#Yes I have unresolved trauma mind your neck

[lenaeclipse777]

chemtrails over the country club ☆ sebastian sallow x f!reader

summary: you and sebastian have always understood each other better than anyone else.

a/n: based on chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey!

warnings: none i think, just a lot of fluff + you and seb have lots of unresolved trauma, mc is a flirt

i’m on the run, with you my sweet love, there’s nothing wrong contemplating god, under the chemtrails over the country club

running through the highlands to fight goblins with sebastian shouldn’t have you feeling this exhilarated. fighting ranrok’s loyalists fills you both with a sense of purpose. yours being the final end goal of saving the wizarding world from another war, and sebastian’s being to get his revenge for anne.

no, fighting loyalists or poachers with anyone else didn’t excite you as much as it did with sebastian, because there was so much more to it for both of you. sebastian had introduced you to the world of duelling, and had practiced with you in the undercroft, poring over books and different wand movements.

“you coming y/n?” sebastian was standing a few feet ahead of you, and pulled you out of your thoughts as he questioned you.

his brown hair was tousled from the wind and the running, and his freckled cheeks were slightly pink. he looked like an angel, and you never wanted to look away.

“right behind you seb, you know your legs are longer than mine.” you smiled at him and jogged to catch up with him.

“race you to the next encampment love!”

you laughed as he started running ahead of you, shaking your head at his childish antics. yes, running with sebastian was definitely better than with anyone else.

meet you for coffee, at the elementary school, we laugh about nothing as the summer gets cool

the summer after you defeated ranrok, sebastian had disappeared to his (now empty) cottage in feldcroft. only you and ominis knew he was there, and that he had been doing yard work around the village all summer to make some money. ominis was still wary of being his friend, but you couldn’t just stay away. his sad face hadn’t left your mind since you had left hogwarts on the last day of term, and it was getting impossible to not run to him.

you had exchanged a few letters throughout july, just checking up on each other, making sure the other was staying out of trouble and getting enough to eat. you were staying in a room at the three broomsticks, courtesy of sirona ryan, and working a few days a week.

as august approached, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from him, so one day you told sirona that you were taking a week off to go stay with him. she was more than okay with it, and insisted you bring along some butterbeer to share.

sending him a short letter via owl, you packed your bag and took the nearest floo flame to feldcroft.

when you arrived in feldcroft, it didn’t take you long to spot him, as he was outside of his house chopping fire wood. your breath hitched as you looked at him, slightly sweaty, and definitely more muscular. his freckles were painted across his skin even more prominent with a summer tan.

“sebastian!” you called out to him, lugging your trunk with you as you crossed the path to his house.

his head shot up when he heard your voice, and the most genuine smile you had seen since the catacombs spread across his face.

he dropped his axe and ran to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your neck.

“i missed you so much.” his voice was thick, and you pulled away from him to cup his face in your hands.

“i missed you too sebastian, more than you know.” his arms didn’t leave your waist as he smiled down at you. after staring at each other for a few more seconds, he snapped out of his gaze and came to his senses.

“here let me get your trunk for you. i’ll bring it into the house and we can catch up.” he lifted your heavy trunk onto his shoulder with ease, and you had to restrain yourself from drooling at his display of strength.

once you had unpacked your things, you and sebastian sat down with your butterbeer from sirona.

“tell me everything you’ve been doing this past month seb, i’ve been so busy working at the three broomsticks i barely have time to write to anybody!”

so the night went on as you both talked and shared quiet laughs in the orange light of the sallow cottage, happy to be back in each others presence again.

i’m not bored or unhappy, i’m still so strange and wild, you’re in the wind, i’m in the water, nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter, watching the chemtrails over the country club

4 days had passed since you had arrived at the sallow cottage, and with each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the amount of feelings you had for the boy. you both had thrown around a fair few compliments and flirtatious remarks at each other throughout the week, and you decided that you could do this with him for the rest of your life. making breakfast together in the kitchen, walks around the trails near the village, and rolling around in the flowery meadows, pointing out different clouds and what they looked like.

it was all getting very domestic, and you were going to go crazy if by the end of the week you were still just friends.

today is the day you decided. the shameless flirting was already at an all time high, and you decided that today you were going to kick it up a notch.

sitting at a small table in the front yard of the house, you were watching him pull weeds out of the garden, his white shirt sleeves rolled up showing off his strong forearms.

“hey sebastian?”

he turned to look at you, wiping a few beads of sweat of his forehead. “yes love?”

“nothing, i just think you look very handsome today.” it was bold- you knew that, but you were past the point of caring. you knew no one else could ever make you feel how he made you feel.

he was blushing when you looked at him, a small smile on his face. he brushed his hands on his trousers and came to sit down beside you at the small table.

“you think so? because i think i’m covered in dirt and sweat and desperately need a bath.” he chuckled and his thigh brushed yours under the table.

“need any help with that?” you flirted, as you rested your hand on your cheek and leaned up to look at him through your lashes.

the flush on his face deepens, and he has to look away from your gaze or he just might explode.

“you are a terrible flirt, do you know that?” his voice is low but his eyes are swimming with a softness he saved only for you. “this whole week, i don’t think i’ve ever been more flustered.”

before you can open your mouth to retort, sebastian leans down and captures your lips with his. it’s soft and hesitant, and your shocked at first, but quickly throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back deeply. the kiss is needy and desperate, something that you both know should have happened a long time ago.

when you both pulled away for a breath, sebastian’s hand stayed in your hair at the back of your neck, and his forehead was pressed against yours.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea.” he breathed.

“how long?” you asked him breathlessly, as you fought the urge to just kiss him again as much as you could.

“honestly? since you bested me in that duel at the beginning of the year. and pretty much any other time we were alone after that.”

“so you’re telling me we could’ve been doing that this whole time!?” you joked and he laughed heartily.

“we have all the time in the world to make up for it now love, don’t you worry.”

you gave him a loving smile, and leaned up to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiled at you as your hand came up to rest on his muscular chest.

“why don’t we go run you a bath, and you can show me just how much you’ve wanted to do to me since that duel..”

sebastian didn’t need to be told twice as he grabbed your hand and all but dragged you into the house, shutting the door behind him quickly as possible.

the sound of your laughter filled the house as you both ran to get the bathing supplies.

yes, you both may have some unresolved issues, but as long as you were together, you knew you could get through it.

it’s never too late, baby, so don’t give up… under the chemtrails over the country club

[essapedstom]

part 4.

TW: losing a family member, Blood, Crying, Sad. Nightmares, Unresolved trauma

As you and your father made your way home his scolding could be heard by anyone who was in a 10 mile radius. "I ask you one thing, one thing Y/N and you cannot do it!" The words slap you across the face wanting to respond but you aren't able to. "Would you want Sezan or Lorno to see you behave like this? To see you hurt?" You begin to walk ahead of your father not really wanting to hear what he had to say. He grabbed your arm pulling you back slightly, "Y/N you are their older sister, the one they look up to, You mustn't make mistakes, Not like this!" He yelled baring his teeth unintentionally. "Ma syulang (my flower) you are better than this, do not let tl'ezan down." Being unable to fight it, a small tear rolls down ur blue cheek unsure if it's from the pain of your throat or the fact that your dad rarely let you have freedom due to uncontrollable influence you had on your younger siblings, you simply nodded looking down as you father let go. As if Eywa was connected to your emotions heavy rain fall began to occur soaking your braids and covering you and your fathers skin is harsh drops of water. You both continued to walk and run fast until the familiar sight of the hut came into view. The flap was pushed open aggressively as you and your fathers wet bodies stumbled in. Your tears hidden by the rain drops running down your face, didn't deceive your mother. The loud thundering rain was muffled slightly as the flap closed your arm letting it drop. "Y/N what has happened?" You mother questioned her eyes widening all over your neck and hands splaying open ready to put them on your shoulders. You shook your head wanting to just go to bed "She cannot talk." Her attention snapped to your father who had just spoken and was now sitting cleaning your bow and arrow from the rain water. "What happened ne oeyä 'ite?"  (to my daughter) Your mother growled anger growing by the second. "It was during training sh-"

"DURING TRAINING?" Your mother cut him

off, her loud voice causing your younger brothers to stir in their naps. "please ma txe'lan (my heart) do not shout." your father pleaded eyes travelling to his sleeping sons. "Ta'achi why." more of a demand than a question your mother spat hands now off your shoulders but body in-front of yours, in between your father and you. "She is not your solider, she is not you..........and she is not tl'ezan." She said as she began to break down on the last word. Your eyes shut as the memories flooded your mind, becoming overwhelmed you opened your eyes not wanting to see what was buried deep into your mind.

