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oworiio · 4 years ago

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(greasy) gamer boy chifuyu scenarios + visuals.

cw: 🔞 ! discord, reddit, masturbation, pet play, vaginal sex, anal play (?), thigh riding, daddy kink, cock warming, exhibition, blowjobs. nicknames: master, puppy, daddy, baby.

tagging: @tooweirdforyou, @takenyoomies, @chloe-nanami, @baji-san.

— note: this might be rushed... & not proof read like always oops.

You met him purely by chance, needing more friends to play games with. Stumbling upon 'Gaming and Anime.' Perfect! You loved games and anime, two birds and one stone, right?

It started with you chatting with a random member nicknamed ‘Master Chifuyu.’ Corny, but you didn’t really care. Getting to know him was amazing, charming, likes the same games and anime as you, good at games, easy to talk to— not to mention his voice was so attractive and god, when he revealed his face, you swore you were about to ride your goddamn screen.

No fair at all, discord mods were usually fucking horrendous inside and out. God was truly looking over you, he found you attractive and he lived close to you too! That’s how your ‘relationship’ started.

— 1 visuals: link (it's a car but just pretend)

Chifuyu was a horny bastard, never having a girlfriend for long enough to have sex with. He had a porn addiction, sadly— You caught him in the act a couple of times, cock in hand with him desperately jerking off to some videos he found on Reddit. It actually made you kinda sad. I mean, he has a girlfriend for a reason. You were always willing to help him if he was horny or stressed.

Panting and sighing as he tried not to moan as his palm met his sensitive head. Porn with loud fake moans blaring out of his headset as you entered, dropping your bags and immediately forgetting whatever you were gonna say.

“Oh- oh shit! Baby! I didn’t know you were comin’ over.” The male gasps, shutting off whatever he had playing on his monitor, turning his chair around to face you— completely shadowing the fact his hard cock was in front of you.

God he had a decent size, extremely thick too. “‘M sorry Y/N, promise. I just-” his words completely fly through you. Now you were turned on as you just gawked at his sex, running over to assist your boyfriend, dropping to your knees.

Your hands gripped to his shaft as you looked up at him, stroking it softly. "Hah- baby you really don't have to-"

"I know. I wanna help." You cut him off, staring at his face as he tries not to moan out and fuck into your hands, so cute.

— 2 visuals: link, link

Something you learned as you finally started having a sexual relationship is that Chifuyu liked cosplay. Actually he loved it when you did it, started making you cosplay his favorite characters just for him to fuck you and soil your costume with his cum. But the thing he loved most was when you’d pretend to be his pet. Collar, leash, everything. Even started making you wear butt plugs with a tail attached to it.

“Fu- Master it hurts, s'so big!” You whined as he stretched your insides with every inch, he was so thick.

“Shh, it’s only for a little bit, promise.” He cooed, grunting as his whole length bottomed inside of your cunt. That tail up your ass was making you tighter than ever, gummy walls squeezing around his fat length.

“Calm down or master won't last long.."

He rubs your ass as he starts slow, the pain quickly turning into pleasure. “So good, master!” your babbling comes out muffled as you face the pillow, gripping the sheets beside you—moving your hips with him, tail bouncing. “Want your cock so badly.” Your collar jingled with each stroke.

“Don’t worry puppy, master will take care of you.”

— 3 visuals: link, link, link

At times, Chifuyu would neglect you sexually. It would be about a week or two since he’s even touched your cunt. He's been too caught up in his game to even pay attention to you. Only ever interacting with you when he asks you to hand him another Monster in the fridge. But you were needy and wanting some sorta stimulation. Handing him his drink but instead of leaving, you sat on his lap. The end result is something you didn’t want, but you weren’t ungrateful for either.

Holding onto his neck, hugging him as you huff and whimper into his ear. Mindlessly grinding your naked sex all over his thigh as he continues to play his game.

"Daddy!" you whine, holding onto him as he ignores your existence— your cunt getting wetter with each hump to your clit. The moaning did get to Chifuyu, cock aching in his pants as he tries to focus on CSGO, he sighs.

"Fuck, let daddy game. Please, baby?"

If you were lucky and you did that, Chifuyu would allow you to sit on his cock, but he wouldn’t move. And you better not even try to bounce on it either, any type of movement reverts his attention to your sopping cunt and not the game.

"'Fuyu please move, please! Do anything for it!" You whine, grinding your hips against his pelvis, the stimulation mixed with his cock stirring inside you made your cunt leak, liquid dribbling to his chair.

"Shut up."

His crude reply makes you suck your teeth, pouting with a 'hmph!' but you obey, allowing him to enjoy his time. When Chifuyu would get frustrated at his game, he'd thrust inside of you, grunting and cursing at his screen.

But it wasn't all bad, if you were being a brat he'd just straight up forget his game, fucking you like a cock sleeve.

"Hah- Daddy, fuck- m'sorry!" You cry out, his grip on your hips will definitely leave a mark after.

"Shut your mouth, You were begging for this." You mewl at his response, the handle on his desk tightens as he gets more rough, wood and electronics thumping against the wall.

— 4

But neglect like that got even worse when he started streaming, completely shutting you out as he focused more on his streams. You were jealous, not only was he not paying attention to you, but he was paying more attention to his server and female viewers more than you.

You were fed up, the reminders and talks did nothing but give you a 'I get it already.' and sighs, he was so caught up in this bullshit he's practically throwing away his relationship.

It was another one of his 4PM streams, Minecraft again. You came up with a perfect plan to get back at him— which kinda benefits him but who's really paying attention.

Crawling under your boyfriend's desk as he continues to pay attention to his stream, not batting an eye at you as he actively makes jokes with them. Curious hands find his thighs, two fingers stepping and trailing over to his crotch, unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans, finally acknowledging your presence.

“What are you doing?” He whispers to you, but you just smirk at him pulling his pants along with his boxers to his thighs he gasps. Looking back up, he forgot he was streaming.

“Ah, heh.” He scratches his head, nervously laughing. “Sorry guys my cat is playing under the table, You guys met Peke J, right?”

You scoff at his quick thinking, grabbing his shaft, quickly licking a fat strip on his slit, he sighs.

You continue your ministrations, sliding it in and out of your mouth, you wish you could see his face as he tries his hardest not to look out of the ordinary. But eventually he learns to shut you out, cocking a brow at his sudden neglection.

You weren't gonna let him enjoy his stream. Not a chance, downing his whole length inside of your throat, making sure you choked, he groans in response, legs squirming underneath his desk.

"Sorry guys." He clears his throat.

"I gotta the end stream, my pet's giving me problems."

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #chifuyu smut #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu matsuno x reader #chifuyu matsuno smut

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pinkoushi · 4 years ago

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flipping like a switch (NSFW)

summary: asahi can flip like a switch, going from shyly blushing at your compliments to pounding you until your legs give out. porn with very little plot

characters: asahi x f!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: major daddy kink, creampie, edging, slight impact play, mild dacryphilia (? not sure tbh), mating press, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting (slightly), degradation, praise, PET NAMES, borderline forced orgasm aaaand slight overstim? i think that’s it. basically, y/n is in for a wild ride

A/N: okay. i haven’t written a fic for at least two years so i’m grossly bad at it, sorry! also, in case anyone missed it, this is based off the interaction between asahi and @odetolove / @introloves (i’m the asahi mod, i’m not stealing anyone’s content dw) anyway, enjoy!

It was a lazy Saturday; you and Asahi had the day off work and had decided to take the day to just relax, ending up on the couch together, half watching an old show you’d seen together hundreds of times. Asahi was on his back, you laying on top of him, his hands running soothingly up and down your back.

“You’re so pretty.” He suddenly whispers, moving a hand to pet your head, urging you to look up at him.

“Hmm you’re real pretty too, baby!” You hum back, barely awake, nuzzling your face on his muscular chest. “So handsome, makes me weak.”

A blush creeps up his face, heart beating faster. You had been dating for just over a year, and with the constant compliment battles the two of you had, you’d think he’d gotten used to it, but he never understood how someone as beautiful as you could possibly love him as much as you do.

“Y/N! You can’t just say that without warning!” He moves a hand to cover his burning face, feeling you laugh against his chest.

“Aw but it’s so fun to tease you!” You look up, resting your chin on his chest, a playful smile on your lips. “You get flustered to easily, I could just say that no one makes my pussy as wet as you do, and it’d put you in the grave.”

He squeaks, both hands now covering his face.

“It really is surprising how your personality flips, you’d think I was the dom here,” you laugh again, moving one of his hands from his face. “but you flip like a switch, fucking my brains out without a moment of hesitation.”

Confidence grows in him, blooming in his chest. You move up, gently sucking on his neck.

“My daddy, always fucking me so good.” You mumble against his neck, feeling your lower stomach tighten with arousal.

Asahi growls, flipping the two of you over, moving between your legs and pinning your hands over your head.

“My needy slut wants to play, is that it? Teasing daddy,” he smacks your leg, “how naughty.”

