#if i ever put together a pinned post ill put more brushes i like on the probably. but seriously i horde brushes ive got some for everything

[heartorbit]

I ADORE YOUR ART! what brushes and program do you use?

that means a lot, thank you so much!! T_T <3

i mainly use procreate for ipad but i use clip studio every once in a while. i jump around with a lot of different brushes but i'll link the ones i use most, all of them are available for free ^_^

for procreate i use this brush! hand brush my beloved i use it for EVERYTHING sketching rendering coloring im serious. i also use some of the defaults, gesinski ink is nice for lines and i use salamanca when i color traditional art digitally. nikko rull brush is great for texture too i love it i did all the water in that emnn drawing with it

devin elle kurtz and ahmed aldoori have a lot of amazing brushes that are compatible across almost every art program and i use them in procreate too!

for csp i use these salmon brushes for coloring and painting, and fearoffun has three super cool brushpacks that i love! lots of texture and so awesome he is a brush wizard check him out.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door. 

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t. 

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

[rotshop]

Hey go for that self indulgent white Hank thing! Absolutely go for it! Have fun! -Echo

weeps and sobs and beats the ground with my fists okaye ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, using ur ask to post it bc imm sick and twisted liek that </3 just hcs 4 now ill probably maybe dependingly post a fic for it another time idk we'll see ,,,,,

-

-you two have a weird relationship. 2 others at least. people look at you and just kinda. stare a little bc they cannot at all tell what the relation to each other even is. even wank's teammates just kinda :eyes: because there's just?? so much vague tension between the two of you???

-seeing as pank is the main antag (i think ,,, if not then shhhh), you're probably just some spectator of sorts. pank calls on you every now and then for some sort of help, either bc you owe him a favor or in return for something, and that's when you two first meet.

-you'd actually managed to catch her off guard, finally showing yourself when she had her back turned to you. she can't help but just. stare a little while she looks up at you. you having her pinned to the ground with your blade at her throat and a foot on her stomach to keep her down. you know logically that your best move would be to just go ahead and take a chop at her neck but...you just can't bring yourself to, something tugging at the back of your mind in curiosity and telling you not to. so, with a little hum of finality, you pull away before vanishing into thin air once more.

-she thinks abt that interaction a lot. at first she just brushes it off as her just making note of you in case you pop up again, just so she can put up more of a fight this time around, of course. but,,,those motivations get cloudy very quickly.

-anyway. she's VERY curious abt you. she's never seen an employer before and so she just kinda. stares and watches you a lot. it freaks you out a little, esp considering she's still relatively quiet and tends to zone out a little whenever she does. whenever you show her any abilities of yours she goes all starry eyed and asks you how u do it ,,, she just thinks !!! it is neat :) ur shapeshifting abilities r rlly fun to her in particular, sometimes you tower over her easily and she'll rest her head on your shoulder, othertimes you're just below her chest in height and she'll have to pick you up and carry you around.

-also based on my dumb little cold blooded employers hc, she is both good and bad at it. like. ok. so. the first time you explain it to her and she notices ur kinda .. off , she goes into worry mode and just grabs every blanket or coat she can find to give to you so you can stay warm. keeps checking up on you and trying to ask you if ur comfortable and ok, buut ur usually conked the fuck out already so it doesn't rlly work ,, lol ,, she tends to KINDA pay attention to the cameras and monitors you've got set up a little but it's mostly just out of curiousity (which has lead to her sometimes lookig for her teammates just so she can find em and go 'hey im gonna be with my s/o for a little while ok byeeee <333' with no explanation. they have never heard of you before and have no clue what's going on.)

-after her own magnification she's a lot more affectionate w/ you which. considering she already WAS affectionate ,,, yea. you'll be doing ur think keeping an eye on all the monitors and she'll just kinda. walk in and start pestering you. y'know how cats will paw and meow at you until you pay attention to them??? she does that to you. at first she's just kinda laying her head on your shoulder as she leans way over you, nudges u a lil every now and then but that's rlly it. then she's grabbing your hands to mess with your claws and paw pads. then she's attempting to crawl on top of you to sit on your lap which is making it impossible to see any of the screens past her <3 you can't be mad because she just nudges you again and makes some broken little trill sound as best as she can ,,,

-u two kinda live together but also kinda don't???? like. officially she lives w/ her team at their base but rlly she lives with u at urs lmao. she sleeps there most nights and if she isn't either at her own base or on a mission then chances are she's there w/ you. it's become such a normal sight that nobody even rlly flinches at it anymore, there's still a lot of confusion on WHY she's there exactly but. she sure is !! first agent of yours who knocked on your door in the morning only to be met w/ the sight of your 8ft tall gf was fucking TERRIFIED

-you two still try and keep it more on the down low even if it's pretty obvious. leaves lots of room for little fights where you two are careful not to seriously injure each other, sending little glances and grins here and there that only you two will ever truly know the meaning of. you two make little bets of who wins these little fights of yours, currently ur in the lead because you found out her weak point is freezing up whenever she hears you giggle / snicker a little. anyway please consider cupping the side of her face while she has a kinfe embedded into the wall right next to your head.