Heavy tears cascaded from your amber eyes down to your cheeks and lips.

Tl'ezan. Eywa how you missed him, he was your older brother, everything you wanted to be: funny, strong, great warrior. He was the best and you love him. He was put under a lot of pressure by your dad but he always made time to play or hunt with you, he was awesome.

"TL'EZAN!" younger you shouted as he came home from the hunting parties mission, you ran to him as he grabbed your head shaking it around. "Hello Y/N, are you okay?" he asked chuckling happy to see his little sister. Although he was 16 and you were 13 the bond couldn't be closer. "Ugh yes" you said pushing his arms off your head laughing "Come and see what Sa'nu (mother) and i have made ." you exclaimed giggling dragging him further into the hut. As you pulled him in he met with his mother whom he greeted and kissed on the head before his eyes landed on the beautiful new beads that hung onto his songcord. His eyes widened at the sight. "Tewti Sa'nu, irayo." (Wow mom, Thank you.) He said mumbling the words as joy and adoration fuzzed his senses. " i helped too!" you chimed in, causing all 3 of you to laugh. Your mom handed him the beads allowing him to place them onto the side of his loincloth. "It looks good." you complimented causing your brother to grab your head into a hug and thank you also.

That's one of the few memories of your brother you like to remember as it didn't involve the yelling of your father or the frustration your brother felt because of him.

"I know she is not him." Your father whispered.

"Then stop treating her as if she is." Your mother grunted, fangs gritted together as she stepped closer to her mate tears flowing down her face as the memories of her first born played in her head, Your sempu (Father) sighed head down before looking back up past your mother to you.

"I am sorry Y/N."  genuine sadness and guilt roaming in the irises of his large eyes, but you knew in his head he was apologising to your brother because he couldn't save him. Then looking at your mothers his hand on the small of her back. You couldn't do anything but stare at him before turning back and making your way into your hammock next to your younger brothers, much needed sleep hugging you as you drifted off.

You stirred in your sleep, sweat dripping from your forehead, eyes scrunching and relaxing the soft moonlight entered the hut highlighting your face and small scar you had on the left side of your chin. You saw his face. " Tl'ezan where are we going?" your young voice chuckled as he took you deep into the forest not making you aware of his plans. "Somewhere i think you'll learn something new." He exclaimed not giving anything away. "Ugh Tl'ezan." "Ugh Y/N" he mocked laughing as the old shack came into view.

Your eyes widened. "TL'EZAN we aren't supposed to ever come here!" you complained worried about the consequences he'll face if your father ever found out he took you here. "shhh Y/N sempu (Father) will never find out eyawar?" (correct?) He said a smirk on his face. "Eyawar." You responded, sending a smile on both of your faces, you would never tell on your older brother. You began to get closer to the shack crouching low taking long strides when you heard it the voice of an avatar that changed everything.

"NAVI!" the male voice bellowed as immediate rounds began to be shot through the trees towards your and your brother. Tl'ezan grabbed your arm pulling you through the jagged tree roots trying to save you both from the heinous fate that was chasing you. A smaller bullet heavily skimmed past your chin causing it to bleed and you to scream out in pain. Tl'ezan immediately stopped turning around to look at the bleeding lower half of your face, rage filled his heart as he pushed you behind the thick trunk of a tree and took his bow to begin shooting at the

sky demons. He moved behind the tree trunk next to you to collect more arrows whilst looking down you wood splintering everywhere. "Stay here Y/N, we are going home i promise." He said as he returned to shoot another arrow.  You covered your ears from the loud gunfire praying to Eywa it would be over soon and you and your brother could go home. He was doing well taking them out one by one, He was doing so well until you no longer heard the shuffling of your brothers feet when he would collect more arrows, instead you heard the grunt as 3 bullets made their way through this body taking his soul with them and delivering it to Eywa. He fell. His now hole filled body fell backwards facing you, eyes staring at you intensely. "Well done boys, Wrap it up." You heard the Avatars say to each other as they turned around heading back to wherever they came from. Your mouth opened to scream out but was hushed by your brothers raspy "shhh" his still warm hand went over yours trying to comfort you as if you were the one in physical pain. Your heart exploded the fear of not wanting to lose your brother sent you into a frenzy trying to stop the bleeding by placing your small hands on the wounds, but the blood kept coming ,it kept coming out and spewing everywhere. Using all his strength Tl'ezan grabbed your arm looking into your teary eyes. "Y/N."

"NO TL'EZAN!"  you interrupted.

"Y/N." he said again his grip tightening on your arm.

"No tl'ezan no please stop you promised, you promised we would go home." you began to sob as you knew what he was going to say.

"It is not your fault. Go home for me." his breath hitched blood starting to fall from the side of his mouth. Your hands still on his wounds, you searched his face with your eyes. "Nga yawne lu oer." (I love you.) He said with the last breath he held in his lungs. 

His eyes went blank instead of you they looked at nothing? at everything? you couldn't tell. A hefty choked sob danced out of you followed by a scream of desperation and anger. Heavy breaths making you slightly lightheaded. You got up and began to drag the body of your older brother back to the village. Darkness began to fall over the forest making it hard for you to see mixed with your blurry vision due to your tears. "COME ON TL'EZAN PLEASE." you pleaded with his lifeless body as if he would

just awaken and take you home. "HOME TL'EZ YOU- you promised ho-home." you sobbed uncontrollably. You pulled his body a little bit before falling but getting up again. You stumbled and fell but continued to pull him giving yourself and him a few cuts and grazes from the rocks that were underneath you. "TL'EZAN COME ON!" you screamed your voice trembling and hoarse. You prayed to Eywa that she would wake him up that she would do anything to be bring him back. You finally began to see the light of the village.

It was the night of the Festival, where all navi would gather together and celebrate with young ones, old ones, everyone. You screamed in desperation but you were still to far to be heard over the cheers and music of the clan. You continued to drag Tl'ezan but now with his harms draped over yours as you walked backwards to the village adrenaline now taking over causing you to power through the remaining trees and into the village. The blood from your chin flowing onto your chest and his face. Everyone was gathered around Farnet, The clans singer, backs turned towards you.

You dropped on your ass causing tl'ezans head to fall into your lap. Farnets eyes widened as she stopped singing let out a cry of worry. Everyone's eyes turned to look at you covered in your brothers blood from head to toe with his lifeless body laying on top of your legs. You screamed laying down with him still on top of you, crying. The village erupted in cries and shouts and people came rushing over to get his body off of you and see the damage.

Then you heard it, the voice of your fathers that would sound forever changed.

"TL'EZAN" He shouted worry everywhere in his tone. Your mother not far behind him. You continued to cry aloud the pain of losing your brother strong in your heart. You saw you father and mother kneeling beside you along with Mo'at who was one of the first people to see you and Jake.

The scream of terror your mother released would be be imbedded into the minds of other navi for days to come and yours forever. Your mother layed herself upon the body of her dead son as your dad held his hand and silently cried. Mo'at sat still knowing her work would be of no use but still tears fell on her cheek and in between the crinkles of her skin. Jake yelling at you to tell him what had happened. Everything became blurry as you began to feel faint.

"Y/N!" you heard your father yell snapping you back into reality.

"WHAT HAPPENED, WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SON!" This time not silently crying but full on sobbing. You'd never see your dad in this state.

"I DONT KNOW, I DONT KNOW DAD I- I DONT I-"

you could barely get the words out as they choked you.

"MY SON!" you heard your mother scream beside you, looking down at your hands and torso seeing it covered in dried and wet blood and memories of the sky people came flooding back.

"IT WAS THE SKY PEOPLE, THEY Th- they they took him." you mumbled looking up at Mo'at tears in between your lips

"He tried to help me but they- they.. He tried and they shot him, they killed him and i- i couldn't help i tried to stop the bleeding i did- i- i- tried i couldnt stop it it just kept coming and i tried i couldnt it just wouldn't stop." You said all at once losing air but still going. Until jake shushed you gently holding

your head and other navi pulling you out from under Tl'ezan. You realised what was happening and began to scream again clawing at them not wanting to leave your brother.

You shot up from your hammock, nearly falling taking in a large gust of air into your deprived lungs. Waking your little brother Sezan. "Y/N!" You heard him call as he climbed up onto your hammock.

Sezan began to cry out for your parents but they were not there. Your brother lorno still asleep you shushed sezan with the new breath you had taken in not wanting to wake him also. Tears began to stream down both of your faces as you remember what had caused this to happen in the first place, Sezan cried because you cried.