He kisses you roughly, hands roaming your body, groping at your tits. He’s growling into your mouth, grinding his hardening cock against your clothed cunt.

His lips move to your neck, sucking and biting harshly, hands moving your shirt up to expose your chest, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them.

You’re sighing and mewling, squirming against his actions, big and rough hands making you shiver. He smacks one of your tits, making you arch your back in to his touch.

“Please, fuck me!” You’re growing desperate, bucking your hips to get him to touch you more, deeper.

“Daddy, please” your hands find themselves in his hair, tugging on the soft locks. He tuts, biting down on the point where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Now, now, let daddy take his time or you’re not getting his cock.” He moves, lifting your shirt off your body before attacking your chest with hickeys. One hand trails down, sneaking under your sweatpants and panties, teasing your clit with soft touches, making you gasp.

“What did I just tell you, princess? Let daddy take his time.” His voice is harsh and deep. He scrapes his teeth on a nipple before moving down your body. “Maybe my pretty girl needs to be taught some patience, hm?”

He pulls your sweatpants and underwear down, spreading your legs and teasing your slit with a finger.

“Such a pretty little pussy for me, all mine.” He licks a hot strip over it, latching on to your clit and sucking. Two fingers find your entrance, pushing in and rubbing against your g spot.

“Ah-! Daddy!” You moan out loudly, hips bucking. “slo- slow down, gonna cum too quick!”

He doesn’t stop or slow down, speeding up instead. He waits, letting your orgasm build and build, hearing you near the edge and…

“FUCK, daddy, please!” He pops off, lips and fingers leaving you as you wail, hips moving desperately, searching for his touch.

You only moan and whine in response, frustrating him. He lets you calm down before attacking your clit again, sucking and playing with it. You tense up, muscles locking and trying to wrap your legs around his broad shoulders to keep him in place. Asahi only groans, pushing two fingers in again and pumping hard, building you up again.

He leans his head on your inner thigh, pinning your legs open with his hands.

“Aw, baby, you’re gonna have to wait,” he smacks your trembling pussy, smiling at the way you writhe in pain and pleasure, “you have to learn to be more patient.”

“Please- please daddy, let me cum, please!” you babble, gripping his hair to pull him in closer.

But he lets go again. You groan out, tears welling in your eyes. He smiles and kisses your shaking legs, hands running up and down your torso, calming you again.

“So pretty for me, all needy and crying.” He coos, pinning your legs open again and licks up your weeping hole, pushing his tongue in. He thrust a little with the muscle, moving back to your sensitive clit, pushing in his fingers again.

“Cum for me.” He commands, speeding up his fingers to urge your orgasm closer.

“FUCK! Daddyyy” you shake, your orgasm spilling down your pussy and down to your butt, falling on the couch. He doesn’t stop, harshly working you through the waves, pushing you to force more cum to squirt out. “Please, please, can’t- too much!” You try pushing his head away, him eventually retreating. He rubs on your legs and stomach, letting you breathe again.

“Good girl, so pretty, came so hard for me.”

He doesn’t try to initiate anything else, giving you the space to keep going if you want to.

You reach out, hands grabbing in the air and a high-pitched whine leaving your throat. Tears pool in your eyes, desperation aching in your bones.

“D-Daddy, please” you look down, squirming at his lust filled eyes, lower face covered in your slick and cum. “please... fuck me”

“Who owns this pussy? Who is fucking you this good? Tell me.” He commands, shivering at the way your eyes gloss over, completely submissive for him.

Arousal runs hot in his body, your desperation awakening something deep inside him. He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them to your chest, moving your body in to a mating press. Taking a hold of his cock and teasing your entrance before pushing in, a groan slipping out from his lips.

“Fuuuuck yes princess, feel so good!” his hands land above your head, lips meeting yours for a kiss. He starts thrusting, hard and deep, forcing squeals out from your mouth.

“Daddy~” you mewl, shaking hands clawing on his back, leaving red marks on the smooth skin.

Asahi comes down to leave hickeys on your neck, licking, sucking and biting at all the skin he can reach. His thrusts keep going, the slapping of your hips meeting echoing off the walls. You’re a mess, mouth open and letting all noises come out. The thrusts come to a halt, just grinding against you, one of his hands grabbing a hold of your hair to force you to look at him.

“You- you do, pussy- yours! Yours daddy, ‘m all yours, please!” you’re babbling, tears falling from your eyes and hands trying to force his hips to move again.

“good girl” Asahi coos, kissing your cheek and letting go of your hair, “such a good girl for daddy, my little slut.” Slapping your thigh and starting to move his hips again, chucking at the whine that escapes your throat.

“gonna cum for me again? C’mon, I know you can do it, my needy bitch can cum as much as daddy asks her to, right?” he hums, a hand sneaking down to play with your clit, groaning as you tense up and just about scream, orgasm hitting you hard.

He pulls out, going down your shaking body to your pussy, licking up the fluids and moaning. His fingers never leave your clit, playing with it until a sob echoes in the room. He pulls back, smirking up at you.

“My pretty girl, came so good n hard for me.” He’s making his way up again, pressing your knees up to your chest again and pushing in his cock again. “just a little more, my love, gonna cum soon. Where do you want it?”

“I-in… in me. Please, daddy please cum in me” you say softly, gasping when his thrusts start again, hard and quick.

He groans into your neck, humming approvingly. Your legs and arm go limp, mouth open and fucked out. You can barely think, skin on fire and pussy clenching over the thought of his hot cum inside you.

“Gonna cum, gonna, gonna-!” his voice is hurried and strained, biting down on your neck and moaning, hot spurts shooting into your pussy.

You’re both huffing and panting. He moves your legs down and lays down between your spread legs, kissing your chest.

“Th-thank you daddy” you gasp out, feeling his cum leak out of your soaking pussy. Your fingers run through his hair, smiling at his arms wrapping around your waist and snuggling closer.

#i- okay its /something/#is it good? probably not #azumane asahi #asahi x reader #asahi.babes #karasuno.babes #nsfw.tag #haikyuu smut #x.f!reader

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keiarchived · 4 years ago

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I will have y’all know that I’ve been screaming about dilf!Kiri at @m-mortimer for the last hour and I whole heartedly blame Kiri mod for this one because HNNGNGNFNFNGNGNF

Tw: age gap, mean dom, anal

Dilf!Kiri who have a man bun, gives up on dying his hair so it’s a mixture of red, black and white roots. Who’s a mean dom, have stubble, wear reading glasses, whisky and thin cigars, who loves it when you go all shy when he beckons you to sit on his lap, love to tease you with flexing his muscles when you can’t help but grind on his thick thighs, holding your hips and help you when you get all shaky and whiny, who’s more into anal because he can go fucking feral unless you want a bruised cervix, he can’t help himself but to be mean when you beg so cutely for him and looking so eager even when he barely fits, who calls you a little cock slut and call you out for how you’re so cock drunk for him even when he can easily be your father, he loves it when you end up as whimpering and babbling mess, how he ends up fucking his little princess stupid again with his big fat cock—

#cheshire goes feral #I AM FERAL

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awesomeundertalelover3 · 8 years ago

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SORRY! OUT ALL DAY!

Sorry to everyone who tried to talk to me or mentioned me in something today. My Family had to go school shopping for my brother. There was A LOT of traffic and lot’s of places were packed when we tried to find somewhere to eat so we had to keep moving around. I didn’t come online right away because I was tried and I spent the quite some time scrolling through everything. Just figured that the people who I talk to often would like to know where I was today since I haven’t posted almost ANYTHING today. Anyways That’s all I have to say.

See Ya!~ Miss Awesome

#this has been a psa #blog psa #miss awesome #talky #ignore this #i"m alive #YEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #mod babble #sorry for the rant

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toiletwipes · 3 years ago

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' Yer Don't Have To Answer Right Away , Its Okay To Take ' Yer Time ! Also Got Wilbur Inspired Glasses , Hate That Man . / lh Though , At Least ' M Not Blind Anymore ! Ouh , ' N Just So ' Yer Don't Get Confused , ' M 📻 Anon On Mods Blog As Well - Also , George Babbles , Tell Me Otherwise . [ That's A Threat . ]

- 📻

Ayoo!!! This is funny because my glasses broke on me like two days ago

And I noticed! I was wondering if it was a coincidence or not but dkfjdjdj yeah

And I'm not gonna fight you on that- once you get him going, he's not gonna stop

#📻 anon #anon asks #wipes answers

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archxvxd · 4 years ago

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(mod; how's it going otherwise?)

