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a-supernatural-writer · 3 years

Note

hcs for poly! tlb with a fem! s/o who’s style is dark academia and is really blunt/logical and smart. she basically gives off a ‘mysterious, quiet, dark, critical’ vibe (she also doesn’t really know how to handle people who are extremely emotional and she doesn’t know how to soothe someone. she’s just really oblivious/clueless when it comes to others feelings). i’m so sorry if what i requested doesn’t make sense or if it was too much. i am seriously incapable of writing anything without making it look like an essay lmao. love your work btw 💕✨

Dark Academia Fem! S/O

Poly Lost Boys x Fem reader

I had so much fun writing this! I love the dark academia aesthetic! And it made perfect sense and it wasn’t too much! Having a lot actually helps me expand and write more so thank you. And I’m the same, once I have an idea, I write a lot, so you’re all good! And awww!!! Thank you!!! 💗💗✨✨ I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy!

Okay, so you are very different compared to the large number of characters on the boardwalk. Your style consisted of button shirts, sweaters or turtle necks, dress pants or a plaid pleated skirts, cardigans or waistcoats, oxford shoes or even wire framed glasses if you wore them for seeing or just for the look.

To say that you caught the boys attention would be an understatement. You seemed to stand out amongst the crowd and they became curious. You were a mystery to them and they love the challenge.

Somehow, someway, after days or weeks later, you became good friends which soon lead to you dating four trouble making punks. It was tough on both parts, but it happened, and hey, you weren’t complaining.

You were very blunt when you first met them, not really interested in them and more or less interested in the book in your hands. It took a lot of “accidental” run ins to even get you to hang out with them.

You slowly opened up when they offered to take you out for dinner at a local diner. They’re constant joking soon had you letting out small, almost whisper-like giggles and tiny smiles that sent them into a frenzy.

When you would start talking about yourself, your ideas of fun were different from theirs. You liked museums, opera houses, bookstores and going to theaters to see plays. The games you played were chess and cards, and the music you listened to was old. You were pretty sure they thought you were boring but you actually peaked their interest.

After a while of being friends with them, they asked you out. You liked them and the only logical step was to see if you liked them the same way they liked you was to date them, so you said yes.

In general, them having a girlfriend with a 1940s/1950s dark prep look was fun. David and Dwayne like it the most. Paul next, then Marko.

David actually really likes picking out your clothing on most days. You have an extensive collection of clothing with material from cashmere to linen, all the colors consisting of browns, black, cream and even a little dark green.

His favorite thing to put you in is trench coats. Doesn’t matter what color it is, he just likes seeing you in them. Also, there are a handful of times that he has MADE you wear his trench coat. Yeah it almost swimmed on you, but he thought it made you look cute and it fit in perfectly with your look.

Dark academia isn’t only your style, but it’s your way of life. David is the one that plays chess with you. You had to reteach it to him and pretty soon, the two of you had your own little set up in the cave that was always ready for a game of chess.

David is sort of like you… in a way when it comes to others feelings. But deep down he knows that he really likes you and tries to show it the best he can. He took you to a theater to see a play that you were constantly talking about and so he took you on a date. You being you, didn’t realize that’s what it was until he told it straight to your face. Let’s just say you were speechless for the next hour.

Also, when it’s just the two of you, deep inside the cave where your nest is, classical music is playing from your record player. It could be Beethoven, Tchaikovsky or Mozart. Whoever it is, David is the one that will listen to it with you the most. I think he really enjoys classical music and he enjoys it even more if the two of you are cuddling in your bed.

Occasionally Dwayne would join the two of you. You would be sitting in between David’s legs as Dwayne sat in between yours, his head leaning back against your chest. It was like a cuddle pile… cuddle train?? Whatever you wanted to call it, it was cuddling while the three of you relaxed listening to classical music. And it was darn cute.

Dwayne loves listening to you go on and on about any books you were reading at the moment. Whether or not it was nonfiction or even about any type of history. He was down. He lived through a lot and he knew about half of the stuff you gushed on about, but for some odd reason, it never bored him when you talked about it.

He would be the one to get you new books, leaving you sweet little notes tied to them. Of course you thought it was just him being nice and thanked him for it without thinking there was any romantic meaning behind it. Yeah he was one of your boyfriends but it never really crossed your mind that way. He would just shake his head at your obliviousness and give you a small peck on the lips.

Don’t ask him why, but his favorite look on you is a light cream colored blouse with a plaid skirt and Mary Jane shoes. Dwayne is a leg man so… he’s very happy when decide to show off some skin if you decide not to wear knee-socks or stockings with it. Even if you did wear them, he would still be attached to your side the entire night.

Like David, Dwayne would bring you out to a lot of places that were opened late at night. If there was an art exhibition in town or even a museum that was open late, just say the word and he will happily drive you on his bike. Heck, David might even tag along.

Also, late night bookstore dates… oh my heart, it’s too sweet it hurts. There are times that he does have to throw you over his shoulder when the bookstore is closing and you're pretty much refusing to leave. When he does that, you just stay frozen over his shoulder, not knowing if you should be blushing or cursing at him for carrying you like a sack of potatoes.

If anything, you and Dwayne connect very well. You’re naturally very quiet and so is he. Not much is said between you two but there's a mutual understanding that can’t be explained. While the others are out causing trouble, you and him are on the sidelines watching hand in hand or your reading and he's just staring at you as you do so.

Paul and Marko kind of give you whiplash. They’re loud and rowdy and definitely 100% opposite from you. But they interested you. They had a very chaotic outlook on life which made you ask many questions.

Paul found your look sexy. He’s horny and you give off preppy school vibes, he’s living for it 24/7. Constant teasing of you giving him ‘private lessons’ which results with you whacking a book against the back of his head. But it doesn’t stop the reddening of your ears which doesn’t make him stop.

This man is also your designated jewelry expert. You only wear some accessories and they're very simple. So you are very surprised when Paul finds you jewelry that is your style and collects it for you. You like leather watches, guess what, he’s got it for you. You want some fancy victorian looking brooches, he’s got that too. Simple rings with a single jewel in the middle, expect constant ‘will you marry me’ jokes, but he gets you the best.

Also, he’s not overly big into your music selection. He does try to get you into his type of music, which you only like very few and far between. But when you do get him to listen to your type of music, it’s only if you agree to listen to his music the next night. You guys come up with a system and decide to switch every few nights.

Each of the boys have their favorite look on you and Paul's is when you wear a button-up of any color with a simple black tie, a pencil skirt and a pair of Dr.Marten boots. He especially likes the tie… for reasons. God damn it, you know the reasons, get out of here.

He’s a very affectionate boy and he finds your looks over confusion some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen. Probably the first one to tell you that he loves you and you honestly like glitched out. Did you feel the same way? Yes, but poor little thing you doesn’t say it right away, but Paul knows that you aren’t really used to saying things like that without warming up to it. Which is okay. He knows even if you don’t say it.

He definitely steals one of your blazers to put pins on it. Marko helps, putting a few patches on it that they both know you would like. It’s the one item that stands out in all of your clothing and you will wear it if they ask you to.

Marko definitely thinks the look is cute and it suits you very well, but why no color?! You wear dark colors but nothing bright like the colors that are on his jacket. He tries to slip in some colorful clothing into your everyday look, it never goes as planned but you give him an A for effort.

He loves how dark you can be at times though. You want to go to a local graveyard just because? Sure! Let’s go! He’s your designated graveyard buddy. You have many date nights there, looking at all the different gravestones and finding it interesting when you jot down some names in one of your notebooks.

Speaking of notebooks, you have many of them. They were filled with notes from books you’ve read, real life observations or even just some random poetry and short stories that you wrote. Marko would go through them a lot and even sometimes draw little doodles or rough sketches that were thought up from your writings.

When you spend nights down at the Boardwalk, your go to drink isn’t a slushie or a milkshake or even a soda. It’s coffee or tea. Yeah, and only Marko knows your drink orders by heart. None of the others seem to remember them correctly which you thank them for trying but Marko has got them all beat.

Marko likes seeing you in sweaters and in your trousers or linen shorts with chelsea boots. If anything, when the two of you are alone, just wearing a knit sweater and shorts were perfect for him. He likes how cozy and warm you look. He’s very happy when he cuddles you and you are warm.

Now when they tell you that they’re vampires, you think that they’re joking. Vampires aren’t real, they’re a work of fiction. Yes there was a real man named Dracula, but there was no way that they were actual vampires.

Then they showed you hard proof and then there was no denying it at that point. Instead of running away, you were fascinated. You wanted to understand your boyfriends vampire ways that lead to you conducting extensive research and a notebook dedicated to them.

They showed you everything about them, how they feed, to which you didn’t bat an eyelash of watching them feed one night. You were one morbid chick but they saw that as a plus that you didn’t react. You had graveyard dates for crying out loud, nothing really surprised them at that point.

Flying came next and they had a lot of fun showing you just how high they could go with you in their arms. You never screamed at the height, you were too caught up in seeing the overhead view of the town. You could get used to seeing a view like that every night.

Then came the other things; how they slept before you came along, what actually hurt them and what didn’t. There was one time that you stared at their vampire faces for hours because you were taking notes on how their facial features changed.

Soon you had to stock up on more turtlenecks because of the many bite marks they would leave behind from feeding on you if the weather was bad one night. It wasn’t tough adapting to their occasional feeding. A lot of your clothing already covered up your skin so it was easy to hide from people on your nights out.

Not too long after, they popped the question. Would you want to be a vampire? Live forever, never grow up? Be with them for all eternity? You didn’t really need to think about it for too long, you knew what your answer was and so did they even if you didn’t say it out loud. You loved your boys and not much would change.

When you did change, it was entertaining for them to watch. You soon started taking down notes about your progress, comparing and contrasting your experience to their own.

To the eyes of many, you became even more dark and mysterious. You had an aura around you that drew people in, it’s what got you your four vampire boyfriends, only now, it brought in your meal for the night.

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enchantedblackrose · 3 years

Text

All the Pieces Pt 2

Sirius Black/Fem Reader

Warnings: light swearing, kinda long, unedited. I broke canon and will probably continue to do so in other parts now?

Part 1|| Part 3|| Part 4|| Part 5

Part 2 of ?

No more secrets from you I would lose to love you And I have never felt so Like a man that's been set free I can spread my arms now - Pieces, Dan Powell

Your questions wait longer still as you watch Sirius step hesitantly into your living room. It's not completely conscious, but you can't stop looking at him. He's so skinny and looks defeated, but then that fresh morning sunlight dances across his face. For a second you see glimpses of the boy you knew years ago.

Sirius clears his throat. The sudden noise startles you and you nearly jump.

"Shower!" You yell, though you're not sure why it comes out as a shouted demand.

"'m sorry, what?"

"I mean, you must want a hot shower?"

Disbelief creeps onto his face. "I would love a hot shower so don't take this wrong, but you must have a hundred questions for me?"

"A thousand actually," you smile, "but they can wait."

Your compassion causes a warmth to fill Sirius that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your presence. He nods his gratitude, not trusting himself to speak.

You direct him to the top of the stairs and inform him of the fresh towels in the linen closet and the second bedroom he may use. Before he closes the bathroom door, you tell him you'll see if you can scrounge up any other clothes for him.

"And then if you want," you say, "we can set those damned robes on fire." Sirius laughs as you walk away.

Never being one able to throw anything away, you know for certain you have some old clothing belonging to Sirius. Not trusting the old rickety steps of the pull down ladder, you apparate to the attic.

"Lumos." The tip of your wand illuminates enough of the storage space that you easily find the light fixture and gently pull on the chain. You put out your wand.

Immediately you spot the desired trunk and the sight of it causes you to draw a sharp breath. Your habit of saving everything while at times like this is beneficial, it often brings you some pain. You sit in front of the trunk, opening it slowly.

Photos and a small midnight blue velvet jewelry box sit on the very top. You pick them up and hesitate before setting them aside.

Next you pull out a large leather jacket, followed by men's pants, several shirts, including tees with the face of David Bowie, another with the Stones, and even one with ABBA. You throw your head back in laughter; you really do keep anything and everything, but this is why. Even these mundane items hold precious memories.

You set the clothes beside you and thumb through the photos: Sirius kissing you on the cheek, Sirius kissing James on the cheek, you and a very pregnant Lily at her baby shower, you and Remus laughing with a pink haired, confused Sirius in the background, Peter attempting to rollerblade, Sirius in his dog form, the marauders near the Whomping Willow at school, you and Sirius slow dancing at James and Lily's wedding. You sigh before gently placing them back in the trunk. You pick up the little box, the delicate fabric still plush and smooth in your hand. But you decide to return it to the trunk without opening it.

Sirius should be getting out of the shower soon and you want the clothes ready for him when he is. You turn off the light before disapparating to the guest bedroom. The clothes were well preserved and a few incantations later they are freshly laundered. You leave them at the end of the bed.

You retreat to the kitchen to prepare brunch. The food is mostly done when from above you hear the water stop, squeaks of doors opening and shutting, the creaking of floorboards and then Sirius barking a hearty laugh. You smile to yourself.

"You always were a pack rat," he says, appearing after a minute. You see he opted not to wear any of the muggle musician shirts, but instead he's in a solid black t-shirt and dark jeans. Both hang loosely on his thin frame. You say nothing about his playful quip, mostly because it's true. You indicate for him to sit in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. "That said where's your engagement ring?"

Your heart sinks as you think to that blue box upstairs.

"Sirius," you warn, your voice low.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Though you not wearing it was the second thing I noticed about you." He offers a smile, but you don't relent, refusing to dive into this conversation when there's still so many answers he owes. Seeing your hardened expression, he holds his hands up signaling he still means no offense.

You sigh. "What was the first thing?"

His grin widens into a full smile. "Your eyes of course. They're just as I remember. Beautiful, full of goodness and emotions. I could always tell what you were feeling."

Despite yourself, you feel heat rise to your cheeks, blushing over Sirius Black's words like you were still a schoolgirl. It's mortifying to adult you and you take a large sip of orange juice to avoid eye contact.

Sirius smirks slightly, but begins to eat. The array of food mimics a small buffet: chocolate chip muffins, pancakes, bacon, toast, oatmeal and scrambled eggs. A glass pitcher with orange juice sits beside jams and butter.

Sirius takes more than a bit of everything. A mostly comfortable silence falls over the table as two of you eat. Even when you have finished, you refuse to bombard Sirius with questions, allowing him to enjoy the meal.

Finally, getting his fill, he peers at you across the table. It's finally time for you to learn the truth.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," you reply without missing a beat. And so Sirius starts with Peter's betrayal ("literal filthy rat! How could he?" you cry) and ends with knocking at your door.

Your eyebrows furrow. Sirius told you his story and you're still left with questions.

"What's on your mind?" He asks knowingly.

"How did you know where I was? Remus stays here once in a while, did you know that? What's Harry like? Merlin, Peter escaped? He's out there free and you're...do you think he knows where You Know Who is?" You rapid fire questions without thought or pause, but Sirius chuckles.

"I can only answer one at a time, darling. Slow down. Breathe, maybe. I'll answer them all." He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly. "Dumbledore came to that tower where I was held and told me, in his way, that I may have a friend here. That he would send an owl to that friend explaining my innocence. Remus and I had little chance to chat dealing with that treacherous rat, and Snape," he sneers "and the full moon, of course. But I am glad to know you and Remus maintained your friendship," he pauses as if wanting to say more, but thinks better of it.

Both a sad and happy smile plays on his lips as he answers your next question. "Harry is a carbon copy of James, with the same knack for trouble, though he has Lily's eyes. I'm hoping he has her common sense, too. He's got a good head on his shoulders and the right sorts of friends surround him." Sirius's expression goes dark. "Peter will go wherever he thinks he'll be protected. Voldemort is out there, and I'm willing to bet Peter will do anything to get to him."

Another silence falls over the two of you and you shudder at the prospect of Voldemort returning.

"I'm sorry if I asked too many questions," you finally say after a long moment.

"You didn't."

"You're welcome to stay here. For as long as you need."

"I'd like to. I'm not sure how long, but a couple nights at least if it's no trouble."

"It's no trouble. Er, does your hippogriff need anything?"

"Buckbeak? Nah. There's plenty for him to hunt and he's free to roam a bit, right? I'll introduce you two later."

You laugh. "I'll show you to your room. You must be exhausted."

He catches your wrist before you walk away. His touch makes you feel as though you're on fire. You ignore the sensation and look Sirius in the eye as he speaks. "Thank you. Your kindness is truly unmatched, y/n. Always has been." You don't know how to respond. As if on cue, he yawns and then frowns. "I haven't asked anything about you."

"There will be time for that later. C'mon." You smile reassuringly but mentally you're thankful to prolong any more heavy conversations.

Sirius follows you up the stairs into the bedroom. Your eyes scan the room and you frown. The pale green wallpaper accented with tiny pink rosebuds and the bed donned with oversized blankets and half a dozen throw pillows is a stark contrast to Sirius. You mumble something about not being able to redecorate this room just yet. But Sirius just smiles. You draw the curtains shut in an attempt to block the midday sunlight.

"I think you should have everything you need? Of course help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I'll head to town to get some things."

His face is solemn. "Y/n, stay with me?" He clears his throat. "I mean...will you. Please?"

Wordlessly you nod. You let him climb into the queen sized bed first. Once he's settled, you get in, laying next to him. He moves you closer. Your head rests on his shoulder. He breathes in your scent as his arms wrap loosely around you. You drape an arm across his chest, assuring him his touch is welcomed. His grip tightens slightly as his breathing slows. You watch the rising and fall of his chest until your eyelids flutter shut.

Light tapping on your front door pulls you out of your dreams. Confusion hits first as you're heavy with the weight of a man's arms around you. Sirius. You smile as you become more awake, remembering the moments just hours ago. The knocking grows louder. Urgent, even. Panic sets in.

You shake Sirius awake. He bolts upright in bed, his breathing labored. You place a hand on his chest to calm him. For the moment at least. "Someone's at the door." You tell him in a harsh whisper . Sirius's eyes widen. "Transform," you urge. "And for Merlin's sake stay here." He wants to argue, but knows you're right. You wait until he becomes a large black furry mass of a dog. You close the bedroom door behind you, earning a low whine from Sirius in the process. You hurry down the stairs, clutching your wand in your dominant hand. Fear courses through your veins. You feel your heartbeat quicken with each step.

Drawing a deep breath, you swing the front door open. The sight nearly stops your heart.

"Finally y/n. Is he here?"

Taglist: @oingo233

#sirius black x reader #sirius x you #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfic #adult sirius #sirius x reader

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iggy-licious · 3 years

Text

One Shot: Tête à Tête

OK... This is super long and super indulgent, but if you want smut, you got it. 😈 Iggy terrorizes a journalist and turns the tables for something much better for both of them. NSFW.

I just finished it, and I can't look at it anymore without going insane. 🤪 Please excuse any writing glitches.

Thank you for reading and going along with my Iggy shenanigans. ❤️❤️❤️

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“You see,” he chuckles softly, “this is why I fucking hate doing interviews.” He tosses his fedora onto a nearby chair, runs a hand through his jet-black, dyed hair, shakes his head in disdain, and fishes his Marlboros and lighter out of his pocket. He leers at me, cigarette hanging onto his pouty bottom lip for dear life, before he lights it. He takes a puff and exhales the smoke in my direction, his mouth gaping slightly in what I could imagine to be a slow, satisfied exhale in a more romantic setting.

But we’re at an impasse, facing off at opposite sides of an overstuffed hotel couch. I made the cardinal sin of asking if The Stooges might ever get back together.

Iggy remains silent and continues to smoke while staring me down. His look is full of slow-simmering anger and curiosity, as if he’s given up on the interview and is studying me to find creative ways to get under my skin.

But little does he know, he’s already succeeded at that.

The man had proved to be a good-natured, but eccentric, raconteur, and I was captivated by his stories and energy earlier. His smoky liner and shadow couldn’t blunt the sparkle in his large eyes when he gushed about the experimental nature of his Zombie Birdhouse album. I had been nervous going into the interview, but he had won me over with his intelligence, passion, and mild flirtation. It was fair to say that I had been in danger of him short-circuiting my professionalism. Him and those eyes, the color of a clear Caribbean lagoon.

But that was then. Now, it's his scornful vibe that holds me in thrall. It screams of the primal unpredictability that was his ace in his old band. This nicotine pause feels like a dam holding back a flood of turbulent emotions. In the current, painful silence, I’m acutely aware that he could roar to life in a second and drown me in a passionate diatribe of words. Or, he could decide he’s bored and kick me out at any time. These thoughts set my heart into overdrive for many reasons, both professional and personal.

He’s studying me with an emotionless poker face, but his eyes feel like they're boring into mine. Large, blue, graced with the pretty eyelashes that most people get from a mascara tube.

His eyes turn out to be his secret weapon. I find myself powerless, waiting for his next words. After our initial discussion I'm surprised he can be anything less than an open book. I silently pray that I’ll come up with something to say, something that draws him in again, something that gets this interview back on track. Something that brings back his lopsided grin and the happy fluttering of infatuated butterflies in my stomach, if I'm being honest with myself.

“Do you smoke?” he asks, lightly pinching the cigarette between his fingers and holding it out to me. He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

I feel like it’s some weird test, the final exam of our time together. Now or never. Do or die.

Lucky for me, I do smoke. “I’ll take it,” I say, realizing how exhausted I feel from the tense minutes that have just transpired. I hope for the best. I can’t afford to blow this interview.

His lips turn upward in a subtle smile as I smoke.

I’ve passed the test.

I suck on the cigarette hard, preferring the party of deadly chemicals in my lungs to the charged air that hung thick in the room a moment before. I close my eyes and exhale. When I open them again, I meet his gaze, which he abruptly drops to my full lips, painted with a red that complements my light brown skin. He inspects the smudge of my lipstick on his cigarette when I return it, before stubbing it out in an ashtray.

“You know,” he says, tracing a finger on the arm of the couch, “I think you’re a good interviewer, a good conversationalist. I’m just tired of the pop culture psychoanalysis bullshit that goes down in these interviews. Do you know what I mean? How about we just talk for a while? About anything.”

“That sounds nice,” I venture. Part of me will look for any opening to steer back to the interview, but part of me certainly doesn’t mind getting to know Iggy better.

He hits the stop button on my tape recorder and then walks to the mini-fridge. “No recording, no journalist, no so-called ‘godfather of punk,’ just you and me and some beers,” he says while setting a six-pack on the coffee table.

I look longingly at my recorder, wondering what juicy confessions I might miss if we talk more informally. I wouldn't dare turn it on, though, while the connection we're rebuilding is so fragile.

Before I can panic, he frees a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from its tight ring of plastic and hands it to me. Then, after he nips into his can, he tells me the story of his first beer and the shenanigans he'd gotten into back in Michigan, before The Stooges. This segues into talk about his favorite German beers and stories of misbehavior in Europe with David Bowie.

Iggy makes me laugh with his cartoon voices and facial expressions. I watch the vaguely man-shaped earring in his right ear dance with the rubber contortions of his face.

With the second beer cans, we’ve moved closer together on the couch, and I’ve taken off my black pumps. I’m thankful that my skin color hides the flush in my cheeks from the fizzy intoxicant.

His jokes get louder and more blue. We're back in a good conversation groove again. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.

My professional conscience chided me for beer number two, but the wheaty nectar in the third can has drowned out that small voice. Iggy inches closer and tells me about growing up in a trailer. “If you can remember any of this shit, feel free to write about it,” he says. His laughter is a challenge and a taunt.

I will myself to remember, to sear the facts of his life into my brain. These anecdotes are gold, the kinds of things that can add meat to the pitiful skeleton of my story as it stands now.

I’m laughing, and I park my hand on his thigh. The black trousers can't hide the fact that his legs are well muscled from swimming and his onstage moves that defy the range of a normal human body.

Before I can stop myself, I’m slowly trailing my hand up and down his leg.

“Mmm…” He purrs and moves closer, while wrapping an arm around me. He drains the last of his beer and takes mine before I can get a final sip.

Our faces are close, and I see that the blue of his eyes has darkened. I’ve lost myself, drowning in those pretty cobalt pools until he smiles wickedly.

His voice is a murmur. “This is more fun than an interview, isn’t it?”

"You got me there, Iggy," I say. My response comes easy and breathy, thanks to the beer and my simmering lust.

He looks at me fondly. "Call me Jim. Just use Iggy for your story, OK?"

"OK, Jim."

He cradles my face in both of his hands and brushes his lips against mine. Then I surrender to his roving tongue in the same way I hope to similarly give my body to him, now that professional pretense has been shattered by primal desire.

Since I'm off duty now, I take down the ponytail that was taming my curls and allow my hair to fall past my shoulders.

He holds my gaze as a hungry smile spreads on his face and he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. "She's come undone, huh?" He kisses me again, feasting on my mouth with his lips and his sure tongue.

I’ve noticed the bulge in his pants has become bigger, and my mind flashes to all the reports I’ve heard of him whipping his notoriously large cock out during performances. The thought of his boldness, and the thought of exploring his magnificent body, both fan the flames that have caused my core to throb with insatiable hunger.

I pull him to me and unleash my passion with a sinful, lush kiss. My hands stroke his torso, his back, his hair. "Just as I thought…" He says in a hushed tone, "There's a beautiful, wild woman just below the surface. I'm glad to finally meet her." He cups my throat and transfers his electric passion to me through another kiss.

When I pause to help him out of his black leather jacket, his breathing is shallow and his eyes are glazed with need. My body is feverish, anticipating our tryst.

I remove his black t-shirt next, revealing his finely chiseled torso. Newspaper and magazine photos don’t do it justice. I explore his musculature with my hands and delight in the firm, tanned skin.

Then he’s out of his red briefs and the pants in the blink of an eye. I gasp at how perfect he looks--the hard muscles and their sensuous, masculine curves, the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the long torso with marble-etched abs, the slimness of his waist, the swelling of his thighs and ass. It's the graceful, olympic body of a swimmer…or an agile, flexible rock god.

Not to be outdone, his manhood is long, thick, and utterly enticing. I want to savor him as much as I want to be worshipped by him, consumed by his strong passion, filled exquisitely by his largesse.

He lowers me on the couch and in a velvet onslaught of kisses and gropes, he removes my clothes: denim jacket, tight black dress, underwear, and stockings.

His movements are slow and taken with great care as he kisses down my naked body. He is calm, indulgent, masterful. The out-of-control nature of Iggy gives way to a patient, capable lover who revels in the softness of my generous curves.

He straddles me and blazes a lusty trail down my body with his tongue. His hands firmly canvas my breasts and his thumbs then tease my nipples into rigid peaks.

"So soft…" His voice trails as he bathes my nipples with the warmth of his mouth and tongue.

I'm snaking my body against the weight of his, while my hands clutch his back. If I fuck up the interview and lose my job, I know our night together will still be totally worth it.

He releases a nipple with a pop of his lips. "Be patient," he breathes out. "We'll get there."

"Let me guess, it'll be worth the wait?" I ask with an arch of my eyebrow.