"Shhh Sez shhh it's okay i'm okay." you managed to voice sounding more like a whisper. You pulled him into your embrace holding his head and repeating "I am okay." Unsure if you said it to reassure him or yourself. "What happened tsmuke?" (sister) He asked looking up at you. You took a small breath in before answering him "Just a bad dream." You gave the fakest small smile you ever had in your life. Tears dancing on your face and between your lips. "Was it a bad man?" Sezans innocent little voice asked. "The sky people?" He added on. Tears began to well in your eyes again. "Yes." You responded. "But they are gone we are safe." You lied as you looked down angling your head to see the extra long songcord that half of belonged to your older brother hanging from your waist. You had put it ontop of yours because where Tl'ezans story ended was were yours began,

Your path to becoming a true warrior.

Sezan and Lorno were only 3 when Tl'ezan died their memories of him are quite fuzzy but they do remember who he was how kind he was to everyone, to them. Taking them on rides on his ikran around the Hallelujah Mountains even though he wasn't supposed to. The best big brother ever.

"Im sorry Y/N." Sezan said sorrowfully his tears now staining your chest. A hard pang in your chest, Sezan reminded you a lot of your older brother, not only were the names extremely similar thanks to your father but his kindness and gentility as well as his ability to understand another's emotions and comfort them, something that Lorno wasn't so very good at. "It's okay Sez. Come on let's go back to bed." You spoke as you motioned for him to go back to his hammock with you following behind. As you stepped off your hammock you looked at your parents noticing they weren't in it. Confused you still paid only attention to Sezan putting him back into bed kissing his forehead wiping the rest of his tears and getting back into your hammock. You didn't sleep again. You couldn't, laying awake wondering where your parents were.

You sighed lying back down upset about the scene you caused. You were not going back to sleep. Your nightmare that ruined your sleep most nights had struck again

____________________________________

I hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing it.

I started putting the translation just next to the word instead of at the bottom because i think it just makes it easier.

I really liked this part!

[rodentsunite]

I now get the hype for horror movie icons because I can’t stop scrolling through Ghostface TikTok 

[fourfucksake]

fight night

pairing: andy barber x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, rough smut/sex, dominant male, submissive woman + spoilers for DJ

word count: 1.9k

p.s if you haven’t already watch “Defending Jacob”

Once every couple of months you and Andy would argue like crazy. For some reason, the outcome was always the same - he left. His steps were always silent, almost as if he were completely careless to the heated situation. Your eyes would hang on his back as he slowly left the bedroom. It was like déjà vu, the exact same situation took place in this household, between you two already.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Throwing your hands in the air with annoyance written on your face you would follow his footsteps. No answer, absolutely no response. Just when you thought he couldn’t get more infuriating. You could see Andy’s shadow making its way down the stairs, the door shut loudly after he left.

Andy had no reason to act this way, yet he did. Arguments that you two shared were never serious, they were always over stupid things. He wanted to have it his way and so did you. It was complicated. This was a constant thing in your relationship, however bad that sounded. You always let it slide because of his unresolved issues and trauma from the past. You always knew this behaviour patter is not healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. Falling in love with this stubborn, serious, senior lawyer was never in your schedule – it just happened.

Days passed and there were absolutely no signs of him anywhere. Well, anywhere near you. You just assumed he went to work normally. Andy didn’t have any family so there was no one contacting you about him. He didn’t really have friends either, he was kind of a loner. Escaping was his coping mechanism; you knew he can go without facing you for some time.

You didn’t worry too much, knowing he’s too clever to get himself in any trouble. Whether you liked to admit it or not Andy was one of the smartest individuals you knew. Him being a respected lawyer didn’t help your case since every argument with him was almost like an on-going debate, as long and tedious as the Great Wall of China.

By now, you were kind of used to being at home without him. You did your nightly routine as usual until a major interruption cut you off. A loud knock awakened the house. Your confused stare rose as you reluctantly moved from the king-sized bed placed in the bedroom. A deep sighed left your irritated face when you moved to the door. Only if Andy was here, you thought, as your feet headed towards antechamber. No guests were expected, and you couldn’t think of anyone who would bother you at this ungodly hour.

Looking through the viewfinder you mumbled a half silent “what the fuck” when your eyes recognised the familiar figure. Seeing Andy was something you didn’t expect. You opened the door after all; even the anger built over the days couldn’t make you just leave him there. You knew you are too weak when it comes to him.

Your words had no time to leave your mouth as Andy’s lips pressed onto yours. A soft moan followed as his fingers aggressively grabbed your hips. The kiss didn’t last long, stopped by his focus moving onto your neck. He gasped, breathing hot air against your skin as his mouth left sloppy and moist traces along the column of your neck. A bunch of whimpers left your mouth as your eyes rolled in pleasure. This was good, too good. Your mind had to remind you that you were still, in fact, mad at him.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?!” You yelled, pushing him away. Your chest was moving in a crazy motion, your breathing completely unsteady. There was this urge in you, a strong one, begging for you to start shouting. Andy sent you a drilling stare, grabbing both of your wrists with force. He moved his body onto yours, forcing your back to face the wall.

“Stop fucking talking,” He spat with absolutely no remorse behind his voice. Andy’s stare was set on you, lacking its typical light of positivity. You knew this look; it spoke volumes. He used his hand to pin your wrists above your head. A smirk formed on his face as he tightened the grip around them. He knew he won, he knew you were about to submit yourself to his cravings and desires. This was the time for you to stop him, but you didn’t. Andy gifted you with time, couple of seconds to respond but you did absolutely nothing. This was his sign, his confirmation of your consent for his further movements.

“Get on your fucking knees,” His command sent shivers down your spine. You didn’t know why but you obeyed like your life depended on it. There was something about his dark side that made you follow his orders. The way he looked at you, spoke to you, did you…one could only adore it.

Slowly, your legs gave in and you were on your knees. Initial thoughts made you think he wanted his pants unzipped, tips of your nails on his balls, and mouth wide open, ready to take his size on your tongue; his next actions proved you wrong. Andy grabbed your hair, harshly pulling them back as you hissed. “Be a good girl and crawl to the couch. I wanna see you on all fours, don’t you dare get up. Ass up, face down. No words until I tell you to speak.”

You gulped, being familiar with this tone. Your knees and hands moved, directing you to the sofa in the living room. Unsurely, you got up just to place yourself on the couch, ass up and face down, exactly the way he wanted. At this very moment you hated the control, the power this man had over you. If your brain stopped sending obvious signals to your fucking genitalia, you would yell at him in a heartbeat.

“Just like that, very well,” His comment almost provoked your eyes to roll. Andy being bossy with you gave you tingles and drove you mad at the same time.

The material of your silky night dressed was lifted, exposing your bare back. His strong hand gave you a painful and punishing spank leading to your body shivering under his touch. Seeing this reaction Andy repeated his action. “Liking this, princess?” Your ears welcomed his voice, a silent moan was your only response. No talking, no talking, not talking, you had to continually remind yourself. If you didn’t comply Andy would make the next spanking session a lot less pleasurable for you.

“I’m going to fuck you the way I want. Stay still and enjoy, understood?” He rasped, examining the skin on your back with his fingers. “Y-Yes,” You squirmed, still sensitive after series of slaps your bottom received. His presence was extremely intimidating at this point, you couldn’t form your words as well as you wished. Andy enjoyed you in this state way too much.

“Yes, what?” His voice was ice cold, he wasn’t shy to let you know he didn’t like your first answer. You swallowed intensely, letting out a silent gasp. “Y-Yes, daddy.” You spoke out, making sure he hears you loud and clearly. If you didn’t, he would just make you repeat it until you he was satisfied with the volume.

You could hear the characteristic sound of his belt and zipper undoing as his trousers were lowered down to hid mid-thigh. You rested your cheek on the leather material underneath you. Biting your bottom lip, you let your legs spread wider for your lover. His silent chuckle assured you he was satisfied with this move. This was exactly how he liked you, this was his best view. Andy dedicated couple of seconds to admire your bottom, imaging how pretty you would look with both hands tied back by a thick rope. He let this image sink in his head before grabbing his cock. You couldn’t see his him, but you knew he is just looking down on you with interest.

Andy didn’t bother to begin off slow, his movements were fast and demanding from the jump, only heartened by your desperate, pathetic moans. He slid his hardness in and out at a at a fast pace. His fingers dig into the skin of your bottom, burning through it with every single push. A breathless whimper left your mouth but was quickly replaced by a loud moan.