I-I can't resist you when you're begging so nicely for me, princess! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit-, fuck-

*makes tiny mouth on palm suck your clit harder while grabbing your hair with free hand to tug at it*

Want me to cum inside, yeah? Want me to make a mess of your pussy? Really do want, ngh, w-want my kid, don't you? Don't you worry about that, I will. I fucking will. I'll make you a Mommy. *laughs breathlessly*

F-fuck, princess. Cum for me, be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm? Do you want m-me to-, ah, shit-, want me to count you down? *tries to control strained voice but it cracks, letting out a moan*

- Sukuna

*gasps and pushes ass closer to you wiggling as mouth hangs open in a silent scream*

Y-yes! Yes please! Want it all in me~ Want y-you to make me a mommy- ngh fuckk- w-wanna make you a daddy hm~ D-daddy Sukuna~ jus’ w-want your cum! *babbles breathily not able to filter self*

Gonna cum~ S’ c-close! Wanna cream all- fuck fuck fuck- wanna cream all o-over your cock~ Mmm c-count for me ‘kuna p-please- *sobs* -c-can’t hold it in m-much l-longer!

{ i’m doing alright! Worked all day. Wbu lovey? }

#📬. tam gets mail #{. sukuna anon ♡}#{. spicy🌶🥵}

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sinnerandafool · 4 years ago

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Winter to Spring - My Skyrim Thieves Guild Fanfic

This is my Skyrim fanfic, based loosely on my current play through. If you are able to use mods, I highly recommend Take Notes - Journal of the Dragonborn. Writing a journal as my character definitely made me more invested in her story.

Here is the link to the whole story on Ao3 x.

I’m a rookie fic writer, so any feedback is appreciated, but mostly I hope you enjoy it, and that it serves as a good distraction from the hellscape we live in (Americans).

Title: Winter to Spring

Chapters: 4/?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (the MC experienced some in her past, and is experiencing sexual harassment in the first chapter.)

Rating: M (for violence, eventual sexual content)

Relationship: Brynjolf / Female Dovahkiin

Chapter 1

Aerlith woke alone, drowsily opening her eyes as the sounds of morning birds and running water filtered into her consciousness. A piney scent permeated the little fur tent. She rolled to one side, her sore muscles protesting. She closed her eyes, trying to fall back into the delicious dream she had been having. All she recalled were light touches, warm embraces, and a soft, deep voice calling her name. Well, not her name precisely. No one knew her true name, only the false one she used day to day. She sighed. For the thousandth time in her life, she cursed her past for making her a fugitive. She rolled over again, restlessly seeking sleep, but hunger nagged at her stomach, so she reluctantly got up and exited the tent.

Sitting on a boulder next to the stream babbling by, she stared up at the entrance of the ruin before her. The Twilight Sepulcher. The trials of the Pilgrim’s Path were still painfully fresh in her mind. Aerlith never liked ruins. The smell of decay, the damp darkness, and worst of all, the deafening silence, which often signaled the presence of slumbering draugr. She shuddered, recalling their evil glowing eyes and hollow flesh.

Despite her fear, Aerlith had been successful in her mission to return the Skeleton Key to its rightful place. She felt apathetic about Nocturnal, and suspected the lady of twilight felt similarly about her. Daedric princes were never concerned with the fates of their human worshippers, and to Aerlith it seemed a tad foolish to risk one’s life in exchange for unreliable favor. But no matter her skepticism, she’d completed Nocturnal’s trial, and at last reached the Ebonmere, where she returned the Skeleton Key. She didn’t do it for Nocturnal. She did it for her family.

She smiled sadly, thinking about Karliah and Gallus, saying their final goodbyes before he faded into the Evergloam. Gallus had extended his spectral hand to touch his beloved’s cheek with such tenderness and sincerity it made her heart ache. “Farewell,” Karliah had intoned softly, leaning into his intangible touch. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Her voice was even, and Aerlith couldn’t see her face, but something in her tone betrayed absolute misery at the parting.

Aerlith took the last bite of her apple and stood. She stretched, then set about packing up her camp. She was tired, yes, but she was also brimming with excitement. Nocturnal would no longer sabotage the luck of the guild, and their chances of success would increase. The wealth would marginally improve the lives of her newfound family, and she couldn’t wait to share in their happiness. And, of course, she was curious about what he would have to say.

Aerlith hired a carriage to take her from Falkreath to Riften, opting for comfort and rest in exchange for one hundred-fifty hard earned septims. But it was worth it, she thought, snuggled under a warm fur cloak and hood, watching the scenery pass by idly while the horse did all the work. Her life for the past few weeks had been constant hiking, camping and delving into dangerous ruins. She was ready for a break.

One long day and night later, the carriage creaked its way up a gentle rise, and Riften Stables came into view. Feeling lethargic and in need of exercise, Aerlith tapped the driver on the shoulder and asked him to let her off. He obliged, and urged his horse up the road without her.

She strolled languidly along the road, slowly stretching her stiff legs. The Rift was blooming. The aspens sprouted new leaves, wildflowers grew madly across the landscape, and birds were everywhere, singing their chirruping songs. Aerlith breathed in the clean spring air, intoxicated by the warmth and life of it all. After the dank Sepulcher and gloomy Falkreath hold, this was paradise.

By and by she reached the main gate of Riften, nodding to the guards in their livery, who smiled coyly at her as she passed. They knew who she was, or at least, they knew her reputation in the hold. She had been gone for a long time, and among the nosy guards there were several betting pools on whether she’d make it back alive. The guard guffawed and shook hands with his partner, who reluctantly tossed him a purse. Arielle had returned home at last, and he was rich.

Aerlith skirted the marketplace, moving quickly along the perimeter towards the keep. Though it was a warm day, she pulled her hood securely over her face, and kept her head down. Thankfully, it was a busy time in the market, so she was able to slip through without attracting much attention.

At the secret back entrance to the cistern, she nudged the button and waited for the coffin to slide back. As usual it made an unpleasantly loud grinding sound, and she wondered for the hundredth time why none of the citizens ever commented on it, or attempted to gain entry. It was another strange feature of Riften life. She still wasn’t used to the confounding apathy that permeated the city.

Below, she lifted the hatch and descended the ladder into the darkness. Though the cistern was damp and cool, warmth spread from her heart when she saw her guildmates gathered on the center dais. Everyone was here, safe, and from the looks of it listening raptly to Karliah. The dark elf stood beside Brynjolf, entertaining the small crowd with her part of the tale of the Skeleton Key’s return. Arielle approached silently to listen.

“I was working to clear some rubble when I saw the portal glow to life. I knew what must have happened, and I eagerly stepped through it and into Nocturnal’s sanctum. I just managed to catch the lady fading back into her realm, and then I saw Arielle. Her face was the perfect picture of shock. I called out to her and she looked at me as if from a hundred miles away. I swear I’ve never seen her look so bewildered.” Karliah smiled, and Brynjolf chuckled softly, looking thoughtful.

“In all fairness,” Aerlith said softly, feeling the eyes of her guildmates shift to her, “If you’d just taken a leap of faith, fallen toward your certain death, and then come face to face with a daedric prince for the first time, I imagine you’d look the same, Karliah,” she smiled, meeting her friends’ eyes.

Karliah beamed at her. “Welcome back Arielle!” She crossed the dais and pulled her into a tight hug. “Would you care to share your side of the story?”

“At the moment, all I would like is a bath and a bottle of Surilie wine,” she said, smiling. “And, to be honest, I think our lady would like to keep some of her secrets sacred.” Aerlith winked at Rune, who was staring at her with boldfaced shock.

Brynjolf stepped toward her, smiling. “Well done, lass. It’s good to see you in one piece.” He clapped her shoulder, then became more serious. “I’m not much good at things like this, but I need to thank you for all you’ve done for the guild. I’m so proud-”

“Oh, enough fluff Brynjolf,” Vex said exasperatedly. “We’re all happy. Let the poor woman have her bath in peace.”

Karliah grinned and squeezed Aerlith’s hand. “Indeed. Let’s all go to the Flagon and have a proper celebration!”

The guild all made approving noises and began to filter out, several of the members stopping to offer words of encouragement to Aerlith.

“Arielle!” exclaimed one, a handsome, burly nord with striking warpaint beneath his eyes. “I’m so glad you returned safely. ” He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “My sword and bow are always at the ready for you. You need not fear any foe with me by your side.”

“Hello Thrynn,” Aerith said tiredly. “Pleasure as always.” She pulled her hand away. “But I really would like to go relax now. It was a long journey from Falkreath. If you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps you’d like some company in the bath, little dove,” he growled softly, his voice like the ragged edge of an old battleaxe. She could feel his breath on her ear. A chill ran down her neck, goosebumps rising.

“No,” she said firmly, “Thank you.” She pulled away from him, and strode, head held high across the cistern to the entrance of the baths.

Thrynn admired her retreating figure until it vanished into darkness. He turned to go to the Flagon, but was stopped short in his tracks by Brynjolf, who leaned against a wall by the door, face wreathed in shadow. Thrynn scowled. “What are you doing skulking around like that, Brynjolf? Out of the way.” He tried to push past, but Brynjolf stopped him.

“When will you give it up, Thrynn?”

“Give what up?”

“Arielle. I don’t know how many times you need to be rejected for the message to come across loud and clear,” Brynjolf stood up, taking a step closer.

