "yesterday" before death, and the "constant today" where there is only grief

addendum: tears of mokpo - said it in the annotations of kae's annotations, but that song, on a lyrical level, discusses mourning a lost lover. situated historically, however, it was a song said to be an allegory for the homeland lost under the japan annexation. so youre free to interpret it as an extra-gutwrenching song to sing pre-seungkwan's loss, him doing a commentary on the ceded territory of jeju, or simply professor boo singing a trot song about mokpo while in mokpo

setting

not sure how surprising this will be, but i actually don’t call this an apocalypse fic in my head, even as that probably most fits in terms of “tags”. to me, it’s an interstellar au remix, as it’s pre-movie timeline, and set in a different part of the world. based on the wiki, the start of blight to the start of the resource wars is approx. 5 years, hence d–2183 being roughly that when you do the math.

on form

the use of screenplay for some scenes was not just a nod to sk being a filmmaker. for one, i like how the script format is concise enough to get one into the character’s headspace while immediately casting the reader as a viewer. you are there, but you are also a voyeur. the parts of the relationship that the reader-viewer is privy to is questionable right from the form itself, and this unfolds more fully in the content.

also, screenplay as a format is most used in film, right? whether it’s acknowledged or not, there is an assumed fictional/manufactured element in a script. this reinforces questions around narrativization and memorializing, which the work grapples with as a whole.

finally, it’s purposefully misleading—the screenplay does imply that these are from sk’s camera. but some scenes written in screenplay are purposefully “wrong”—there are notes on how things are cut (ie its not raw footage), or visual cues that don’t quite add up.

(edit: much of this screenplay format + blurred fiction/reality interplay is inspired by goodbye eri, which i highly recommend!!)

blurring memory, fiction, and reality

seungkwan’s own approach to his memory has been fractured by grief, and so there are things he is unable to confront without circumscribing it in some way. memory, fiction, and reality are ideas all in tension w each other in sito. all of them come to a head in the two scenes where seungkwan interacts with his footage:

memory vs reality: how much of what happened does he remember? think of how traumatic memories tend to be suppressed by the brain, or when sk realizes that he doesn’t remember some of the clips he had been replaying.

memory vs fiction: how much of what he remembers is actually what happened? think of how with each remembrance, some “memories” tend to change in minute ways. remember seungkwan thinking of how memory blurs with dreaming.

fiction vs reality: this is a little trickier, but there was a conversation (written as screenplay) on making the boo-logs into a short film. right after that scene was a conversation w vernon precisely on that topic. kae absolutely nailed this in their reading: how much of editing is fictionalizing? what are the implications of cutting and stitching scenes together? how much of memorializing a real person is fictionalizing them? sk has the burden of deciding how the love of his life will be remembered by the rest of the world, now and to come.

(trivia: in the scene right after the boo-logs convo, it moves to seungkwan “replaying the footage”. note that i didn’t say which clip he replayed, even if a reader may assume it to be the previous scene.)

the ones that are most likely “less real”—could be his memories, an edited version of compiled footage, his memories altered by repeated remembrance/trauma—would be the screenplay scenes without the d- on top! there’s the wedding w the cut to different settings (how are they suddenly in the beach? why are their garments wet even when the screenplay says they’re back in the wedding venue? etc.). and then there’s the two headed calf scene (why are the stars clear if we know from an earlier scene that sk’s camera doesn’t do well at night?).

the lost house

seungkwan never returns home—after d=0, he just ended up in the camp. it’s not as big of a theme in the story, but in the scene where he replays footage, there’s some stuff there on how the house he remembers blurs with the house of his dreams/daydreams (oneirism). i mentioned that bachelard’s the poetics of space was smth that held my hand while writing. while bachelard talks of it in terms of our childhood homes, i just thought there’s smth to be said about how a house we daydream about can also be the house we daydream in—and often it is a house we lost.

addendum: further, there’s a part somewhere on how inventories do not just catalog possession, but measure the potential for loss (?). that’s a line from baxter’s essay, in his wonderlands collection.

to end,

aside from the deeply personal catharsis of writing this, and the satisfaction of writing grief in a way that feels true to how i experienced it, my favorite thing about sito is that it places a lot of trust in the reader. i did my best to not make ambiguities as plot holes but rather as things unsaid, because it would be a disservice to spoonfeed them. it was essentially trying to write to a reader smarter than i (which is one of my favorite writing tips).

more importantly, sito trusts that the grief and love will be received with tenderness, and that it will reverberate. i had hoped that not being over-picturesque/descriptive made it a more intimate experience. my grief, drawn in purposefully-oblique strokes, became seungkwan’s grief. by not lending these to overly rich description, but honoring the pain nonetheless, i hoped for them to be more readily absorbed/felt/dreamt of as your grief too.