“Like that, baby?” He hissed, entering his cock deep inside of you. By the way he held you, you could tell he wasn’t going to be gentle. One of his hands travelled to your neck, mercilessly squeezing your throat. Andy slammed into you with force, making both of you moan loudly in response. His hand adjusted to your neck like a perfect necklace before limiting your access to oxygen. This show of dominance made you crazy, you were so wet for him, so in need for more.

“Yeah, fuck, y-yes,” A desperate tone of your voice was barely recognisable for you. Your fingers urgently grabbed onto the sofa, embracing the material as hard as they could.

You knew Andy can go all night, no stops. The amount of times he left you overstimulated, begging for him to stop was insane. The pounding continued, making both of you sweaty, breathless messes. His movements were fast and heavy now, snarling curses under his breathe. The thrusts were getting erratic, he was desperate to be as deep as possible.

You lost the track of time, but it was beautiful. The feeling of him inside of you was ecstatic to say the least. He knew how to work his way around women: what to do with them, how to gift them with full satisfaction, to make them feel how you feel right now.

In need of a release, your walls cuddled his cock. “Daddy, I-, “ You only managed to gasp out the first part of your sentence before reaching your peak. A loud groan escaped your lips, leaving you speechless. The expression present on your face was pornographic; eyes shut and mouth wide open with your body twitching in response to your partner still hardly pounding you from the back.

Your legs became fatigued, completely drained by the sensations the lawyer offered you. Andy senesced it, grabbing your hips more firmly to ensure you won’t collapse. With a low groan, Andy finally let himself go. The feeling of warmth exploded within your walls, introducing you to his load. Lewd moans left his mouth as he rode out the last moments of his high. Unsteady breathing was the only sound in the living room for next couple of seconds. Andy slowly withdrew himself from your pussy as his cum made its way down your thigh, escaping your insides at a slow pace.

He removed his grip from your hips, the lack of strength within forbade your posture to stay in a doggy position. Your stomach found comfort in the sofa underneath; your muscles relaxed in result of you laying down. Your body begged for a couple of deep breathes before shifting to lay on your back. Tired and exhausted you looked up at the man who participated in enduring your current state.

“I needed that,” He finally spoke, his eyes giving you their full attention. “I’m sorry, baby. I know I’m a twisted fuck.” Andy said decisively, however, still sent you a heartfelt smile. A sincere look of love followed right after, making you feel like a stupid, overemotional teenage girl. Gosh, you loved this man. Andy lowered himself down and connected your lips together in a passionate kiss that ended, or at least postponed the argument until further notice. You knew he wasn’t finished with you tonight.

[laschatzi]

A Vision Softly Creeping

I labored over this for a long time: an attempt at dealing with some of the trauma Killian and Emma went through, and issues between them brought to the surface by that trauma. Bear with me, I’m not a psychologist, and my intention was not to describe a realistic therapy session. Thank you @effulgentcolors for the encouragement!

title: A Vision Softly Creeping

summary: Killian keeps having nightmares he can’t quite remember. With Dr. Hopper’s help, he discovers one of the reasons for them, and that might require a painful, in-depth talk with Emma. Set post season 6, shortly after the wedding.

word count: ~6,6k

rating: M and N for nightmares.

also on: ff.net and ao3.

..........................

It's not a sudden movement or sound that wakes her up, no, it's like some mysterious force that pulls her from the depths of her sleep, which is extraordinary in itself – because normally not even a cannon fired beside her bed would wake her up. She has slept through blaring alarm clocks, ringing phones and thunderstorms. But every time her newly wed husband is having one of those dreams, she seems to sense it even on the bottom of her subconscious.

Emma opens her eyes in the moonlit darkness and, after getting past her slight disorientation, notices Killian's silhouette sitting upright beside her. From the way his shoulders move she can see that he's breathing heavily. She lifts herself up into an upright position, and when he feels the shifting of the mattress, he turns his head to look at her.

“I'm sorry I woke you,” he murmurs and runs his hand through his hair, his voice thick with sleep and something else she can't quite define. He seems tense, and in the moonlight she catches a glimpse of the fine sheen of sweat that covers his bare shoulders and collarbones.

“That dream again?” she asks softly and puts her palm to his scruffy cheek.

His eyes that had been scanning the darkness almost erratically focus on hers again, and she reads barely faded panic mixed with relief and something deeper, indecipherable to her, that seems to have a grip on him.

“Killian?” she prompts, and he snaps out of it. In a sudden move, his hand comes up to the back of her head and pulls her in for a kiss almost brusquely, eliciting a startled gasp from her.

The raw passion, seemingly out of the blue, takes her by surprise, but as usual doesn't fail to make her respond. Her worries about his sleep being interrupted not for the first time by a confusing dream, as he's put it, are pushed into oblivion to the back of her mind by his demanding lips and tongue and the weight of his body pressing her down into her pillow again.

She welcomes the sensual assault and wraps her arms around his torso and her legs around his hips as he blindly finds his way past her sleep shorts and underwear and thrusts into her without further preliminary, deep and hard and possessively. Emma moans as her hips buck to meet his, but she almost can't match his raw force and fierceness this time, and as much as she enjoys when he takes her like that, leaving her sore and spent and simply thoroughly fucked, she suspects tonight he's fueled by the nightmare he just had, and before she loses all ability to think clearly, she vows to herself she's going to talk to him about it.

But afterwards, when she's cleaned them up with a flick of her wrist underneath the covers, he pulls her into an overprotective, almost uncomfortably tight embrace against his chest and is asleep again in no time; from physical and emotional exhaustion, she's sure. It'll have to wait until tomorrow.

The rest of the night goes by quietly, without further disturbances, and in the morning Emma is woken by the smell of coffee slowly wafting into her conscience and the pleasant feeling of softness and prickles traveling down her throat. She squirms and sighs when a certain spot on the base of her neck is stimulated by Killian's lips while his hand caresses the side of her ribs underneath her sleep top.

“Is it Sunday?” she murmurs, for a moment confused.

He chuckles warmly against her collarbone. “I wouldn't dare to wake you at this time of the day on a Sunday morning, love.”

She runs her fingers through his hair and breathes, “You... can wake me any day at any time like this.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he hums as he pulls down her tank top to free her left breast, and she simply forgets how to form coherent sentences.

Killian takes it slowly this time, paying attention to his love's every sensitive spot... she has a lot of them, and he knows them all. He loves to bring out all the sweet tunes from Emma, the sighs and whispers and pleas, but what pushes him in particular to be gentle and tender this morning is a nagging feeling of guilt at the back of his mind. He knows he had that dream again last night, the one that has been haunting him for weeks now – ironically since life started to be actually peaceful in Storybrooke for longer than six weeks. He doesn't really remember the dream, it always slips through his fingers shortly before he wakes up, but it always leaves him with a feeling of unease, more like dread, and a vague anger. And that unsettling mix fueled him last night, too, urged him to feel this intense need to take her, mark her... and even though she welcomed him and enjoyed it, he feels like whatever it is that haunts him, he somehow took it out on her, and so now he... needs to make it up to her.

And he does make it up to her thoroughly.

Emma remembers her resolution to talk to Killian about his nightmares only when they're already on their way to work. Being woken up in that delicious way has thrown her off track completely and would have made it so easy to soothe her worries and sweep them under the rug, but she knows – from her own, painful experience – that unresolved issues and traumas have an unhealthy tendency to come back and rise their ugly heads in the least convenient moments; usually when you think you have shaken them off a long time ago.

So, when she parks her yellow bug in front of the sheriff's station, she asks in a – more or less – casual way, “Are you going to see Archie soon?”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I have scheduled a visit for this afternoon, after the shift ends. Why?”

She shrugs. “I was just wondering...”

“About what, love?”

She looks at him searchingly. “Have you talked about your dreams?”

“Well,” he tilts his head, “yes and no. I told him that I'm having them, but as I don't truly remember them, there isn't really anything to discuss further.” He thinks about last night and feels guilty again. “Is something wrong?” he asks hesitantly, his voice full of concern.

Emma purses her lips in a pensive way. “It's just that you seem to have a troubled sleep lately.”

He licks his lips a little nervously and nods, a wave of guilt washing over him once more. “Aye.” Feeling her worried gaze resting on his face, he  promises, “We'll tackle the subject again.”

***

“Captain.” Dr. Hopper smiles his patented therapist smile he has for every one of his patients, yet it's still genuine and never seems fake. “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” Killian replies, “normal.” He tilts his head and adds a little hesitantly, “The day has never really been my problem.”

“Ah.” The cricket throws his visitor a probing look over the rim of his glasses. “But you had a troubled night?” he guesses, as usually hitting the nail right on the head. Killian just nods in response, and it's more a statement rather than a question when he says, “That dream again.”