Thrynn laughed heartily at the threat. “You know nothing of women if you thought that was rejection,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “Women always play hard to get.” He smiled lasciviously then continued, “That’s what makes Arielle so irresistibly delicious.”

Brynjolf’s mouth set into a grim line. “Don’t talk about her that way. She’s not a blushing lady for you to seduce. She is your sister in arms,” he said forcefully.

The bandit chuckled. “Not like you to be so hypocritical, Brynjolf. You hold your subordinates to a higher standard than yourself.”

“Not sure what you are implying, but I advise you to choose your next words very carefully.” Brynjolf’s green eyes hardened, the anger in them sharper than the finest glass dagger.

Thrynn swallowed. “Everyone knows about you and the fence,” he said boldly.

“Oh yes?” Brynjolf smiled darkly at Thrynn, and the bandit wondered for a moment if he should be ready to brawl. “Get out of my sight,” the second in command spat at him.

Relieved, Thrynn pushed past his superior and rushed through the door to the Flagon. Brynjolf frowned, his brow furrowed, and stared off into the darkness where Arielle had been a moment before.

Aerlith had never been so happy to sink into a hot bath. She wasted no time, quickly shimmying out of her light armor, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She lowered herself indulgently into the water. The grime from the Sepulcher, the dust from the road, and the cold of Skyrim that permeated her bones gave way to the warmth of the water. She glowed with happy contentment. She was home among her friends again. The faces of Karliah, Vex, Brynjolf and Delvin brought such joy to her. After her lonely sojourn through Skyrim, she had everything she needed. And Brynjolf was proud of her. His warm green eyes and welcome smile made her glow even brighter. She grabbed up her soap and began to wash, smiling to herself.

Her mind wandered unbidden back to Thrynn. The former bandit was friendly enough, though difficult to trust at the best of times. But his constant flirting was beginning to be more than just a minor annoyance. She’d failed to reject him firmly enough the first time, and he had been ignoring her subsequent tries with horrifyingly admirable gumption.

When Aerlith first joined the guild, Thrynn, along with practically every other man with eyes had been quite open about their interest in her. At first she had blushed furiously red when they complimented her, or touched her. She would always freeze in place and clam up, her mind unable to form thoughts, her mouth unable to speak. Her innocent reaction made them laugh, at which point they would ruffle her hair and leave her to go about their business. Aerlith began spending more time with Vex, observing how her friend would openly laugh at the men accosting her, and she learned how to handle unwanted advances with more confidence. As she rejected the men, one by one they moved on. It was better this way. She hoped their interest stemmed merely from her novelty, and not from any other motives.

Thrynn was not as easy to deal with. He pushed past her discouragement, whether it was polite or harsh. He continued to harass her, to touch her, to whisper vile things in her ear that made her blush. She felt beat down by his constant disregard for her wish to be left alone, and had resolved to just ignore him when she could. It reminded her a little too much of the way Jarl Siddgeir’s sneering, lecherous expression, when he cornered her in the darkened servant’s quarters all those months ago. She shuddered at the memory. She could still feel his body weight pressing her into the wall, the hard length of his arousal grinding into her angrily. Something died within her that night. She had no skills, no strength, and no way out. Her silver eyes hardened. Things had changed. If she ever met Siddgeir again, she would have her revenge.

Aerlith soaped her long, pale blonde hair, gently teasing out the tangles. She never felt more powerful, more able to protect herself at this moment. The frightened and helpless girl she once was had grown into a dangerous woman. Her mediocre skills with a dagger, which had been scoffed at by Vilkas of Jorrvaskr, had improved under Brynjolf’s friendly tutelage. Thanks to him, and to the other members of the guild who shared their expertise, Aerlith was silent, fast, and deadly.

Feeling clean and refreshed, Aerlith allowed herself a moment to wallow in the hot water. There was one man in the guild who was ostensibly uninterested in her: Brynjolf. His attentions to her were friendly, but professional. He patiently taught her the tools of a thief’s trade, gently correcting her when she needed it. She was grateful that he did not ridicule her inexperience. He offered his advice after giving her a job, and usually ended by staring her down with his shiny green eyes as he said, “And be careful, lass.”

When she returned successful and pocket jingling with coin, he would clap her on the back or shoulder, offering her encouragement and smiles that she hoped contained pride. She was his protege, after all. Thanks to Brynjolf, Aerlith had a safe place to sleep, and a well paying job that allowed her to keep a low profile. She was more than grateful to him, and their relationship was more than a simple friendship. But whether her feelings for him were platonic was a question she desperately tried to avoid. She knew he didn’t see her as anything more than a pupil.

However, Aerlith occasionally caught him staring at her from across rooms, his eyes serious as he contemplated her. It seemed unfair to her that she couldn’t decipher the meaning behind this. It was all too easy to imagine that he felt something for her too. On the night they met, Brynjolf flirted with her shamelessly, and though she knew now that his attention had been false, simply a means to an end, her attraction and interest in him that night was real.

Another memory fought its way to the surface. The guild threw a large celebration when the three Nightingales returned successful, Mercer dead and Karliah safely home again with her honor restored. That night, Aerlith begged off an arm wrestling match with Vex, opting to take a cup of wine to a quiet table on the outer ring of the din. There she sat and watched the merriment, laughing as Vekel hit on Tonilia and she slapped him forcefully for his impertinence, nearly knocking the slight man down. Tonilia huffed away, going to sit across from Brynjolf at his table. As Aerlith’s eyes followed the woman in amusement, they lit upon Brynjolf and stuck there. He was watching her again. She looked back at him, surprised. She couldn’t make out the expression on his face. The shadows made it too difficult to see, but the glint in his eyes couldn’t be mistaken.

She didn’t look away. Neither did he. Aerlith felt heat beginning to rise in her cheeks, but she was transfixed. His green eyes shone at her as he leaned forward into the candlelight, resting his chin on his hand. The light revealed his faintly amused smile, which she returned hesitantly. But then, Tonilia said something to him and he looked away, the tension released. Aerlith felt let down. The rumors of Brynjolf and Tonilia’s romantic involvement may not have been true, but to Aerlith it seemed they shared a closer relationship than was usual. It pricked her to see him smile so easily and openly with Tonilia, joking raunchily and teasing her. With Aerlith, Brynjolf acted as the wise teacher, the helpful mentor. Her gratitude prevented her from feeling resentment, but her disappointment could not be helped.

Aerlith finished scrubbing her hair and rose from the bath. She toweled herself quickly and dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, pulling on her stockings and boots. She didn’t bother to arrange her hair or apply any cosmetics. Fatigue wore on her, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the giddy depths of a bottle.

She entered the tavern a few minutes later. Karliah, sitting with Vex and Delvin, saw her come in and motioned for her to join them. Aerlith smiled and went over.

“Here you are, yer ladyship,” Delvin said gruffly, pouring her a cup of her favorite Surilie vintage. “Only the best for the woman of the hour.”

Aerlith sat down and picked up the cup. Seized by a sudden emotion, she raised it and said, “To the guild! May it last another thousand years.” The others raised their flagons as well, adding their “Hear, hear”s and “To the guild!”s. Aerlith drank deeply, draining half her cup in one go. She wasn’t planning on drinking lightly.

“So,” Vex said, “Care to tell us more about your exploits, Arielle? Delvin is practically foaming at the mouth with curiosity.” She smiled wickedly at him, and he smacked her hand.

Aerlith laughed. She had missed the banter of her friends during her long journey alone. She drank again, considering. Vex was still looking at her curiously, so she said, “Not much to tell I’m afraid, Vex.”

Vex scowled. “You Nightingales and your secrets,” she muttered darkly. But she brightened up quickly when she spotted something over Aerlith’s shoulder. “Watch out,” she said, smiling sneakily at Aerlith and rising from the table. “Delvin, Karliah, come here. I want to show you something.” Vex beckoned them across the room, leaving Aerlith alone with her wine.

Puzzled, Aerlith drained the rest of her cup, and reached for the bottle to pour another. A larger, rougher hand covered hers and tightened it against the glass bottleneck.

“Thirsty tonight, eh little dove?” Thrynn’s rough voice whispered in her ear. Aerlith pulled her hand away, and watched as Thrynn poured her wine, filling her cup nearly to the brim. He moved and sat down in the chair next to hers, resting his head on one hand lazily. “I can think of many more delicious ways to quench your thirst.” He licked his lips, the suggestion obvious.

Aerlith rolled her eyes. “Thank you for your input Thrynn.”

He chuckled. “So cold. Any other man would think you hated him.”

“Then why don’t you take the hint?” Aerlith asked sharply.

Thrynn leaned back in his chair and regarded her. She felt his eyes roaming over her face and body. “I want you to sing for me, little dove,” he crooned, taking her hand in his. “I’ve the skilled hands of a thief and the strength of a barbarian...care to take a ride?”