"Well, I don't like to brag…"

We lock eyes before the kissing resumes.

His body is warm against mine, and his low, guttural moans punctuate the silence from time to time. Our hands are so curious, so hungry. It's a joy to clutch his powerful back and feel the muscles there side and hitch with each caress he gives me.

"Come with me?" He abruptly stands. He smiles with an expression that's both shy and seductive as he leads me to the bedroom.

The light is on. His suitcase is open and its contents are disturbed, as though he was looking for the right outfit for our encounter. The floral bedspread is a bit wrinkled, and I assume he napped on top of it before I arrived.

We kiss at the side of the bed, in a voracious dance of our lips that still doesn't feel like enough. My need is criminal. I blast the most obscene of intentions to him with my eyes, and he grunts in hungry understanding.

He lowers me to the bed and straddles me. Being held captive by his muscular thighs and his hands framing my face feels natural, an old, unspoken agreement of longtime lovers. The way we delight in each other is instinctual.

I lift my chin to kiss him.

"Later," he says, placing a finger on my lips. "I'll be back."

He crawls down my body and spreads my legs. Then he coaxes a series of unholy moans out of me when he flattens his tongue to my entrance with a series of long ice cream licks, followed by his lips gently sucking on my clit.

My breathing comes shallow. I can't formulate words to relay to him how good the meandering of his tongue feels, but my writhing and wailing cause him to chuckle gentle vibrations against my pussy, so I know he understands.

He keeps a steady rhythm and sets my nerves aflame while my hips jerk with the timing of a metronome. I gasp at the tension building in my body, knowing the climax will be devastating. And when it comes, my body stutters into an exquisite live wire dance.

I'm a sweaty, soaked mess when he informs me that another languid exploration awaits. "I want to make sure you're more than ready," murmurs. This time, it's not a tease, it's a show of care and concern.

He kisses me with my scent before he resumes.

I'm still high from the last orgasm, and I float in the ether as he takes his time. I imagine he must be aching to couple with me, but his actions don't betray his need. The defensive Iggy of the interview is gone, replaced by a tender romantic who keeps looking at me to monitor my satisfaction.

The next climax untethers me from reality, but when he rests a hand on one of my shoulders and slowly guides himself inside of me, I am awakened to now, the universe that consists of the two of us aroused, embraced, and slowly coaxing each other into higher realms of sensation. At last we've found our way to an unbreakable give and take, guided by carnal desire.

His baritone rumbles with whispered words that would've made me blush during the interview. I marvel at how a change of setting, and a change of attitude, makes all the difference.

I clutch his back while our rolling motions lull me into a pleasurable dream state.

His gaze is much softer than it was in the living room, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at me with fondness. I'm treated with the sight of his long eyelashes kissing his face every time he lowers his eyelids. It's nice, knowing that I'm seeing a side of him that few will ever see.

"You're so fucking good Jim," I exhale, working my hips faster to receive more of his expert thrusts. He rewards me by going harder and deeper. My pussy flushes as each stroke takes me higher.

"I'm almost there, too," he groans as his hips crash into mine.

My breath is shallow, and my moans get caught in my throat as we fuck with abandon. The interview is the furthest thing from my mind; my job now is to give as good as I'm getting, and I'm giving it my all. I grab his ass as we pump recklessly.

Before I know it, pleasure radiates out from my core at light speed, and Iggy howls at the strength of his climax. We've both been transformed, faces glistening with sweat and the satisfaction of well spent energy.

He rolls onto his back, and I drape my body over his.

"Incredible," he says while stroking my hair.

He kisses my forehead and dons his eyeglasses, which were on his dresser, hiding to avoid betraying the soft nerd inside the fearless musician. "Now, back to business, doll. I'll let you finish the interview if I can ask you some questions first. For starters, where are you from?"

My heart is still racing from our steamy actions, but it skips a beat when I realize I will get my story and not lose my job.

I giggle and trace a finger on his chest before I start telling him the story of my life.

#iggy pop #classic rock #punk #the stooges #80s #one shot #my writing #short fiction #fan fiction

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

Text

A story about a reunion, and everything that happens afterwards.

Chapter 16/20 - Read on A03 here.

Patrick reads the email over again, just to make sure, then he runs out into the living room to tell David.

“I did it.”

David looks up from his spot on the couch, his black-framed glasses perched on his nose. They’ve had a very sleepy Sunday morning, followed by a big breakfast of bacon and omelets, and David still hasn’t gotten around to putting in his contacts. Patrick loves him like this.

“What did you do?” David rises up from the couch, all grace and designer loungewear, and comes over to Patrick.

“I got a job.” Patrick isn’t sure if what he is feeling is relief, excitement, or equal parts of both, but it feels amazing.

David smiles at him and pecks him on the cheek. “Of course you did.” He sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Sit down and tell me about it.”

“It’s just a consulting position, bookkeeping mostly, but for a company that works with start-ups and young entrepreneurs. And it’s decent pay, more than I was expecting for this kind of thing.”

“That’s great,” David says. “When do you start?”

“They want me right away.” Patrick can feel his smile stretching his cheeks. It’s the first time he’s felt anything but useless in so long, the way the people at this firm seemed to understand what he could bring to the table. Patrick accepts another kiss from David, and then pops back up off the couch. “I’m gonna call my parents.”

He goes into the bedroom and talks to his mom, then his dad, and then the conversation somehow gets derailed into a debate on whether buying new furniture for the lanai right now is a good idea or if they should stick with what they have for the time being. Patrick kind of likes the idea of making David go shopping for patio furniture with him, so he’s voting for the former. Finally they circle back to his job, his parents congratulate him again, and he gets off the phone.

He’s headed back to the living room, but pauses when he sees David in the guest room. David has a black leather bag open on the bed and his sweaters folded in careful piles next to it. Patrick’s stomach drops.

“David? What – what are you doing?”

David looks up. He’s dressed in his favorite armor, glasses discarded in favor of contacts, a fuzzy black sweater over the black jeans with the rips in the knees. “You said you were starting right away. You didn’t say where, but I’m assuming Toronto-”

“Toronto? Why would you assume Toronto?”

David’s face shutters further, and he turns back to his bag. “I know I said I’d go anywhere with you, but I thought you might at least give me a heads up, discuss it a little bit, especially if it’s not Toronto. I do have to deal with my apartment there at some point.” David turns towards him, a hand on his hip. “Do you even still want me to come with you?”

Patrick doesn’t know how this could have gone so horribly wrong, and he crosses to David, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Stop packing.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” David’s voice is rising, and Patrick shakes his head.

“I’m not going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere, not until we both decide we want to.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“David, we’re not going anywhere. I don’t have to go anywhere. It’s a remote job.”

David stares at Patrick, and Patrick watches as he mentally replays the conversation they’ve had so far. “You aren’t leaving?”

“No.” Patrick sits down on the bed, David frowning at him as he knocks over a pile of sweaters, but sits down next to him anyway. “It’s remote, part-time. A consulting gig. Varied schedule, but they think it’ll be about 20-25 hours a week, depending in part on how much their clients like me, and how well I can add value. I may need to go to the Toronto office a few times a year, for meetings or something. But I’m doing the job from home – from here, or wherever.”

David turns away, picking up his off-white hoodie and pretending to refold it, even though Patrick can tell he just needs something to do with his hands. “You should have told me that,” David says, embarrassed.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just got so excited.” Patrick leans into David, rubbing a hand on his back. “I’m sorry,” he says again, letting it sink in, letting David get his balance. “I wouldn’t make any plans for us without talking it over with you. I promise I wouldn’t. My plans wouldn’t be any good without you.”

David’s eyes flicker to his and away, his hands still wrapped in the halfway folded sweater.

“It’s true, David.” Patrick puts his free hand on top of David’s, calming their restless movement. “I don’t want any plans without you in them. I haven’t even accepted the offer yet.”

“You haven’t?” David turns back, searching his face.

“Nope. I told them I had to talk it over with my boyfriend.” Patrick’s taking a risk, throwing that word out there. But David had done it first last time, and he doesn’t think there’s really any question that it applies. He’s sort of glad that he hasn’t used it yet; there’s more of an impact now, when David clearly needs it.

David’s eyes go wide. “You did?”

“I did. So – what do you think?”

David shifts, and his demeanor softens, his walls coming back down. “I think your boyfriend needs to know more.” There’s a smile hidden in his cheek, an agreement. Patrick wants to cheer. David holds his gaze, and his smile escapes, mirroring Patrick’s own. “And then you probably need to ask for more money. There’s nothing wrong with asking for what you deserve.”

“You don’t even know what they offered me.”

“Whatever they offered, you’re worth more.”

******

Patrick gets up earlier than normal a few days later and shaves carefully, examining his face closely in the mirror. He doesn’t look like someone who hasn’t worked in months. He just looks like himself. And when he presents himself to David for approval, David’s smile courses through his lips and into his cheeks, his hands dancing to Patrick’s shoulders, smoothing down the thin fabric of his favorite purple dress shirt. He’s ready.

They set up an office of sorts for Patrick in the guest bedroom, shifting the bed to one side, moving a dresser out of the room and into the hallway, and arranging a table by the window. Patrick decides that one of the dining table chairs will work for the time being, and David fusses with the curtains, concerned that the glare will make it hard to see his laptop screen.

Finally Patrick ushers David out of the guest room and logs in to a Zoom meeting for orientation. It’s boring as hell, but he doesn’t complain.

It’s not as if he thought he was unemployable, it’s just that after his last job imploded so strangely, he wasn’t sure what it would be like to be an employee again. And didn’t know if anyone would give him a chance to find out. Turns out, Alexis was not only good at papering over his employment blips, she was awesome at pep talks and interview practice. He makes a note to himself to call her soon and thank her.

That night they make sandwiches and eat them on the lanai. It’s a little cool for it, but it still feels nice to be outside. Patrick had his parents send him down some more clothes, but David scoffed at the idea of wearing a jacket. Instead he’s got a throw blanket draped around his shoulders, a giant turquoise fleece wrap that clashes terribly with his otherwise neutral palette.

They get a series of texts from Stevie, photos of the house she’s buying in Schitt’s Creek. It’s a three-bedroom ranch on a decent sized lot. The interior looks like it hasn’t been updated in decades, with a pink bathroom and horrendous wallpaper in the bedrooms, but Stevie’s had plenty of experience updating décor at this point.

David teases her for a few minutes, riffing on how unbelievable it is that she’s adult enough to be a homeowner, but his heart doesn’t seem in it. Patrick doesn’t tell him how Stevie has been saving for years, every bonus and raise going into an account for a down-payment.

After their chat with Stevie, David seems out of sorts, and Patrick isn’t sure what to do about it. After they’ve cleaned up from dinner, he suggests they play a game.

David gives him a frowny look, and Patrick immediately knows what he’s thinking. Neither of them are in the mood for sex. “Not that kind of game. A card game, or a board game.”

David perks up at this, then deflates. “We don’t have the right number of people for a board game.”

“I bet we can find something the two of us can play. My parents have a pile of games in the hall closet.”

They pull down the basket of games from the shelf above the laundry machine, and David peers inside. “Did they get these from a yard sale or something?”

There’s a worn box that contains a checkerboard, with both checkers and chess inside, a Connect Four game, a few decks of cards, and Uno.

“I think my aunt sent them down.” Patrick takes out the Uno deck. “How about this?”

David takes the whole basket into the living room and sets it on the coffee table. He takes out the Connect Four game and pulls out the plastic frame, dropping a round tile into it. “I had this game,” he says thoughtfully.

“I think everyone had that game.”

David dumps out the rest of the pieces, and a greeting card falls out. It’s got a drawing of a bouquet of flowers on the front, with “Get Well Soon” in big letters. “What’s this?” David opens it and reads out loud. “Marcy – hope this brings a little bit of fun to your day. You’re in our prayers. Love Susie and Pete.”

Patrick takes the card and reads it, his mind flashing back to last spring, flying down to see his parents. His dad breaking down in tears on the car ride from the airport. His mother telling him not to worry.

“Patrick? Patrick, honey, what’s going on?”

David has his arm around him, and he’s pressed close to him on the couch. Patrick brushes away the wetness on his cheeks, and David pulls him into a hug. “Patrick, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.”

David glares at him.

“I mean, it turned out to be nothing.” Patrick shakes himself and clears his throat. “My mom had a cancer scare last spring. They found a tumor in her breast. But it was benign.”

“This doesn’t sound like it was benign.” David waves the card at him. “People don’t say you’re in our prayers when it’s benign.”

“She had a bad reaction to one of the drugs, during the surgery, and took a little while to recover. She was laid up for a while, and pretty miserable. But it wasn’t cancer.”

David’s eyes are wet, and he looks like he’s going to cry, too. “She’s okay now?”

“She’s okay.” Patrick leans against David, snuggling into his arms, and they both breathe together for a long moment. “Oh god, I think that’s why I freaked out in the doctor’s office.”

David shifts to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“As soon as I heard, I flew down here. I went with my mom and dad to the doctor’s visits before her surgery. I couldn’t stay long afterwards, I had to get back to work, but…” Patrick’s throat gets tight, remembering. “It was awful. We were all so frightened.”

David presses Patrick’s head against his own, his large hand against Patrick’s scalp warm and comforting. Patrick can feel David’s chest rising and falling. David’s taking deep breaths, he can tell, trying to stay calm.

“You said this happened last spring?” David says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“When things started to go wrong for you at work.”

Patrick tenses. “My mom was in the hospital. I think it’s understandable that I was having trouble focusing.”

“No, honey, of course. That’s not what I meant. Of course it is. It’s just – you didn’t mention that before. That being worried about your mom is what started to get you down.”

Patrick feels like he’s a cartoon character with a light bulb flashing over his head. Could it be that simple? Was worrying about his mom’s health, on top of his general dissatisfaction with where he had ended up in life, what pushed him over the edge into depression?

David tightens his arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Patrick. That that happened to your family. It must have been a very scary thing to deal with.”

“It really was.”

“I’m so glad she’s okay.”

Patrick turns and buries his face in David’s neck. “Me too.”

That night, after David falls asleep, Patrick turns to the internet. He hadn’t wanted to do this before. He’s not sure why, although he thinks it has a lot to do with denial. But he can’t stop thinking about his mom, and how hard it had hit him when she was sick. Gritting his teeth, he starts googling causes of depression. Upsetting or stressful life events. Death or illness in the family. Job-related worries. Huh. Maybe he had good reason to feel like things were falling apart. Maybe that’s why he lost the ability to care about his job. Maybe he’s not doomed to fail at his new one, too.

Patrick scrolls to the email from the therapist he’s been talking to. So far, it’s just been a few emails and a brief phone call, an introduction, to see if she seemed like a good fit. She’s based out of Toronto, but has many patients that she counsels remotely, on Facetime or Zoom, and comes highly recommended. With shaking hands, he types out a message, suggesting that they schedule a session soon. “I think it started last spring…”

#David x Patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek fic

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years

Note

Hey! May I please request one with the boys, separately, and a female reader where they react to her wearing their clothes? (Whether it be jewelry or jackets or whatever you want)

Oh, this has so much potential so I’m completely in love with this ask. Here you go!

The Lost Boys x Fem!S/O Wearing Their Clothes

David

David wears two coats. His inner leather jacket is totally fair game, but the outer coat? Sorry, kitten, that’s his. It’s apart of his signature look and he’s not giving it up any time soon

You wear it once, trying it on while he went deeper into the cave to grab something. It flowed down and brushed the ground, and the boys snickered as you began strutting around in it. You had just started to mimic him when he came back, and he frowned when he saw that you were making fun of him. Let’s just say you couldn’t sit for nearly a couple of hours after that. You didn’t try to steal it again

David doesn’t wear any jewelry besides the earring in his left ear, so he can’t really give you any jewelry to wear. That doesn’t mean he won’t buy steal you some

If you say that you’re cold, he’s not exactly pulling his jackets off to give them to you. Instead, he’s pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you. He’ll tuck you under his jackets instead, and make it so you have to hug him to stay under them

He doesn’t really give you anything to keep. In fact, he likes to take back whatever you give him at the end of the night and he’ll inhale the scent you left on them

Sometimes, on really chilly nights, David will give you his gloves. He thinks it’s cute how big they are on you, and he’ll rub your hands to warm them up even after he’s put them on you.

Whether it’s his jacket or his gloves, he thinks they’re both adorable on you. A possessive part of him loves to see you wear them. There’s something about it that just tells everyone around them that you’re his. Officially. Not to mention, since he’s a vampire, it scent marks you. It makes sure that all the other vampires in the area, even those passing through, know that you’re his and by messing with you they’re messing with him

If you ask to wear his jacket just to wear it, he’ll say yes. He might even help you pick something out that goes with it, but it’s mostly because if you give David the potential to be in control of anything he’ll definitely say yes. He’ll dress you up like a little doll, and help you roll up the sleeves of his jacket so you can use your hands. Then, he’ll help you pull on his gloves. He’ll smile at how cute it makes you look, to wear such badass pieces of clothing on your small little frame

David will definitely give you one of his shirts to wear if you sleep at the cave. He likes to see you all curled up in your bed with his shirt hanging off you and you in a pair of sleep shorts. He might even think you’re cute enough to climb in and cuddle

Dwayne

Dwayne only wears one jacket and no shirt, so there’s not much he can offer you. He’s totally down to pass you his jacket for the night, but he may start to draw some unwanted attention from other women if he does (there is no ‘may’, he will)

He’ll completely ignore all the stares he gets from other women, and will instead just give you a rare smile as he looks you over. His jacket completely engulfs you and the fact that it goes past your hands? God, he couldn’t think of a cuter sight. He doesn’t want you to roll them up, and instead he likes how you hold onto the end of the sleeves

Dwayne does wear a necklace, but he’s a little hesitant to give it to you. He made it himself. He’s been collecting things and adding to it for years, and it’s why it looks like an arrangement of random trinkets. If you really want to try it on, he’ll put it over your head very carefully. If anything falls off of it, you’re never allowed to wear it again. Sorry, princess.

He’d much rather give you one of his many bracelets. Yes, give you. He’ll tie one around your wrist, and let you keep it. It makes him smile whenever he sees it, and sometimes when you two are holding hands he’ll lift your wrist to make sure it’s still there. If it happens to fall off, it’s no big deal. He has plenty, and he could always make you your own

Dwayne is the king of chivalry. You say that you’re cold? He doesn’t care that he’s not wearing a shirt, here. He’s not gonna let his princess freeze, even if you bring up the fact that he’s kind of outing himself by not being bothered by the weather. He’ll roll his eyes and sling it around your shoulders, and tell you to stop complaining

For Dwayne, it’s less of a possessive thing and more of a ‘you look really fricken cute in it’ thing.

Like David, it’s a scent marker. It lets other vampires know that you’re taken and that making a meal out of you would be a big mistake. Paul makes a joke about having you wear his clothes instead once, and Dwayne puts him in a headlock as soon as you’re gone

If you ask to wear his jacket, he’ll definitely say yes. He has no problems with slinging it over your shoulders and half the time he’ll be the one that asks you if you want to wear it. By asks, he just puts it over your shoulders

When you’re back at the cave you find that there’s not much Dwayne owns in the top department when it comes to sleepwear. Instead, he offers you a pair of his sweatpants. He only wears them when the boys actually wash their clothes (either by you forcing them or the occasional stop at the laundromat they’ll make every month or so by themselves), and they’re super long on you. He has to roll up the bottoms for you (by ‘has’, he really just immediately leans down to do it for you) and he thinks it’s super cute whenever you walk around the cave in them and one of your own t-shirts

Marko

Marko doesn’t share his jacket. At least, that’s what he’s gonna tell you for the first few months of dating you. He’s had this jacket for decades, and he’s not willing to let anything happen to it. He loves this jacket more than he loves himself. More than he loves blood.

He’ll help you make your own jacket, and the two of you can geek over patches and pins, but he’s not gonna let you wear his jacket until he’s positive he can trust you

The first time you’re allowed to wear it, it’s a very Big Deal. You learned not to ask, because this boy isn’t afraid to say no. Just no. No excuses or anything. He’ll be the one that offers it, and you won’t even realize it at first. Then, you’ll do a double take, and quickly say yes. Doesn’t matter how warm it is outside, you’re not turning down that opportunity. It’s surprisingly heavy, and it’s pretty big on you. You have to make sure not to get a single stain on it the entire night or else you are very aware you may not be able to wear it ever again

After the first couple times of you wearing it and nothing happening to it, he’ll let you wear it as much as you want. Within reason. It’s still his jacket, y’know? He’d like to actually wear it sometimes

Before he’d let you wear his jacket, he’d sometimes let you wear his gloves. He loved how even though they were fingerless for him, they barely show your fingertips. He’d definitely hold your hand the entire night and kiss your fingertips whenever he could. Though, he’ll comment that it feels weird to be without them, and you’ll have to give them back by the end of the night

He would totally let you steal all of his shirts. Most of them are cropped, so he loves to see how it exposes your stomach. You might have to tell him, “Down boy.” Cause he gets excited the moment he sees skin

Like all the others, he likes to scent mark you and it’s definitely a possessive thing when it comes to him. He’s incredibly territorial, and he doesn’t want anybody trying to come after you. It’s why he lets you keep his shirts

If you say that you’re cold, he’ll genuinely think about whether or not he wants to give you his jacket for a second. It depends on how far you are into the relationship to see how he reacts. He’ll either pull a David and pull you close so you’re tucked against him and under it with him, or he’ll take it off and let you wear it for the rest of the night. If you say something about him being in just a crop-top, he’ll make a teasing comment like, “What, would you rather I was shirtless?”

Marko loves to see you in your sleep clothes. Your sleep clothes are a crop-top that he gave you and a pair of his boxers, and he’ll chase you around all night the minute you change into them. He’ll snap the waistband of his boxers against your hip and try to reach under your his shirt. Since you don’t wear a bra to bed, he’ll cling to you more than ever and comment about how you still have a few hours left of night-time

Paul

Paul is the most willing to give you all of his clothes. His jacket? Here you go, sugar. His bracelets? Why didn’t you ask sooner? His shirts? Uh, totally hotstuff. If you want, he’ll even pull out some of the really cool t-shirts he got at various rock concerts by the pier. “Wanna borrow my pants too?” He’ll say and wiggle his eyebrows at you suggestively. He’ll even give you some of the pins off his jackets if he thinks they would look good on you

While you can’t keep his jacket, pretty much everything else is fair game. He likes to scent mark just as much as the other boys, but he doesn’t even think about the warding off the other vampires aspect at first. He just wants you to smell like him. He wants to be able to walk up to you, lean down, and be able to smell his scent mixed with yours. If there’s not as much as he’d like, he’s giving you another bracelet

The only thing he’ll hesitate to give you is one of his rings. Not because he doesn’t want you to have them, but because of the implication behind such a gift. He’s not exactly a commitment type of guy, so he’s hyperaware of the meaning behind it. He’ll give them to you for an anniversary or a special occasion like your birthday. It’s one of the only times that Paul is a little bit more serious. He doesn’t expect them to fit your fingers, so he brings a chain for you to wear it around your neck.

After dating him for a few months, half of your wardrobe is stuff that was originally his. He only really wears the same thing every night, so he’s not missing anything anyways! If his scent starts to fade off of it, he’ll ask for it back but only so he can sleep in it and make it smell like him again

If you say that you’re cold, his jacket is immediately around your shoulders. No thought about it, babe. He’s got a slightly heavier coat too, and it’s nice and long to keep off the chill. You make jokes about feeling like Dracula when you wear it, mainly because it goes down near your knees. He’ll smile and call you his little creature of the night, and then lean down to give you a kiss

Paul likes to see you wear his clothes, because he thinks you look good in them. Not just in the ‘innocent’ cute way either. He thinks it’s hot. Like he’s ready to start drooling hot. Every time he sees you walking around in his stuff, he gets just a little bit more grabby than usual. It’s hard to tell since he’s already pretty touchy, but when he’s tried to stick his tongue down your throat for the fifth time that night you’ll start to realize it has a certain effect on him

Paul likes to see you in one of his shirts when you go to sleep. Just one of his shirts. Okay, maybe he’ll let you wear panties, but not for long. He sees you in one of his Poison or Def Leppard t-shirts with your hair all tied up/pulled back and ready for bed? Sleep is for the weak! He just wants one last round, he promises, and then he’ll leave you be. You know that’s a flat out lie, but how can you resist that cute face?

#paul the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys 1987 #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys marko #david the lost boys #the lost boys paul

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prydeofthexmen23 · 4 years

Text

Candlelight

A Dwayne From The Lost Boys One Shot

Okay, so this is my first Lost Boys Imagine with Dwayne. It’s with one of my OCs and it’s inspired by a convo I had with @80s-whore-university. I apologize in advance for my grammar and spelling errors. Enjoy!

~*~

Laura huffed against the window, allowing her breath to fuse with the glass. She'd often done this as a child when she was bored at her grandparents house and her cousins were too busy watching Scooby Doo re-runs to notice she'd moved to another room. Her fingers traced the little white spot until it became a transparent heart. Laura smiled, then immediately frowned. “I've officially lost it.”

She wiped the heart away with her sleeve and made her way to the door, unbolting it again and peeking out. She tried to avoid the rain, but it dripped from the gutters and dotted her bangs. I don't even know why I bother, she thought, locking the door again with an exasperated sigh. If it's raining, there's no reason for him to come. They'll keep him since the Boardwalk's closed. She nodded her head. She knew their habits well. Dwayne wasn't coming - not in this weather.

"I need tea," she said to her pup. Bandit's ears perked up at the word. Tea meant cookies. Cookies meant crumbs. And crumbs meant he'd surely get a snack. In her laziness, Laura grabbed a mug from the cabinet – the little one with constellations on the side Dwayne had given her for her birthday. She smiled at the memory, then quickly filled the cup with water, and shoved it into the microwave. Pushing the buttons, Laura felt herself relax as she watched the little stars rotate under the fluorescent light.

At first, she didn't even notice his arms wrap around her torso. She'd grown accustomed to the sensation – the feeling of his arms drawing her closer, the weight of his chin on her shoulder.

"I thought you weren't coming," she whispered, relaxing into the embrace. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Bandit let me in."

"Bandit doesn't have opposable thumbs." He didn't answer, but Laura could feel him smile as he kissed her neck. "I'm surprised David let you leave."

"Oh, he didn't."

"Ah, so you betrayed your leader."

"Betrayed is a strong word," he replied, releasing her as the microwave beeped. He removed the mug, quickly moving to the cabinets above the sink. "I just left without asking.” He extracted a packet of Chamomile. After ripping the packet with teeth, a habit Laura never quite understood, but respected, Dwayne placed the tea in the mug and motioned her toward the couch.

"I'd say that's a betrayal. I mean he probably expected you to spend the day with Laddie."

"Nah, Paul and Marko have it covered. When I left, they were making a Tik Tok to Savage."

"Real classy."

"I think you mean Bougie and ratchet." Dwayne laughed as Laura's eyes widened.