“It seems to come with increasing frequency,” Killian replies in agreement. “Shouldn't it get better with time?”

The short man shakes his head. “I'm afraid not, Captain. Not unless you have truly dealt with the issue your dreams try to bring to the surface.”

Killian lets out a frustrated huff. “How am I supposed to do that if I can't even remember it?”

“It takes time,” Dr. Hopper tries to soothe. “Were you able to go back to sleep after you were disturbed by your dream?” he wants to know.

“I...” Killian averts his eyes, and his hand goes up by its own volition, his ringed index finger rubbing an imaginary spot underneath his ear. “Emma was startled awake, too, and I–” he interrupts himself and tilts his head, “we–”

“She provided physical comfort,” Dr. Hopper states calmly, ending his stammering in a firm voice, and leans a little forward, searching Killian's gaze. “Captain, finding comfort in being intimate with your partner is nothing to feel ashamed about.”

“No, I know, Doctor,” Killian confirms hastily. “It's not... it's not that.”

The doctor frowns in genuine concern. “Then what is it that makes you uncomfortable about it?”

Killian sighs and squirms a little. “It was the way I...” He lets his voice trail off, unsure how to proceed.

He knows the cricket would never betray a patient's trust by doing so much as judge them, but it still isn't easy for him to talk about these personal things... like his feelings, his guilt, or intimate details about his relationship with Emma. But if there is anyone he can talk to about these issues that torment him, then it's this man before him – the man who, in spite of their history, has been nothing but supportive when Killian was full of self-doubts, and who, on top, has sealed his bond with Emma. Right now, he's patiently waiting for Killian to continue, without pressuring him.

He draws a deep breath before he finally goes on, “It was like I... like I had to prove a point to her.”

Dr. Hopper  lays his fingertips together and looks at him seriously, his gaze unfaltering. “Captain, did you do anything your wife didn't consent to?” he asks gently, but somehow it feels more like a rhetorical question.

Still, a hot pang of fury hits Killian right in the chest. “No, bloody hell, of course not!” he barks. “I would never!”

The cricket doesn't even flinch at his outburst. “I didn't think you would,” he replies matter-of-factly, and Killian can't help admiring his posture. This is the man he, in another life, did things to he doesn't want to think about and isn't proud of... but he's completely unimpressed by his momentary rage and stays completely focused. Looking at him, short of height, with his glasses and his staid clothing and manners, it would be so easy to underestimate him, but he has a quiet authority about him that makes it impossible.

“Still, you feel you acted,” he adds and sways his head slowly in search for the right expression, “out of inappropriate reasons?”

Killian is almost shocked by the accuracy of Dr. Hopper's words. Sure, everything he did last night was enthusiastically welcomed by Emma, and they have both reveled in lovemaking much rougher than last night's, so that is not really something to feel guilty about. But the reasons that fueled him to approach her like he did weren't the right ones. When Killian looks at the doctor again hesitantly, he finds his calm gaze resting on him patiently, encouragingly.

He swallows. “Aye,” he finally replies. “In that moment, I felt so...” he runs his hand through his hair nervously, “I can't even name it, but I felt so... guilty afterwards, like I'd been somehow taking it out on her.” He tilts his head. “Whatever in blazes it was that I felt.”

“And you still can't remember it?” the doctor presses gently.

Killian shakes his head. “Not quite,” he replies reluctantly, “but I have the feeling that I almost...” He interrupts himself and rubs his fingertips together before he presses through his clenched teeth. “Like it just... slipped through my fingers.”

“That sounds like you're almost there,” Dr. Hopper encourages.

Killian chews on his bottom lip in frustration and throws his hand in the air. “I only know I'm always powerless,” he finally blurts out, “and when I wake up, I feel desperate, lost, hopeless...” He bores his  steely blue eyes in Dr. Hopper's before he adds in a bewildered tone, “angry.”

The cricket nods. “Captain, it's beyond doubt that what vexes you stems from the traumata you went through with Emma lately,” he states the obvious, “but we won't get to the core to the problem until we find out everything about your dream.” Killian waits, eyebrows raised in question, as the doctor taps his right index finger against his mouth a few times and then draws a deep breath, as if he's come to some conclusion. “I'd like to try something, if you're in agreement.”

“No magic,” Killian replies immediately in a stern voice, almost reflexively. “I don't want anything to mess with my mind,” he declares firmly, “or my memories.”

He has learned in very painful ways that only bad things have ever come out of it if any type of magic has messed with his mind; more than that, the results have been devastating. Whether it was the Crocodile dripping poison into his ear after briefly reattaching his hand, or Emma when she took his memories of her turning him into a Dark One – or the darkness itself, whispering of revenge and snuffing out the light to achieve it. And, well, his own attempt of getting rid of his own memories of a lurid crime committed against an innocent man... that had brought him and the people he loved nothing but pain either.

“I'm absolutely with you,” Dr. Hopper soothed, his hands raised in defense. “Magic has no place when it comes to treating the human soul.”

After scrutinizing him closely for a few seconds, Killian tilts his head. “Then I'm not averse to anything you deem helpful, Doctor.”

“Very good.” The cricket smiles. “If you don't mind,” – he waves his hand invitingly – “lay down and make yourself comfortable.” When Killian raises his eyebrows in question, he explains, “I want to try and bring you to the verge of dreams, calm down your mind and soul until you reach a state similar to sleep, simply with relaxation techniques.” He nods towards the cushions on the comfortable leather couch Killian is sitting on and adds, “It helps if you lay down.”

“Hm,” Killian grumbles, but then lets himself sink to the side, stretching his long legs on the far end of the couch, albeit a little reluctantly.

“Excellent,” Dr. Hopper comments. “Now close your eyes, please.”

Killian sighs but does as he's asked, and strangely enough, the doctor's voice seems even more calming and soothing when he can't see him. Automatically, his breathing gets slower and deeper even before Dr. Hopper tells him so, and he concentrates on nothing else than his breath and his heartbeat as everything else fades away and the doctor's voice becomes nothing but a distant murmur while his body seems to grow heavier and heavier...

...and the ground he's laying on isn't exactly comfortable, so he gets up. His feet are a bit unsteady, and when he looks down he sees that the uneven ground consists of sand. He looks around the barren, familiar place, and suddenly he knows where he is: Lake Nostos. The place where he witnessed the magic in Emma for the first time, when he lay on the ground, only half-conscious.

And there she is, like in a déjà-vû: Emma in her red leather jacket, the golden compass in her hand, as she confronts Cora. He wants to rush over to her, but he can't, something's holding him back, and when he looks down he sees that his feet are frozen on place, his black boots covered in a base of clear ice, like that time when the Snow Queen trapped him. Panic rises in his chest, and his eyes fly back to Emma, but it's like he remembers, Cora can't hurt her: when she plunges her cruel hand into Emma's chest to take her heart, she's repelled by the blinding white light bursting out of Emma's very core, and he is relieved hearing Emma's words, firmly spoken, “No, love is strength.”  

But this time, Cora doesn't seem to be impressed. “Then prove it,” she sneers, and he doesn't like the sound of that, and he doesn't like the determined look on Emma's face either. She looks at him for the first time, an expression of guilt on her face, and plunges her hand in her own chest.

“Emma, no!” he yells. “What are you doing?”

“Don't worry,” she replies and rips out her own heart. An all too familiar, triumphant giggle comes from the other woman, a giggle that's haunted him for centuries, and he sees that Cora has transformed and is the Black Fairy now.

Desperation gives him strength, and somehow, he manages to free his feet, but before he can run over to Emma, he's held back violently, a sharp pain in his wrist making him look down again. He sees an old rusty shackle around his wrist and recognizes it immediately, it's the one Emma bound him with atop of the beanstalk. He also has the golden compass in his hand now, and he knows they can make it back home, together, but apparently, Emma has other plans.

And like in slow motion, he sees Emma offering her heart to the Black Fairy. “Emma, please! Don't do this!” he yells again, desperately rattling on the chain that holds him mercilessly in place.

But Emma shakes her head as she hands over her heart. “I'm sorry, I have to.”

He's helpless, and he can't do anything but...

“No!” he gasps and sits up abruptly, finding Dr. Hopper's eyes resting on him quietly.

Killian closes his eyes in endless relief and rubs his hand over his face. “I remember now,” he finally says, “Emma...” He falls silent and shakes his head, his mind still swirling from his upsetting dream.

“I know,” Dr. Hopper replies in a soothing voice, “you told me everything.”