-(while you are quite literally inches away from making out w/ wank, pank voice in the background) this is heterosexual behavior i promise .

[soothedcerberus]

Thank you for indulging me, anon! Blaster and Cassette cleaning/bathing/grooming/tactile touch hc under the cut ^^

Eject:

-Hates bathing-but if he can coax his siblings into a water fight it’s worth it.

-Tries to turn every bath into a game of water polo, with limited success. 

-A terror in the tub

-Please sit still please wash yourself-USE ACTUAL SOAP 

-Spends all his time playing around and bothering his siblings that Blaster has to remind him to actually clean himself or he’ll scrub the cassette himself.

B: I guess I'll just have to... *reaches for Eject*

E: *shrieks*  ill do it ill do it!!!

-Got in trouble because he would not stop kicking washbuckets at fellow Autobots passing by the washracks and screaming “GOAAAAAAAL” every time he hit someone. 

-Eject’s occasional sport injuries means that either Rewind or Blaster has to help him wash. And listen to him complain the whole way.

-Cannot be polished with a buffer. He is way too ticklish. 

-Uneven and rushed polishing. Always. It drives Rewind crazy. 

-If Blaster is able to pin Eject down for a more thoroughly polishing, within the hour Eject will find a way to ruin it. Blaster has given up trying to polish the sports cassette. 

-Gets turf stuck up in his feet and will track it into the ark. Blamed it on Sideswipe when confronted by Prowl.

-Now has to pressure wash his feet when coming in from a football session. 

-Helps Rewind polish his visor and faceplate-after kicking a clump of dirt into it.

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

Steeljaw:

-Steeljaw Isn’t a huge fan of baths, he can clean himself anyways he doesn’t need a bath.

-Speaking of, Steeljaw grooms Blaster and his cassette sibs. Nobody is safe

-Will also groom to comfort himself or his family, they appreciate the sentiment 

-Hesitantly paddles and paws at the water-but will not hesitate to get involved if Eject splashes him

-He does like to have his claws filed though, has his own personal scratch post  (but you can get on his good side by filing them for him)

-Blaster can really get his purring going if he polishes the cybercat with a microfiber cloth.

-Loves his mane being polished with a buffer. Only trusts Blaster or Rewind with this task.

-Has a teeny toothbrush to polish his fangs, 

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

Rewind:

-Always suds himself up well before washing himself off. Looks like a snowman 

-Likes drenching sponges and hurling them at Eject.

-He can’t soak for long, lest he gets dizzy.

-Gets Eject to help detail his harder to reach joints after promising him to play doubles tennis with him.

-Attention to detail when hand polishing himself, even gets his tape wheels.

-Cleaning is a relaxer for him, he finds it helps with his anxiety.

-Once nearly fell asleep when Blaster massaged and shined him with a big microfiber cloth, much to his embarrassment.

-No claws, but he did pick up filing and buffing the edges of his fingers from his cybercat sibling. Better for turning pages if there’s no nicks or rough spots. 

-Tries to sneak in polishes to his twin’s frame. It drives Eject crazy. 

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

Ramhorn:

-Ramhorn being the largest of the cassettes, definitely needs help cleaning himself. Sudsing up his back and sides, Blaster and the other cassettes take turns helping him. 

-Acts gruffly in response to being bathed by others but secretly likes feeling pampered. 

-Loves being buffed, he leans as far as he can into it, snorting in contentment. 

-Sometimes it’s just easier to hose him down-he prefers it too. Except when Eject intentionally sprays him in the face. 

-Splashes around in deep puddles like a sparkling when nobody is looking.

-Wants a swinging brush, but it's not high up on the list of essential equipment. :c

-Horn is his most “handsome” feature (according to him) so it is well taken care of. 

-His horn makes an excellent back scratcher (ask Blaster). His entire frame makes a good backrest (ask Rewind).

-Will itch his horn on others, has toppled several minibots (and a few larger bots) this way.