"Please," she began, rubbing her eyes. "Please, never use those words again. Or you'll turn into Paul."

"Ah, and we can't have that." Dwayne grabbed some throw pillows from the couch and placed gently on the floor before taking a seat on the ground. "Come on, sweets." Laura obliged, settling herself between his legs as she sipped her tea. Dwayne flipped on the television and made his way to Netflix. He might have struggled with the concept at first, but now he couldn't get enough. The platform really did have everything he could ever dream of watching.

"Really, again?" Laura whined as he hovered over The Crown.

"You don't want to see Diana pass the Balmoral test?"

Laura looked up at him with a smirk. "Okay, the fact that you know what that is and I don't proves that you've been watching this for too long. No.” Dwayne placed a kiss on her forehead. Shit, well played. "Fine, let's watch Camilla and Charles fuck up a perfectly normal teenage girl."

"Thank you."

"You know for someone who idolizes Karl Marx, I don't think your obsession with the English monarchy is healthy."

"Shhhh.” He kissed her gently on the lips. "Let people enjoy things," he whispered as Laura laughed.

~*~

Laura felt herself begin to doze off. What is it about Chamomile that makes you sleepy? she wondered as she leaned against Dwayne. At first, he didn't seem to notice her drowsiness – too engrossed in the world of royals. For the last two hours, Laura and Dwayne had watched Diana and Charles tie the knot, have a child, travel to Australia, and, as usual, fight over his relationship with Camilla. Laura's eyes closed as Diana demanded that Charles leave Camilla...for the umtempth time. Silently, she tried to sync her breathing with Dwayne's as he lowered the volume for the newest screaming match.

"What the hell?" Dwayne cried.

Laura's eyes fluttered open. The entire room was dark, pitch black. If she wasn't sitting against Dwayne, Laura would have been more panicked.

“No! Diana was about to confront Camilla at the birthday party!"

"We must have blown a fuse,” Laura replied through her giggles. She wished she could see Dwayne’s face. Laura was certain it read frustrated fangirl.

Dwayne let out an exasperated sigh before flinging the remote onto the couch. "You okay, babe?"

"I'm good. You can see right?" She felt Dwayne nod against her before picking her up. He wrapped his arms underneath her knees as he moved to the fuse box. Using her phone, Laura tried each switch twice, flipping the little dials back and forth.

"The rain must have caused an outage."

"You got candles?"

"Kitchen," Laura replied as she snuggled into his chest. Dwayne carried her into the kitchen and helped her onto the counter, where she pulled a menorah from the cabinet.

"Got it?" he asked, stretching out his arms.

Yup," she replied, jumping back into his arms. She didn't bother to ask where he was. He was always where she needed him. Catching her again, Dwayne carried her back into the living room, where Laura struck a match. The tiny flame guided her toward the blue and white candles.

"Really?" Dwayne laughed as Laura placed the candles into their waxed slots. Gradually, the blue menorah began to glow, painting the room in a pale yellow light.

"It's all I had!" Laura protested. "Besides, my grandmother used to light hers when the power went out. It's tradition." Dwayne threw her a lopsided grin. "What? I'm serious...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing," Dwayne said. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh shut up." She pushed him as he stood up. Taking off his leather jacket, he laid down on the couch and kicked up off his converse. In the soft candlelight, Laura took in the sight of his bare chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, shifting to get comfortable as Laura fiddled with her candles. For some reason, she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Enjoying the view," Dwayne teased.

"Mmmm...maybe."

"Then come join me," he said, open his arms to her. Laura obeyed, setting the final candle in place. The rain continued to beat against the sides of her home, but Laura paid it little mind. Instead, she buried her nose in the crook of Dwayne’s neck, inhaling his scent. Something about it put her at ease – even in the middle of a black out. Dwayne drew a blanket over them, rubbing gentle circles on the small of her back.

"Dwayne," Laura began. He hummed in reply, closing his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, baby?"

"Where'd you get this scar?” she asked, tracing over the mark on his shoulder.

"Long story," he said, placing a kiss on her lips. He was trying to change the subject and she knew it.

"We got time," she sighed through his embrace. "I don't think you're gonna be watching The Crown again anytime soon and I'm genuinely curious."

Dwayne leaned his forehead against hers. “You really wanna know, kid?” She nodded. “Alright, well...” He paused, closing his eyes again. His lips formed a thin line. Uh oh, I know that look. Laura kissed his neck.

“There’s no pressure. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I don’t mind. To be honest, I’m surprised it didn’t go away when David changed me.”

“Yeah, I thought his blood would have smoothed everything out. Made you look all shiny like Edward Cullen.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Yeah I’m sure that’s what David expected too, but I guess it stuck.” He paused again, taking a deep breath.

“Take your time.”

“I got it when I was thirteen,” he continued. “When I was with some friends...Did I ever tell you my family lived on a Rez?”

“Rez?”

“Reservation. Back in the 30’s.”

“No, you didn’t,” Laura replied, trailing her fingers across his chest. Then again, she thought, you haven’t really told me anything about your past. She thought of saying so, but bit her tongue. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

“In Arizona. There’s not much to do there. It’s hot and unless you really like red rocks the view can get pretty boring.”

Laura gulped. He was talking more than usual. She wondered how long it would last.

“My friends and I always tried to invent stuff to do. Ya know, to pass the time. We’d go down to the railroads and try to find work laying tracks. But that got pretty boring after awhile. Sometimes, my friend Adam would sneak cigarettes out of his mom’s bedroom drawer and we’d smoke those.”

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Every thirteen year old boy is.”

“Okay, true. I’m sorry, continue.”

“Well one day, we got bored smoking and my best friend Pete got this dumb idea. Pete was a year older than me but for some reason he liked having me around. He always called me his little brother, which was funny considering he already had five little brothers to spare. I don’t even remember how Pete and I met, but he was the best.”

Dwayne rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking down at Laura he smiled.

“What’s that look?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t know you were such a good storyteller.”

“Oh bullshit.”

“Keep going!” Laura exclaimed, lightly smacking his cheek. “I’m invested.” He kissed her again, deeper this time. Laura sighed softly as he pulled away. “Tease,” she whispered.

“Proud of it. Anyway, Pete, Adam and I were down by the tracks. It was almost midnight and we’d snuck out like always. We were just goofing around and waiting for the sun to come up when we heard a whistle.”

“A train?”

“Yup. Trains passed by all the time at night. They went straight through reservation because they figured the natives wouldn’t mind the noise. It was always big freights carrying supplies and sometimes hobos.”

“Dwayne-“

“That was the term we used at the time. Don’t hold it against me. After we heard the whistle, Pete got this weird look on his face. And he jumped down and went straight to the tracks, standing on them and whistling back at the train. At first, I thought it was a joke. I thought he was playing chicken with the train.”

“Like in Footloose?”

“Yeah, like that. People did that all the time. They liked to test their odds and see if they could cheat death. Thing was Pete’s dad had recently left and his family didn’t have any money to pay their rent let alone eat. I knew he was having a rough time, but I didn’t know how bad things really were, ya know? As the train got closer, that look on his face started to freak me out. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke. Pete wasn’t playing chicken. He wasn’t playing at all.”

Laura felt her body stiffen and Dwayne pulled her closer in response.

“Adam and I keep yelling at him to get off the tracks. The train just kept getting closer and I started to panic. I don’t know what came over me. As soon as I saw the train lights hit Pete’s face, adrenaline took over. The next thing I knew I was on the ground on top of Pete watching the train going by. At first, I didn’t feel any pain. Then I felt dizzy and Adam yelled that I was bleeding. It took me a minute to realize my shoulder had knocked the side of the train.”

“Oh god, babe.” Laura sat up, her eyes welling with tears. Dwayne sat up too, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hey, hey, hey I was fine. A few stitches and I was cleaned up. No broken bones and thank god because my mom would have killed me. But it was Pete that had it the worst. He kept apologizing and came to see me to make sure I recovered.”

“I’m sure he felt horrible.”

“Yeah but it made him wake up. After that, he got a job and helped his family out. I think he even got married and had some kids after I left town. We weren’t as close after what happened, but that didn’t matter.”

“You saved his life.”

“Nah,” Dwayne replied, lowering his head.

Laura placed a finger under his chin, lifting it so he met her green eyes. “You did. And you should be proud.” Laura gazed at the jagged line on his shoulder. “I think I know why you got to keep this scar.”

“Oh yeah why?”

“To remind you that you’re still a good person. To help you remember that there was a time you saved someone’s life instead of ending it.”

“Maybe,” Dwayne sighed, kissing her again. “Since when did you get so philosophical?”

“Blame Kafka. We started reading him yesterday.” Dwayne laughed. It wasn’t his usual soft giggle, but a heartier one that seemed to echo from his chest. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” Laura added as she yawned.

“Thank you for listening. It was nice to talk about Pete again.” Laura leaned into his shoulder, kissing the scar for good measure. “You tired babe?”

“A little. Your voice...it’s very soothing.”

“Lay back down baby,” Dwayne whispered as Laura rested on his chest. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“But you can’t sleep,” Laura argued, closing her eyes. “Not at this hour.”

“It’s okay. You rest. I’ll wait for the lights to come back on.”

#lost boy dwayne #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys

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that-scouse-wizard · 3 years

Text

David Willows MK 2

A/N: Just an updated version of David’s profile, complete with a few changes and a more in-depth description of certain characteristics. Hope you guys enjoy and if you’d like your MC to be friends with him, message me and let’s chat about it.

Some more things to note:

-Merula is not the mole.

-I’m using the female version of Rowan as David’s best friend because to hell with game restrictions. Also, she survives, at least... David’s Rowan does.

-Drastic alteration to the Quidditch storyline. Skye is in David’s year and a Gryffindor. Orion, Murphy and Erika are two years above David and are in Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin respectively. Also including Andre and Charlie while introducing Oliver Wood and Lee Jordan.

-It goes without saying but spoilers for my ideas. Some are kept deliberately vague and some aren’t covered entirely more so because I intend to write about it someday. Let me know what you guys think of those that are given though.

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

General Information

Name: David Owen Willows (Formerly David Owen Hall, changed to mother’s maiden name in 1982).

Gender: Male

Age: 11-18 (1984-91), 19-25 (1992-98)

DOB: 30/03/1973

Species: Human

Blood status: Half-blood

Sexuality: Straight

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Ethnicity: White-British

Nationality: English (maternal side of family is Irish, paternal grandmother is Scottish, paternal grandfather and father are English).

Residence: Liverpool/ Lancaster (during his Hogwarts years and depending upon who he’s staying with).

Wimborne (during his career as a pro Quidditch player)

Hogsmeade (final place of residence after becoming Charms professor)

Myers Briggs Personality Type: ENFP, The Campaigner

Character summary: Though he may come across as stand-offish at first, David Willows is a friend as loyal as he is bull-headed. A student of Erika Rath, he became known as Hound on the Quidditch pitch for his relentless pursuit of opposing players. A skill in duelling and the muggle martial art of muay thai (also a pair of knuckledusters) ensures David is a formidable opponent with or without magic.

Personality:

Aggressive: While he tries to reign in his anger, David is known to have a short temper when it comes to certain taunts. Chief amongst them, comparing him to Jacob. In his early years he was even willing to physically fight much older students despite the clear difference in both size and strength.

Aloof: For all of his first year and a good portion of his second year, David isn’t the one to initiate a friendship (except for Chiara but that was when there was no one else to really talk to while spending a night in the Hospital Wing due to the Devil’s Snare incident). However, while undergoing his first time as a quidditch player, he’s taught by Penny how to be a bit more social at pre and post-match parties.

Artistic: David was taught by his mother Rue to draw in greyscale sketches, something he improves on during his time throughout Hogwarts. In the midst of Jacob’s disappearance, his parent’s divorce and especially the stress that comes at Hogwarts, drawing provided an escape for him. His favourite things to draw are people and creatures.

Competitive: This aspect of David tends to come out the most when it comes to sport. With Erika as his mentor, he nurtures a healthy sense of competition as well as a determination to best the other houses and put Hufflepuff on top when it comes to quidditch.

Courageous: Largely as a result of his loyalty, David is willing to throw himself headlong into danger. The Sorting Hat didn’t nearly put him in Gryffindor for no reason.

Determined: When David sets his mind to a goal, he wants to accomplish it to the best of his abilities. In the case of finding Jacob however, it led to a sort of tunnel-vision, one that was finally broken when Chauncy and Philip succumb to injuries sustained under the sleepwalking curse.

Empathetic: Throughout his years at Hogwarts, David starts to empathise with people in his life. Even in the case of Merula, he sees how lonely she must really be and tries to reach out to her on numerous occasions. If he doesn’t fully understand it, he’d like you to share your feelings with him, at your own behest of course.

Loyal: In spite of a prickly exterior at first, once you win David’s loyalty, he’ll return it ten-fold. The type of friend who would take a bullet for you.

Snarky: David has a sharp tongue, preferably he tries to shut down an argument with his wits. Only going for duelling when he feels it necessary. That being said, he isn’t shy about getting petty in a verbal spar, for example his response to Merula when first being taunted about Jacob supposedly teaming up with Voldemort: “At least that’s just a rumour, can’t say the same about your parents.”

Stubborn: A self-described ‘stubborn git’, David is quite notorious for not budging from his position once he thinks he has all the facts he needs. If he’s being especially difficult, just get Merula.

Appearance

Face Claim: Dave Franco (as an adult at least).

Voice Claim: Paul McCartney.

Game appearance:

Physique: Athletic, broad shouldered and fairly bulky as a result of weight training with Erika.

Hair Colour: Dark Brown

Hair style: Chin-length (1st-2nd year), crew cut (3rd-4th year), short but long enough to slick back (5th year-present).

Eye colour: Dark brown.

Height: 5′11″ (as of 6th year)

Weight: Approx 80kg (when fully grown)

Scarring: A few small ones sustained during duels and the occasional mishap in quidditch, mostly on his upper body with a few on his legs. Sustains a burn scar on the left side of his waist during the battle with R.

Body modifications: Get’s the phrase “You’ll never walk alone.” tattooed on his right bicep at eighteen. Later gets a ram skull tattoo on his upper back just between the shoulder blades at age twenty. Finally, gets a shepherd crook just below the ram skull tattoo at age twenty-one.

Inventory: His wand, a pair of knuckledusters, a sketchbook, a pencil case containing stationary.

Fashion: He trusts Andre’s advice on what looks good on him though knows what works for him and what doesn’t. Partly influenced by his musical tastes (mainly punk, and rock and roll), has a love of leather jackets and slightly ripped jeans.

Background/ History:

Pre-Hogwarts:

-David was born in Liverpool, living in the suburb of Allerton. One of his favourite things to do was play football with Jacob and his dad.

-His mum would teach him to draw, most often on rainy days.

-Close to both of his parents as a result but it all changed when Jacob disappeared. He knew Jacob and his parents had arguments after being expelled but hadn’t heard any of it on account of the use of a muffling charm. Furthermore, Rue and Matthew were driven apart, Matthew blaming Jacob’s change in attitude and eventual disappearance on magic in its entirety.

-Sometime after Jacob disappeared and when the general shitshow stirred up by the Daily Prophet had died down, it was settled that Rue and Matthew would divorce. Given that David would go to Hogwarts as well, they thought it would be best for David to take Willows as his surname, hopefully not being recognised as Jacob Hall’s brother.

-This was fruitless, Rita Skeeter caught wind of the proceedings and sensationalised them, exposing the name change in the process. The stress and grief caused both parents to distance themselves from David in some way. Rue threw herself into work and became even more strict with David’s freedom while Matthew just left.

-David however, was fighting his own battles, it became known at his muggle school about Jacob going missing as well as his parents divorcing. This caused him to become quite reclusive from his classmates and would lash out at anyone who said a bad word towards him, especially if it concerned his family drama. He lost any friends he did have and refused to make any more.

During Hogwarts

-Year 1: He first meets Rowan, even being introduced to her younger brother, Alder (basically male Rowan).

David, Rowan, Tonks, Diego, Chiara and Penny first begin to form what becomes known as the Hufflesquad.

Also befriends Ben and Charlie.

Angelica Cole takes him under her wing despite not being in the same house and even shows David a group of trolls she’s been tending to in preparation for her apprenticeship in training security trolls.

Meets the Booths during the Christmas break and despite a rocky start, begins to develop a positive relationship with them even coming to an understanding with his dad.

During one of his expeditions with Angelica, he’s confronted by Needle, an acromantula that previously belonged to Jacob.

Finally stands up to his mum properly, resulting in him staying with the Booths for the summer in Lancaster.

-Year 2: David meets those who are involved in the Quidditch scene at Hogwarts, including Erika Rath, who he briefly develops a crush on until he’s let down gently at the end of Year 2.

He duels Merula for a second time, winning once more, which makes her cry albeit in private. This then results in having his first encounter with Barnaby Lee, who confronts David about upsetting Merula. David tries to get past but Barnaby wraps his hands around David’s throat. Not actually choking him mind, more to get his attention. David panics as it reminds him of the Devil’s Snare that wrapped around his throat and lashes out at Barnaby.

David puts Barnaby in the hospital wing, much to the anger of Liz Tuttle.

The last Quidditch match for the House Cup between Hufflepuff and Slytherin is interrupted by the spread of the cursed ice. Ultimately resulting in Gryffindor’s victory in the cup for that year.

Rue comes back, mentioning how Corey Hayden (David’s American cousin in this AU) would like to transfer to Hogwarts.

Year 3: Amelia comes to Hogwarts as a first year and gets sorted into Hufflepuff. Similarly, Alder starts at Hogwarts and is sorted into Ravenclaw.

Amelia brings Dusty, her cat, along with her. However, Dusty goes missing shortly after arriving at the castle.

Later, in a COMC class, Barnaby mentions that he found a cat matching Dusty’s description. Initially, David is very suspicious to the extent of threatening Barnaby if he harmed Dusty in any way. Barnaby refutes this and returns Dusty to him unharmed, causing David to apologise for both for the accusation and the events that happened last year. Eventually, he even befriends Barnaby.

In a similar vein, when tending to some of his creatures on the reserve, he bumps into Liz and winds up introducing her to Needle. The two get a friendship going, David admiring Liz’s passion for creatures and Liz appreciating David for not finding her weird when she rambles about animals. To the extent that they go out on a few dates.

Close to the end of the year, he rants at Merula. Effectively asking the question of why she seems to hate him. Yet despite the rant he closes off with how he understands Merula, he’s been that lonely kid lashing out at the world and it’s not fun. Despite her reluctance to admit it, Merula knows David is right.

He gets the chance to verbally unload on Rita Skeeter for the articles she wrote about his family when she comes to the school looking to interview an interesting student. Later, several of his friends plus Merula of all people step in to put Skeeter in her place when she successfully provokes him into a fit of rage to make him look bad. The situation is eventually diffused by McGonagall.

Year 4:

Corey officially transfers to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny after exchanging letters with David throughout third year.

Though David wasn’t particularly close to them, Chauncy and Philip (two of his dormmates alongside Diego) succumb to injuries sustained when they were attacked by a red cap under the Sleepwalking curse. When he learns the truth of what attacked them, David slays the creature.

David starts to realise he has a crush on Merula after assisting her in casting Expecto Patronum. Later in the year, he takes her out on a date to Hogsmeade, gets her a songbook for Christmas and even takes her out to the Celestial Ball.

Merula’s parents are freed from Azkaban by R, her mother even meeting Merula in secret throughout the year. During one of their meet-ups, she has a hunch Merula is starting to develop a crush on David (something which is true but not something she would admit it at the time).

In order to eliminate this apparent threat to her family’s blood purity, she asks Merula to bring him to her in the Forbidden Forest under the guise of allowing the two of them to join R like she has. Instead, she subdues David with Petrificus Totalus, attempting to convince Merula to leave him, that David isn’t worth it.

Merula sides with David even though it pains her initially. David stays with her over the summer, where they try to figure out... whatever the hell their relationship is at the moment.

Year 5: Throughout this year he dates Merula in secret until Valentine’s Day. It’s here that she confesses she’s ready to have their relationship out in the open.

One of the most major event for David is Rakepick’s betrayal, he had actually grown fond of her as a mentor. Being stabbed in the back wasn’t a good thing for him.

The second is Jacob leaving immediately after David finds him. It’s hurtful and David becomes a bit reclusive for a while. Finally, he’s comforted by Bill, Orion and Erika, the older sibling figures in his life.

Year 6: Jacob returns, under the watchful eye of Alastor Moody, acting as the DADA teacher for that year. Naturally, there’s tension between the brothers, which eventually resolves.

Jacob does join David for the Christmas break, where he gets along well with the Booths and reunites with his parents.

As well as this, R attempts to come after Amelia, resulting in the death of Alder Khanna. As well as being a devastating loss, it causes a rough patch in David and Rowan’s relationship when in her grief she winds up shouting “I wish I’d never met you, David Willows!” She only realises what she just said when the words leave her mouth but regardless, it causes a fracture within David’s larger circle of friends.

Eventually, the time comes for when David, Jacob and their allies take on the vaults like they had always dreamed of. Together, they face off against the guardian of the Sunken vault, an Ammit (based on the creature of Ancient Egyptian Mythology). Eventually the beast is defeated and they claim the treasure of the vaults, what seems to be the base of a necklace.

In a celebration at the Three Broomsticks, R attacks and murders Jacob. This sends David spiralling into grief, hitting his truly lowest point. He worked so hard, he rebuilt his family at home and forged a new one at Hogwarts, all the while hoping Jacob would be able to join them. And what was it all for? Nothing.

Before the school year is up... he snaps his wand and runs away from Hogwarts. Not to Liverpool, not to Lancaster, just anywhere but there. It will keep his friends and family safe or so he reasons. Deep down though, he thinks it’s cowardly.

During this time, he finds his way to Glasgow and starts sleeping rough on the streets all the while battling with grief, anger and self loathing. This goes on for two months before Moody tracks him down, apparating him to a secluded area of the Scottish countryside, kicks his arse and talks him down. Taking him to Grimmauld Place afterwards with the intention of formulating a plan to take the fight to R.

Where he finds most of his remaining friends waiting for him. At first he staunchly refuses their help, feeling he’s already put enough people in danger. Yet they refuse to leave.

This is actually the moment where the Circle of Khanna is formed, this time named for Alder. Reconciling with Rowan after a serious heart-to-heart.

Year 7: ...Let’s just say R is going to regret setting David Willows on the warpath.

R’s destruction becomes widely regarded news, however David allows Moody to take the credit for it. Frankly, by this point he’s sick of any attachment to the Cabal and just wants to play Quidditch.

He’s able to pass his NEWTS and win the Quidditch cup for Hufflepuff one last time, resulting in him being offered the position as beater on the Wimborne Wasps.

Post-Hogwarts:

David and Merula work things out, moving in together. Though it’s odd with David still keeping at his Quidditch training and Merula now working for Gringotts as a curse-breaker. After winning the British and Irish League for the Wasps in 1993, he proposes to Merula which she accepts.

In 1994, they have a wedding in the summer time with Rowan being David’s best woman. They did plan on having kids until Cedric’s murder at the hands of Voldemort. With Quidditch cancelled and Merula being affiliated to Gringotts, both are approached to work for the Order.

Though initially very hesitant, David agrees. Eliminating Death Eaters, rescuing their hostages and even fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts.

He returns to the Quidditch scene when it starts up again in 1999, helping the Wasps win the cup three more times. 1999 is also the year in which Merula and David have their first kid, Robin. After the latest victory in 2002 he discovers Merula is pregnant again, and his retirement from Quidditch is looming on the horizon. He’s convinced by Judith Harris (@judediangelo75) to teach for a few weeks over the summer at KC’s (@kc-needs-coffee) quidditch summer camp. It’s here that he develops a love for teaching. Getting in touch with professor Flitwick to work as his assistant before becoming the Charms professor.

In early 2003, he welcomes his son Nicholas into the world.

Family

Matthew Hall (father):

Face Claim: Ben Miller

A stern but fair man and CIMA-qualified accountant originally from Yorkshire, Matthew met David’s biological mother Rue when he was on a business trip to Dublin in 1956. Encountering her in a quiet pub being told “I’ve dealt with a real dragon today” when he asked if she was okay on account of how tired she looked. Matthew took it as a joke but Rue was being entirely serious. They struck up a friendship and began dating, eventually getting married in 1961 and having Jacob in 1964.

initially, he was fascinated by the existence of the wizarding world but soon came to fear it after Jacob’s disappearance. Divorcing Rue afterwards and cutting off contact from David aside from agreeing to send child maintenance. However, after being chewed out by his girlfriend Lyra, he all but begs David to come visit him in Lancaster over Christmas in 1984.

The reason being that Amelia’s magical abilities finally began to manifest, which became a cause of conflict between David and Matthew, largely from David thinking that was the only reason he was invited. Eventually, they come to an understanding and try to work on improving their relationship.

Rue Willows (mother):

Face Claim: Fiona O’Carroll

A dragonologist from Dublin in the employ of the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau. Though she was strict, she was generally attentive towards David, being the one who taught him to draw.

After Jacob’s disappearance however, she became very withdrawn and austere. It was her way of opting for a ‘tough love’ approach, thinking she had been too soft and in her misguidance tried to control David’s life. Even then, she still grieved, frequently getting into arguments with David about his behaviour at school, bringing up Jacob when David tried to make her proud of him and other such things.

During the start of the summer break between first and second year, David finally stands up to her properly. The words that get through to her are the following, “That stranger’s name is Lyra and she’s been a better mum to me in the weeks I’ve known her than you have for me in years.” and “I love you too mum... but I don’t know if I like you anymore.”

She does a lot of soul searching after that, staying with relatives in America for a year before coming back and promising to do better with her and David’s relationship.

Lyra Booth (nee Robinson) (step-mother):

Face Claim: Ruth Wilson

A muggle and CIMA-qualified accountant originally from London, left widowed in 1980 after her first husband, Peter died in a car accident. She met Matthew when working at an accounting firm in Lancaster shortly after his divorce from Rue. After a couple months of knowing each other, the two began dating, Lyra introduced him to her children, who he hit it off well with.

She knew he had a son who he sent child maintenance to but it wasn’t revealed until Amelia accidentally made a plant pot explode in a fit of frustration that Lyra learned the truth. Consequently... she blew up at Matthew for as good as abandoning as his son. Insisting on inviting him around for Christmas.

While David was prickly when he first came around, he eventually warmed up to her and the rest of the Booths, being a positive maternal influence on him.

Jacob Hall (brother) (deceased):

Face Claim: Tom Holland

David’s only biological sibling, a gifted though trouble-making student, first became interested in the cursed vaults during his first year when he was informed about the legend by seventh year Patricia Rakepick. In his sixth year, he stood up for fellow Gryffindor Angelica Cole when she was being bullied (at the time she was a first year).

His investigation into the vaults would put him into conflict with the mysterious cult known as R. A conflict that would put his family in danger and even cost him his life.