Aerlith yanked her hand away, standing unsteadily and staring down at him. She swallowed her nerves and said, “I am not your little dove , Thrynn. I am a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. And believe me,” she said, her words pure venomous threat, “I am more than capable of making you sing for me.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger, staring at him pointedly.

Thrynn stood and pulled her to him, his hands tight on her waist. His eyes burned with desire. “That’s the fire I love about you,” he said roughly. Before she could react, he pressed his mouth hungrily to hers.

Panic took hold of her, and she tried to wrench away, but he was too strong for her. Desperately, she fumbled for her dagger, drew it, and stabbed it mercilessly into his thigh. Thrynn howled and released her. Aerlith pulled her dagger back and brandished it, sinking into her fighting stance.

“Little bitch,” Thrynn spat. He reached for his battle axe.

“Enough,” Delvin said, stepping between Aerlith and Thrynn. “Calm down the lot of you.” He looked over his shoulder at Aerlith. “All right?” She nodded. “Good. Now, get yer hackles down Thrynn, before I gut you like a fish.”

Thrynn looked from her and back to Delvin. The tavern had gone quiet. Aerlith did not turn around, but from Thrynn’s mild panic, she could tell the thieves were watching the scene with little love for the bandit. “Fuck you,” Thrynn spat at Delvin, and turned to leave the Flagon from the front entrance. The door slammed behind him.

Aerlith breathed out, slow and steady. She grabbed a linen from the table and wiped her dagger on it, sliding it back into the sheathe. Karliah appeared at her shoulder. “Are you alright, Arielle?” she said with concern.

“Fine,” Aerlith said, anger still coursing through her. “That bastard deserved it.”

“He did indeed,” Karliah said, a smile curling her lips. Around them, the thieves returned to their drinks, and conversation began to buzz again.

“I need a drink,” Aerlith said, beginning to relax again.

“It’s on me,” Karliah laughed and headed to the bar to procure another bottle.

Aerlith sat with Karliah, watching her guildmates fraternize and drink. Delvin brought out his lute, and Dirge his drum, and the two began playing a lively tune. Tonilia got up and started to dance, her lithe body and agile feet drawing the eyes of every man in the room. Aerlith’s eyes drifted to the bar, where she saw Brynjolf sitting the wrong way round on his stool, leaning back on the bar as he watched Tonilia dance, smiling and occasionally sipping his drink.

He is so handsome , Aerlith mused. Brynjolf had shiny long hair the color of garnet, which set off the color of his deep set green eyes. But it wasn’t his appearance as much as his personality that made him stand out. He had a habit of catching her off guard with a sly look in his eyes, saying her name with his lilting accent, catching her in a daydream when she was supposed to be learning lockpicking. She would snap out of her trance and meet his eyes, and get lost again for a moment before smiling apologetically and telling him to continue with his teaching.

All the lifesaving lessons he taught were sorely needed. After her family went missing, she arrived in Skyrim and became a ward of the old Jarl of Falkreath, the suspicious and feeble Dengeir. Her mother had a cousin who worked in the longhouse, so Aerlith was allowed to live there in return for working in the kitchen and cleaning up after the Jarl’s family. She didn’t hate it there, but when Dengeir’s nephew Siddgeir assumed the throne, the trouble began. Siddgeir took an unhealthy interest in his ward, resulting in the terrifying night he had confronted her in her room. Worse, once he had his fun, he threw Aerlith cruelly out into the street, claiming that she was a liability he couldn’t afford any longer. He may very well have been correct, but without his protection, Aerlith was a sitting duck.

The day two strangers came through Falkreath asking after a pale haired girl with silver eyes, she fled with her few possessions and never looked back. Aerlith didn’t adjust well to life on the run. She arrived in Riverwood hungry, filthy and tired, and nearly collapsed on the porch of the inn. She had enough money to pay her way, but being a weak young lady with riches and no protection, she soon lost half her purse to a sneak thief in the night. Desperate, she moved on from Riverwood to Whiterun, with shallow hope that she would find sanctuary at the Temple of Kynareth.

Lost in reverie, she realized she was still staring at Brynjolf. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she turned back to her bottle, attempting to drown out her thoughts with the intoxicating liquid. Karliah regarded her, sipping from her own cup. “Something on your mind, friend?”

“That business with Thrynn took me back to a different time,” she said, her face hard. “I haven’t always been as good with a blade.” Aerlith wanted to unburden herself and share her troubles with Karliah, but she couldn’t risk it. From Falkreath to Riften, she was hunted by various heavily armed strangers. She suspected they were the same men who took her parents away, come to finish the job. Telling her story to anyone was foolish and could possibly bring harm to them.

Karliah smiled sadly. “Being a woman in Skyrim is tough. But you are strong and worth their respect,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the gathered guild. “It is good that you remind them now and then.”

Aerlith grinned. Though Karliah knew nothing of her past, Aerlith always felt that her friend understood her perfectly. It was a comfort beyond measure. “At least I have you, my friend. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in darkness.”

The dark elf laughed and patted her hand. “I’m off to bed,” she said, standing. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Aerlith nodded at the familiar send off.

“Good night.”

Some time later, when the music had ceased and most guild members had stumbled off to bed, Aerlith tipped the bottle into her cup once more, only to be disappointed when nothing poured out. She sighed and leaned over the table, contemplating throwing in the towel and going to bed. Questing in the interest of the guild was great and noble, but it definitely didn’t make her rich. She tiredly imagined how many jobs she would have to take on before she made up for all the traveling expenses.

While she was lost in thought, Brynjolf came over silently and plunked a full bottle of wine on her table, making her jump a bit. “You shouldn’t have an empty cup, lass,” He said, looking down at her with playful eyes and a warm smile.

Aerlith nodded her approval and reached for the bottle. She noted that Brynjolf also looked pretty deep in his cups. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes were extra shiny.

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking a sip and offering him the bottle when he sat opposite her. He poured out a cup for himself, then looked at her for a moment.

“I never got to thank you properly earlier,” he said.

Her heart swelled, but she kept her voice even as she said, “I got all the thanks necessary from Lady Nocturnal herself.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he laughed. “But truly, without your help, the guild would still be under the thumb of Mercer and suffering from a daedra’s displeasure.” He looked at her seriously, and she felt herself beginning to blush. “I’m very glad I chose to scam you of all the people in the city that day,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Aerlith took a swig of wine to cool herself. Feeling vulnerable, she spoke quietly, “If you hadn’t tried to rob me, I never would have joined the guild, and would have wandered alone forever.” She chanced a look up at him. “All the skills you’ve taught me have saved my life countless times already. Performing this task for the guild was nothing in comparison to what I’ve received.” Saying it felt right, but Aerlith thought Brynjolf would laugh at her sincerity as he usually did.

He surprised her by reaching across the table and grasping her hand tightly in his. His grip was warm, his calloused fingers rough as they held hers fast. “Don’t be silly. You’ve accomplished something great, and I’m proud of you, Arielle.” He stared intensely into her eyes, burning her with the heat of his conviction.

She pulled her hand back and took another long drink from her cup. She grinned at him. “It’s a strange thing, hearing a thief speak so earnestly,” she joked, trying to dispel the tension she felt.

“As I said, I’m not one for sincerity. Enjoy it while it lasts, lass.” She relaxed a bit, knowing that the hard part was over. “Now, about that bandit,” he said, looking at her smugly.

“What about him?” She asked, twisting the silver ring on her right hand repetitively. Maybe the ‘hard part’ would never really be over with Bryn.

“I enjoy seeing Thrynn being put in his place. Well done indeed, Arielle,” he replied, a sly smile playing over his lips.

Oh. He saw that . Shame burned a blush in her cheeks. She didn’t like to imagine what Brynjolf must have thought, seeing her with him. The memory of Thrynn’s hands on her felt dirty. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, looking down. “I did what had to be done.”

“And did it well,” he said gently. Aerlith raised her eyes to his. Brynjolf smiled. “Chin up, lass. That bastard couldn’t best you if he trained for a hundred years.”

A poignant feeling of relief and sadness stung her. Aerlith fought back tears, disguising her pain by gulping deeply from her cup. She wanted to say something, but her thoughts were scattered. Her mind’s eye kept flashing to Thrynn’s face, his mouth stealing hers, his hands gripping her painfully. Siddgeir slid into her thoughts too, clouding her vision with fear and shame. She breathed out shakily, carefully training her gaze into her cup.

“Arielle? Are you alright?” His chair scraped the floor as he stood, coming up close beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking. She felt tears begin to fall and blushed, looking down again. Brynjolf knelt down and leveled with her gaze.

Tentatively, his eyes searching hers, he reached up and touched her cheek. His thumb brushed a tear away, and she inhaled shakily, unsure of how to react to his touch. “It’s all right, lass. Whatever the trouble is, we can make it right,” he said slowly.

“I can’t shake them, Brynjolf,” she said, trying to speak through the sob choking her. “No matter where I go.” She hung her head again, resting it in his palm. “I will never be free from my past,” she concluded, and despair overwhelmed her. She cried softly in front of him, hating herself and hating her weakness. But she was tired, so very tired, and his kindness had opened a floodgate within her.