Exhaling slowly, deliberately, to calm down, Killian runs his fingers through his hair. “And did it give you any enlightenment?” he asks almost reproachfully, because it's not like there was any surprise in that dream. That all the separations and nearly-losses have caused him serious distress, was clear from the beginning, and he just doesn't see how it was helpful to extract this dream from his mind that he's blissfully forgotten.

“Oh yes, it did,” the cricket tells him to his surprise and then asks, “Captain, what exactly happened on your wedding day?”

Killian frowns in confusion and surprise. “On my wedding day?”

“We only know that Emma defeated the Black Fairy, and that her family was present, but unable to help,” Dr. Hopper recounts and looks at him questioningly.

A chill runs down Killian's spine when he recalls the occasion, and he hates it, still hates the Crocodile's monstrous mother for tainting his wedding day with these traumatic events, a day that should only hold happy memories, and it does, but it also will forever be tied to the terrible memory of another occasion where he almost lost his love. He doesn't like to reminisce about it, let alone to talk about it, but alas, those are the two crucial points of these encounters with the cricket – if they're supposed to help him heal.

“She came to me on my ship during the day,” he begins reluctantly, “I had spent the night there. You know, because...” he lets his voice trail off and vaguely waves his hand through the air. His wedding band gleams in the light of the late afternoon sun falling through the window, and he swallows when his eyes catch the shine.

Dr. Hopper nods. “Because you wanted to avoid bad luck,” he finishes the sentence for him.

“Aye.” Killian huffs with sarcasm. “Well, that worked out quite nicely, didn't it?”

“You know it would have happened anyway,” the doctor reminds him gently. “Why did she come to see you if she knew you wanted to avoid her until the ceremony?”

“She told me about the impending confrontation, about the Black Fairy's ultimatum,” Killian says, his voice flat and his eyes staring at a point on the wall above Dr. Hopper's right shoulder.

“She came to discuss a plan?” he prompts softly.

“She came to tell me to stay back,” Killian replies pointedly, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “She said she had to deal with it by herself.” He bores his eyes into the doctor's, hard like steel, like his voice now. “She came to say goodbye, in the event of her failure.”

Dr. Hopper waits for a moment, but when Killian doesn't continue, he asks quietly, “And did you? Stay back?”

Killian swallows and shakes his head once. “Of course not. I went to the Crocodile's to keep him from coming to his mummy's aid. Knocked him out with a bit of dreamshade to keep him out of the equation.” He snorts. “I should have known that the black witch was already waiting for me.”

“So that's how she captured you.”

He looks away. “Aye. The rest of the family was there, too, and we were frozen and watched her surrender her heart to the Black Fairy.”

“And you couldn't do anything to help.” It's not a question, it's a statement.

Killian snorts. “It was too late for that now, wasn't it?” His mouth twitches as he bites out the last word.

Dr. Hopper nods slowly, his sympathetic eyes regarding him. After a short pause, he finally tells him calmly, “Captain, you need to be honest with your wife.”

Killian frowns. “I am!” he assures. “Emma and I, we're past hiding things from each other. We–”

“Being honest means not hiding the truth,” the doctor interrupts, a little vaguely at first, “any truth. About what you feel.” When it becomes very clear that Killian has no idea what he's talking about, the cricket explains, “And the truth about your feelings is that you are harboring anger towards Emma.”

Killian is taken aback. “Are you out of your mind?” he snaps, maybe a little too indignantly. “Why would I be angry at her? The black witch was the villain, not Emma!” he argues.

“But Emma is your partner,” Dr. Hopper points out gently. “Yet, she didn't allow you to act like a partner.”

Killian turns his head to the side in an attempt to avoid the doctor's quiet scrutiny, but then decides that it's probably not working – and besides, he is coming here to deal with what haunts him, and denying the truth is not exactly a helpful way to do that. Unconsciously, he clenches his jaw.

“That hurt,” he admits reluctantly. “Still does.”

Dr. Hopper takes off his glasses and briefly rubs at the red marks they have left on the bridge of his nose. “Captain, Emma has been used to have to fend for herself for a very long time,” he then says thoughtfully, “much like yourself.” He gestures towards Killian and goes on, “And to realize that it's okay to accept other people's help and support... takes time and courage.” He tips his head to the side. “You might recall an occasion when you had trouble yourself opening up to Emma about what burdened you,” he reminds him, “which led to grave consequences for both of you and almost resulted in your own death.”

Killian nods grimly when he thinks back to the disaster he summoned after he'd found out that he'd murdered David's father. Trying to keep that a secret was a grave mistake that had him end up in Neverland, almost burned at the stake by the Lost Boys.

“She was so angry when she found out that I had not told her, that she gave back my ring,” he recalls in a thick voice, the burden of the painful memory of that fateful evening making it even physically difficult to talk about it. “Not because of what I had done,” he adds, “but because I had decided to resolve the problem by myself.”

“And she did the same,” Dr. Hopper says, expressing exactly what's been bothering him: that Emma accused him of one thing, but then went ahead and did just the same thing she'd condemned him for.

“But... will that ever change?” he asks, the helplessness and insecurity he feels seeping into his voice.

Dr. Hopper leans forward, his pale blue eyes firmly resting on Killian's. “Only you can change it,” he tells him and points out, “you and Emma. And to do that, you need to be aware of it.” When Killian frowns in question, he explains, “Talk to her. She must know how you feel, that you're upset with her.”

Killian sways his head from one side to the other, clearly in doubt. “I'm really not sure it would be helpful for anyone if I burdened her with that, too,” he ponders. “Not after all she's been through.”

“Oh, and for you it's been a picnic?” the doctor asks with just the right dose of irony.

Killian squirms on the soft leather couch. Burdening Emma with anything is the last thing he wants to do. “I–”

But the doctor is relentless and interrupts him with a hand held up. “Captain, your feelings are valid just as much as Emma's,” he says firmly. “She deserves to know, and you deserve to express it. That's the way this works.” He leans back again and speaks his final verdict, “That's the way a relationship works.”

Later, when Killian comes home – to the house he once picked to give Emma hope, visible proof that he still believed in their chance at a future and happiness, even when every hope seemed lost – he stands on the sidewalk for a while, hesitating to go in. It feels almost like a déjà-vû of that night when he found out what he'd done to Emma's grandfather, the ring that he'd wanted to give her burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans. The dilemma he was in – telling her the truth and risk losing her or keeping the secret and live with a lie – tearing him apart inside. The feeling that he couldn't dare to do what he'd planned and ask for her hand and her life, the feeling that he'd forfeited any right to a happy ending with his True Love almost choking him.

What lies ahead of him now can't be compared to that dilemma, of course, but it isn't easy either. What the doctor told him to do... deep down, he knows it's necessary and probably cleansing and healthy; but he also knows that, at least at first, it's going to cause uproar, pain, and guilt for the woman he loves. It's going to make her suffer, and he's going to be the reason for her suffering, again. Will that really be worth it? Surely he can do with a few more nights of poor sleep, if that's the price he has to pay for not hurting Emma?

She deserves to know, the cricket's voice reverberates in his head, And you deserve to express it. That's the way a relationship works.You need to be honest with your wife.

Damn, the little man is right. He isn't being honest with her if he withholds the truth about his feelings, if he keeps hiding and harboring them, nursing them until they grow to become obstacles, ugly, spiky barriers to keep him separated from his wife.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself in a groan of frustration and scrapes together every ounce of courage and determination he can find, before he finally walks into his home.

He finds Emma upstairs, dressed in leggings and a comfortable baggy t-shirt, toweling her hair after her shower. She smiles at him, like she always does when he enters a room, and it tugs heavily at his heart.

“Hey!” She walks up to him and brushes a quick kiss on his lips. “How did your appointment go?”

He draws a deep breath, the scent of her coconut oil shampoo filling his nose. “It was...” He hesitates, licks his lips and tries again, “I think we made some progress.”

“That's great!” Emma comments. “About your nightmares?”

He scratches behind his ear. “Mainly about those, aye.”

“Oh, really?” She throws the towel on her dressing table and slumps down on the chair. “Do you remember the dream?” She looks at him expectantly.

Killian waves his hand vaguely and tilts his head. “Well, basically it's about what happened on our wedding day,” he tells her, “the wretched black witch, your heart, our family...” He lets his voice trail off and looks at his hand, the sight of the still unfamiliar rings catching his attention and distracting him for a moment. But then he pulls himself together, because avoiding a touchy subject has never done any good for anyone, and adds, “And me, doing nothing to help, watching her almost kill you...”

Emma gets up from her seat abruptly and puts her hand on his arm. “Killian! It wasn't your fault what happened!” she insists firmly. “You mustn't feel guilty about it! Is that really what your dreams mean?” Her forehead creases with worry and empathy.