Alex Booth (step-brother):

Face Claim: Jody Latham

The eldest of the Booth siblings, Alex is a highly protective big brother and was worried upon realising his little sister was going to be part of a world none of them had any knowledge about. He tried to make David feel welcome despite the younger boy’s hostility.

When David attempted to run away during his first stay with the Booths, Alex caught him in the act and made a deal, get past him and he wouldn’t tell anyone he’d left. Though David was tenacious, Alex stopped him every time even pointing out the flaws in David’s technique if he tried to physically fight Alex. After David finally gave up, Alex didn’t breathe a word of his run away attempt to anyone. David would take up Alex’s offer to teach him muay thai during his first visit.

Sarah Booth (step-sister):

Face Claim: Emilia Clarke

The middle child of the Booth siblings and also the least welcoming, Sarah was most vocally against Amelia being part of the wizarding world. She treated David coldly at first, going on a grouse hunting trip with her friends the day after he arrived to stay with them for Christmas.

However, at some point, she caught him reading an old copy of a Shooting Times magazine and after some persuasion by Alex, took David clay pigeon shooting. Becoming quite impressed, and even a little endeared from how quickly he picked up shooting.

Amelia Booth (step-sister):

Face Claim: Maisie Williams

A muggleborn witch and the youngest of the Booth siblings, Amelia was surprised to realise she possessed magical abilities. Though was even more shocked to learn Matthew already knew about it.

When she was five years old, she was involved in the car accident that killed her father. Resulting in her being scarred with a gash on the right side of her forehead, a similar one on her left cheek and a larger one that cuts across from shoulder to her chest. Though she repressed the memory, she did indeed see her father die, thus Thestrals are visible to her. Another thing the accident did was give her motorphobia, though can tolerate it as long as she’s A) In control of the vehicle and B) It’s not motorised.

However, she does have a love of cycling, she was taught to do so by her dad before he died. Similarly, gymnastics helped her get some of her confidence back after the accident and still keeps up with it. A love of plants and animals prompts her to excel in Herbology and Potions, then later COMC.

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Affiliations: The Circle of Khanna, The Wimborne Wasps, The Order of the Phoenix, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Professions: Beater for the Wimborne Wasps (1991-95)

Agent of the Order of the Phoenix (1995 - 98)

Resumes position as beater for the Wasps (1999-2003)

Charms Assistant Teacher (2003 - 05)

Charms Teacher (2005 - present)

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: E

Charms: O

DADA: O

Herbology: E

History of Magic: A

Potions: A

Transfiguration: E

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: A

Muggle Studies: O

Quidditch:

Hufflepuff Beater (1985 - 91)

Hufflepuff Captain (after Orion graduates) (1989 - 91)

Extra Curricular:

Duelling Club (Becomes known as one of the best duellers in Hogwarts)

Art Club

Football Club (Founder)

Apparition Class (in 1991)

Favourite Professors:

Professor Sprout, his head of house and someone he feels he can go to if he needs advice. One of several people who warned him about being careful with Patricia Rakepick.

Professor Mcgonagall, his Transfiguration teacher and head of Jacob’s house when he was at Hogwarts. Though they disagree entirely on him tackling the vaults, he always pays attention in her lessons as while she’s often stern she can be a great teacher.

Professor Flitwick, as his Charms teacher, David always found Flitwick to be respectable. David especially respects Flitwick for teaching him Expelliarmus, even after he was honest in what he intended to do with it (i.e. use it in a duel against Merula). Also came for Flitwick’s help in developing Cometa.

Least Favourite Professors:

Professor Binns: Finds his droning entirely too boring and really only passed History of Magic thanks to Rowan.

Every other professor he’s either neutral on (Snape and Trelwany) or he likes but aren’t his favourites (Kettleburn).

Best Canon friends:

Rowan Khanna

Diego Caplan

Nymphadora Tonks

Penny Haywood

Chiara Lobosca

(David plus the above five make up the original members of the Hufflesquad)

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Erika Rath

Orion Amari

Badeea Ali

Barnaby Lee

Liz Tuttle

Love interest:

Erika Rath (crush)

Nymphadora Tonks (first kiss)

Liz Tuttle (dated briefly in third year but broke things off fairly amicably when they realised they were developing crushes on other people).

Merula Snyde (began dating in fourth year, later marries David in 1994)

Best MC friends:

Judith Harris (@judediangelo75): The closest of his MC friends, David and Judith first get acquainted by being pushed into friendship... somewhat subtly by Penny Haywood. Both of them catch on when Penny mentions they should try out for the Quidditch team. Both of them still go for it, bonding over a shared love of martial arts and proving they have the potential to be fearsome beaters.

Throughout their time at Hogwarts, David and Judith would demonstrate a fierce loyalty to each other, being as close as siblings. David even becoming godfather to her children, Bakari and Kendrick.

Cato Reese (@catohphm): David was first introduced to Cato by Penny. The two find themselves sharing very similar values, having a great love their friends and absolute ruthlessness towards their enemies.

Like anyone involved in the Quidditch scene at Hogwarts, David has a bit of a rivalry with him. Tending to trash talk him (though with no real weight behind it), Cato understands that David doesn’t mean it.

Katriona Cassiopea (KC) (@kc-needs-coffee): The two of them are sports fanatics, they could talk to each other for hours about Quidditch. While David definitely knows more about footy, he’s eager to learn about any sport, such as baseball which KC is highly knowledgeable about.

KC would be one of the first to jump at the football matches David organises during his time at Hogwarts.

Lizzie Jameson (@lifeofkaze): Like David, Lizzie is an avid fan of LFC. Even meeting up at some point with their respective partners to watch a footy match at Anfield, where Liverpool were playing.

On the quidditch pitch, Lizzie is a chaser and knows she can count on David to keep the bludgers off her back.

If any of your MCs would want to be friends with David, let me know!

Rivals:

Merula Snyde (For most of his time at Hogwarts).

During Quidditch: Erika Rath, Skye Parkin, Andre Egwu, Charlie Weasley, Angelica Cole, Oliver Wood, Cato Reese and Katriona Cassiopea.

Enemies:

R (including Patricia Rakepick, Fenrir Greyback and Peter Pettigrew).

The Snyde family (minus Merula)

Voldemort

Death Eaters

Magical Abilities

1st Wand: Blackthorn, unicorn hair core, ten and a quarter inches, slightly springy and flexible. Snaps it in half shortly just before the end of sixth year, citing, “What kind of warrior can’t even protect his own brother?”

Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view very well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior.

Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard. Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may ‘die’ and need replacing.

2nd Wand: English Oak, Dragon Heartstring core, twelve and a half inches, unbending.

A wand for the good times and bad, this is a friend as loyal as the wizard who deserves it. Wands of English Oak demand partners of strength, courage and fidelity. Obtained from Garrick Ollivander while being accompanied by Alastor Moody.

As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

Animagus form: A ram, specifically of a Dalesbred Sheep. Rams symbolise determination, initiative and leadership, factors that are put to the test more than once during his time at Hogwarts.

Misc magical abilities: Legilimens, Rue informs him of potentially inheriting her legilimens ability between third year and fourth year when he tells her of his delve into the Vault of Fear. David prefers not using it on people, rather using it to see through the eyes of animals as his great grandfather Reuben used to do.

Occlumency: Snape, at Dumbledore’s behest begins teaching David the art of Occlumency in fifth year.

Non-verbal magic: David began learning the non-verbal use of magic in fifth year thanks to professor Flitwick. Becoming highly skilled in it by his seventh year.

Spell creation: Assists in the creation of Stella Cascadia alongside Badeea Ali. Given how dangerous the vaults could be, he begins to work on another spell inspired by Stella Cascadia alongside several of his friends, Cometa, the comet jinx.

Boggart Form: Initially, Jacob as a death eater after hearing about the rumours of him taking Voldemort’s side.

From year four onwards, himself as a dark wizard as he worries about the path the vaults will set him on.

Riddikulus Form: Death eater Jacob’s mask turns into a pie that promptly splats him in the face.

Later, his dark wizard self in the uniform of Everton Football Club with a blue clown nose and wig to match. Since he’s a Liverpool Football Club supporter, seeing himself in one his rival team’s colours as a clown is hilarious to him.

Amortentia (what do they smell like?): A sea breeze and heather.

Amortentia (what do they smell?): Freshly mown grass and clear air after a rainfall.

Patronus: African wild dog, a symbol of his loyalty and relentless pursuit of his goals.

Patronus memory: -Attending the LFC vs Nottingham Forest semi final match of the Football League Cup at Anfield on the 12th February 1980 with his dad and Jacob. They drew 1-1 and LFC didn’t get through to the final but David was still happy to be there with both them.

Mirror of Erised: Jacob being back, alongside all of his friends and family. All of them are safe and well.

Specialised/ favourite spells:

Cometa, a spell that David creates in sixth year with the help of Badeea Ali, Rowan Khanna, Merula Snyde, Diego Caplan and professor Flitwick. Inspired by Stella Cascadia, and using some principles from the Ice Jinx, the spell initially creates cricket ball-sized pieces of ice that explode into a mist when they impact against something. This makes it especially useful for blinding or disorienting a target. Later they develop the more-powerful Cometa Maxima in seventh year. Its main limitations are maintaining eye contact directed at the target (as is the case for all jinxes) and its general range is quite short (about twenty five feet) due to the “comet” (really a mix of ice, dust and gases) disintegrating quite quickly.

Protego Diabolica, A spell taught to him by Felix Rosier in sixth year, nothing says “Get away from my friends!” Like a massive wall of blue flame that incinerates enemies and leaves allies unharmed.

Expelliarmus, the Disarming charm taught to David by Professor Flitwick in first year is one of his go-to spells when duelling.

Protego, learned in order to protect himself from spells and other projectiles.

Healing spells: Largely taught to him by Chiara throughout their time at Hogwarts, healing spells have come in handy more than once when he needs to preserve his own or his friend’s lives.

Expecto Patronum, though niche, a spell that can get rid of a dementor is nothing to scoff at. Plus it’s a sentimental reminder of his friendship with Tonks.

Incendio, good as a fire-starter and a duelling spell, also reminds him of a time when Merula stood up to Rita Skeeter for him by burning her camera.

Misc Information

-David is a huge supporter of Liverpool Football Club (LFC), so much so one of his casuals is a club uniform.

-As well as Needle, David has other creatures on the reserve, Lucky (Knarl), Clop (Porlock), Bonita (fairy), Mori (thestral), and Chen (Chinese fireball).

#harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #jacob's sibling #david willows #hphm mc

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Note

Hey! Thank you for doing all of my other requests!💜 if possible could you write a poly fic where the lost boy’s S/O surprises them with Thanksgiving dinner? Thank you again!!

That's ok, I enjoy writing them and I'm glad you request them! I hope you like this!😊💛💛

Did You Do All This?

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: none

Edited By: @jawline-of-steel

Masterlist

The streets are practically deserted as I walk down them, most of the usual hordes of people inside their homes, enjoying a hearty Thanksgiving meal and taking part in fun family traditions rather than traversing the brightly lit Boardwalk, which is never as empty as it is today. My hands are stuck in my pockets to keep them warm, my fingers wiggling every now and then to keep them from going numb, my face ice-cold to the touch due to my exposure to the biting temperatures of the November air. Shivering, I pull my warm coat tighter around my body, revelling in the warmth that accompanies the action, glad now that the boys thought to get me a thicker one, as opposed to the thinner leather jacket i generally wear most days, aware now that there is no way that it would’ve kept me comfortable, no matter how much i love it.

Gingerly, I take a hand out of my pocket to check my watch, groaning when I notice that it is already eight O’clock, meaning that I'm late home, the cool night air immediately chilling the warmer skin on my hands as they are taken from the confines of my coat. Rolling my shoulders, I pick up the pace slightly, eager to get home and put on a movie or something, and to spend the night with my boyfriends, keen to relax and rest after a day of running around after my friend and her younger sister, given that i feel thoroughly exhausted from it all. Just at the thought of this, I feel myself subconsciously speed up, easily navigating the streets I’ve walked down hundreds of times without really taking them in, smiling to myself, though a little bitterly, as Icatch the sight of families together in their houses, laughing and talking, having a good time. Returning my gaze to the pavement, I manage to find my way home, going straight up to the front door, briefly sending a glance over to the road, frowning when I don't see the usual four motorcycles parked at the curb.

Sighing in disappointment, I feel myself slouch a little at the knowledge that the boys aren't there yet before I unlock and open the door, stepping into the warmth quickly. Closing the door behind me, I take off my shoes and coat, putting them away before realising that there is the sound of music coming from the dining room, as well as a mouth-watering smell, which automatically draws me to the room it is coming from.

A gasp of surprise escapes me as I push into the room, my jaw dropping at the sight in front of me. Shocked, I stand still for a moment, taking in the huge spread of food on the table, where I can see almost every type of traditional meal I’ve always enjoyed having on this particular day laid out, a few lit candles standing on tall sticks between the bigger plates, their flames providing a flickering light over it all. To the side, soft rock plays from the radio, giving the room a comfortable feeling as I slowly move further into it. Only now do I notice that the four vampires I call boyfriends are standing by the wall, watching my reaction carefully with small smiles on their handsome faces.

"Did you guys do this?" Is all I can ask, practically speechless from surprise.

"No, it just appeared out of nowhere," David rolls his eyes, stepping closer to me so he can wrap an arm around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my temple, "Of course we did it, (Y/n)."

Smiling, I kiss him on the lips before speaking again.

"You guys are the best! Thank you so much!"

"We thought you deserved a little treat." Dwayne says, coming around to my other side with a broad smile on his face, the vampire clearly relaxed.

"Yeah, we figured you'd probably miss Thanksgiving if we didn't do something with you." Marko grins, going to pull out a chair for me, gesturing for me to sit.

"Which is not recommended." Paul chips in, taking my arm and leading me to the chair, bowing in mock respect as he helps me sit down, Marko then pushing the chair back in again with a flourish.

Giggling, I watch as they all take their own places, except Dwayne, who goes to dish out the initial food, handing me a plate laden with goodies. Accepting it, I try not to roll my eyes as chaos now ensues, the other boys starting to fight over pieces of food and who gets what, eventually sorting it out amongst themselves, only for Marko to make a snide comment around half way through the meal. This instantly results in a food war, pieces of potato, turkey, cranberry sauce, bread rolls, and plenty of other food flying across the table at each other, cranberry sauce soon staining their skin and clothes, looking oddly reminiscent of the blood they generally consume. Insults and laughter accompany this as they lapse into their old habits, all of which I watch as I eat, marvelling at the delicious taste of it all.

As we finish up, I go to clear away the plates, only for David to wave me off, the vampire signalling to me to wait until they've brought forth a pie, which we all consume with speed, feeling overly full once finished. Groaning, we lean back in our seats, biting our lips.

"Damn that was good. Thank you so much for doing that!" I say gratefully to them, smiling appreciatively round at them all.

"Anything for you, (Y/n)." David replies, smirking as I blush a bright red.

"Come on, let's watch a movie." Paul proposes, standing from the table and coming over to me and helping me up, taking me to the sofa, where a line of DVDs is laid out. Picking one, we put it on, the others soon joining us for a cuddle pile, the four vampires surrounding me as quickly as possible.

"Happy Thanksgiving, (Y/n)." David whispers to me, chuckling as Marko and Paul both move in to kiss the same part of my cheek.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too." I laugh back, settling down with them to watch the movie.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

Text

Sins of the Past Pt.5

Camelot. Past. Night. (An agitated Uther dines with Morgana.) Uther: “You seem troubled, Morgana. Is something wrong?” Morgana: “No, father. I’m sorry I’m not better company.” Uther: “I’m merely concerned for your welfare, that’s all.” Morgana: “Thank you, My Lord. All is well.” (Arthur enters.) Uther: “What news of the hunt for the Druid boy?” Arthur: “We have conducted an extensive search. The boy is nowhere to be found.” Uther: “You mean you failed to find him?” Arthur: “Perhaps he’s already left the city.” Uther: “You’re telling me that a wounded boy is able to evade the guards and escape the city? Nonsense, someone’s hiding him. I want him found.” Arthur: “He’s just a boy. What harm can he do?” Uther: “He is a Druid, and that makes him dangerous.” Morgana: “The Druids would see my father’s kingdom destroyed.” Uther: “Morgana is right. Double your efforts.” Arthur: “Yes, My Lord.” Uther: “Keep searching until you find him.” Morgana's Chambers. (With Mordred looking on, Morgana stands wearing Guinevere's clothes.) Morgana: (Sighs:) "It’ll have to do. (Turns to Mordred:) We’re going to get you out of Camelot. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise. (Guinevere enters the room:) Did you get the keys?" Guinevere: "Yes. (Holds them up:) The door is behind the shield at the far end of the armoury. I'll prepare you some food and water for the journey." Morgana: "Thank you. I feel I’ve put you in danger without ever stopping to ask how you feel about it. I’m sorry." Guinevere: "I know how it feels to face the threat of execution. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Just be careful."

Storybrooke. Present. The Dragon's Lair. (Henry stops by the former 'Roni's'.) Henry: (Leaning against the bar:) "Wow, I've never seen this place so busy." Robin: (Proudly:) "Yep, ever since we changed to a bar and restaurant - complete with theme nights - profits have been through the roof." Henry: "Maleficent must be thrilled." Robin: "Well you'd think so, but when Remy asked her to change the name to 'Le repaire du Dragon', the look she gave him..." Henry: "She's not a big fan of change, huh?" Robin: "No, but she can't argue with the results. I mean, no one was coming to this place when it was some sort of kinky sex dungeon anyway. Except your parents of course. (Henry winces:) Sorry." Henry: "Yeah. Can I get a refill please, I've got to get back out there." Robin: "Sure thing. (Takes Henry's coffee mug:) So, how was game night?" Henry: "Oh I told them I had to work. It just wouldn't have been the same without Ella there anyway." Robin: "Tell me about it. Between Emma and Regina, Snow and David and Robin Hood and my mom, I was kinda glad Mal wouldn't let me take the night off. I mean all that mushy love stuff can get a little..." Henry: "I know what you mean. (Taking his coffee:) Thanks, I'll see you later." Robin: "Cya." Dragon's Lair. Recent Past. 50's Night. (The bar has been turned into a retro 50's diner for the evening with the jukebox playing and people dancing. Sitting at the bar, Regina and Emma, dressed as 'Sandy and Danny' are in deep discussion.) Emma: "I don't know what to tell ya, we flipped a coin and I won." Regina: "But you're a natural blonde! It just makes more sense for you to be Sandy. Roni had just the right leather jacket for this." Emma: "Seriously, you want to talk to me about leather jackets? Besides, (Playing with 'Sandy's' scarf:) I kinda like you as a blonde." Regina: "Oh you do, do you?" Maleficent: (Standing behind the bar:) "Oh please." Emma: "Hey, can we get some shots?" Regina: "Shots? Are you trying to get me drunk?" Emma: "Haven't you seen the movie? It's my job to turn the good girl, bad." Maleficent: "Ugh. I'll be in my office." (Maleficent turns and walks down the hall and out of sight.) Emma: (Calling after her:) "What about our shots?" Regina: "Shh, I'll get them. (Regina stands and walks around the bar, picking up some glasses:) I did used to own the place after all."

Emma: "What's up with Maleficent?" Regina: "Oh don't worry about her, it's probably a full moon." Emma: "That's Werewolves, not Dragons." Regina: (Pouring the shots:) "Look who knows so much all of a sudden. (They clink glasses and knock the shots back. With a grimace:) So, in this movie Sandy meets up with this Danny person and he's a bad influence?" Emma: "Well yeah, sorta. I mean how bad can anyone who bursts into song every five minutes really be?" Regina: "Oh, well there goes that idea." Emma: "What idea?" Regina: "I was just thinking we could watch it sometime, but you know how I feel about musicals." Emma: (Watching Regina pour another shot:) "You know we could go home, put it on and then not watch it together." Regina: "What would be the point in- (Sees the look on Emma's face:) Ah, I understand. (Picks up her shot:) Well then take me home, Big Bird." Emma: "I think you mean T-Bird. (They down their shots. Slamming the glass down on the bar:) Let's go, Sandra Dee." Camelot. Past. Morgana’s Chambers. (Morgana prepares to take the boy to safety when she sees the look on Guinevere’s face.) Morgana: “What is it? What’s wrong?” Guinevere: “You’re risking so much for this boy. Let me take him out of the castle.” Morgana: “No. It’s too dangerous. I’ll do it. If you are caught, Uther will execute you. The boy’s my responsibility.” Guinevere: “You don’t know anything about him.” Morgana: “There’s a bond between us.” Guinevere: "Stronger than the bond you have with Uther?" Morgana: “It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Perhaps I was always meant to help him.” Guinevere: "How can that be?” Morgana: “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. (Guinevere sighs and shakes her head:) I must go." Guinevere: “Good luck.” (Guards march through the castle as Morgana peeks over the edge of the curved stairs and descends with Mordred. A serving girl sees them sneaking off through the corridor at the bottom of the spiral stairway. They sneak out through the door behind the shield in the armoury. Arthur enters the armoury with a guard.) Guard: “A servant saw someone entering. They had a boy with them.” (Arthur sees the revealed door and checks his key ring, but the key is missing.) Arthur: “Sound the warning bell.” Guinevere’s House. Night. (Guinevere looks out the window while the warning bells sound. Morgana and Mordred enter.) Guinevere: “There’s enough food for three days. Your horse is fed and watered. I’ll take you to it.” Morgana: “No. There’s no point in all of us risking our lives.” Guinevere: “What about you?” Morgana: “I’m the King’s daughter. I’ll take my chances.” Guinevere: “Morgana!” Morgana: “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. We must go.” Lower Town. (Morgana and Mordred try to run, but Arthur and the guards approach through their exit. Morgana and Mordred hide in a nearby building. Arthur enters.) Arthur: “Fan out. (Morgana and Mordred make a break for it, but they run across a guard and Arthur blocks the other side of the path. Arthur draws his sword and places it at Morgana’s back:) Halt, or I’ll run you through. Show yourself.” (Morgana turns around. Arthur is shocked.) Morgana: “Let him go. I beg you. He’s just a child.” (Arthur considers his options, looking at the guards around him.) Arthur: (To the guards:) “Restrain them.”

Wonderland. Present. (Ella and Will continue walking towards the Mad Hatter's house.) Ella: (Spotting it:) "Will. Over there! The Hatter's house. (Begins running:) Hurry!" Mad Hatter's House. (Ella opens the door and enters.) Ella: "Mother! (Dozens and dozens of hats are all that greet them:) I'm here!" Will: "Ella." Ella: "She must be here. It's too dark to tell, or maybe she's sleeping or something." Will: "Your Mother ain't here." Ella: "No, she must be here." Will: "Ella. (Ella starts looking through all the hats, desperately:) Ella. I'm sorry. But she's not. And as far as I can tell, she never was. If she were, wouldn't she have shown herself by now?" Ella: "But she was here, I can sense it." Will: (As Ella leaves the house:) "Ella." (Walking outside, Ella closes her eyes for a moment, dejected. Opening her eyes again, she feels something.) Ella: "Will, come quickly! (Will exits the house:) My necklace. The one my parents each kept a piece of, look!" Will: (Stares at the necklace:) "It's glowing." Ella: "It's a sign! We were meant to come here. My mother was here, I knew it!" Will: "But she's not anymore. You said it yourself, this was your best chance at finding a clue as to where she went and there's nothing here." Ella: (Smiling:) "This isn't the time to be stubborn, Will. Look!" (Ella holds up the still glowing necklace.) Will: (Gently pushes it away:) "I'm not being stubborn." Ella: "Yes, you are. If you want to leave, leave. But I'm staying." Will: "Because of a necklace?" Ella: "Because she's here." Will: "But you have no proof." Ella: "When you really love someone, you don't need proof. You can feel it. She's here. I'm gonna find her. Now the only question is, are you coming with me?" Will: "I was afraid you were going to ask me that." Ella: "Is that a 'yes'?" Will: (Smiles, despite himself:) "Bloody hell. Come on then." (Replacing the glowing necklace, Ella wipes away her tears as she and Will continue their search, together.) Kingdom of Valencia. Catrina's Guest Chambers. (Kneeling on the floor of her room with Jonas, Catrina enchants a necklace with her blood.) Catrina: "Ic nemne þá grædige, yfele, formolsnung. mé getryme. Nu meaht þú begalan. Nu meaht þú begalan. (To Jonas:) Dinner time." (She cackles.)

Gareth’s Chamber. (Gareth and Catrina have dinner together.) Catrina: “Isn’t this perfect? You and me together. A toast. A toast to us.” Gareth: “To us.” Catrina: “There’s something I want to give you. It belonged to my father, and his father before him.” Gareth: “Oh, My Lady, I couldn’t possibly…” Catrina: “No, no, no, I want you to have it. Perhaps when you look at it, it will remind you of me.” (She puts the enchanted necklace around Gareth’s neck.) Gareth: “I shall wear it always.” Catrina: “That is as well, for am I not beautiful, Gareth?” Gareth: “Oh, you are beautiful, My Lady.” Catrina: “Am I not your heart’s desire?” Gareth: “You are my heart’s desire.” Catrina: “Then seal it, Gareth. Seal it with a kiss.” Gareth: “Yes. A kiss.” (When they kiss, the enchantment is complete.) Camelot. Past. Council Chamber. (Morgana stands before Uther while Arthur watches on.) Uther: “All this time, you’ve been hiding the boy in my own palace. How could you betray me like this?” Morgana: “I would not see him executed. I did what I thought was right.” Uther: “You think it’s right to conspire with my enemies against me?” Morgana: “How can this child be your enemy? He’s just a boy.” Uther: “He is a Druid.” Morgana: “Is that such a crime?” Uther: “His kind would see me dead and this kingdom returned to anarchy and you would help them.” Morgana: “Then punish me… but spare the boy. I beg you.” Uther: (To Arthur:) “Make arrangements for the boy to be executed tomorrow morning.” Morgana: “No! Please. He’s done nothing.” Uther: “Let this be a lesson to you.” Morgana: “You don’t have to do this.” Uther: (To Arthur:) “Do you hear me? I want him executed at dawn.” Arthur: “Yes, My Lord.” Morgana: “What have these people done to you? Why are you so full of hate?” (Morgana marches towards Uther and grabs his arm. Uther grabs her throat and presses her against a chair back.) Uther: “Enough! I will not hear another word! Do not speak to me until you are ready to apologise for what you’ve done.” (Uther leaves, Arthur follows him.)