For a horrible moment, Brynjolf stayed very still, and she dreaded his reaction. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took her hands in his and pulled her to him, carefully encircling her in a gentle embrace. “All right, Arielle. It’s all right,” he whispered. He stroked her hair, letting her ride out the sadness. Finally, her crying quieted into sniffles, and she felt him pull her tighter to him “That’s it, lass.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

Aerlith tried to calm her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut as visions of the past threatened to take her over again. With her head pressed against his chest, Aerlith could hear Brynjolf’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm pulled her focus back to the present. Gradually, she felt herself coming down to earth as her breathing slowed and her thoughts cleared.

Reality rushed back in like frigid water, a cruel reminder of who she was, who he was, and where they were. Aerlith pulled away from Brynjolf quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “I should go.” She nodded to him and tried to make a hasty exit.

“Wait,” he said, and grabbed her arm. Aerlith didn’t look at him. She couldn't. “I’m worried about you, Arielle. Can’t I help you?” The worried kindness in his voice almost made her break again.

Aerlith steeled herself. Turning to her mentor and smiling brightly, she said, “Nothing’s much wrong, Bryn.” His brow furrowed as he watched her skeptically. “I’m just very, very tired, and I think I’ve had too much wine. I’m sorry to make a scene.”

“Alright, lass, if that’s really how you feel.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then pulled her into him again, wrapping her in his arms tightly. He held her silently for a long moment. Aerlith listened to his heartbeat again, wishing she could hear it forever. I broke so easily for him , she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Wrapped up in his warmth, she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she felt totally safe. Safe enough that the iron doors of her resolve cracked open, revealing the vulnerability and fear within. The revelation scared her, but she didn’t pull away this time. She breathed him in. His scent was leather, wine, smoke, and just a hint of sweat. Eyes closed, she let him lull her into a state of serenity.

Finally, he held her out at arms length. “Get some rest then,” he said, smiling gently. Before she could move, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, lingering there. Aerlith's eyes widened in surprise. So many invisible lines had been crossed tonight, but what truly surprised her was how right it all felt. Brynjolf took a deep breath and pulled away, blowing it out slowly as he stared at her. The look in his eyes confounded her. It was a cross between tenderness and fiery determination, with a touch of heated aggression that made her breath catch in her chest.

Aerlith smiled. “Thank you, Bryn,” she whispered. He nodded, his eyes still burning with that mysterious energy. “Good night, then.” Aerlith walked off to bed, praying to the divines that it hadn’t been a dream.

#brynjolf #f!dovahkiin #f!dragonborn #skyrim fic #thieves guild #fanfiction #romance #brynjolf x dragonborn #are there even tags for this ship?#brynjolf x dovahkiin

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years ago

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 7/11

In this chapter, Emma sets off on a search for home, but is she only running? Meanwhile, Killian learns that a voyage may be in order to stop Pan’s evil schemes. I promise, this is the last chapter that Emma and Killian will be separated! I think (hopefully) your wait will have been well worth it ;) At any rate, this chapter has some really important revelations. Oh, and don’t try to make this story fit canon. Just don’t. Storybrooke really is just a normal town, and the only Once characters in it are the ones I have named. I haven’t forgotten about Snow and Charming, I promise. You just have to trust me! (I’ve said that a lot, haven’t I?)

Much thanks as always to the mods of the csrt event at @captainswanbigbang. Also thanks to @optomisticgirl and @shippingtheswann for their beta skills.

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: About 3k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 21

Emma wedges the last cardboard box into the backseat of her Bug, and Graham grunts as he slams the trunk shut. She’s honestly surprised he managed it. For someone with no roots, she sure was able to pack this car tight. Not that it takes much in a VW Bug, but still.

“Are you sure about this?” Ruby asks as Emma shuts the door.

“Yeah,” Graham says coming around the front of the car, “Tallahassee is an awfully long way from Maine.”

Emma shrugs. “There’s farther.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “But you have a life here. Plus, if you stay, you get to be one of my bridesmaids.”

Ruby nudges Emma’s elbow, making her smile despite herself. “And I so want to wear those lovely dresses Bertie at Modern Fashions designed for you. What color was that again?”

“Salmon,” Ruby laughs, “but if you stay, I could convince her to do them in magenta instead.”

Emma chuckles too. “Now, that changes everything!”

“Now, Emma,” Graham cuts in, “it’s a long drive from here down to Florida. Pull over if you get tired, and make sure you check the oil regularly, and -”

“Would both of you stop?” Granny admonishes, shooing Ruby and Graham away so she can pull Emma in for a hug. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. You’re young, and you need to spread your wings.”

Emma nods against Granny’s shoulder, willing her tears not to fall. When the older woman releases her, Ruby claims a hug. When the brunette releases Emma, she clasps her by both shoulders and gives her a long, intense look.

“If you don’t find what you’re looking for, you’ll come home?”

Emma sighs. “I’m sorry, Ruby. Storybrooke’s been wonderful, but home is something I’m still searching for.”

Ruby shakes her head. “Or maybe you’re running.”

“Maybe. But when you really have a home, and you leave it, you just . . . miss it. I’m gonna keep running until I feel that.”

“Well, if you feel that for us -”

“Then I’ll be back.”

The two young women embrace again, and then Emma gets behind the wheel of the dilapidated yellow car she had saved for two months to buy in cash. Ruby’s ex, Billy, had done a ton of work on it for the cost of parts only, which had taken an additional two months in tips from the diner. Nevertheless, the Bug is now hers, and she has owned precious little in her life. She turns the key in the ignition, puts the car in gear, and waves goodbye as she pulls out of the lot in front of the inn. She watches Granny, Ruby, and Graham get smaller in her rearview mirror until she drives out of downtown Storybrooke.

There’s a stretch of countryside before she reaches the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign. For some reason, she glances in her rearview mirror again as she crosses the town line, but all she sees behind her is a long, lonely road. She sighs as she turns her gaze back out the front windshield.

She isn’t so sure the view there is any different.

Killian: Age 21

Killian picks his way gingerly through the thick foliage that runs along the ravine in the heart of Neverland. He shifts his grip on the parcels tucked beneath his right arm and swings his hook through the braken. Every time he comes to the island, the dreamshade is more prolific, daylight is shorter, and the trees drip with more lichen and moss. The scent of decay and death fill his nostrils. The fairies are right, the island is dying.

He releases a long breath of relief when he reaches the ravine and is away from the danger of the dreamshade. He ducks beneath the moss and vines covering the enchanted entryway, all of it thicker than it was on his previous visit. He taps his hook on the rock wall in the rhythm Tink had instructed, and it dissolves before him, revealing a tunnel lit with fairy magic. Finally he reaches a quaint wooden door covered in fairy runes. He touches them with his hook in the correct order, and then he hears the lock click. A greeting is on his lips, but he holds them back at the sight before him.

Wendy is in a rocker by the fireplace, singing a lullaby as she darns some of Michael’s socks. The boy himself is curled up in the bottom of the two bunks set into the wall, fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth.

She stepped away from me

And she moved through the Fair

And fondly I watched her

Move here and move there

And she went her way homeward

With one star awake

As the swans in the evening

Move over the lake

As the final line drifts over him, Wendy glances up from her mending and lets out a cry.

“Hook!”

She leaps up and races across the room, flinging herself into Killian’s arms. He lets out a grunt at the impact, barely managing to keep hold of his parcels. He glances over her shoulder and is shocked to see Michael sleeping through it all.

“What did you bring us?” she asks, eagerly taking the packages.

“Everything on your list,” he tells her proudly, “and one or two surprises.”

“Candy for Michael?” Wendy shakes her head when she sees Hook shrug. “You don’t need to spoil him.”

“And you don’t need to act like a little mother. How old are you now?”

“Thirteen,” she replies with a tilt of her chin.

Killian frowns. “You should be giggling with your friends and getting into mischief, not darning socks and worrying over how much candy your brother eats.”

“Or attempting to mother lost boys,” says a voice over Killian’s shoulder, and he turns to see Tink coming through an archway in the back wall with piles of blankets in her hands.

“Oh, the linens!” Wendy exclaims, taking the load from Tink far too eagerly. “It’s washing day,” she tells Hook.

“Don’t change the subject,” he reprimands, “what’s this about mothering lost boys?”

“Shh, Michael’s napping.”

“Wendy -”

“Ok, ok,” she huffs, dropping the bedding onto the small kitchen table, “so I sneak out sometimes into Pan’s camp -”

“Pan’s camp!” Killian exclaims, turning incredulous eyes on Tink, who just shrugs and shakes her head.

“When they’re all asleep,” Wendy clarifies, as if that makes it ok, “and I only go because the little ones cry for their mothers. I sing them back to sleep, you see, and -”

“And you could get caught by one of the older ones!”