-Steeljaw will give good scratches and kneads to the rhino’s back, before promptly curling up and sleeping. 

-Rewind, bless him, takes it upon himself to clean the rhino’s ears. 

-Warm water or oil makes him very sleepy, so he’ll often sink to the bottom of the basin. 

-Soaks with just his horn sticking out. 

-Is used as a giant “rock” for “King of the rhino” games. 

-Sometimes puts up with Eject diving off of him. Sometimes. 

-On bad days he’ll seek comfort in Blaster or his sibs, nudging them with his head to get cuddles or pets. He makes sure nobody else sees him like that though. 

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

Blaster:

-Cassettes help Blaster polish, they can reach little tickle/itchy spots near his neck with small cleaning cloths. 

-Since Blaster’s chest is their second home/room, they make sure to keep it extra clean. 

-Dumps warm water over his cassettes when its time for a rinse. 

-Still bundles them up to dry, even if they protest. Is gentle and intricate, making sure each cassette is clean and dried off.

-Massages behind Steeljaw’s ears eliciting pleased chirps and purrs from the lion. Steeljaw might lick Blaster’s hand while getting pets-as a thank you. 

-Helps Ramhorn into the deep basin even if the Rhino insists he doesn’t need help. That one pratfall was one too many for the boombox. 

-Rubs soothing medical cream onto Eject if his frame ever gets sore or sprained. 

-Lets Rewind gush to him about the latest documentary he watched or book he read while stroking the small cassette's back in soothing patterns. Applying a small amount of polish. 

-Sometimes Blaster will wash them together as cassettes in his deck because it’s faster than corralling them all for a bath. Like a giant dishwasher, complete with a rinse and dry cycle. This makes his cassettes nauseous though. :(

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 23 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter*

Masterlist with all previous chapters

*****

Azriel held her close all night, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other cradling her head against his chest where Gwyn lay practically on top of him. She blinked as the sunlight coursed through the curtains, and brushed Azriel's hair back out of his face,

"You need a haircut," she chuckled when he opened his eyes and she laughed when the arm around her waist tightened, "Thank you," she whispered, unable to really explain what he'd done for her last night, but he just nodded, brushing a hand through her hair, refusing to let go when she wriggled, "You don't want me to go,"

"No, but I know that you need to, I just want you to be careful, remember your promise,"

"I know, I'll be fine, I'm not the one fighting everyone,"

"It's not proper fighting, just a taste, they'll have no idea what's hit them if I do fight any of them properly." Gwyn snorted,

"I'm sure," she laughed, "Are you going to let me go?"

"Don't want to," Azriel rolled sideways and tugged Gwyn closer, planting a kiss on the top of her head, "I'd stay here forever if I could."

"Here?"

"Alone, with you, not worrying about the world," Gwyn eased back enough to meet his gaze,

"We'll have that time, I promise, there you go, another promise, seems I can't help but make them to you," she wriggled her way out of his arms, "You need to get up, or we'll both be late." Azriel groaned, but Gwyn made sure he was getting up before sorting herself out, going as far as dragging the duvet away from him, earning wild complaints, and glares, but, sleepy as he was, Gwyn couldn't help but laugh as he dragged himself to the bathroom.

Gwyn sighed when she pulled on her dress, wishing she could get away with something easier to fight and move in, not that the corset was an issue, it didn't restrict her, but she still marveled at how it could fit properly whilst not obstructing her wings. The skirt however, was an issue, Illyrians favored full skirts, and while she could run, she didn't fancy her chances in a proper fight, in a little one she would be alright, but she didn't like it.

She was brushing through her hair when Azriel appeared behind her, stealing the brush form her hand,

"Az! Give it back," she complained, but he just twirled a finger, and she huffed as she turned back to the mirror, sighing when he kept working through the more stubborn tangles and knots. She couldn't help but smile at the way his brows bunched when he was concentrating on a particular knot.

"What are you grinning about?"

"You, being all adorable," Azriel didn't get a chance to respond before someone pounded on the door, Gwyn jumped up to answer it, leaving Azriel to pretend to be gathering his kit for training, but she relaxed at the sigh of Laylah at the door,

"Amirah," she sobbed, "Thank the Cauldron, I was so worried I'd have gotten it wrong, please let me in," Gwyn stepped aside, quietly closing the door behind her,

"What is it?" Laylah made to speak, but shook her head at the sight of Azriel,

"He won't hurt you," Gwyn promised, "He's not like some of these others,"

"He's not?"

"No, he's not."