That Night. Morgana’s Chambers. (A thunderstorm rages. Morgana stirs restlessly in her sleep and magically lights a candle by her bed.) Guinevere: (Entering the room:) “I brought you some extra blankets, I thought you might be cold… (Guinevere sees the lighted candle and blows it out, taking it over to the window. Morgana eyes flicker and magically she lights candle in her sleep again. Guinevere gasps, waking Morgana who’s eyes glow golden which causes the flame to burn higher, burning her curtains:) Morgana! Morgana, stop!” (Morgana screams, shattering the glass from her windows.) Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. Present. (Regina sits reading in the living room when she hears Emma call out to her.) Emma: "Regina?" Regina: "In here. Did Maria go down okay?" Emma: "Of course, I'm the law in this town, so what Mama wants, Mama gets." (Glancing up from her book, Regina looks to see Emma stood leaning against the door frame. Wearing only a white bathrobe and with her hair done in a familiar fashion, Emma enjoys the smile that crosses her wife's face.) Regina: "Ooh, Mama like." Emma: (Smiles, walks further into the room:) "I thought a little role-reversal was called for. (Twirls the bathrobe tie in her hand:) So can Roni come out and play?" Regina: (Slamming the book closed:) "I think that can be arranged." Emma: (Winks:) "Then follow me." (Regina promptly stands and follows her wife. When Emma doesn't head for the stairs however, Regina stops.) Regina: "Where are you going?" Emma: (Continues walking:) "Well it's not quite Greased Lightning, but I think your Mercedes will be cosy enough. (Emma reaches the door to the garage across the hall. Looks over her shoulder:) Coming?"

Regina: (Smirks:) "Do you want me to fetch my leather jacket?" Emma: "Oh no, I don't think that'll be necessary. After all... (Emma unties her robe and lets it drop to the floor at her feet:) You're already wearing far too much." (Without another word, Emma opens the door and enters the garage. Not needing to be asked twice, Regina kicks off her shoes and follows Emma into the garage, discarding her clothes as quickly as possible.) Camelot. Past. Morgana's Chambers. (Guinevere sits with Morgana, rocking her in her arms.) Morgana: "I’m scared, Guin. I don’t understand anything anymore." Guinevere: "You can trust me, Morgana. You know you can." Morgana: "It's magic, Guin." Guinevere: "Shh. You need your rest." Morgana: "You think it's magic too. (Pulling away to look at her:) Please, Guin, I just need to hear you say it." Guinevere: (Strokes Morgana's face:) "I understand. I realise how frightening all this must be for you. Especially for you." Morgana: "Why especially for me?" Guinevere: "You’re the King’s daughter. You know his hatred of magic better than anyone." Morgana: "So you do think it was magic?" Guinevere: “I’m not saying that.” Morgana: “But it could be, couldn’t it?” Guinevere: “I really wouldn’t know, but there are people who do.” Morgana: “Who?” Guinevere: “What about the Druids? They help people like you.” Morgana: “None of their kind would dare show their face in Camelot.” Guinevere: “No. But I know where you can find them. You must go tonight with Arthur when he takes the druid boy out of the castle.” Morgana: “Arthur? He’s the one who turned me in.” Guinevere: “Yes and he regrets it. Arthur doesn’t wish to see the boy executed any more than we do.” Morgana: “And you trust him?” Guinevere: “Yes, I do.” Morgana: “But how would I leave the castle? My father-” Guinevere: “We must use what happened here tonight to our advantage. For the boy’s sake, and yours.” Labyrinth of Gedref. Present. (While Merida continues to navigate the labyrinth, Mulan meets Anhora.) Mulan: "You said Merida would face a test. And here you are, preparing a trap for her." Anhora: "The trap isn’t for Merida. It is for you. Gehæftan." (As a result of Anhora's spell, Mulan is wrapped in vines from the labyrinth walls.) Labyrinth of Gedref. Exit. (Merida runs through the labyrinth and finds the exit leading to the sea. Mulan is sitting at a table on the shore, Anhora standing nearby.) Merida: “Mulan?” Mulan: “I’m sorry.” Merida: “Let her go. I’ll take your test, but not till she’s released.” Anhora: “That is not possible. Mulan is part of the test. Please sit. (Merida doesn’t move:) If you refuse the test, you will have failed and Dun Broch will be destroyed.” Merida: (Sighs, taking a seat opposite Mulan:) “I thought I told you to stay away. (To Anhora:) Let’s get on with it.” Anhora: “There are two goblets before you. One of the goblets contains a deadly poison, the other goblet, a harmless liquid. All the liquid from both goblets must be drunk, but each of you may only drink from a single goblet.” Merida: “What kind of ridiculous test is that? What does that prove?” Anhora: “What it proves is for you to decide. If you pass the test, the curse will be lifted.” Mulan: “Let’s think about this. What if I drink from my goblet first?” Merida “If it’s poisoned, you’ll die.” Mulan: “And if it’s not, then you’ll have to drink from yours, and you’ll die. There must be a way around it.” Merida: “Well obviously one of us has to die. We have to find a way to determine which goblet has the poison. And then I’ll drink it.” Mulan: “I will be the one to drink it.” Merida: “This is my responsibility. I’m drinking it.” Mulan: “It is more important that you live. You’re the Queen.” Merida: “You’re already a hero, Mulan. There’s no need for you to be a martyr.” Mulan: (Sigh:) “What if I drink from mine first, and if that’s not poisoned, I will then drink yours?” Merida: “He said each of us is only allowed to drink from a single goblet. I had no idea you were so keen to die for me.” Mulan: “Trust me, I can hardly believe it myself.” Merida: (Snort:) “I’m glad you are here, Mulan.” Mulan: “I’ve got it. Right, we pour all the liquid into one goblet and then we can be sure it is poisoned. Then all the liquid can be drunk, and it will be from a single goblet.” Merida: “Brilliant. Look out!” (Merida points and Mulan looks. Merida takes the two goblets and pours all of the liquid into one of them, holding it to drink.) Mulan: “No! I will drink it!” Merida: “As if I’d let you.” Mulan: “You can’t die. This isn’t your destiny.” (Merida toasts Mulan then drinks it.) Mulan: “No! What have you done? (Merida falls off the chair, unconscious:) Merida! No! (Mulan tries to shake Merida awake:) Merida. Merida. Come on! Merida, come on. Come on. Come on! (Mulan turns to Anhora:) Please. Please! Just… let me take her place!” Anhora: “This was Merida’s test, not yours.” Mulan: “You’ve killed her!" Anhora: “She is not dead. She’s merely consumed a sleeping draught.” Mulan: “What?” Anhora: “I believe you have some experience with the poppy flower? (Mulan nods:) She will come round shortly.” Mulan: “I don’t understand?” Anhora: “A unicorn is pure of heart. If you kill one, you must make amends by proving that you also are pure of heart. Merida was willing to sacrifice her life to save yours. She has proven what is truly in her heart. The curse will be lifted.” (Mulan kneels down to check on Merida to find her breathing laboured. Concerned, Mulan picks up the goblet and inspects it.) Mulan: “This was not made with the poppy flower!” (Mulan reaches into the goblet and pulls out a petal.) Anhora: “That’s not possible, I poured the goblets myself earlier today.” Mulan: “Did you leave them unattended? (Anhora considers, then nods:) Then your test was sabotaged and that means that Merida really has been poisoned!”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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hookedonapirate · 5 years

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Summary: What happens when the high school principal’s son falls in love with the pastor’s daughter?

Hiding a relationship is hard, especially since Killian’s girlfriend is seventeen and not allowed to date until she’s thirty, it’s even harder to hide her pregnant belly. Can Killian save his relationship with Emma when her parents find out? Some miracles are worth fighting for no matter what. Especially when there’s a little hope involved and a whole lot of love.

Teen Pregnancy AU

Notes: Check out the lovely banner @itsfabianadocarmo made for me here. Thank you so much!

I wasn't going to post this until next week, but I'm so overwhelmed by the feedback and support, I wanted to thank you all by posting this early. There are some things that will go unanswered in this chapter, but I will switch to Emma's POV in the next chapter and cover those things then. The next chapter will also jump ahead a bit so we can move forward with the story.

If you haven't noticed the rating or were wondering about it, this story does include teen smut, including masturbation, so please be prepared for that, or to skip it if you're not comfortable with it. You'll know when it's coming (no pun intended).

Thank you all so much for giving the story a chance and sticking with it so far. I appreciate you more than you know!!!!

Rated: Mature

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4

Also available: AO3 l FF.N

Chapter 5

Killian checks his reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time that morning, making sure his hair looks perfect, making sure his tie isn’t crooked. He’s never been to church before so he was worried about being underdressed. The church is casual, but his father always wears a suit and tie, so Killian had done the same.

“Killian, I’m leaving for church!” his father calls from downstairs.

Killian dashes out of his room so fast, he trips over his own feet and almost dives face-first onto the carpet, but catches himself at the door frame and runs downstairs once he recovers his balance. “Wait, I’m coming with you!” he announces as his father heads for the closet and pulls on his leather jacket. He eyes his son suspiciously as Killian reaches the bottom of the staircase, out of breath.

“You’re going to church with me?”

“Aye.” Killian slips his phone into his pocket as he reaches the door, hauling it open. He’s so nervous, he’s sweating under his dress shirt and blazer, so he knows he won’t have to worry about a jacket. “Ruby got the morning off, so she’s meeting me there.”

His father looks perplexed as he follows Killian into the garage and closes the door behind them, his keys jangling as he retrieves them from his pocket. They head toward his silver Bentley, which always makes Killian’s truck look pathetic in comparison. “And you and Ruby still aren’t a couple?”

Killian wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t see her like that. Ruby’s like a sister to me.” It’s true, Ruby’s always been there for him as a friend, and they have this warped love-hate relationship, but he’s never had romantic feelings for her. Plus, she’s more into girls anyway.

“So the reason you’re suddenly going to church has nothing to do with a certain blonde, who’s the pastor’s daughter, does it? And Ruby isn't tagging along for moral support, is she?”

Killian’s face flushes as he hops into the passenger side. “Nope.”

His father climbs into the driver’s side and starts up the engine. “Uh-huh,” he mutters sarcastically.

The reason Killian’s going to church is that he’s not giving up on Emma, but he’s not about to tell his father that. He had argued with his friends until he was blue in the face, assuring them Emma was clear about her decision, but they made sure he would not give up on Emma. They had eventually convinced him into going to church when all he wanted to do was spend the morning in bed, sulking over her.

~*~

The church is packed when they arrive. There are enough people to make Killian feel crowded and claustrophobic, sweat trickling down his back. Now he remembers one reason why he doesn’t go to church, other than adults wanting to chat with him and ask him questions about school and graduation and the future that he’s already answered fifty times that morning.

The things he’d do for this woman.

Ruby is sitting next to him on his left side, his father on his right, hunched over the woman on his other side, chatting her up with a charming grin. Killian fights off a smirk. Now he knows why his father attends this church without fail. It looks like he has the same idea Killian does. Like father like son.

Killian is busy looking around for Emma in the front row of the large sanctuary when he feels a light nudge in his ribs. “Oi, what was that for?” he whispers, turning his head to scowl at Ruby.

She nods her head toward the stage and Killian follows her gaze to see Mr. Nolan, ceding to the choir as everyone stands from their pews. As a pianist plays in the corner and the choir begins the first hymn, Killian’s eyes are drawn to the gorgeous blonde standing in the front, wearing a wrap-around royal blue dress, her long golden hair cascading around her shoulders.

It’s Emma.

The musical arrangement is boring enough to put him to sleep, but a few minutes into the song, Emma sings solo and her voice fills the sanctuary through the microphone. It’s the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard in his life; she energizes the crowd with her words and her voice, and everyone’s raising their hands in worship and singing along.

He’s completely captivated by her, and he swears for just a second her eyes lock with his and her breath catches in her throat.

The pastor begins droning on again, but Killian is too busy watching Emma to listen to the sermon. She’s busy watching him too, their eyes connecting several times as she sits with the choir on stage.

They sing a few more times before the service ends, and each time Emma rises, Killian is enchanted by her voice and finds himself worshipping God too—something he never thought he’d do. But love is a funny thing. It makes you do things you never dreamt of doing.

Afterward, his father drags him over to the pastor and is forced into an awkward conversation with Mr. Nolan that he’s been dreading all morning as his father’s eyes wander over to the woman he sat next to and watches her leave.

“Killian, you made it. I’m glad you decided to join us,” David says, shaking Killian’s hand.

“Me too,” Mary Margaret chimes, wrapping Killian up in a hug.

Thankfully, David legitimately seems happy to see him and doesn’t mention the conversation they had the other night. In fact, he’s being extremely nice to Killian, which makes him suspicious. But maybe it’s because his wife is there or because Emma hasn’t attempted to go near Killian, and instead has disappeared from the sanctuary. Or maybe it's because they're at church and he wants to remain professional and levelheaded in front of all the churchgoers who look to him for advice and spiritual wisdom.

Brennan and the Nolans are engaged in boring conversation as Killian surreptitiously leaves and joins Ruby outside the sanctuary where people visit with each other while exchanging baked goods and gossip.

“She went upstairs,” Ruby mutters through a mouth full of blueberry muffin. She waves her head toward the staircase. “Go. I’ll be on the lookout for her father.”

Killian whispers a thank you in her ear as he passes.

She grins, licking muffin crumbs from her lips. “You’re welcome.”

Killian casually heads upstairs, drawing no attention as he searches around for Emma. The second floor is empty, so he makes his way toward the ladies’ room, and quietly knocks, hoping she’s in there and that she’s the only one.

When the door opens and Emma pokes her head out, a wave of relief washes over him. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees him. “Killian, what are you doing?” she whispers. “My father will catch us together.”

“Can I come in, then? I just wanna talk, Emma.” His voice cracks and he swallows thickly, breathing out a shallow, “Please.”

Emma pokes her head out further and looks around to make sure there’s no one else around to see them. “Did anyone see you come up here?”

Killian shakes his head. “No.”

She steps back, opening the door to let him in. He sighs softly as Emma closes and locks it before turning around, crossing her arms. “What do you want, Killian?” she demands, her voice almost low enough to be a whisper.

“I told you, Emma, I want you,” he answers quickly, his eyes locked with hers. “Ever since you walked into my life, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.” He can hear his words giving out under the weight of emotions he feels, but he doesn’t care. He needs to say this. “You're always in my head. My thoughts, my dreams,” he confesses, tearing down those walls of fear that surround him. “When I close my eyes, you’re all I see. When I open them, you’re all I see, even when you’re not really there. When I heard you singing on stage, you sounded so amazing and I know all I’m gonna hear now is your beautiful voice in my head.” I’m in love with you, Emma, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to scare her off, but his heart has clawed its way out of his chest much sooner than he’d preferred. “So, tell me, Emma, how am I supposed to just forget about you and walk away after one conversation with your father?” he asks, taking a step toward her, inhaling a shaky breath, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating perfume. “If you think an idle threat is all it takes to keep me away from you, then you’re wrong. So, I'm asking you again, will you go out with me?”

An insufferable silence fills the restroom, and she’s wide-eyed and speechless, unable to respond. But he needs her to respond. He needs to know what she's thinking. More than he needs oxygen to breathe.

She surges forward and grabs hold of his tie, their lips colliding so forceful, he almost stumbles backward. Instead, he growls and grabs her hips, lunging forward until her back hits the sink. He’s hit with relief and happiness and hope as she kisses the hell out of him without any sign of remorse. He loves how her lips feel against his, so soft and pliant, and wonders what her mouth tastes like. He slides his tongue across the seam of her lips, asking for entrance, and she parts her lips in silent invitation, their tongues frantically finding each other. He groans in her mouth and she eagerly swallows the sound, her hands moving to his face and cupping his cheeks. He slides a hand through her golden locks, itching to feel how soft her hair is, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Her hair is so soft and silky and he loves how it feels on his fingertips.

He never wants to stop kissing her; she tastes so sweet and heavenly, like hot cocoa and cinnamon and everything he never knew he wanted or needed until now. He savors her flavor every time their tongues connect, their bodies fusing into one as they move in sync, enchanted by one another. He feels everything you’re supposed to feel when you kiss the right person. He feels sparks and sees fireworks, he feels dizzy, his mind is cloudy, and it feels like he’s enveloped in the finest piece of velvet, floating above the clouds. It feels like the ground has opened up, like the entire world has vanished and all that’s left is them. He’s caressing her cheek gently, affectionately as their tongues twist around one another, tasting and probing. The kiss is fierce, yet so good and pure it awakens a possessiveness he didn’t even know he had in him.

He scoops her up in his arms and lifts her up on the edge of the sink, never breaking the kiss as she spreads her legs for him and he gets comfortable in the cradle of her thighs. Heat surges through him and she helps him shove off his blazer, lest he burst into flames. Once the jacket is off and hits the floor, his arms instantly wrap around her and his chest is pressed to her breasts as she curls her arms around the back of his neck. Everything feels so right and perfect, yet so wrong at the same time.

They finally pull apart, uneven breaths dancing with each other, keeping them connected as she leans her forehead against his, adoration plastered all over her angelic features. “Killian, did you really used to go to church?” she asks in a shattered whisper.

His lips twist into a smirk as he nuzzles her nose with his. “Never stepped foot into a church until today,” he answers, his words completely wrecked as his thumb strokes her cheek. “How did you guess?”

Emma manages a strangled laugh. “You’re not a very good liar. And neither am I.” Her features grow serious as she licks her lips. “This will not end well for us, you know that right? My mother always says lying is useless, the truth always comes out. But that might be because she's incapable of keeping a secret,” she adds playfully.

He shrugs rather weakly, his entire body feeling the aftermath of their kiss. Once her tongue had connected with his, once he had a taste of her, all bets were off. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. If you’ll take it with me?”

Emma nods, a smile creeping over her lips. “Yes. And yes, I'll go out with you… if my answer wasn’t obvious when I kissed you.”

Killian chuckles. “I figured as much.” He captures her lips again and kisses her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth, hands roaming her back, pressing her closer to him. A moan slips past her lips when his groin rubs against her panties, and he almost loses himself. Her moan is the most exquisite thing he’s ever heard, her body is the most lovely thing he’s ever held in his arms and her mouth is the most heavenly thing he’s ever tasted. He has to slow down and take deep breaths as they kiss. He has to control himself around her; he doesn’t want to fuck this up. So he just kisses her slowly. He kisses her until their lips are numb and swollen, until there’s no air left in their lungs, or rather until there’s a knock on the door, pulling them back down to reality.

“Crap,” she whispers as they reluctantly break apart.

He helps her down from the sink and they frantically work to straighten their hair and clothing, but when he glances at Emma, her face is all flushed and her lips are rosy red and swollen. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will know they’ve been making out.

“Guys, I know you’re in there. It’s just me.” The sound of Ruby’s voice through the door makes them sigh in relief.

Emma straightens her hair some more as she sluggishly walks to the door and cautiously pulls it open. Killian hides behind her, looking over her shoulder.

Ruby smirks when she sees the two of them, both completely wrecked and disheveled, before her eyes fall back to Emma. “I just wanted to let you know that your Dad’s looking for you. I told him you went to the restroom, but that was ten minutes ago.” She looks at Killian. “And I told your father you got bored, so you went for a walk.”

“Thanks, Rubes,” he says with an appreciative smile.

“No problem.” She grins from ear to ear, glancing between them. “So I take it you two made up?”

They both smile and blush, answering her question before they even say anything. Killian wraps his hand around Emma’s hip and kisses her cheek. “Is it that obvious?”

“As obvious as that ridiculous grin on your face,” she teases. She’s not helping with the blush in his cheeks. “Come on, Em, you should go downstairs before your dad comes up here searching for you.”

“Okay, we’ll be out in a minute,” Emma says.

“Okay, I’ll keep watch.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ruby says with a wink.

As Emma closes and locks the door, Killian looks down at himself and realizes he can’t leave just yet. “Emma, you should go first. I need a few minutes to… regroup.”

“After that kiss, I need some time to regroup too,” she laughs.

He clears his throat and scratches behind his ear. “Aye, but for me, it’s a little more obvious.”

She turns around and lifts a brow, eyeing him in confusion. “What do you mean? You look fine,” she reassures him, lifting her hands to straighten his tie. The way her warm breath fans his skin as she adjusts his tie and runs her hand down his chest does not help his situation in the least. She doesn’t understand what he means though, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself without being blunt.

“I have a hard-on, love,” he blurts out and watches as her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly.

She peers down between them and sees the prominent bulge poking against his slacks, trying to break free. “Oh,” she replies, her voice unusually high-pitched as she lifts her eyes. She shakes her head and removes her hands from his chest. She blushes in embarrassment from not being able to figure out what he’d meant. “Of course. Sorry… I’ll just… I’ll leave.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry.” He flashes a bashful smile. “I got a little too excited while we were kissing.”

The smirk she offers him is so adorable, he wants to kiss her again, but he knows she has to go so they don’t get caught together. “I noticed, I guess I didn’t realize how excited you were,” she laughs.

“It’s okay,” he chuckles, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. “Can I see you tomorrow before school?”

Emma nods and kisses him chastely on the lips. “Yeah, I’ll think of an excuse to leave early,” she says before pulling away.

He doesn’t want to let her go, and he feels the loss once she’s no longer in his reach. “Okay, I’ll text you when I get there and wait for you in the parking lot.”

“Okay. Bye, Killian.” She smiles back at him as she opens the door.

“Bye, love.”

She closes the door behind her and Killian turns around leaning against it, taking shallow breaths. His heart is pounding and he’s still unbearably hard. He tries to think of other things, like baseball and airplanes and how Emma’s father might murder him if he finds out Killian was making out with his daughter in the church restroom. But he can’t get Emma out of his head. The way she tastes, the way she felt in his arms, the softness of her lips. The softness of her touch. He’s completely enraptured by her and his lips still tingle from their kiss.

He looks down and curses himself. He’s still hard.

He turns around and locks the door before undoing his pants, knowing he won’t be able to settle down without taking matters into his own hands. He reaches into his pants and drags out his erection, taking himself in his hand, desire pounding through his veins. He feels instant relief as he pulls at the skin and strokes himself up and down, a groan tumbling from his lips as he tips his head back against the door and closes his eyes. This isn’t the first time he’s touched himself thinking of Emma. The first day he met her he had to relieve the tension he felt from that day. At least then he'd waited until he was in bed that night. He’s jerked himself off before, he’s a horny seventeen-year-old virgin, but he’s never jerked himself off while having an object of his desire to help push him over the edge. Tightening his grip, he swipes his thumb over the stickiness gathering at his tip.

He imagines being with Emma, flesh against flesh, bodies writhing and thrusting as they make love, her legs wrapped around him, their hands linked, fingers entwined. When he pictures Emma in his mind as they both give themselves to each other, he imagines her long golden hair spread around her, vivid green eyes twinkling in the darkness as her mouth falls open in pleasure. But not all of his thoughts about her are dirty. He sees beauty and light and intelligence when he thinks of her, he sees perfection in her smile and the kind of person she is. He sees a woman he wants to get to know and spend the rest of his life with; he sees someone he wants to give the world to.

“Emma,” he murmurs softly as the pleasure builds. He’s biting his bottom lip and increasing the speed of his hand, wondering what she’d feel like around him, wondering how tight and warm she’d feel. His heart is pounding and heat is swirling through him so fast it makes him dizzy.

After that mindblowing kiss, it doesn’t take long for him to reach his peak, and when he feels the familiar sensations and heat pulsating through him, he makes a dash for the sink and points the velvety tip away from him. He strokes himself fiercely, until pure bliss consumes him, until his muscles convulse, guttural groans crawling from his throat, until thick, warm cum is spurting out onto his hand and into the sink. He pumps out a few more streams of the white stickiness into the drain, his breaths labored as he tries to gather his wits. By the time he empties every ounce of release, his entire body is spent, his legs like rubber as he slumps and grips onto the sink for balance. He lets his eyes fall shut for a few minutes, lets his mind clear of fog.

When he’s able to find some sort of semblance and move his muscles again, he opens his eyes, retrieves some paper towels from the small wicker basket on the counter and cleans himself up.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his body still trembling from his orgasm.

He tosses the paper towel in the trashcan and tucks himself back into his pants before washing his hands. He splashes his face with some cool water, dries his hands and grabs his blazer from the floor, trying to process what he’s done before he leaves the restroom and has to explain to Ruby why he’s been in here by himself for so long.

He just jerked off in a church restroom thinking about the pastor’s daughter. The pastor’s daughter . Who he’s supposed to stay away from, and yet she’s the only reason why he showed up to church in the first place.

He’s so going to hell for this.

Tagging some people who have either shown interest or asked to be tagged.

@teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @itsfabianadocarmo @followbatb @natzombeez@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones @jamif @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @carpedzem @ashley-knightingale @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @its-about-bloody-time-cs @maquita @mariakov81 @bugheadswanjones @searchingwardrobes @andiirivera @melly326 @squidvisious @snow-into-ash @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @biefaless @superchocovian @willow154

I’m probably missing some people, so let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs ff au #highschool au #set my soul on fire #smut #my fic

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

All Was Golden in the Sky (17/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Hey, thanks for reading, it’s real nice.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

She misses the jacket.

It’s a ridiculous thing to miss, and far from the only thing, but Emma’s mind keeps drifting back to the jacket and the cut and how strange it is to keep thinking about the length of a goddamn leather jacket.

Because, all things considered, they’ve got much bigger things to deal with.

They’ve barely been back in Misthaven for two weeks and every day seems to bring some brand-new and increasingly difficult challenge because they’ve barely been back for two weeks but they were gone for years and people were left behind and King Arthur is, apparently, the biggest dick in a variety of different realms.

The first news of an attack came, approximately, four hours after they left the throne room.

Which, really, did not seem like enough time at all, but Emma figures the universe is just testing them all now and she can’t figure out how any of them are staying upright at this point.

They all must be averaging four hours of sleep a night.

Killian’s averaging, like, two.

She catches him, sometimes, staring out the window or the ceiling, wide eyes and slightly labored breathing, fingers tracing over her side like he’s trying to brand every inch of her.

With him.

Or something less dramatic.

But Emma gets nightmares too, clinging to sheets and Killian in equal measure until she has to apologize for the nail-shaped marks she leaves in his skin.

He never seems to mind.

And it’s not just Arthur. The problems come from every angle, a non-stop stream of political messes that have quickly turned to political fires. DunBroch has sent missives, demands to know what your intentions are now that you’ve returned, and Emma can’t really remember Ella and Thomas, but they’d sent an actual envoy who wanted an audience with her highness, an announcement that made Ruby cackle and Regina groan and there’d been a stack of signed papers in the man’s hands when he left.

There were whispers out of Arendelle, Elsa leaving almost as soon as they returned, and Emma doesn’t even want to think about what Midas has done because she doesn’t want to think about that field and none of the people they’d left behind seem all that inclined to celebrate their return.

Because there aren’t borders anymore, so much as there are burned down tree lines and empty fields, houses with broken windows and empty beds, signs of a fight that was lost long ago and Emma’s magic will not stop. It is, she imagines, because she keeps teleporting them places, a flash of smoke and feet that land with practiced ease now, bouncing between the throne room in Misthaven and the council chambers in Camelot, David’s voice getting more and more exasperated each time they leave without an agreement.

“You disappeared,” Arthur says, voice even and almost cool, as if cursing themselves is more than enough reason to launch a full-scale invasion. “And then even more people were gone. I’m afraid that left Misthaven ripe for the--” “--Oh my God, do not finish that sentence,” Emma grumbles. David can’t quite mask his laugh, lips tugged behind his teeth and eyes staring into the small bit of marble under his feet.