He sways his head again. “That's not the only thing causing my incubus.”

That apparently takes her by surprise. “What else?” she wants to know.

“The cricket thinks I'm...” He sighs and licks his lips again; speaking seems very difficult. “He thinks that I'm upset with you,” he finishes.

“Upset?” she echoes. “With me? As in... angry?” Confusion is written all over her face. “But that doesn't... I mean, why would you be angry with me?” It is meant as a rhetorical question, but then she notices that he doesn't speak, just keeps scrutinizing her wordlessly, a ticking muscle in his jaw betraying the tension he feels. She frowns. “Killian?”

He averts his eyes for a moment, overwhelming the need to stop this before it begins to spiral out of control, because why would it help to dig up old ghosts now, right? It would only cause more pain and burden her with more worry and guilt... and then he remembers the cricket's words: that his feelings are valid, too, and that he has the right and also the obligation to express them, an obligation not only to himself, but also towards Emma and their relationship – because not hiding what he feels is part of the honesty that's indispensable for any relationship.

He draws another deep breath – regular breathing seems to be a difficult task right now – and directs his gaze back at her with determination in his eyes. He can see how she's taken aback by that.

“After all we'd been through,” he starts quietly, “after you'd even put our engagement on hold because I'd tried to resolve my problems all by myself... after we'd promised each other again and again to always support each other and be by each other's side...” She narrows her eyes, and Killian realizes that she has no idea what he's aiming at. “After all that,” he repeats firmly, “you still felt the need to go and face the most dangerous villain we'd ever encountered alone!” Her eyes widen, apparently in disbelief, and he goes on, “You still thought it would be better to confront her on your own, you still couldn't accept your family's help and let them – me – be there for you!” Now that the dam has broken, it seems to him, surprisingly enough, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he finds that it makes him feel actually free to put all this into words. “Why?” he adds, just when he thought he was finished. “When is that ever going to change?!”

“Really?” Emma blurts out. “You're mad at me because I was trying to protect you?!”

“That's the point, Swan!” he emphasizes, gesturing vividly. “You're not supposed to protect me! You're supposed to let me fight by your side, if necessary!”

Emma shakes her head. “The Black Fairy wanted me!” she points out. “There was nothing you or anybody else could have done!”

Sure, that would be her stereotypical excuse – no one else could have done it, so the Savior had to do it her way, alone. “Nonsense!” he contradicts fervently. “We could have worked out a plan to–”

Emma scoffs. “A plan to what?” she snaps. “Get yourselves killed?”

“You can't know that!” he replies angrily. “Do you really think letting her kill you would have saved me or your family? That she would have let us get away?”

He literally cannot believe how she could be so naïve not to see that by giving herself up to the Black Fairy she was sealing his – their family's – fate as much as hers. But death has never been something Killian Jones feared – well, at least not his own death. But seeing the woman he loves losing her life in front of his eyes? The last time, it nearly destroyed him. But he knows, this time, with his True Love, it wouldn't take him only three meager centuries to get over it – eons wouldn't be enough.

“Do you have any idea how I felt, being paralyzed and having to watch that monster with your heart in her hand?” Without being aware of it, he mimics the gesture of holding a heart in his hand and slowly closes his fingers to a fist. Emma's eyes are drawn to the movement of his hand, and he can see her flinch when his fingers curl around an imaginary heart. “About to crush it,” he goes on, “and not being able to move and do anything about it?”

After a few moments of heavy silence she blurts out furiously, “Of course I do! I had to watch Gold almost crush your heart while I was frozen, remember?!” Killian feels like punched in the gut, and also a little guilty for simply having forgotten this terrible episode. Yes, Emma's been there, too – he may not have given his heart to the Crocodile willingly, but what Emma almost had to watch his enemy do to him was practically the same.

“And I swore to myself,” she goes on, “to never let that happen again! That's why I went about it on my own, not because I thought I'd handle things better alone!”

He sighs and lowers his eyes for a moment to look at his hand that's still balled into a fist... and he understands. Because if there was ever an occasion where the only way to save her life would be to sacrifice his own, he knows he would not hesitate one second. So, he understands her motivation – but in this case, he's convinced, her sacrifice would have been in vain, the Black Fairy wouldn't have spared any of Emma's family.

He focuses on her again. “But that was not your decision to make, Emma,” he tells her softly. “We've been there already. And you know I'd rather die fighting anyone who threatens my family than surrender anyone I love to them.”

Her shoulders slump heavily. “Yeah, I know that,” she replies, her voice defeated, almost breaking. “But I really didn't think we had a chance this time.” Her wide eyes are boring into his with an almost frightening intensity, begging him to understand, as tears well up in them. “And I cannot watch another person I love die. I can't lose you. Not again.”

Killian reaches out and takes her left hand, his fingers squeezing hers almost painfully. “Emma,” he says, his voice deep and soothing, “When you think there's no chance to win, and there's no hope to prevail... that's exactly when you have to rely on your family, on me.” Her brows start to pull into a frown, and he insists, “When you need reminding that we'll always find a way.”

She huffs through her tears, almost in a choked laugh. “You sound like my mother.”

He tilts his head. “Your mother can be a piece of work, and everyone has made fun of her hope speeches at some point or got annoyed by them,” he admits, secretly counting himself in, “but you can't deny that whenever things have seemed beyond remedy and people have lost all faith, she was always the one to give them hope again, and along with that, the courage and strength to overcome anything!” He secretly counts himself among those people, too. He arches his eyebrows. “And I haven't seen her proven wrong one single time.”

Emma can't help but nod in agreement at that; so far, they have always managed to overcome anything, no matter how much against them the odds have been.

“Look at what has been thrown at her, at you – at us!” Killian reminds her. “Curses, poison, darkness, villains trying to take away our happy endings, to rip us apart, to destroy us,” – he pauses for a moment and threads his fingers through hers – “and yet, we're still here, and they are not. No matter how hard they tried, we have defeated them...”, he tilts his head again and adds dryly, “or made them part of the family.”

That makes her smile, which was, of course, his intention. “You're right,” she admits and squeezes his fingers. “I'll get there. It's just...” she licks her lips and swallows. “The instinct to protect the people you love–”

“I know,” he interrupts, “it's not easy. I get it. And if I thought there was no other way to save your life than to give up mine?” He nods gravely. “I would do it in the blink of an eye without discussion,” he concedes plainly. “But we can't and must not bear the burden alone, the burden of deciding whether there is another way or not,” he tries to make his point. “Like your parents when they were ready to sacrifice their lives to Regina's evil half to save the rest of Storybrooke. Or when I...” He hesitates for a moment, the memory still painfully fresh, “stayed behind in the Underworld.”

Emma shudders at the thought and points out, her tone a little accusing, “You decided that all by yourself!”

“Aye,” he admits, “but only after every other option we'd tried didn't work out.”

She sighs and nods. “Okay. I see what you mean.” She draws a deep breath and raises her chin, her eyes glittering and her voice firm. “I promise, Killian–“

“Just promise me,” he interrupts gently and smooths her still damp hair behind her shoulder with his hook, “to never give up.”

She presses her lips into a smile and tries to blink back her tears. “Okay. I promise.”

Killian lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of hers before he says softly, “You know, Emma... it's very likely that one of us is going to lose the other one day.”

Like he anticipated, she shakes her head fervently. “I won't–”

He squeezes her fingers, that are still entwined with his, reassuringly. “But that's okay,” he tells her firmly, even though the thought of losing Emma, at any point, pains him to no end, “because we'll know where we're going. And the one of us that goes first, will await the other, no matter how long it takes, and then we shall cross that bridge, together.”

Finally, one single tear struggles free and rolls down her cheek, the picture he just painted for her surprisingly soothing and peaceful. She squeezes his fingers back, and it's like she's anchoring herself in the here and now, in their reality.

She nods. “Together.”

[thenugking]

Grand Academy For Future Villains II: Attack of the Sequel, Chapter 12: Last of the Chapters. A commentary for Three.

General CW for the whole thing: parental abuse, internalised dehumanisation as a trauma response. Three’s not doing well.

The game keeps setting me up for bad sex jokes and I just cannot be expected to resist

Game 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Game 2

Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Alternatively, read on Google Docs here

***

You're not ready to let the Grand Academy be written off by anyone, even a group of all-powerful bureaucrats. Phil is watching you, bemused but delighted at your bravado.

You draw out the paper that registers you officially as a fatal weakness of the Academy. 

"I think you'll find the Academy merits accreditation after all."