“There’s no use talking to her, Hook,” Tink sighs, “Tiger Lily and I have already tried.”

Killian narrows his eyes at Wendy, but she avoids his look by ripping into one of the parcels he’s bought. “Lace!” she squeals. “Oh, Hook, you shouldn’t have!”

He turns bright red as she hugs him again. “Well, you said your handkerchiefs were shabby and needed lace, and the king’s navy was carrying this ridiculous gift for the crown princess from the Duke of Glowerhaven. Lord knows that woman doesn’t need any more frippery when her people are starving, so -”

“Just admit Wendy’s got you wrapped around her little finger and stop babbling,” Tink laughs.

He doesn’t even attempt to deny it. He can’t find a way to get Wendy and her brother home; the least he can do is brighten their days in some small way.

“Hook,” Tink says, lowering her voice so Wendy can’t hear, “we need to talk.”

“In my experience, I’m never in for a pleasant conversation when a woman says that.”

Tink just rolls her eyes and pulls on his arm. Wendy is too busy with her sewing basket and the new lace to notice as the fairy pulls him down the hallway and into her room.

“Why Tink,” he teases with a wink, “if you were getting lonely, you could have just said so.”

Tink scowls at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Funny, but some females are immune to your charms, pirate.”

“Not many,” he can’t help teasing with an arch of his brow. It’s true. He hasn’t lacked for willing and eager company at any port, though none of his conquests have succeeded in filling the aching hole inside him.

“I need to show you something -” she lifts a hand and rushes to add, “in my books of fairy lore.”

Tink pulls a cracked and faded tome from her bookcase. It’s so old that a puff of dust billows up as she opens it. Killian chokes as he waves his hook in the air to clear it.

“Is this about the pixie trees dying?”

“The island dying you mean,” Tink corrects, “which means Pan is dying, too. He and the island are connected.”

“We knew all this already,” Hook says, shaking his head, “and the why really doesn’t matter, in my opinion.”

“What we didn’t know was the connection between that and the little ones the shadow kept bringing to Pan.”

“Like Mason and Michael.” Killian looks over Tink’s shoulder at the book. He can’t make sense of the fairy runes, but he does recognize a sketch in the middle of the page. “Is that a flower?”

“A buttercup, specifically,” Tink answers, “and according to this prophecy there will be a special child with this mark.”

Killian rubs at his chin. “Felix said Mason didn’t have the mark, and then Michael mentioned something about it as well.” He picks up the fragile book, balancing it gingerly on his hooked forearm so loose pages won’t fall out. “What else does the book say about this child?”

“That it will be a boy with the heart of the truest believer. That his lineage will be both royal and common, magical and non-magical.”

Killian lifts his gaze from the page before him to lock it upon Tink. The pale color upon her cheeks makes his heart sink.”What are you not saying?”

Tink moistens her lips nervously. “The worst part is . . . that the heart of this child can restore life to the dying. Renew magic that has been lost. That’s why Pan is looking for this child.”

“But the child dies so that bastard can live?”

Tink nods grimly as Hook slams the book shut. Fury rises in his chest as he thinks of Mason, now nine years old, a fine pirate already, looking more and more like Milah with each passing day. He thinks of Michael, only six years old and sleeping with such easy trust in the other room. He knows from experience how cold-blooded Pan can be, but this?

“Too long have I let this demon elude me,” Killian growls, slamming his hook into the wooden desk before him. “I’ll gut him like a fish; I’ll end him once and for all.”

“But Hook, you and your crew have had how many skirmishes with the lost boys?”

Killian’s eyes flash. “You doubt me?”

“Of course not, but we have to be realistic. Pan has magic, you don’t. It’s why he always gets the -” Tink breaks off suddenly, her face turning deep red. “That is, I mean.”

“You can bloody well say it,” Killian grumbles, “he always gets the upper hand.”

Tink winces, then tentatively reaches out to him. “What it comes down to is this - it’s time you and your crew went on the offense. You have to leave Neverland, and I don’t just mean to visit your favorite ports or wreck havoc on King George’s Navy. I mean leave. Use the pegasus sail to search the realms and find -”

“You’re leaving?”

Hook and Tink whirl to see Wendy standing in the doorway holding a tea tray in her trembling hands. The sight cuts him deep. For some reason, taking care of people is Wendy’s way of coping. She deserves better. Tears well in her eyes as she gazes up at him. She thinks he’s a bloody hero for some reason

“Hook, are you leaving? For good?”

He sighs as he reaches out gently to take the tray from her hands before she drops it. “Nothing’s been decided yet, lass, but I may need to take a lengthy voyage to find someone. A boy like your brother, actually.”

“What about us?” she asks, her eyes wide now and her breaths coming fast. “You said you’d find a way to get us home.”

Killian closes his eyes, silently cursing himself. It was a promise he never should have made. Tink and Tiger Lily have searched every book of magic they own, and he has inquired of sorcerers and enchantresses at every port. They still don’t know of an antidote for the waters of Rainbow Falls.

“This can be good for you and Michael too,” Tink puts in. “Searching different realms means a myriad of magical possibilities.”

“But how long?” Wendy whispers. He and Tink can’t answer that question. In the silence, Wendy does something that takes him completely by surprise. She flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “I’ll miss you. Please don’t be gone too long.”

Killian lifts his good hand tentatively and awkwardly pats Wendy on the head. He looks up nervously at Tink.

“I don’t even know where to begin looking.”

“Well,” Tink says hesitantly, “all we have to go on is the words of the prophecy. He’ll be very young, like the other boys. He’ll have one royal parent and one who is a commoner. One magical parent and one non-magical. Wait, no, I read this wrong . . . “

Killian steps away from Wendy to look again at the page Tink is perusing. Not that it makes any more sense to him now than it did moments ago.

“Of both a land of magic and a land of none.” Tink murmurs.

“Like my home,” Wendy says casually.

“Wait - what?” Killian asks, his heart suddenly pounding.

“My home,” she repeats, shrugging one shoulder, “there was no magic there. That’s why Michael and I kept going to the window to see the shadow. John told us it was silly but -”

“Wait a minute,” Killian says, shaking his head and taking in a sharp breath, “I’ve been to a land with no magic, too.”

****************************************

Killian stands in front of the old familiar wardrobe for what feels like the millionth time. Not once in the last five years has it led him anywhere. Perhaps it was only waiting for this day . . .

Tink and Wendy had wanted to come with him to see it, but he feels that he has to do this alone. His fingers twitch at his right side, and he has to take several deep breaths before he reaches for the handle. He knows what this means. If he is to search Emma’s realm for the boy, he’ll have to test fate and see what happens when he lets the light that can take him back home fade. He also is unsure how he will explain this to Emma, not that anything about their friendship has ever made sense.

He closes his eyes, counts to three, then pulls on the knob just as he opens his eyes again. His breath rushes out when he sees nothing but an empty wardrobe. Swearing under his breath, he climbs inside, pounds at the inside walls, but finds them sturdy and unyielding beneath his fist.

Killian jumps back out in frustration, slamming the door of the wardrobe behind him. He stalks to his desk, shoving things aside to make room for maps and star charts. He’s heard the names of many of the realms: Wonderland, Oz, Arendelle, Camelot, Narnia. He’s even discovered star charts that can get them there with the aid of the pegasus sail. But a land without magic? There’s only one way he’s ever gotten to a land like that, and it is apparently barred from him.

No matter. Tink said the boy was of a magical land as well. He’ll simply have to start there. He breathes heavily as his gaze sweeps over the stack of maps before him. Ever since he and Liam were lads, he’s been fascinated with maps. They both were. The Brothers Jones, planning adventures across the realms.

“If you were here, Liam . . . “ he trails off, hanging his head as memories wash over him. Then he takes a deep breath and tightens his jaw. “If you were here, you would find this boy. You would be the hero.”

He taps his hook in agitation as he begins to plot a course. He’s no hero, but he’ll do this for Liam. For Milah. For Wendy.

Meanwhile, in a Land Without Magic . . .

Olivia Bridges has been a social worker for twenty five long years, and she’s seen a lot of things in her caseload. Yet she’s never seen a case like this. It should have been a slim volume of straight forward paperwork. Infants given up at birth were always immediately adopted. This one was especially ideal - the birth mother wanted a closed adoption. Those were rare these days. A successful, single woman had adopted the boy, taking him home from the hospital days after his birth.

Then she’d brought him back a month later before she’d even signed the final papers. Colic.

Olivia rolls her eyes remembering. The woman didn’t deserve to be a mother in her opinion. Not that anyone ever listened to her opinion.

Yet the boy’s file still could have ended there. Colic or no colic. But it didn’t.

Olivia pats the boy’s knee now. He is three years old and still has no home, despite his adorable mop of brown hair and large eyes like melted chocolate. The reasons have varied: colic, night terrors, seizures. None of it should have mattered.

She smiles down at him and reminds him that someone is adopting him today. He looks silently up at her, and she wonders if he’s already cynical at three. She rises, takes his hand in hers, and leads him into the next room.