Arthur’s castle, it appears, is entirely made of marble.

She can hear Killian’s sharp inhale behind her, never more than a few feet away. Not that Emma is, particularly, opposed to that.

Because it hasn’t even been two weeks since they’ve returned to Misthaven and things aren’t right and Arthur must have practiced that look of self-satisfied superiority at some point.

Emma may break every mirror in his stupid, marble castle.

And then shorten the length of Killian’s jacket.

It’s not right.

They’re not right.

They’re walking on eggshells and tiptoeing around each other – because he knows she knows, a weird, convoluted sentence that’s probably a fairly good descriptor for their lives now and his fingers keep fluttering at his side, reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.

He hates his new sword.

She knows it. She knows he knows she knows it.

Arthur is talking again.

“I’m afraid being a ruler does, in fact, require said ruler to rule his kingdom.” Emma can hear David’s eye roll. “We have explained that,” he growls. “And, you know, not to belabor our point here, but not only are you invading a kingdom you were allied to--” “--No, no, no,” Arthur cuts in quickly, waving a quick hand through the air. Emma’s fingers curl around Killian’s hook. “That treaty is null and void when you disappear, your highness.” "That’s not how diplomacy works!” “David,” Emma chastises, but she tends to agree and if she’s been thinking about the length of leather jackets for nearly two weeks, then she’s been thinking about that scene on the farm outside of the town for just as long. The smoke still stings her nose every now and then, a rush of guilt and hint of pain, as if the loss had seared itself into her soul as well, making her whole body tremble and--

“You’ve got to breathe, love,” Killian mumbles. He turns slightly, not pulling his left arm away from her, but making it easier to rest his hand on her shoulder and maybe this is why Arthur is such a monumental dick.

It’s easy to reject treaties from a group of anxious royals all dealing with various and specific forms of post traumatic stress disorder.

Emma nods, jerky and less-than-impressive, particularly when she’s supposed to be some kind of ambassador, but one side of Killian’s mouth tugs up anyway. She wonders if she can get Regina to just...burn down a castle of marble. She wonders what the melting point of marble is.

Arthur’s expression hasn’t changed. “Shall we rehash, your highness? It only seems to be upsetting you.” “Fucking hell,” David grumbles, drawing another less-than-appropriate laugh out of Emma. She lets her head fall forward, a quick movement that she hopes is Killian’s lips ghosting over the top of her hair.

He definitely squeezes her shoulder.

They are honestly all disaster royals.

David takes a deep breath, running his hand over his face. Emma can see the exact moment he shifts, moving out of several negative emotions and diving directly into the deep end of determined and it, at least, makes Arthur’s eyebrows jump slightly.

“Ok,” David starts. “We were gone. We aren’t gone anymore. Obviously.” “He should have practiced this more,” Killian whispers in Emma’s ear. She has to bite her lip.

“You want to rehash, your majesty?” David continues, and that question is almost dripping with sarcasm. Emma figures that’s fair. She lifts her head up. “Fine, we can rehash. We’ve been lied to. From the very start. All of us. Tricked by George and the Dark One and lulled into a prophecy that was misleading from the very beginning--” “--That can’t possibly be--” “Oh no, no,” David cuts in, a quick head shake. “No interruptions right now. The prophecy wasn’t wrong, but the explanation was. It twisted everything and made it impossible to do anything except our goddamn best, which is exactly what we did, Arthur. And we’re not looking for sympathy or pity or anything except for you to stop being a goddamn, fucking bastard and get out of our kingdom.”

Arthur’s eyebrows get higher.

That’s the only response.

Emma has no idea where to look. Her eyes flit from face to face and ostentatious marble tile to even more ridiculous marble wall decor, but, eventually, her gaze lands on Killian’s and that’s nice. That’s, almost, normal.

None of this is normal.

Gods, she misses real coffee too.

“Had me right up until the end,” Killian murmurs, and Emma can’t help her laugh. It’s soft and, maybe, a little skeptical, like she’s not entirely sure if that’s the sound she’s supposed to be making. He definitely kisses her hair that time.

She smiles, reaching up to tug lightly on the lapels of a jacket, she hopes, she could, maybe get used to. Again. Because it’s not new. None of this is, but it feels impossibly unfamiliar and just, generically, impossible and Emma really thought they were done with all the allusions to Camelot after she slayed the goddamn dragon.

She really has no idea what happened to Rumplestilskin.

“Oh shut up,” David groans, Killian scoffing and pulling Emma back to his side. Arthur’s face is going to get stuck like that.

It’d serve him right.

“What exactly is it you hope to get from this, your majesty?” Emma asks, fully anticipating the way Killian’s hand tightens around her shoulders and David’s lips quirk and Arthur is frozen.

She lets her smile widen.

“Anything? Because I quite figure it out. Why keep doing this when--” She twists her head, fluttering her fingers and the ball of light that appears there bounces in a rhythm that she’s actually almost impressed by. Emma doesn’t look at Killian. She doesn’t have to.

He’s totally smiling.

Until.

“It’s exactly because of that,” Arthur says, low and still frustratingly even, as if the conversation hasn’t caused him any emotional distress at all. There’s something, though. Something that wasn’t there a moment before. And it’s not fear. Or pity. Or anything except--

“You’re defending yourself,” Emma breathes, understanding rushing through her and making her magic surge. Killian’s hand turns into a vice.

She can’t quite hide her hiss of pain, another sound Emma regrets as as soon as she makes it. And she doesn’t know enough words to describe the look that lands on Killian’s face when he’s realized what he’s done, something almost akin to shattering settling on his features, making Emma’s chest ache and her magic sputter and David coughs pointedly.

Like that will make this more diplomatic.

“What could you be protecting yourself from?” David presses. His hand lands on his sword hilt, a belt Emma doesn’t think he’s taken off since they got back.

Arthur actually has the gall to look surprised. “What? No, no, no, it’s not a what, your highness. It’s a who.” “We’re not a threat to you, Arthur,” Emma sneers. Her magic is back. Loud. And disorienting. It makes her vision go blurry and her breath hitch, parted lips and, what she hopes, is the world’s most potent glare on her face.

“I don’t think that’s true.” “That’s ridiculous! It’s--I mean, it’s shit, isn’t?” She gapes at David, his lips twisted into a near-agreement and almost-condemnation because they are so bad at this and Emma didn’t expect it to be so difficult to figure out how to put the pieces of their lives back together.

She’s really annoyed by her mind’s continued use of puzzle metaphors.

“We defeated the darkness,” Emma continues, taking a step forward. Or, at least, trying. Killian doesn’t let go of her shoulder, a quick flinch and rock forward and that’s been happening too.

He doesn’t like her not being there.

Arthur clicks his tongue, another expression Emma resents. He slumps slightly in his throne, more than a few jewels in the back and his own sword strapped to his side. It’s not Excalibur. There is no Excalibur.

Not anymore.

Gods, that’s so strange.

“So you claim,” Arthur says, eyes going thin and gaze turning penetrating. “But the prince is right. No matter what George had been doing or working for, he did bring you all together. Magic. Power. And--” He nods in Killian’s direction, the muscles in his throat shifting when he swallows. “That.” Emma has no explanation for what her body does. It doesn’t feel particularly human or comfortable, like a rather large slab of wood had been pressed to her and forced her to realign her spine.

Or she’s been placed between two marble slabs.

Everything feels heavy, like the air itself is reacting and it only takes Emma a moment to realize...it might be. Her magic flares, a burst of light from the tips of her fingers and another orb lingering around the shoulder Killian’s still got his fingers on and she tries to count.

“Three in, five out, three in, five out,” Emma mumbles, a bit of her light reflecting off the sword David’s half-drawn.

“Try six out, love.” She can’t actually bring herself to glare at Killian – not when the bags under his eyes are so obvious and the jacket doesn’t look right and they’ve got to find him another sword, but Emma looks and his smile is forced.

Like he’s in pain too.

“God, that’s so long,” Emma mutters. “Who could exhale for that long?” “It might work.” “I really think that’s impossible.” Killian’s smile shifts, still not perfect, but definitely getting there and Emma does, in fact, breathe a bit easier when his hook falls to her hip. She turns back to Arthur. “What did you mean? Exactly?” “Was that not obvious?” “Let’s not go in circles, your majesty,” Emma hisses. “You’re right. And so was David. We were gone. And we’re not going to shirk blame for any of the things we’ve done. We are here to accept them and fix them and help rebuild this kingdom. We’re not looking to take over anything. That’s--fuck, that is honestly the last thing we want. We don’t need anymore responsibility than we already have.” “Not helping,” David murmurs.

Emma flips him off. They are a picture of mature, royal, responsibility. “I really could not care less,” Emma promises. “You attacked us, Arthur. Everyone did. We--ok, you’re scared of our magic? Fine. What do I need to do to fix that?” He doesn’t answer immediately, which is only kind of annoying, but Emma expects just about everything to be annoying at this point and--

“What about him?” That is not the answer Emma thinks she’s going to get. Because it’s not an answer. It’s a question. And one directed at Killian.

He stiffens next to her, tongue darting between his lips when he rocks his weight between his heels. “What about me?”

“You’re quite the enigma aren’t you, Captain?” Arthur drawls, the calm forced now. A muscle in his temple keeps jumping. “We’ve heard the rumors. Of you. What you’ve done. And then, well of course, what you couldn’t own up to doing. Are they true?” “You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.” “You know. Camelot is landlocked. Not often we hear things from other realms separated by a sea, but--every now and then, there’s some news and a few murmurs and the man was very talkative once he got a few ales in him. And a slightly heavier pocket.” Killian tilts his head, and Emma isn’t sure if the thump she hears is her heart or his. The jacket, suddenly, looks a little more menacing, fluttering at his ankles when he takes a step forward, the light of her magic bouncing off the curve of his hook and his fingers drifting towards his sword.

Arthur presses his lips together.

“A name, your majesty.” “No, no, no, I also know how diplomacy works, pirate,” Arthur says. “And I know I’ve got leverage now. The question is, do you? And was the man speaking the truth?” “Babe,” Emma mutters. Killian freezes. “What is he talking about?”

“I don’t know.” She makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat, more wrong that they probably should have discussed before, but there hasn’t been time and Emma just wants some time. She wants quiet. And peace.

She wants her heart to calm the fuck down.

Killian glances at her, a smirk and a flash in his eyes because he probably can’t hear her heart, but it would almost make sense at this point. Her magic, on the other hand. “That bad, huh?” “Worse,” Emma promises.

He chuckles, a loud exhale when he pulls his hand away from his sword. “He thinks I’ve still got magic,” Killian says, and Arthur nearly falls out of his throne.

That would have been funny. It probably shouldn’t be.

David’s eyes bug, lips parting with a pop and he’s got his sword out. Diplomacy, it seems, has been cast to the wayside. “What?” he balks. “How--how would he even know? I thought you said no one knew.” “Rumplestilskin did,” Killian shrugs. “And he didn’t leave this realm right after I did. I was in New York for years too.” “Abandoning your kingdom,” Arthur adds, scoffing when Emma mumbles seriously, shut the fuck up under her breath.

It is not really under her breath.

“He didn’t want people to know he’d lost his magic, but…” Killian trails off, another head tilt and look cast Emma’s direction. “I’m sure for the right price or the right deal, it would have been worth it. To know what I’d done. Or where Emma was.” “And did this man know that?” David looks at Arthur when he asks, all fury and magic and the throne wobbles precariously on its perch.

Arthur shakes his head. “I don't have to answer that.” “How long ago was this?” Emma asks, something tugging at the back of her mind. It’s not an idea, not really, isn’t more than a passing thought or half a consideration, but Killian had to get a magic bean somehow and--”What did he look like?” “At least a year ago.” “That’s only half the answer.” “Yes, it is.” Emma groans, throwing her head back with the force of the noise. Arthur’s throne stops moving. So does he. He tries, makes several gallant attempts to twist and turn, but there are invisible bounds around him and she’s definitely getting better at that.

She didn’t even have to move her hand.

“Oh, that was good, Swan,” Killian says, almost sounding genuine. There’s still a bit of perspiration at his temple though, a tiny pinch between his brows. He’s not telling her something. “Brag to Regina about that later because--”

“Is that a threat, Savior?” Arthur asks.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Are you serious?” “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” “Well, that’s stupid,” Emma says bluntly, David snickering next to her and she can almost feel Killian’s pride push out of him. “Get your knights out of our kingdom, Arthur. It’s not yours. It never was.” “Or what?” “Damnit,” David breathes.

Emma smile stretches the muscles in her face, wholly uncomfortable until there’s a press of metal into the small of her back. She leans into it. “We just want to come home, Arthur. That’s all. We aren’t trying to conquer anything. There’s not magic. There’s no warning. It’s just us and--” “I want to know the Dark One is gone,” Arthur cuts in sharply. It catches Emma off guard, which is far less impressive than the other magic she’d just done, because this makes her current magic sputter and waver and it’s more than enough time for Arthur to break free of his bonds. His feet slam onto the marble when he jumps up, all chain mail and an actual cloak and the door behind him swings open to let in several heavily armored knights.

Emma sighs.

“That’s just unnecessary,” Killian mumbles.

She doesn’t think. She twists and turns, presses up on her toes and brushes a kiss to his cheek, more stubble and exhaustion she can practically taste. “I love you.” He doesn’t exhale. Not quite. There are knights moving towards them too quickly for that, swords drawn and pointed directly at his chest. David is grumbling curses, bobbing on the balls of his feet with magic percolating around him and Emma can hardly see past the glare around her.

It’s her. She’s the glare. Of the magical, variety.

And they probably should have been better prepared for this.

But part of her was hopeful and maybe even a little optimistic that they could just fall back into something and normal and--

“So much for signing that treaty now,” Emma mutters. She pushes her hands towards the floor, the surge of power moving from her head to her heels. It’s as if she’s being jumpstarted, the force of it almost enjoyable, if not a little distracting because it really is difficult to see when she’s glowing as much as she is.

She does hear Arthur’s throne tip over though, so that’s kind of satisfying.

And it all goes a little pear-shaped after that.

The knights advance, Arthur shouting commands like he’s actually going to get off the dais and use his stupid sword. David twists his blade in his hands, bending his knees slightly. “Oh, Gods, remind me to make fun of him for that later,” Killian mutters, mirroring Emma’s moves and turning so his back is pressed against hers.

Covering her six, as it were.

Or, whatever.

She needs to stop mixing up idioms from different realms.

“I can hear you,” David calls, metal clanging on metal. He grunts, far more exercise than they’d anticipated on what may be their fifteenth trip to Camelot at this point.

Emma is genuinely surprised this is the first time it’s broken down like this.

She can feel Killian shifting against her, the push of his shoulder blades into her and the edges of that stupid, ridiculous, far too long coat brushing against the back of her calves. She may lean back. She may be exceptionally greedy.

And only a little worried.

About a never-ending myriad of things, but mostly him and them and she wants. That’s it, really. She wants. Them and collective pronouns and for it all to be over already, for the rest of everything to begin and she wouldn’t be opposed to more than a few dates.

Possibly on a pirate ship.

“That was the point,” Killian says, a smile obvious in the words. He has to lunge to parry a blow from one of the knights, laughter ringing out like this is fun but Emma’s eyes flicker to Arthur when he, finally, moves, sword raised and fear obvious in his gaze.

He’s terrified.

Everyone might be terrified. Of them.

And their magic.

And what Killian had done.

Even without the specifics. Or the rumors of an inebriated, suddenly rich man who found his way to Camelot and started talking.

She lifts her hand on instinct and the possibility of what could be, that same bit of hope and unusual optimism, a burst of power from her palm and it’s just enough to leave Arthur staggering mid-step.

“We’re not a threat, Arthur,” Emma says again, only marginally confident he’ll believe her. He doesn’t. She knows it as soon as she closes her mouth. “To you, or anyone. This entire realm. We just--” “Prove he doesn’t have magic! That he’s not what that pirate said he was.” “I’m sorry, what?” Arthur pales, another exaggerated swallow. Emma’s head snaps towards Killian, every inch of her still vibrating with magic and questions, but the knights, apparently, don’t need to wait for orders and his arm flies through the air, the sound of his hook smashing the visor of the man in front of him echoing off the walls.

Arthur is going to be transparent soon.

“Fine,” Killian sighs, shaking his hair away from his eyes and his sleeve away from his hook and Emma barely has time to gasp before he does it. He sheaths his sword, a soft whoosh and quick roll of his shoulders and he hardly makes a noise when the point of his hook pierces the skin of his forearm.

Emma does. Loudly. So does David.

Killian will probably make fun of them for that.

“See,” he says, staring straight at Arthur and his suddenly very wobbly knees. He lifts his arm, drops of blood sliding down skin and threatening to stain the shirt underneath it. “Wouldn’t really work if I was still the Dark One, would it?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.

Killian does all three.

“So, you can report back to your little contingent, your majesty because, let’s be honest with ourselves here, you’re leading the charge of the other kingdoms aren’t you?”

That gets Arthur to, at least, blink.

Emma needs to stop gasping. “Oh, shit,” she mutters, working a soft laugh out of Killian. “You think so?” “It’s an educated guess, at least.” “But--” David argues. “That’s...oh, Gods, that makes so much sense. Was it---was there some kind of agreement, Arthur?” Nothing. Silence. Stretching on for what feels like forever and then an extra day because Arthur really is an enormous dick, but then there’s the clack of boots and a sword scraping across marble when a knight pulls it off the floor and Emma’s reactions are getting very good.

So are Killian’s.

His arm is barely more than a blur, but there’s a look on his face that makes Emma’s pulse still for a moment, quiet fury and absolute hatred and he’s half a step in front of her before she realizes what’s happened.

“Don’t come near her again,” he bites out.

The sword clatters back to the ground.

“You know,” David drawls, “maybe we weren’t the ones who were such garbage at diplomacy. It seems kind of stupid, Arthur. This plan of yours. What was it, then? We disappear, half of Misthaven is gone, and you...what? Decide that you’re the best option for overlord of the realm?” “The once and future king,” Emma intones. Killian’s arm is still bleeding.

“Sounds better in the book.” Arthur makes a face of confusion. “What in all hells are you talking about?” “Just one hell, really,” Killian amends. “And not even that. The Underworld. If you want to get technical.” “Are you kidding me?” Emma asks, but he just shrugs and smirks and the look is right again. It’s hers again.

“It’s important to be accurate when dealing with diplomacy, Swan.” “Oh my God.” He flashes her another grin, a quick twist of eyebrows that make her mind race and her pulse race and her magic is even more visible, a pulse of light and glimmer of energy that makes the air around them noticeably warmer.

Emma huffs, but she’s not so much frustrated as she is--every other human emotion. She reaches her hand up slowly, light lingering between her fingers to brush away the hair matted to Killian’s forehead.

He closes his eyes.

“Take your knights out of our kingdom, Arthur,” she says, not bothering to look at the king or where, exactly, he’s standing. She hopes he fell over. “Tell the other kingdoms too. We’re not doing anything except coming home.” “And, maybe trading a bit,” David adds.

“Seriously?” He hums when she glares at him. “Diplomacy or whatever.” “Aye, whatever sounds about right, doesn’t it?” Killian mutters. He hasn’t opened his eyes, head falling forward just enough that his forehead rests against Emma’s.

She hopes he isn’t still bleeding.

“Arthur,” she continues, a quick kiss to the scar on Killian’s cheek before she turns slightly. “Do we have an agreement? Accord? What do you think works better?” Killian inhales, head falling even more so he can nuzzle slightly at her neck and that’s probably breaking every rule, but Emma...doesn’t care. Really. “They both sound fairly royal, Swan.” “I like accord better.” “More official,” David muses, Killian making a noise of agreement.

“Fine, fine,” Emma says quickly. “I want your word right now, Arthur. Take the knights out of Misthaven. No more attacks. No more burning farms and destroying homes. It’s not going to make anyone want your rule anymore. They’ll just think you’re the world’s biggest dick.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re mixing colloquialisms again, love,” Killian laughs. Emma relishes it.

She scoffs, letting her fingers find their way back to the front of his jacket so she can tug lightly on the leather that does and doesn’t make sense. Like everything. She’s going to teleport them straight back to her room, get him out of that jacket, make sure he isn’t bleeding anymore and then kiss him until he can’t remember the word colloquialism.

“You can’t just return here and expect everything to be the way that it was,” Arthur says, sounding like he’s warning them of something.

“That’s kind of the point.” “What?” “Sodding idiot,” Killian mutters, fingers seemingly moving of their own accord. David cannot sound disappointed enough. “Ok, yes, thank you,” he sighs. “But, also--well, you are a complete and utter ass, Arthur. And we are--” “--Done with diplomacy?” Emma suggests.

“Well, yeah.” “What pushed you in that direction, do you think, your highness?” Killian asks, rife with sarcasm. David shakes his head. “The insane king, the knights who, honestly, seem to be acting out of turn or--”

“--You,” David cuts in, and Arthur makes a noise between a gasp and a groan. “And not wanting to see what you’d do if those same knights, who--honestly, control your men Arthur...but, well, you might not have magic anymore, but I can only imagine what you’d do if someone threatened Emma. Or vice versa.” “That’s awfully melodramatic, don’t you think?” David shakes his head. “Nope. Threaten the knight guy one more time with your legitimately terrifying threatening face.” “Legitimately terrifying threatening face,” Emma echoes slowly.

“You got a better name for it?” “I mean--I don’t think it’s terrifying.” “Oh, no,” David groans. “You’re attracted to the face aren’t you?” Emma blushes, entirely mistimed and likely doing damage to their ability to draft a reasonable treaty that will benefit both kingdoms and ensure Camelot stops trying to actively screw them over, but she can feel Killian’s eyes on the side of her head and--

“I mean…”

Killian laughs, the sound settling in between tension-filled muscles and bones that are heavy with a lack of consistent REM sleep and Emma’s almost thankful for the curse because now she knows what REM sleep is and how important it is to a restful night.

“I love you too,” Killian says, spinning Emma back towards him so he can brush the back of his knuckles over her jaw and let his fingers fall through the ends of her hair. “Missed that part before. When I was making the attractive faces.” “You’re doing that smug thing again.” “And plan on doing it as long as you do, love.” Emma rolls her eyes, but she’s charmed and almost calm and still decidedly magical. “Pirate,” she accuses. It’s not really an insult.

He smirks at her.

“Alright, well,” David starts, dragging out the words until his discomfort is practically vibrating out of him. “So, uh...we want to, you know, keep the kingdom from being burned down or you guys want to keep staring longingly at each other?” “Do you not think we’re capable of doing both?” Emma asks.

And that laugh, oh, that one. It’s loud and easy and it flies out of Killian, lands directly in the middle of Emma and warms her from the inside out, a glow and a want and the start of everything she’s been waiting for.

Her mind is still hanging onto that feeling, though. She wonders. And has questions. And she’s going to get answers.

Probably after the kissing.

And definitely after she makes sure his arm is alright.

“Call back your knights,” Emma says, doing her best to sound official. “Tell DunBroch that we are interested in a peaceful resolution to this. Get used to the fact that Misthaven has magic. But magic that we are--” She glances at David, the ends of his mouth already tugging up into a smile and he gives her a quick nod. “We are more than willing to help with that magic,” Emma continues, “whenever we can, however we can. This is...this isn’t George’s kingdom anymore. No secrets. No murmurs. No rumors of darkness.”

“The darkness is gone. And now there’s the chance to start over. To fix it and try again, to make it better than it was before.”

Arthur stares at her for a moment, Emma’s heart sputtering erratically behind her ribs. She reaches her hand back on instinct.

And the metal she touches is cool against her fingers.

“What if I don’t agree?” Arthur asks, drawing several pointed curses out of all three of them. Most of Killian’s are not in English.

“What more could you want?” he demands. “We’ve given you everything you’ve asked for and--” “You’re worried about the Darkness?” Emma interrupts, Arthur nodding quickly. “There is no Darkness anymore. Because I killed it. I--” Her voice shakes, tears clouding her vision and grip going tight enough that her knuckles crack. “It’s gone, Arthur. But let me tell you something, you’re harping on something that doesn’t exist anymore and you’ve overlooked one very important thing.” “Which is?”

“Me. You keep doing this, destroying families and coming after our kingdom, I won’t think. I'll do what I have to do to save them. All of them. Because the Darkness was bad, but guess who destroyed the Darkness?”

She holds her hand out, David’s fingers curling around her wrist and her nails dig into her palm where its wrapped around Killian’s hook, eyes falling closed as the magic roars in her ears.

They don’t land in her room.

That’s probably for the best with David with them.

Until.

As per usual.

The book flies at them, a flap of pages the only warning before Emma’s hands are moving and she’s got less control, in that moment, than she did when she was seven and freezing.

The book disappears.

“Oh damn,” she mumbles, Killian crowding into her space with his sword brandished in front of them. “Shit, don’t tell Regina about that one. That wasn’t as impressive.” He must smile because Emma is fairly certain she can feel it through her hair when he ducks his head to kiss her temple, but she doesn’t have much time to focus on that because Will is groaning and Belle is apologizing, presumably for throwing a book at them and--

“What are you two doing in here?” David asks, glancing around the room that is, quite obviously, the library. On the direct opposite side of the castle from Emma’s room.

She clicks her tongue. “Seriously, that did not work the way I wanted it to at all.”

“Do you want the real answer or the answer we’d rather give you?” Will asks. He’s got his feet propped up on the edge of the table in front of him, balancing on the back two legs of the chair he’s sitting in.

Emma waves her hands again. So he doesn’t fall over.

Top notch Savior, doing top notch saving-type things.

Will grins. “Thanks. For that, I’ll give you the real answer, even though it’s embarrassing--” “--We’re hiding from Regina,” Belle cuts in, Emma’s eyes widening and she’s glad she did the chair thing. Will rolls his whole head when he groans. “She is currently, upstairs, throwing fire balls at inanimate objects because that person from--does Rapunzel’s kingdom actually have a name? I just keep thinking of the movies.”

“Seriously, you can’t keep ruining the punchlines to these jokes if you’re just going to present facts to the sovereigns--”

The door swings open again, more footsteps and more groans and there is not enough room for all of them in this rather limited amount of space.

“Goddamn, idiotic, pedantic...jerks,” Mary Margaret grumbles, Ruby half a step behind her and barely containing her laugh. Her smile, however, is a different story, wide and only a little mocking and a hint wolfish and David reaches to draw his sword.

“What are you possibly trying to accomplish with that?” Emma asks. “And, honestly, babe, you can put yours away too.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Will asks, and Ruby immediately starts to cackle.

Mary Margaret doesn’t seem to notice any of them. “Grew up in a goddamn forest, light a stupid candle, idiots.” “M”s,” Emma wavers, pushing lightly on the hilt of Killian’s sword. He kisses her again before he, finally, sheathes it. It makes that noise again. “What are you saying right now? And why are you guys in here too?” “Oh, this is our meeting place,” Ruby says, as if it’s obvious.