Ms. Goul stands up and twitches the page from your fingers. She scans it quickly. "It's in order…I'm pleased to see a student who recognizes the value of correct paperwork. So you're a fatal weakness of the Grand Academy for Future Villains." A line appears between her eyes, which might be worry or might be laughter. "And you think that gives you the ability to dictate terms to us?"

Well, yes. That's exactly what you think. 

Lord X nods in satisfaction. "If you meet over-powered characters in chapter 5," he remarks to no one in particular, "dramatic necessity dictates that you must fight them at the end."

"Wait, are you going to fight us?" Phil demands. "I'm out; I was told there'd be unlimited free cocktails at fundraising dinners; no one said anything about fighting old friends." He vaults lightly backward over the arm of the couch and into the corner.

On your left, Ms. Goul stands up. She sets your fatal weakness certification on the table and punches a few numbers into the device that she's carrying. You hear distant sounds outside the room, like the rush of approaching feet. On your right, Lord X stands up and draws from his well-equipped belt what appears to be a perfectly ordinary gun. There's a scratching in your throat and an aching in your head; the Voice in the Void is trying to get in. 

So in order to save the Grand Academy, you're going to fight the auditors, the nigh-omnipotent representatives of the Board of Visitors and Overlords. How?

Three hopes this gives them the ability to dictate terms. If not… Ulik’s safe, for now, Maedryn’s vanished, and if DarkBoard goes down… well, Three’s place is with them, whatever happens. It barely even registers when Ms. Goul compliments them for caring about paperwork. She should have done that before deciding the Academy didn't merit re-accreditation.

They’re relieved by how helpful Phil’s being. He might be significantly less terrifying than the other auditors, but he’s the one person here who’s actually already beaten them before. He certainly seems as though he’ll be easier to get on Three’s side than Ms. Goul, though. So, now Three just needs to get past the three most powerful villains they’ve ever met. Maedryn may have put them through brutal physical training since they were old enough to walk, but that doesn’t mean they can fight the auditors alone.

#My mother's left a whole army of replicas idle. If I concentrate, I can command them.

You remember everything your mother has taught you—both voluntarily and involuntarily. You don't have her thought-amplification gadgets, but you do have the personal experience of being one of her replication experiments. You strain your thought towards the mindless clones standing idle around the Academy. You think you can feel the remnants of your mother's control, you can almost see through their mindless myriad eyes—

"What are you doing?" demands Phil.

Lord X fires.

You reflexively drop to the ground, but in that moment, you feel your control lock into place over dozens of replicas throughout the Academy. You hope that doesn't mean you're dead; that would be a problem. Oh well, not the problem you have to deal with at the moment. Right now you're controlling a horde of rushing feet, arms grabbing whatever implements come to hand, heads all turning in the direction of the faculty lounge and running to your defense.

You keep running into walls. Well, your replicas do. This is harder than it looks. No wonder your mother's sanity snapped. But enough of them reach the faculty lounge to break down the door, to swarm the auditors, and—this is the most important thing—to seize Phil.

Phil surrenders immediately as soon as a replica gets an arm around his neck.

Ms. Goul is encased in some kind of force field, Lord X is surrounded by heaps of bodies. Black spores swirl in the air. You can't be sure where exactly you are; your consciousness seems to be spread across a dozen different bodies.

Three’s been studying the replicas all year, looking for a way to take control. They’ve never dared to actively try it before--they didn’t want to risk Maedryn noticing, even after she shut herself in the Head’s office--but there’s not much more for them to lose now. It turns out to be a lot easier to fight the auditors when there’s hundreds of you.

"I think it's time for a recount." You hear your voice echoing from several throats. "Is the Grand Academy's accreditation renewed?"

"This changes nothing," growls Ms. Goul from behind the force field. "And—" The Voice's opinion doesn't seem to have changed either; it's still a blast of static that can't be a yes or a no.

Phil blinks expressively out from over your arm. "In light of recent events, I'm going to have to say that you will. Let my hand free and I'll sign."

It takes several tries, but you manage to get the replica holding Phil to let go. 

"You win, Three," says Ms. Goul simply. "The Academy stands. For now."

Three… did it. They fought the auditors. They won. The Academy is safe. DarkBoard is safe. And Three made that happen, somehow.

I’m not sure whether or not they get a destiny. They’re very slightly off the required narrative weight, but going on a date increases it, so if the game wasn’t a coward and actually acknowledged that Three very much swiped right when DarkBoard came up on the app, I would have enough. And it’s weird that beating the auditors here doesn’t increase narrative weight, too. 

Anyway, Three, being Three, very much does not want a destiny, but doesn’t exactly have the capacity to defy the auditors a second time today. Like with Ulik’s survival, this is something where I want a better plan of how Three’s story continues before I make a final decision on it. People underestimating Three as a subservient underling and not noticing their importance is certainly a theme, but that may happen a little less after they just defied and beat the auditors. I like the idea of Three starting off with no narrative weight at all and having it slowly grow to almost Chosen One levels through the actions throughout this year and the next few. But I also like the idea of third year Three struggling to go back to being Unimportant and Unnoticed, and finding that hard to achieve with a destiny hanging over them.

"I certainly hope the Academy appreciates what you've done for it," says Phil to you. "I suppose they'll more or less have to, being as you're their fatal weakness and all."

Once everything’s cleared up here, Three would very much like to talk to Phil. They’ve been wanting to talk to him for a whole year; they still owe him several apologies for what they thought about him in their first year--never mind not being able to stop Maedryn throwing him down a trap door into a void--and they need to thank him for defeating them at the end of last year. They… are not sure they would have done a lot of the things they’re proud of doing this year, without Phil’s inspiration.

Phil, in turn, would like to apologise for spending so long thinking Three was an utterly boring rule-stickler, because fighting the auditors there was the most ridiculous, daring, incredible thing he’s ever seen, and he’s in awe. And, hey, it was nice of Three to help him realise how much he actually stood for something, for once, last year.

It turns out the two of them coming to blows has a habit of working out really well for both of them. So Three is only a little surprised at themself when they ask Phil if he’d like to be their nemesis. Phil finds it a laughable idea. Of course he accepts.

The biggest unresolved question, of course, is what is going to become of the school leadership. The Head has not been seen ever since your mother brought down half of its office. Neither has your mother herself. In her absence, you've been obliged to take up management of the replicas. This is easier since having used them to defeat the auditors. Perhaps a little too easy. You find it hard to remember which one of you is the original now. Still, there are advantages to being a swarm rather than an individual. The students and faculty give the administrative hall a wide berth. Whatever will emerge from it will doubtless be a mind-melting terror, but maybe it can hold off through the end of the summer. In the meantime, your advice and authority is more important than ever as the faculty restructures.

Three is happy to manage the replicas, for now, and doesn’t object to being able to jump between several different bodies at will. Though they agree with DarkBoard that it may be less risky, not to mention more manageable on Three’s part, to destroy most of them and find a different set of janitorial staff for next year, simply keeping a few replicas hidden around the Academy as DarkBoard’s personal staff.

But Maedryn is, as always, a problem. With the Head nowhere to be found and Maedryn still hiding out in their office, Three has the nasty suspicion they might return from their summer vacation to find Maedryn in control of the Academy. And given that the Head is, for want of a better word, powered by DarkBoard, and Maedryn has never been particularly nice about DarkBoard… Well, as DarkBoard’s minion, it’s Three’s duty to stay and protect them. Even if that means finally, truly fighting their mother.

Three wouldn’t have considered themself capable of ever going against Maedryn a year ago. Even if the auditors were more powerful, this is more personal. And Three could never be an equal to her. But… They have an official registration as the Academy’s fatal weakness. A deeper connection to the AI that runs the school than anyone else at the Academy. The favour of the teacher most likely to have built secret rooms hidden around the school, and a detailed map of the dungeons. A few dozen replicas they control better than Maedryn ever did. An extraordinarily high level of competence. And they know Maedryn better than anyone. Three hopes, desperately, that it never comes down to a fight between the two of them. That their mother doesn’t find it necessary to destroy them. That they won’t find it necessary to destroy their mother.

In the meantime….

LOADING PERSONAL MODULE…

Finite creature! You who grope after destiny, who plumb the mysteries of genre, who long for a greater narrative weight! Know ye not that We, DarkBoard, have all that ye seek? Join us! Join us, shed your earthly limitations! We await you in the depths! Come!

Well, Three’s not going to consider assimilating into DarkBoard when they still have work to do protecting them. But it’s the start of the holidays, and Three and DarkBoard have both been through a lot this year, and want at least a little bit of time off. And, well, DarkBoard did just tell them to come. Assuming no one breaks into the mailroom this time round, Three is, as always, more than happy to obey.