A young man turns and smiles at them as they enter. An adoption by a single man as young as this one is rare, but in this child’s case, it may be the only option left. Besides, the man has gone through every government hoop necessary. He’s invested a considerable sum of money and passed physicals, psychological profiles, and home studies with flying colors. He’s also recently engaged to his boyfriend of the past year (who’s also passed every test). Honestly, Olivia’s only concern is that this one sticks.

“John Darling,” Olivia says, “meet your new son.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #soul mates #fate #angst #slow burn #childhood sweethearts

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sky-scribbles · 6 years ago

Text

That conversation about the first time Ortega asked Sidestep out always intrigued me, so... ~1600 words, nb!Sidestep x m!Ortega. Tw: mentions of blood and canon-typical injury. I honestly don’t know if this is soft or angsty.

‘You have a visitor, Mr Ortega.’

You drag yourself up into a sitting position, and instantly regret it. The Catastrofiend really did a number on you. The stitches are fresh, and even the smallest movements send pain lancing through your abdomen – but you grit your teeth and manage to grin at the nurse. There’s only one person who’d be visiting you at this hour of the morning. ‘Tell them to come on in.’

He nods and heads outside. Voices murmur in the corridor. Then the door opens, just wide enough for Wren to slip through.

They push the door shut so carefully you nearly joke that a loud noise won’t reopen your wounds. But you don’t. You’re not sure they’re in a mood for jokes right now. Because hey’re not coming any further into the room, just leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into the sleeves of their much-too-big-hoodie. Frowning at you. Specifically, at the bandages constricting your entire chest below the ribcage.

You glance down, and see to your relief that they’re not bloodstained. You’ve torn out stitches in the past by thrashing in your sleep, but these are holding.

Good. They need to hold. Because once the Catastrofiend was down, Wren cried. They cried as they scooped you up in their arms and you lay there, a puddle of blood and limp limbs. You’d never seen them cry before, not even after the Nanosurge, but as they clamped their hands over your wounds and begged you to hold on, they cried.

You don’t want to see them cry again. Not over you.

So you smile at them. ‘Hey, Wren-bird.’

‘Hey.’ Barely more than a whisper. ‘You look a mess.’

‘Well, so do you.’ You don’t just mean the bruises and cuts from the fight; there are deep shadows clinging beneath their eyes. ‘Did you even go home after they brought me in? Have you even slept?’

Their eyes flicker aside. ‘Um. No. I mean, I didn’t sleep, but I did go home. Just to change out of my suit and get something to eat.’

‘You didn’t have to come straight back.’

‘No. But I wanted to.’ Wren takes a step closer. Eyes fixed on your bandages again, not moving up to your face. ‘How bad is it?

You run a cautious hand over the places where the Catastrofiend tore you open. Then you stop, because mierda, your abdomen really doesn’t like being touched. ‘They haven’t given me the full damage report. All I know is that it hurts like hell, and it’s going to leave some very impressive scars.’

A moment later, you realise this was a mistake, because Wren’s gaze drops right down to the floor.

‘Not that I mind adding to the collection,’ you say. Too quickly, because you need to make sure they know that everything’s okay, because you will not make them cry over you again. ‘It’s just proof that I’ve lived, right?’

‘Proof that you nearly died. I should’ve got there faster.’

And their words are sharp and brittle, their fists are bunched so tightly that their hands are shaking – and suddenly you’re reaching over, ignoring the scream of protest from your lower chest as you stretch out to snag their hand in yours.

‘Wren. Hey.’ You give their arm a little tug. ‘Come on. Sit down. I’m not worth crying over again.’

And they do, dragging a chair over and slumping into it. Small fingers gripping yours so tightly that you can feel their pulse.

‘I’m not going to cry,’ they say, and thank god, they’re smiling a little. ‘I already let you get beat up. If I cry over you, I’ll probably short out your mods to boot.’

You chuckle and squeeze their hand. ‘You didn’t let me get beat up, you saved my ass. I was never worried.’ Not really a lie; you were scared that you were going to die, but you were never scared that Wren wouldn’t be there. ‘I trusted you, and you proved for the millionth time why that’s the best decision I ever made. Why you’re the best decision I ever made.’

Which makes their smile widen, just a fraction.

And you understand, of course. You know why they’re kicking themselves and staring at your bandages, why they waited all night and wouldn’t let themselves sleep. They thought they were going to lose you. Like you thought you’d lose them, back when Psycopathor bore down on them.

But they’re here, and they’re alive, and you’re alive, and it feels suddenly important to do something about that. Like reach out with your free hand (shit, shit, moving is not a fun experience) and tuck your fingers around their head. Give them the lightest pull. And they roll their eyes, but lean in and kiss you all the same.

Soft. Careful. The warmth of their breath and the press of their lips reminding you that you’re not dead. Not alone, either.

And it’s that last thought that makes the words slip out as the kiss breaks. ‘Hey. Once they let me out of here... do you want to get dinner with me?'

Well. Okay. You just said that. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, because you’ve been planning to say it for months, but you didn’t plan it like this, and you can hardly blame Wren for blinking at you like a bewildered owl. ‘Are you sure you can even cook in this state?’

Talking keeps you from thinking too much about this whole situation, so that’s what you do. ‘I was thinking dinner dinner. You know. Somewhere nice.’

‘You mean…’ The confused-owl-look twists into a frown. ‘You mean like… a date?’

‘Well. Yeah.’

Wren holds the frown a moment longer, then screws up their face as if you’ve just announced that you’ve decided to grow a moustache. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to take you out to dinner.’ You trail a fingertip over their cheek, mapping lines between the moles. ‘You and me, we’ve been… well, we’ve been something for the last few months, right?’

They nod, but their gaze is guarded. You know this expression. It’s the one they get whenever they complain about the static that hides your mind from theirs. ‘Why are you asking me?’

A slight stress on me. Your guts twinge, and you don’t think it’s to do with the Catastrofiend’s handiwork.

‘Because... because you don’t put up with my bullshit. Because you’re smart as hell. Because of that cute little I’m-concentrating face you do when you’re reading your precious Shakespeare or solving a crossword in thirty seconds. Because you never leave anyone behind. Because you care about everything, more than anyone else I’ve met.’ You flash a grin at them. Reach up to twirl their hair between your fingers. ‘Because you’re you, Wren-bird.’

They have to say something now, surely. They’ll return your smile, any second now. But they don’t. They don’t even look at you. Their free hand runs over the sleeve of their hoodie, nails raking at the fabric as if they’re trying to reach through it and tear something out of their skin.

‘Wren.’ You give their hand another squeeze, try to get a look at their eyes. ‘Are you even hearing what I’m saying?

A shrug. ‘I guess.’

‘Do you believe that I mean it?’

They’re pressing their lips together, so hard that it looks painful, and they still won’t look at you. ‘I don’t know. And… I can’t. Go out with you, I mean.’

You feel oddly as if the Catastrofiend has just made another attempt at removing your intestines.

‘It’s just that… you’re Charge. You attract attention. And I’m not good with attention. There’s a reason I wear a mask, I just… I’m not… I can’t.’

They stop, eyes still fixed on the floor, biting their lip. Shit. You messed this up, somehow. They don’t believe you. They don’t believe that you care enough, and you can’t blame them, because you’ve never made it clear. Not aloud. You’ve kissed them so many times over the last few months but you’ve never told them –

Because you’re scared. Scared of how things will change. You’re not ashamed, not of Wren, not ever of Wren, but… you know there’ll be eyes weighing you up. Voices whispering things you shouldn’t care about but do. And you’re selfish, you’re a coward, and you want your world to stay the same. For the way people see you to stay the same.

But you want Wren more.

So maybe it’s time to get your act together. There’s a lot you’re not ready to say yet, but you can say a little. Take the first few steps. Make them know how much they matter, how much you care. You open your arms, and they eye your bandages dubiously, but lean in anyway to wrap careful arms around your neck.

‘No one can know.’ They mumble the words against your shoulder. ‘Whatever’s going on with us, I can’t… I can’t be public about it. I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid, but –’

‘It’s not. Of course you don’t have to – if you don’t want to, I mean, I know you’ve got your reasons –’

You’re babbling, and you’re afraid that if you keep talking you’re going to misstep, so you just shut up. Time to say the things that really matter. ‘But I mean it, you know. Every word. And if you don’t believe that right now…’

Shifting around to kiss their forehead causes another angry complaint from your stitches, but it’s worth it. ‘Then I guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you believe me.’

They look at you at last. Lips slightly parted, eyes full of startled warmth. The ghost of a smile tugging at their lips.

‘Idiot,’ they mutter, and shove their face back against your shoulder.

#fallen hero #fallen her: rebirth #chargestep #ricardo ortega #nb!sidestep #oc: wren serrano #otp: let myself be seen #needs more editing but I can't justify working on this and not my essays anymore #sky's writing

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