“For?” “Whining,” Will answers. “Grousing. What’s another word for this, babe?” Belle twists her lips, tilting her head back and forth in thought. “Bemoaning. Lamenting. Bellyaching, but that one is more slang than anything else.”

“Shouldn’t count then,” Killian mutters. “Yeah, well, you haven’t been here, so…” “Although we’re not opposed to you being here,” Mary Margaret adds, a quick return to the conversation that comes with only minimal sighing. “And sorry, for all the--” She waves her hands dramatically, shaking her hair off her shoulders. “We got a call from some of the dwarves, you know the ones who live over by the DunBroch border and they thought they were being attacked, but it was--” “--A rather large infestation of rabbits,” Ruby mumbles.

Emma’s eyes bug without her explicit permission. “Oh my God.” “Yeah, those were basically our thoughts too.” “But,” Mary Margaret adds, “then the whole thing dissolved into a criticism of our ruling tendencies, my inability to provide electricity and some rather pointed suggestions that we were doing a fairly bad job of...what was the world they used, Rubes?”

“Transitioning.”

“Oh, yeah, I hated that, honestly.”

Emma’s sigh falls out of her, all disappointment and wobbly knees and the certainty that she’s missing something. Big. “There’s got to be some kind of balance, right?”

She isn’t really waiting for an answer, was more asking the question rhetorically, but the rather resounding silence she gets is, admittedly, a little disappointing. She sighs again. “What I’m saying is...I mean, at the risk of giving Arthur any credit at all--” “--Oh, yeah, yeah, what happened with Arthur?” Ruby asks, a smile when Emma rolls her eyes at the interruption. “You weren’t trying to get to this room were you?” “Shut up.” “Ah, that might be an answer.” “I think we almost saved the whole thing, really,” David says, only sort of sounding like he’s lying. Ruby lifts her eyebrows.

“Killian,” Mary Margaret says, crouching lightly to push up the sleeve of his jacket. There’s red staining the fabric of his shirt. “Were you bleeding?” “The past tense there is important,” he mutters. Will may gag. “And I’m fine. It’s..it’s fine.” “Once more with feeling, Captain,” Belle says, one eyebrow arched and her lips twisted into complete disbelief.

“Arthur is terrified of Emma. We’re all saved.” “That only sounded kind of bitter,” Emma mumbles, but she never actually let go of his hook and the ring around her neck has fallen over the front of her dress. “Anyway, what I’m saying is that, Arthur is a dick, but we’re fairly positive we can get him to call off the attacks and he did bring up a good point.” David hums in confusion. “When? Before or after the knights attacked us?”

That gets a response – mostly just shouts of varying volume and slightly bugged eyes, and Killian’s tongue moves back between his lips, pressing to the corner of his mouth with an almost obvious impatience.

“Can I make my point, please?” Emma cries, close to pleading. Killian rests his head on top of hers, a deep breath that shudders through him and they’re a mess of wholly uncomfortable limbs, but it’s also kind of grounding and they never did much understand the concept of personal space.

It’s probably a magic thing.

“Your highness,” he mutters. She resists the urge to elbow him. That’s less romantic than the magic thing.

“We’re all fucked aren’t we?” “This is not your best work, Em,” Ruby admits, dropping onto the edge of Belle’s seat.

“You’re being impatient, that’s why. I’m--ok, well, we didn’t know who we were, but we were still us then, right?” “When we were cursed?” Mary Margaret asks.

Emma nods. “Yeah, exactly. What I’m saying is those people were us. Same personalities, for the most part, and I mean--we lived those lives. Those memories happened, even if the stuff before we got to Storybrooke was skewed. I hate to say it, but Arthur, and maybe even these dwarves are right. We’ve been trying to just settle back into what we were before the curse, but that was all George too and--” “--There’s got to be a balance, for us to be both, all at the same time,” David whispers, repeating her words and interrupting her speech and, for the first time, Emma doesn’t mind.

Much.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We lived that. We miss electricity. And good coffee. Gods, we miss good coffee.” There are a few quiet laughs and murmured agreements, another kiss to her temple as Killian’s hand, somehow, finds its way to her hip. So he can squeeze it lightly. “We’ve got people we totally screwed who are going to hate us. But I wasn’t lying before. This is a chance for us. To do better. To...to start over, with the magic and the--”

“--Oh say True Love, say it,” Will laughs.

Emma clicks her tongue. His smile widens. “You’re no help at all. And I--if I ask you if you’re doing alright, based mostly on your defense techniques are you going to give me some snarky comment in response.” “Yes, absolutely.” “And,” Belle adds, shifting so she has to sling her arm around Ruby’s shoulders to make sure they don’t both fall on the floor, “that was mostly instinct. Regina did offer to get us weapons.” “Ten thousand doubloons she didn’t want to chance offending the books with steel,” Killian says, some of the anxious energy in the air disappearing.

It makes it easier to breathe.

Emma still wants to know about the pirate in Camelot. And what he knew.

“What do you think the conversion of doubloons to dollars is?” Mary Margaret asks. “Like ballpark it for me.” “I’ll have to get back to you on that, your highness.” “Yeah, that’s too much math for now.” Emma laughs, an ease to it that’s nearly comforting. More so when she curls herself into Killian’s side, cheek pressed against leather. “This isn’t going to be easy, but--” “--It’s a chance to start over,” David finishes. “For the better.” “Exactly. And maybe someone can tell me what happened to Rumplestilskin.” Will blinks. “Do you not know?” “No,” Killian says, soft, but with a fierceness that’s more memory and more past mistakes and--

“I punched him,” Belle answers. “Several times. And then, um...after--well, you know after--” She shakes her head, not bothering to brush away the tears on her cheeks. “It was bad and Ruby was trying to take care of Emma and, well...you know, he tried to run, probably go find some of the people he brought with him or Isaac. Where is Isaac?” “We have too many enemies,” Ruby says.

David glares at her. “In a cell without a key. Keep going Belle.”

“Right, right,” she stammers. “Well, we had some time, after. And so we got him up and there was still magic on him. He couldn’t really move and he was--he realized he’d lost, I think, rather quickly and it was pretty easy after that. There were police eventually. A huge thing like that, there had to be some kind of explanation and we didn’t really give it to them, but we told them that we saw him outside Grand Central around that time...raving and shouting and that was pretty much true and uh--” Belle clicks her teeth, grimacing slightly. “--We got a call that he was going to be indicted on criminal mischief, which seems really low, but…”

She doesn’t finish. And Emma can barely keep her footing when Killian moves, but then there are more limbs in their pretzel and he’s mumbling against Belle’s hair, quiet thanks and even softer promises and she sniffles very loudly.

“We left before they could ask us to testify or anything stupid official like that.” “Stupid official, huh?” Killian asks.

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“So, we’ll take, like, several million doubloons,” Will grins “However that converts.” Killian laughs, pulling back with Emma still pinned against his side. “There are taverns here, you know.” “Are you trying to get me a job?” “At least make you productive.” “Ah, that’s probably fair. Don’t try and get Belle out of this library though. She’s totally geeking out about some of these maps.” “I told you that in confidence,” Belle cries, but Will shrugs and Emma starts to let herself hope again. Maybe this will be alright. Maybe this will be the new normal.

“Yeah, well, stop blowing my jokes up and then we’ll talk.”

Regina finds them eventually – “It wasn’t really that bad, you didn’t have to run down here.” “You set the curtains on fire, Regina.” – more discussions of Camelot and treaties and maybe meeting with some of the non-magical folk who didn’t make either trip to the Land Without Magic. And it’s good. Great, even. Productive and positive and some other word with a similar start, but Emma’s whole body feels like it’s sagging by the time she crawls into bed.

She doesn’t want to fall asleep, but Killian is still going over maps and boundary lines and David had several ideas about possible trade routes and her eyes must close, because they snap open when the door does, moonlight streaming through her window and his coat is a soft thud on the back of the chair when he shrugs out of it.

“Go back to sleep, love,” Killian says, moving towards the bed and his lips quirk when she tries to shake her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?” “Yeah, but I think you’re kind of into it.” “That’s very true.” “Oh, very, huh?” “Incredibly? Intensely? Incessantly?” “Those last two don’t seem very positive,” Emma points out, propping her head on her hand. She shifts back, giving him a few inches on the far too large bed and it only takes a moment for him to get out of his boots and next to her, barely any space between them. Emma should, really, start thinking more, but it’s been a day and nearly two weeks and several years and she flips on her back with something that may be instinct, letting Killian curl against her with his head on her stomach and her fingers in his hair.

His breath is warm against her skin when he exhales.

“I would have done it,” he says eventually, voice snapping through the silence of the room. Emma doesn’t stop her fingers. She knows what he’s talking about. “Arthur, I mean. And his knights. Whatever--any of it. I would have--” He moves his arm, wrapping it around her middle, like he’s trying to keep her there or make sure he stays there, the specifics not important. “I wouldn’t have even given it a second thought.” “That’s probably not supposed to be romantic, huh?” Killian barks out a noise that is likely supposed to be a laugh, a kiss pressed to the top of Emma’s thigh because she’d never actually pulled the blankets up. “No, probably not.” “Weird.” “Aye, the weirdest.” “You want to tell me the truth now?” He tilts his head up, blue eyes and a stare that Emma has always been sure can read her mind and know her thoughts and neither one of those things should be particularly romantic either. And yet here they are.

There are goosebumps on the back of his neck.

“About?” “Oh, don’t play coy, Lieutenant, it’s not cute,” Emma mutters. “A pirate in Camelot? Talking about your magic. What would you have needed with another pirate?” Killian hisses in a breath, a look that isn’t quite nervous, but might be a hint apprehensive, as if he’s worried about Emma’s reaction. “You knew him, actually,” he whispers. “He’d only remember your reputation. You made sure of that.” It takes her, approximately, five and a half seconds to realize.

“Teach? Edward Teach?” “One and the same.” “A pirate? Seriously?” “Seriously,” Killian repeats. “Rather notorious one, in fact. I believe he left the occupation of ruining young boys’ lives a few years after I got my commission. Liam and I had heard tell of him, although I didn’t realize who he was at first. Changed his name, you see.” “You’re dragging this out on purpose.” “I’m trying to keep my audience rapt.” “Did you miss the part where I’m pretty into your face? Because I feel like that’s enough to get me to keep listening.” “Simply content to stare then, ma’am?” He does something ridiculous with his eyebrows when he says it, the tip of his tongue wholly distracting pressed to the inside of his cheek. Emma can actually feel herself blush. She kind of wishes she’d pulled the blankets up.

She feels more than a little exposed.

“What did you need Edward Teach for?” Killian swallows. “Because,” he says slowly, dragging the words against the curve of Emma’s hip and the top of her thigh and it’s another attempt at distraction that would probably work if she weren’t so goddamn stubborn. “Edward Teach became Blackbeard and Blackbeard stole a magic bean from a giant.” Emma tenses. Her whole body goes taut, far too many thoughts and even more feelings, a spark of magic and flush of how ridiculously attracted she is to his face and the feel of him next to her and she wants, wants, wants. She--

“There’s more to this,” Emma mutters, another quasi accusation.

“Aye, there is. But it’s not important.” “Nope, try again.” “Swan.” “Killian.” He sighs, not put-upon, but mostly disappointed, hooded eyes when he glances up at her. Emma lifts her brows. And exhales for six seconds straight. “I, uh---I couldn’t find anything to get to you, Swan. I knew where you were and--” “--How?” “Hmmm?” “How did you know?” Emma asks. “You said you found out. Before. But...how?” “A mermaid.” Emma blinks. She opens her mouth. And blinks again. There are noises coming out of her, but they’re not quite words and Killian’s expression is equal parts obnoxious and a little repentant. “That’s an entirely different and far too long story,” he says. “But, the short of it is that mermaids can travel between realms. That’s--the magic is incredible, Swan. I was always trying to get back, even if the Darkness didn’t want me to, but then--well, I found out what Rumplestiltskin was going to do and--” He shrugs, far too self deprecating and maybe a little self loathing and Emma can’t kiss him. That’s disappointing. “I wasn’t sure where you’d gone, Swan. Didn't know how to get there, but...Ariel, well she could. Without a curse or a bean or a bloody magic hat. She found you. Or, well, the idea of you. She found a town near the coast with more magic than she’d seen in one place in years. And I knew. That was you. But I couldn’t get there with her.” “No gills, huh?” Emma jokes. It doesn’t land. She didn’t expect it to. Killian shakes his head. “Not quite. So we started looking for other options and, eventually, that led us to Blackbeard.” “And you...what? Took the bean from him? Was there--I mean, did you...magic?” “No.” Emma has no right to be annoyed. She knows. She knows he hasn’t been sleeping and there are mermaids involved in this now, more magic and memories she wasn’t a part of and she wants to fix it. She wants to--

“Holy shit,” she breathes, Killian kissing the first patch of skin his lips land on. Her whole body shakes underneath him.

The room is spinning.

“Killian, how did you get a magic bean from Edward Teach?” “It was relatively easy, actually,” he says, and she’d almost believe that if it weren’t for the muscle in his jaw that jumps on every other letter. “Teach was always a greedy bastard. And he thought the bean was dead anyway, no chance of revival, but--” “--How?” He smiles at her. His eyes are glossy. “More than willing to make a trade. And I--the Darkness didn’t want it, wanted me to rip his throat out or, even better, his heart. Get him to give me his ship for a whole goddamn fleet, but I...I couldn’t. Not if I was going to find you, Swan. I was--it had to at least be a little honorable.” “How?”

The word barely squeaks its way out of her, because, really, she already knows the answer.

“He wanted a trade,” Killian says, smile barely that. “And I had the perfect thing to barter. The Jolly Roger.”

She’s not crying. That’s surprising. She’s too busy trying to keep breathing though, vision going spotty and Killian staring at her like he’s waiting for the cracks to form and the darkness to creep back in and she knows that too, knows that the sleepless nights and hours spent staring at the ceiling have been because of just that, fears of what’s been and could be and--

“You traded your ship for me?” He nods slowly. “Aye.” And it all happens in a blur. Emma tugs on his shirt and settles further into the pillows under her, the heavy feel of him on top of her a welcome weight, particularly when she arches her back and she can’t move her head quickly enough.

She can’t kiss him quickly enough.

She twists her neck, trying to prove something, bruising and needy and exhilarating because this is new and not and Killian groans into her mouth when Emma hooks her leg around his. She swipes her tongue across his lip, another sound that brands itself on her memory and Emma isn’t sure if the room is actually spinning or that’s just her soul, but it’s good and wonderful and everything and he pulls back slightly, staring with something almost resembling awe.

As if she’s the one who traded her ship for him.

He smiles.

And it’s not wholly different from the thousands of smiles she’s seen before, a quirk of his lips and the way his cheeks shift, soft crinkles around his eyes, but, somehow, it’s completely new and entirely better, something almost settling about it, like they’re falling back together or finding each other again and it’s every single time in one expression.

Killian’s thumb brushes over her cheek, fingers pushing into her hair and then the smile is gone, replaced with want and that same need and it makes Emma’s heart jump, a swell of feeling and magic in equal measure.

He may mumble I love you before his lips find hers again.

She may mumble always in return.

And it feels like it lasts forever, but couldn’t possibly be enough time, a moment Emma wants to stretch on because if this is what forever feels like, then she’ll embrace it with open arms. So, really, she’s not sure what compels her to say the next few words, just knows that she has to and she didn’t trade her ship for a magic bean, but she’ll be damned if he did.

Because they’ve got to be both. The past and the present and curses several times over, a pirate and a princess who never really wanted either title.

So.

“We’re getting it back,” Emma mutters, against Killian’s mouth and she can’t help whatever her hips do when he hums in response. “Your ship. That’s...we’re getting it back.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #all was golden in the sky #that stupid witch fic #i am very stressed out

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unfolded73 · 5 years

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How Do We Get Back (4/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

This chapter is explicit. 3.7k words. (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

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Chapter 4

Kissing David made Patrick Brewer feel like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

After a long day at his tax seminar, Patrick had been tempted to go back to the hotel, crawl under the covers. and turn on the TV. It was shame that had driven him to buy a ferry ticket to Manhattan — the future shame of telling his coworkers that he’d gotten so close to New York but hadn’t actually visited. Of course, he’d lacked any kind of real plan so when he had disembarked, he’d checked his phone and started walking in the general direction of Rockefeller Center. But it was a long walk and he got tired and thirsty, and so Patrick had stopped in for a beer at the first decent-looking bar he saw.

At first, David had just seemed like a flamboyant curiosity, the sort of fashionable person you’d expect to meet in New York City, with his unusual black and white shirt designed to draw attention, four silver rings on the fingers of one hand flashing as he gesticulated. Talking to him had made Patrick feel giddy, like he’d boarded a roller coaster and was hanging onto the metal bar for dear life as David took him around curve after curve. He had mentioned that the person who stood him up for a date was a man in the off-hand way of someone who’d forgotten to be self-conscious about the fact that he was gay, if he ever had been.

Patrick hadn’t examined his reasons for wanting to stay at the bar talking to David, or the reason his heart had been racing for a lot of that time. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off of David’s expressive face, or when he could it was only to be distracted by David’s hands. It probably hadn’t been until David caught himself with a hand on Patrick’s thigh — a move that sent Patrick’s heart rate ratcheting up so high that he’d certainly have set off an alarm had he been hooked up to one — that Patrick started to ponder exactly what was happening between them.

He’d known the responsible thing to do would be to say no to David’s offer of a place to sleep. All other things aside, sleeping in a strange man’s apartment in New York City was an objectively risky thing to do. He could get robbed. He could get roofied. It was madness. But when David swept on his jacket, the scent of expensive cologne and leather surrounding him, Patrick had followed like a child under the thrall of the Pied Piper. He should have known then where things were leading. Perhaps he had known.

Now they sat next to each other on David’s sofa, mouths meeting over and over, and Patrick honestly couldn’t remember a time when kissing had been this thrilling. As he let his jaw drop, opening his mouth to admit David’s tongue, he felt the scrape of the other man’s stubble against his own. He reached out with his hand to cup David’s face, wanting more of that sensation on his skin. David was taller than him, and he held Patrick in his arms in a way that made him feel enveloped in the best possible way. Patrick balanced on a knife’s edge, a breath away from losing complete control of his ability to make a rational decision. He’d never wanted anyone this way, not ever.

“Listen, David,” he said as soon as they parted to breathe, unable to resist the temptation to keep planting small kisses on David’s lips as he talked. “I need to tell you, I’m…”

David pulled away, putting some space between them. “Tell me.”

Patrick blushed. “I’m not ready for... Not that I don’t want… Suddenly I want a lot of things that I’ve never wanted, or never let myself want, but I…” He huffed, frustrated with his inability to construct a coherent sentence. “I’m not ready for sex. I hope that’s okay.”

David smiled at him, a smile that was maybe sweet but also maybe patronizing. “Anything you want is okay. But I do want to clarify exactly what you mean by sex? Because some people, especially — no offense — people whose experience has been limited to vanilla, straight sex, when they say ‘sex’ about two men they mean anal.”

Just the sound of that word coming out of David’s mouth made Patrick suppress a shudder. It was terrifying, but also a little bit thrilling, and a hundred pornographic images starring David Rose collided in his head all at once.

“So I actually don’t do anal on the first date? And some queer men don’t ever do it. Being into anal isn’t a requirement for liking sex with men,” David said.

Patrick let out a slow breath. “Okay.”

“But sex can mean other things, and I need a little more guidance as to what you’re not ready for.”

Panic set in again, and Patrick clutched the arm of the sofa hard enough to leave marks in the leather. “I don’t know if I can articulate it. Out loud.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna need a little more than that. Unless you want to stop now?” David picked Patrick’s hand up and traced his fingertips along his knuckles. Patrick shivered and shook his head.

David leaned in close then, using his hand to tilt Patrick’s head back so that he could plant a row of kisses along his neck. Patrick stifled a groan.

“Your responsiveness is very sexy,” David murmured against his neck, “and if you’re willing, I’d like to touch you and see if I can make you come. Would that be okay?”

Patrick gasped, his head spinning. “Fuck.”

“Is that a yes?” David kissed his way up to his chin and then to his lips.

“Yes,” Patrick whispered into David’s open mouth. He felt dangerously close to saying yes to anything if David would just keep kissing him like that.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Patrick tensed up at that, pulling back far enough to bring David into focus. “Oh. Umm…”

He felt David’s hand sort of petting his hair. “Just so we’ll be more comfortable. I promise, nothing is going to happen without your enthusiastic consent.”

Snorting, Patrick moved to stand up, keenly aware of the way his erection was pressing against his jeans. “You sound like an instructional video for horny teens.”

“I’m just trying to put you at ease because you seemed nervous about the bedroom.”

Patrick gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said honestly.

David led the way to a good-sized bedroom of stark contrasts: white walls and black bedding and similarly monochrome modern art adorning the walls. The lighting was warm, though, and not too bright, and Patrick tried to slow his breathing to calm himself down.

“You can take off your own shoes and socks and… anything else you feel like taking off,” David said with an elaborate wave of his hand. “I’m just going to freshen up a little bit.”

Sitting down on the bed, Patrick began unlacing his sensible walking shoes and tried not to think about the fact that he was committing adultery. It was a heavy word, and one he’d never imagined could be ascribed to him. I shouldn’t do this, he thought, even as he was tucking his socks inside his shoes. I should get my coat and apologize to David and leave. But he had to know. If the reason his relationship with Rachel had never seemed right was because he was gay, then he had to know for sure.

A more immediate concern occurred to him as he looked down at his clothes. What exactly should he take off? His jeans was a good start, he supposed. If David was going to do… what he’d said (and just thinking around the edge of it sent a surge of desire through him), then his pants were going to get in the way. With shaking hands, Patrick unbuckled his belt and stood to pull his jeans off by the cuffs. He sat back down, nervously twisting his ring. Then with a guilty cringe, Patrick pulled his wedding ring off and reached over to tuck it into his jeans pocket.

He wasn’t sure why, but Patrick trusted David instinctively. If he was nervous about being half dressed in a strange man’s bedroom in a strange city, it was more at the abstract concept of it than at the actual situation.

David emerged then, wearing a black t-shirt and black sweatpants, and Patrick took a moment to be amused that apparently making out on the bed required a full wardrobe change if you were David Rose. Then David sat at his side, close enough that their legs were touching, and Patrick’s brain sort of shorted out.

There was more kissing — deep, messy kisses that got more frantic as they gradually moved into a horizontal position across the carefully made bed. David hovered over him, holding himself up on his elbow, and Patrick could feel the unmistakable press of the other man’s erection against his thigh. Thoughts of the wrongness of what he was doing disappeared. In that moment, nothing had ever felt less wrong in his life.

David’s hand trailed down from Patrick’s cheek to the collar of his shirt. “May I…” David asked, his fingers hovering over the buttons. His breath coming quick, Patrick nodded.

As he unbuttoned Patrick’s shirt, David made a cringey face. “I’m trying not to think too much about this being, like, a critical moment in the evolution of your sexuality and how very badly I do not want to mess it up. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

David’s fretting weirdly calmed Patrick down, and he tried to suppress a smile. “You know I’m not literally a virgin, right? I’ve had sex with women.”

“And how has that been working out for you?” David parted the two sides of Patrick’s shirt, and Patrick sat up long enough to shuck the thing and toss it aside.

“Not great.”

David’s face contorted into what might have been a suppressed smile of his own. “Okay, well your chest is working out well for me, so I suggest we focus on that.”

Patrick moved to kiss David, trying to show through a little bit of forcefulness that he was fully on board. Based on the moan that came from David when Patrick scraped his teeth across David’s lower lip, it was a good tactic. They collapsed back onto the pillows again, one of David’s legs between Patrick’s now, and fuck, he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up, seeking friction. He didn’t think he’d ever been as turned on as this. And then David scratched his fingernails over Patrick’s chest and he had to revise his assessment. This was as turned on has he’d ever been.

“Can I touch your cock, Patrick?” David asked, hand settling heavy and warm on Patrick’s belly.

“Jesus,” Patrick gasped, then remembering that David would want to hear his consent, added. “Yeah. I’m… I might be embarrassingly quick.”

“As if that would be anything other than flattering,” David said as he was carefully lifting the waistband of Patrick’s boxers clear of his erection. Patrick reached down to help get them off, and then he was naked — in a man’s bed, in bed with a man, and it should have been shocking, it should have been a bucket of cold water over the whole proceeding, but it wasn’t. He just felt warm and right and desperate to be touched.

David lay on his side next to him, watching Patrick’s face as he reached down and ran a single finger up the base of his cock. Patrick’s eyes snapped shut and a loud, guttural moan came out of his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” David said, his fist closing around Patrick’s shaft and beginning a slow rhythm. “Spread out and aching to be touched.” He gathered precome on his fingers, spreading it as his hand moved, and Patrick couldn’t help but thrust into David’s fist. He felt like the entire world had disappeared, that all his other senses had bled away, leaving him with only the sensation of David’s hand on his cock and David’s mouth on his shoulder.

“I’m… God, I’m gonna come,” Patrick gritted out after just a few strokes, wishing he could hold out and last longer, enjoy this feeling forever, but he needed to come so badly, needed it to be David who did that for him.

“That’s it. Just like that,” David coaxed, and those words were what sent him plummeting down, a hoarse shout on his lips as he came all over David’s hand and his own stomach. Only when his last aftershock had shuddered through him did David move away from his side. Patrick was dimly aware of a drawer opening and closing, and then he was being cleaned up, efficient swipes by a practiced hand.

Reality crashed in suddenly, and Patrick felt incredibly exposed, again struck by the fact that he’d just engaged in this intimate act with a near stranger, with a man he’d never met before and after tonight, might never see again. Some might find that freeing, but at the moment it made Patrick feel very empty. He shivered.

“Here, let’s get under the covers,” David suggested.

Once they’d arranged themselves, Patrick returned to kissing David, pressing body to body until he could feel David’s erection through his sweatpants, evidence that David really had enjoyed touching him, that it hadn’t been an act of charity. Or pity.

“Can I return the favor?” Patrick asked. He pictured it, touching another man’s — touching David’s — cock, and miraculously felt another surge of want shoot through him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to… if you want me to.” Maybe he didn’t, Patrick thought suddenly. And that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Why would a glamorous man like David want him?

“I definitely want you to,” David whispered.

“Thank fuck,” Patrick said, which made David giggle. They fumbled together with David’s sweatpants until they were kicked somewhere near the bottom of the bed.

Patrick started to reach for him but hesitated, worrying that he wouldn’t be good. That he wouldn’t be able to give David the kind of pleasure David had just given him. “Can you lie on your back?” Patrick asked. “So it’ll be more like doing it to myself? I’ve never done this to another person before.”

David rolled his eyes and shifted onto his back. “Yeah, I assumed that, although it’s not impossible for you to have never kissed a boy but to have engaged furtive handjobs under the bleachers with the captain of the football team.”

Patrick chuckled. “Is that a fantasy of yours?”

“It could become one,” David shot back. “Here, hang on.” He reached for the same drawer that had produced the wet wipes and pulled out a bottle of lube. Patrick held out his hand, and David depressed the pump a few times into his open palm. Then he threw off the covers, exposing himself to the room. David still had his t-shirt on but that was it, and Patrick took a second to admire the sight of another man’s cock. A cock he was going to touch.

It was a little awkward at first, spreading the lube and finding the right rhythm, but then things seemed to click as David groaned and clutched at his bicep.

“Harder.” David’s voice was high and breathy, and Patrick followed instructions, squeezing tighter. Patrick felt David’s hand move to the back of his head and then he was pulling him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and dirty. David’s hips pistoned and Patrick held his arm steady and let him fuck his fist. David became less coherent, less able to actively kiss Patrick back, panting into his mouth and it was sexy, it was beautiful, and in that moment Patrick had the wild and errant thought that he belonged here, that he’d belonged here for a long time and had just gotten lost somehow, but now he was found, now he was home.

“Fuck, Patrick, yes,” David gasped, continuing to say ‘yes’ over and over until Patrick felt the pulses of his orgasm. I did this for him, Patrick thought giddily. I made him come.

When David relaxed, Patrick gently let him go, collapsing on the pillows at his side. David was already reaching for the wipes again, grabbing Patrick by the wrist and cleaning him up before he did the same to himself, pulling his dirty t-shirt off and tossing it toward the hamper.

Patrick lay back and looked at David’s chest and how hairy it was compared to his own. He regretted that he was only just seeing it now.

“That was very nice,” David said as he pulled the covers over himself. “Thank you.”

Turning on his side, Patrick met David’s gaze. “I’m the one who should be saying ‘thank you.’”

David yawned, and then reached over and picked up his phone, doing something to turn off the lights. “Oh, are you okay sleeping here? If you’d rather go to the guest room, you can do that.”

“Are you okay with me sleeping here?” Patrick asked into the dark void. Uncertain what he’d do if David said no.

“It’s fine. Unless you snore.”

“I don’t,” Patrick said with a laugh.

“Okay, then.” David turned over, and Patrick could just make out the line of his bare back as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He felt the sudden urge to press himself against David, but even Patrick with his lack of one-night-stand experience knew that probably wouldn’t be welcome. He was just feeling vulnerable because such a momentous thing had happened, cracking him open in the bed of this stranger. Well, not stranger. Near-stranger who he’d seen naked and exchanged handjobs with.

As he drifted off to sleep, Patrick remembered the weird feeling of belonging he’d had a little while ago. Get a grip, Brewer, was his last conscious thought.

~*~

Patrick awoke still in darkness, and it took several seconds to remember where he was. What he’d done struck with renewed shock: meeting David, talking to him for hours at the bar, going home with him, kissing him, going to bed with him. Was this some temporary insanity, the kind of travel-inspired loneliness that made it easy to cry on airplanes? He rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door quietly and flipping on the light.

He looked at his own naked body, trying to see if it betrayed any sign of what he’d done. If he was a gay man, shouldn’t he look different somehow?

After relieving himself, he crept back out to the bedroom and gathered up his clothes and shoes from the floor, carrying them out to the living room where the windows let in more light. He pulled his clothes on quickly, checking the time on his phone. 6:23. Hopefully the ferries were running and it wouldn’t take too long to cross back over the river to Jersey.

He wanted to leave David a note, even started to look around for some paper and a pen, but what could he say that wouldn’t sound too flippant or too emotional about what had happened? For David, surely this was one of a hundred such hookups. A few months from now, Patrick would barely be a blip on his memory. Whereas for Patrick, it had been everything: a terrible betrayal, a rapturous awakening. A cataclysm in his life. He knew that no matter what happened, he’d never forget David Rose for as long as he lived.

Which is exactly what you don’t want to write in a note, he thought. Instead, he pulled out his wallet, took out one of the business cards, and left it on the kitchen island before he bundled up in his coat and walked out of the apartment.

Down on the sidewalk, Patrick looked up and down the street and then checked the map on his phone. Neither of the nearest ferry terminals were within walking distance so he needed a taxi, but there didn’t seem to be any on David’s street. He smirked, cursing all the movies he’d ever seen that made it seem like a New York taxi would be waiting wherever you needed one. There wasn’t any reason to have a ride-sharing app on his phone in Oak Grove, so he couldn’t summon an Uber.

A noise made him turn around. A woman was pushing a cart down the sidewalk toward him, and he assumed by the blankets and clothes he could see in the cart that she was homeless. He didn’t have any coins, but he thought he might have gotten a couple of American dollars when he’d bought a pretzel at the ferry terminal yesterday, so he reached for his wallet.

“You,” she said, stopping short.

“Hang on, I might have a dollar,” he said, shuffling past the Canadian bills in his wallet. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can catch a cab, would you?”

“You found him,” she said urgently, stepping away from her cart to come close to Patrick. He tried not to recoil. “Does that mean you feel it too? That this world is wrong?”

Oh, she had mental health problems, he thought, feeling a surge of sympathy. “You don’t know the half of it,” he tried to joke.

“So how do we get back?” She grabbed his arm, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

“Whoa, okay,” Patrick said, pulling his arm away and holding out the dollar bill. “I just need to know where to find a taxi.”

She squinted at him, took the dollar, and then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “There’s usually a taxi near the bodega at the corner.”

“Thanks.” He walked quickly in that direction, but when he looked back a couple of times, she was still standing there and staring at him.

Chapter 5

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek ff #david x patrick #david x patrick ff #david x patrick smut #hdwgb fic #my fic

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banditthewriter · 6 years

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Remember The Tin Man - 13 - A Colorful Horse

You all seemed to enjoy the previous part. Hold on to your horses because the real fun is about to begin!

A Billy Russo X Reader story. Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists! Enjoy!

***** The realization that Billy was from Earth felt a little like you had been sucked into another storm. Your head was spinning and you felt a bit lightheaded at the revelation. "Earth? How did you get here?" "Same as you," he said as he turned to look away from you for a moment. "One minute I was playing stickball in the street and the next I was lying on my back in the middle of a field." Not exactly how you got here, but the sentiment was the same. "And you didn't want to go home?" He turned back to you in a rush, his eyes wide as he let out a laugh devoid of any humor. "I was thirteen and living in a group home in Albany of all places. I didn't have a home to go back to. Getting back to Earth meant getting back to being no one. I was able to make something of myself here." He gestured to your surroundings with a shake of his head. "Oz is my home. I don't regret never going back." You might not agree with it completely, but even you had to admit that he had a point. While you didn't believe that he didn't have anything to go back to, you couldn't blame him for not wanting to go back to live in a group home. But thirteen? He had been here for at least twenty years. He was right about this place being his home. And he fit in easily. If not for that slip of the tongue, you wouldn't have known. "Is that why you decided to help me and Frank? Because I'm from Earth?" He laughed, a little humor returning to his face. "Can't a guy help a pretty girl, her dog, and her mindless companion without someone assuming there are ulterior motives?" At the shake of your head, he sighed and leaned forward to rest his forearms against his thighs. "I think that even without your heart, you still care. And maybe you care about Earth." He looked over at you and shook his head. "You think too much." That was true, but you didn't budge on your opinion. He sighed again, more dramatic than the first, and stood up. He paced a bit and in the moonlight you wondered what look was on his face. He stood facing the palace for a moment before he turned back to look at you. "I wasn't a good person before I lost my heart. Maybe I'm better off without it." You weren't sure where that was coming from, but you weren't about to take it sitting down. Slow enough so that he wouldn't take it as a threat, you stood up and moved to stand in front of him. "I don't believe that." He shook his head, his eyes moving over your face. The way he was standing made it hard to read the exact expression on his face, but you could see his eyes flitting from your eyes to your mouth. "You can't save everyone Y/N." You smiled, your body swaying towards his without your permission. "Doesn't mean I won't try." The moment hung quietly and you realized that this was another one of those moments like before. He was close enough for you to smell the sweat on his skin and the scent of leather from his jacket. You were so close that you could feel the warmth from his body. You breathed in, ready to take the plunge once more, but a noise behind you had you freezing. Billy reached up for the hatchet that hung from his belt, but Frank's voice had you both relaxing. "Y/N, why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll keep watch with Billy." How long had he been awake? You bit your lip and heaved a sigh before you nodded, your eyes meeting Billy's for a moment before you turned and walked over to the space that Frank was vacating. "Thanks Frank," you whispered as you squeezed his wrist before you moved to curl up with Toto. Maybe you would be able to make more sense of things after some sleep. ------ It was the first time that you could remember waking up in Oz without having some sort of ominous dream. In fact, you couldn't remember dreaming at all. Instead you woke to the sound of low voices and rolled over to see David and Frank were sitting close together as the marked something out in the dirt. "Good morning," David said with a smile at you before he looked back down at whatever Frank had just added. "That's not going to work. There's too many of us to get in undetected." "What are you guys looking at?" You rubbed at your eyes and looked around but you didn't see Billy. Not wanting to seem like you were looking for him, you simply pretended to stretch. "David sketched out the path he had taken to leave the palace, but it doesn't look doable for us. We're trying to plan how to get into the palace." You moved over to where they were sitting. Whatever they had drawn was rough and didn't look like anything you could make out. A look at the palace in the distance didn't prove to be any more of an answer so you looked back at the two of them. "It's abstract," David said with a shrug as he fed something to Toto. With a roll of your eyes, you dusted off your pants and looked around more obviously for Billy. He wasn't insight and you noticed that his ax was gone as well. "Where's Billy?" "He was gone when I got up," Frank said with a shrug without looking up from the ground. You couldn't believe your ears and you didn't really know what to say to that. Billy was gone? You opened your mouth to respond, but a voice made you bite your tongue. "That's because I was checking our path, hay-for-brains," Billy said as he came up the path that led to the little campsite you all had made. "Wishful thinking I guess," Frank shot back still without looking up. Billy rolled his eyes before he glanced over at you. He must have noticed the worry on your face because he inclined his head towards you before he continued up to you all. The look on his face when he looked down at the drawing told you that maybe you weren't the only one confused by the creative liberties they had taken. "Why don't we just use a colorful horse to get in?" That seemed to do the trick. Both David and Frank looked as stumped as you felt. "I don't remember what that is," Frank admitted with a look over to David. David rolled his eyes and gestured at the palace a little helplessly. "There's three entrances where you can use what's called a colorful horse. It's a magical carriage that's guarded and probably has even more guards now that Agent Orange has taken over." "Yeah, but Frank and I can handle a few guards. I assume you know the magic it takes to work?" Here David began to look a little uncomfortable, shooting you a quick look before he gave a short nod. "I can't use my magic for it. Besides the fact that my magic is held in the crystal I got and therefore registered with the palace, the colorful horses don't work to my kind of magic. They only work with pure magic." All three of them turned to look at you. It seemed the only time they could agree with something was when it had to do with the magic that you apparently used to create the sphere. Only you still weren't sure you were the one that did that. Maybe the mystery voice somehow had used magic on you. You'd seen a form around Frank that one time when he was sleeping; maybe it was something like that? You'd never used magic in your other life. You weren't even sure how to wield it. When you relayed this to the group, David stood up and moved over to stand in front of you. "I can teach you how to," he offered happily. "It's all about knowing that you can do it and projecting that knowledge into something tangible. Come on." He led you off to the side to work on a few smaller things, but you found your mind drifting over to the men that still stayed near the campsite. Frank seemed almost incapable of acknowledging Billy's presence. Was it because of last night? Had Frank heard part of your conversation? Or worse, had he seen your shared kiss? You weren't sure why that was worse, but something told you it was. They had been antagonistic since their first meeting, but it felt different now for some reason. When had that happened? Maybe in the Dark Web when Frank had seen Billy holding you down? Had you noticed it before then? David used whatever crystal he had mentioned to make a few stones hover in the air. When it was your turn, you tried to focus all of your attention on it but you couldn't make the connection. "You have to know that you can do it," he said unhelpfully for the third time. You kicked over the stones and sat down next to the with a huff. "But I don't know that I can do it. I'm not from here, remember? I'm not used to this kind of magic." "Maybe you should think of it a different way," Billy offered as he moved over to stand nearby, Frank at his heels as if he didn't trust him even then. "Don't think of magic as something you can use; think of it as something you have. Think of something you want and will do anything to get." With that in mind, you turned back to the stones in front of you and focused on that. Remembering your urge to protect them during the storm, you tried willing the stones to stack themselves. At first there was nothing and then you felt a rush of warmth. The stones floated in the air for a moment before they arranged themselves with the largest on the bottom and the smallest on top. "Wow," you said as they settled down, looking up at Billy in awe. "That was..." "Magic," Billy finished with a smile.

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jarienn972 · 6 years

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The Inbetween - Chapter Five

Time for the next chapter of my ghostly @cssns tale! The cliffhanger that ended the previous chapter is quickly revealed and you’ll find that it is partially resolved, but our heroes aren't out of danger yet. There’s just one chapter left after this one. Once again, thanks to @kmomof4 and the rest of the event organizers for a summer filled with amazing supernatural tales and thank you @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for the header and the character art!

AO3 FF.net Tumblr: One Two Three Four

What the hell just happened? Emma found herself asking for the umpteenth time tonight. There's been a brilliant burst of light and a blast of air that nearly knocked them off of the sofa, but honestly - what really happened? She had witnessed similar signs from curses breaking, whether from a True Love's Kiss or whatever the hell else broke curses around here, but this was an entirely different type of curse. Would the curse breaking to free the trapped spirits look or feel the same?

Sensing that her magic was still intact - for the moment, at least, Emma gave a quick swish of her hand to bring the candles back to life. Beside her, Killian was hunched over with his head lowered to his knees and arms still drawn tightly over his ears. "You okay?" she asked, giving his shoulder a little nudge.

Killian drew his head up hesitantly, his eyelids tentative in their opening before he dared lower his arms. "It's quiet…" he whispered, sounding befuddled by that very revelation.

"You don't hear the voices anymore?" Emma asked, hopeful the spell had been a success, but not rushing to inform David or Regina until she was certain.

"I don't believe so...," Killian replied, intently listening for any voices present aside from his wife's. "I think Regina's spell just might have worked…" His voice trailed off as Emma noticed his eyes were locked in an icy stare, but she couldn't tell what he was focused on.

But trying to figure out precisely what Killian was staring at became less important as she became aware of a presence attempting to fill the space between them. "What the hell?" she exclaimed as she felt something trying to force its way between Killian and herself, but even though she was feeling as though that same something was trying to push her away, her husband appeared oblivious to it. "Killian?" she called out to him, but he just sat there, seemingly entranced by whatever was still in this room with them. "Killian!" She shouted his name once again as a chill enveloped her.

The temperature inside the mansion hadn't exactly been balmy all night, but it now seemed to have dropped at least another ten degrees in mere seconds. She knew that all of the windows in the room were closed and even though there had been a blast of wind that had blown through the room just moments ago, it hadn't been this cold. She thought about what they could be experiencing and all that came to mind was that there must still be a spirit here that didn't cross over - one that was suddenly manifesting its presence. It was also blatantly trying to separate her from Killian by inserting an invisible barrier between their bodies, but she'd been prepared for it this time.

"Oh, hell no!" she cried out, directing her words to the unseen spirit. "Not this time, pal…" If this thing was trying to possess Killian again, it wasn't happening. Earlier, when she'd healed the majority of his injuries from the tumble down the stairs, she'd snuck in a protection spell blocking any entity from gaining control of Killian's body again. She doubted even a virus could sneak in right now and that was perfectly fine with her. She hadn't trusted Jeremiah or any of his other ghostly friends to keep their word and not take another turn at controlling the pirate against his will. A quick-thinking modification of the protective spell she'd placed on his heart long ago to prevent Gold or anyone else from taking it had been a potentially brilliant idea, but she had no way to measure its success or failure unless a ghost tried to possess him once more.

Now, with him transfixed - some sort of magic attempting to exert influence over him - she would get her answer, but if her plan was successful, it also meant that they'd be dealing with a very pissed off ghost - and she was definitely right about that. The presence she felt trying to repel her from Killian was exerting increasing force, reaching a point where the pressure was so great it actually tipped over the sofa, sending both Emma and Killian tumbling to the parquet floor. Emma recovered almost instantly, rolling off of the upended sofa and drawing herself into a ready-for-action crouch (not that it would be particularly effective against an invisible enemy). Hampered by the prior head injury, Killian didn't get up quite as quickly, struggling against the sensation of blood rushing to his already pounding skull which left him slightly disoriented. Fortunately, at least the impact with the floor had broken the trance. He toppled over onto his side in attempt to right himself, but couldn't seem to muster the strength to push himself even to his knees.

But what Killian didn't realize was that he wasn't just fighting against his own vertigo - something was intentionally trying to keep him pinned down. It took Emma only seconds to realize that the entity was still attacking him. Oh, no you don't, she thought as she propelled herself forward, grabbing a fistful of the soft, black leather that made up the collar of Killian's jacket and yanking him off of the fallen sofa. The abrupt movement caught him off-guard, leaving him slightly dazed until he regained his senses. One thing was absolutely certain though - they were definitely not alone in this room.

And this ghost wasn't playing nice anymore.

Angered, the spirit diverted its attention from the couple, instead focusing its energy on objects in the parlor - starting with small items it could easily manipulate as it worked toward larger ones. Emma's thermos suddenly became a projectile launched at her head and while it was easily deflected, there were undoubtedly going to be more.

"I'm thinking that maybe we should get out of here…," Emma suggested, although she truthfully had no idea where they could go in this blasted house that would be safe.

"I don't think that this spirit intends to allow us to leave here, Love," Killian replied as he regained his wits. "Our unseen companion is rather upset that you prevented him from possessing my being again - and thank you for that, by the way."

"So, it's the same spirit? The one who called himself Jeremiah?" Emma wondered, trying to figure out why any ghosts would have been left behind if Regina's spell had been successful. Why didn't this one cross over?

"Aye," Killian confirmed. "Tis the same entity. The other voices I was hearing earlier tonight have gone silent so it appears the others have moved on…"

"Why the hell didn't Jeremiah move on?" Emma asked as they ducked an airborne urn that sailed over their heads. "Is that why he's so upset?"

"I don't think so," Killian said, shaking his head as he strained to understand the spirit's message through the chaos. "He's quite irate, but the aggression appears to be directed more towards you than anything else."

"Damn - what did Regina get wrong that kept this one here?" she questioned as the flames of the four candles she'd just re-lit flared, the flames reaching nearly the height of the taper candles themselves before they began blending together to form what looked like a mocking face in the fire. Emma waved her hand to squelch the maniacal flames with a magically guided breeze that would once again envelope them in darkness, but both would agree that they were more unnerved by the fiery visage staring back at them than they were of the dark.

"That was truly disconcerting…," he started to say as they remained frozen in place, trying to discern where the next attack might originate. In the faint light that remained, a glimpse of movement drew his eyes upward and he immediately recognized that the motion he was seeing was the parlor's chandelier swaying - and separating from the ceiling. "Swan - look out!" He cried out as the bracket that once secured the massive light fixture to the ceiling pulled free and sent the entire metal and crystal contraption plummeting to the floor. While they managed to roll out of the way of the bulk of the fixture, broken glass sprayed everywhere along with bits of bronze shrapnel.

"I think he's gotten stronger without the competition," Emma stated as she carefully brushed away the crystal shards along with the dust and cobwebs that accompanied them. "Maybe that's what he wanted all along?" she theorized, figuring it wasn't any crazier of a thought than anything else they'd faced tonight. "I think it's time we got the hell out of this house!"

"I'm in full agreement with you there, but this spirit is not about to cooperate," Killian warned. "From what I can garner, this spectre is quite incensed, yet at the same time, he appears to be gloating…"

"Gloating? Really? Look, I'm partially glad that you can still hear him," she responded, "but I'm really sorry about what it did to you…"

"We can discuss all of that later, Love," Killian assured her. "Right now, it seems our friend, Jeremiah, is in need of a recharge. These manifestations and manipulations drained his energy, so we may have a brief window of reprieve…"

"We should head back to the butler's quarters. I don't think the ghosts have invaded that part of the property because from what I saw when I was briefly in there earlier, nothing in that area seems to be even remotely enchanted." She pushed herself up to a standing position, still wary of invasive spirits and flying objects as she searched for the radio, knowing it had fallen somewhere around the overturned sofa. Killian, still on his knees, spotted it first, locating it beneath one of the loose cushions. He leaned forward to retrieve it, wrapping his fingers around the device before he finally pushed through the dizziness and forced himself to stand.

"If you think that's the best, lead the way, Love," Killian replied, extending his arm to offer the radio to her which she accepted and pocketed, certain they would need it later. She took a few steps over to the console table where the still smoldering candelabra rested, eyeing it suspiciously before daring to pick it up. They were going to need the light, but would there be residual spirit energy accompanying them if they brought it with them? After a brief hesitation (and a struggle with lingering doubt that her magic would fail again), she wriggled her fingers ever-so-slightly to re-light the wicks.

"Good thing I healed that ankle of yours," she quipped as she lifted the candelabra from the table. "We'd better move quickly before Jeremiah regains his strength. We've got to head through the kitchen to get through the butler's quarters and I really don't want to get caught in there by a pissy spirit who can move objects…"

"There'll be no argument from me," Killian assured her as they darted out of the parlor, back into the vestibule. He unintentionally kept a fair distance between himself and the curving staircase as they dashed past it, heading down the corridor that would lead to the dining hall. "Hurry, Love," he urged. "Jeremiah isn't exactly pleased with our attempts to elude him. I can hear him cursing us - and using words far less refined than those of my crew. He isn't yet prepared to throw any more parlor tricks at us yet though."

"Good. C'mon then...through here," she advised as she grabbed his hand, practically dragging him into the dining hall towards the unfurnished square anteroom, immediately noting that its door, which had been propped open earlier, was now closed. She briefly contemplated the possibility of the door being blown shut by the blast of wind moments ago or if it had been intentionally closed by ghostly manipulation. Either way, she had no intent of lingering as she gave the door a forceful kick to swing it back open and allow them to pass through. One more swinging door admitted them into the kitchen where eerie glints of candlelight reflected off of the still shiny steel, aluminum and chrome.

Emma hesitated only for a split-second as they made their way through the room Killian would have referred to as the galley, her mind suddenly invaded by images of flying pots, pans and most worrisome - knives. She shook her head vigorously to dismiss those disturbing thoughts before yanking open the final door that would take them outside onto the covered sidewalk connecting the mansion to its caretaker's residence, whispering a silent prayer that no magical barrier would stop them and then giving silent thanks as the door opened unhindered.

"Swan, we need to move faster," Killian stated anxiously as they passed through the doorway. "We have a very antagonistic spirit here that has nearly reached full strength again!"

They sprinted the remaining few yards to the detached apartment, the dwelling which Killian not-so-fondly recalled had been the Apprentice's home - at least before he'd trapped the old man inside the Crocodile's mysterious, magic-sucking hat, all while the pirate himself had been Rumplestiltskin's unwilling slave. It hadn't been one of his prouder moments, and he sensed Jeremiah taunting him with the haunting memory. Laughter echoed in Killian's ears - evil, mocking laughter that only brought further shame about his actions. Emma noticed his brooding as she shoved the door open, drawing him out of his self-imposed trance by taking hold of a fistful of his lapel and yanking him inside the apartment's living room. She gave him an forceful, almost impolite shove away from the entrance as she slammed the door behind them, turning the deadbolt lock instinctively before realizing how ridiculous that action seemed in retrospect. A deadbolt wouldn't exactly be any barrier to a ghost she thought as she stood breathlessly pressing her back to the doorframe and then two words came to mind.

"Now what?" Emma sighed loudly before pausing to catch her breath. "Can you still hear Jeremiah? What's he thinking now?"

Killian stood in the center of the Apprentice's former living room for a few seconds, listening for the ghostly voices that had plagued him all night before realizing that no - he couldn't hear anything except his own pounding heart. "No. I don't hear him, but I'm not about to believe that or let my guard down just yet. It may just be another trick."

"Hopefully not," Emma replied, unintentionally flinching at the sound of a door slamming in the distance, certain that it was Jeremiah locking them out of the main portion of the mansion. "Earlier tonight, Jeremiah said that the Apprentice knew of their presence, but since he lived here and not in the main house, maybe the old man created some sort of barrier to keep the ghost out of his home?"

"I hope you're correct," Killian replied, massaging his aching temples as he dropped his exhausted body onto the dust-covered, faded plaid sofa. "I'm not certain how much more my head can take…"

"Maybe the Apprentice has some aspirin or something stashed around here?" she suggested, trying to determine where the bathroom might be as she hadn't made it past this room earlier.

"I'll be fine, Swan. Question is - can we leave the property from here without traipsing back through the main house?"

"I don't know, but…" Her train of thought trailed off as the radio in her pocket came to life and she heard the muffled sound of her father's voice.

"Emma? Hook?" David voice pleaded anxiously. "Are either of you able to hear me?" She suddenly realized that while they were trying to remain a step ahead of a ghost, David had been sitting out in front of the mansion, most likely seeing the flashes of light and maybe even overhearing some noises of a rather disturbing nature.

She shoved her hand into her pocket and withdrew the radio, immediately depressing the Talk button. "Yeah...we're here, Dad."

"Oh, thank goodness!" They could hear David's relieved sigh over the crackle of static. "I was seeing more of those strange lights and then, a few minutes later, I thought I heard a crash. I got out of the truck to see what was going on and when I looked through the front window, I could barely make out the chandelier laying on the ground next to an overturned couch…"

"Sorry - we didn't exactly have time to alert you," Emma responded as she made her way over to the other side of the room to join her husband on the sofa. "We've got one angry ghost to deal with here. Killian is pretty sure that the others were freed to cross over, but there's still one here - Jeremiah - and he's dispensed with all of his pleasantries."

"Well, Regina's here," David informed them, the announcement coming as a bit of a surprise to both Emma and Killian. Was she just following up to see if the spell had worked and if so, why didn't she just call David to inquire? "That ghost - Jeremiah - she thinks he might be dangerous…"

"I think we've found that out," Emma replied, perhaps a little too snidely. "He tried to possess Killian again, but I blocked him with a protective spell. I think it pissed him off just a bit because he started throwing stuff at us."

"Where are you now?" David asked impatiently. "You're not still in the parlor, are you?"

"No, we're around back - in the butler's quarters where the old Apprentice used to live," Emma explained. "If you can find a way back here without going through the mansion, it doesn't seem like this section has enough magic for Jeremiah to use so we seem to be alone. He probably has the main house on lockdown again."

"Okay, thanks," David responded. "We'll find a way to get back there because Regina needs to fill you in with what she just told me." The radio went quiet again, leaving Emma and Killian to ponder the last part of David's statement. What exactly did Regina need to tell them and did it have anything to do with Jeremiah possibly being dangerous? Just what the hell had they walked into tonight?

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs ghost ff #the inbetween

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