"Oh gods, my father is going to kill me, I ran away, just like he thought I would. I had to, you have to understand, he wanted to marry me to a human! A prince, but a human, he'll be old and grey in no time, I can't, I just can't do it, I won't!"

"It's okay, it's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to,"

"Okay, okay, can we stay here for a moment?"

"Yeah, okay, Gavin's heading off to training, he'll be back later, we can stay here if you like,"

"Thank you, you won't tell my father?" Azriel offered a gentle smile,

"Tell him what?" He nodded to Gwyn as he slipped out,

"Did your father say why?"

"He wants to build alliances, and marriage does that, but if I were to marry him, I would be surrounded by people who hate me, I didn't think even my father would be cruel enough for that. He said, I don't really understand,"

"What? It's okay, you're safe here,"

"He said that if they were to pull something off, to get the Spymaster and General in one go, all it would take would be a little reassurance and he'd get what he wanted,"

"Oh gods, did he say anything about that plan?"

"No, but he had some papers on his desk he was writing on last night, I wasn't supposed to see,"

"Thank you, please Laylah, stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"But where are you going?"

"To try and save lives."

Gwyn kept her head down but hurried as fast as she could to Laylah's room, and froze at the sight of a male there, she'd expected him to be at training, all the others were. She didn't give him a chance to shout, or move, her fist connecting with his nose with such force that it crumpled under the impact, and her strike to his temple sent him tumbling to the ground. Papers, something about attacking Az and Cass, together, to kill them both. She let her instincts guide her, not quite knowing what she was looking for, but there it was, a battle plan, or less of a battle plan, more an ambush plan, shit.

She was about to rush back to her room, not even bothering to copy the plan, they'd be long gone before anyone discovered it was gone, but there were voices outside the door, one voice she recognized, Azriel's half brother. If it really was him, he would recognize them, both of them, she had to get Azriel out, now. She dived into the bathroom, freezing as the door flew open, revealing the very male she'd hoped was dead, along with three others.

"Shit, go and get him, now, I'll find the redhead." That voice, it was that same voice, she was going to make him pay for what he'd done to Azriel, several times over. She would never beat them there, and with Azriel surrounded by hostile Illyrians, they couldn't just fight their way out. She was on the first floor, she could get across the courtyard to the training pitch, and pretend, what, that she was ill? No, she'd pretend that someone had tried to touch her, that was allowed to get Azriel's attention.

She threw the window open, and flared her wings as she fell through the air, not quite flight, but it had slowed her fall enough that she could roll to recover, sprinting for the training pitch, racing those nameless males who sought to hurt her, what? She wasn't scared, she refused to be scared any longer. She loved him, and she chose him, he was one of the only things she'd ever chosen, and she chose him, not because of anything else, but because of him, and anyone who sought to hurt him would die before they reached him.

She staggered on her feet when she opened the door to the training pitch,

"Gavin!" She screamed, and Azriel's head shot up from the corner he was currently wrestling another male in, "Gavin please, he's scaring me!" She forced herself to cry, gasping when Azriel launched into the air, landing just in front of her, "It wasn't my fault, please, I tried, he just,"

"Amirah, not here, outside," she sniffed and nodded, letting Azriel guide her away, "What's the matter,"

"Your brother, he's here, he knows we're here, he's coming, we have to go, now! I got a plan for an ambush form Laylah's father, but we have to go, and we have to take her with us,"

"Okay," Azriel nodded, and Gwyn's heart swelled at the way he wouldn't hesitate to help a female he barely knew, again.

"We can't go that way," Gwyn tugged Azriel round the corner, "I came across that way, probably looked really suspicious, but he's coming from that way,"

"I can't winnow in here, the wards are too strong, back here, come on, there's a servants' staircase, we should be able to fit, hopefully," Gwyn ran, Azriel at her side, squeezing through the narrow gap, and practically dragged Azriel through, she was already running when he checked for any guards, sprinting down the corridor beside her, "Where is she?"

"Our room,"

"Shit, I'll get her, I can fly out of the window, then it's a clear shot to get away, you get out, the back entrance,"

"No, I won't leave you," Azriel spun on his heels, pinning Gwyn against the wall as someone ran past, panting as they didn't take notice of them,

"Please, Gwyn, you have to,"

"I can't, I won't leave you, you can carry two, and you'll need my help to fight if they find you." She was right, she knew she was right, and she didn't blame him for the reluctance in his gaze, the conflict at knowingly putting her in danger, "I promised we'd have time, but we have to fight for it, both of us."

"Okay."

*****

With that one word he shattered any worries he still had, calming his fears as he hauled Gwyn's mouth to his, that ghost of a kiss the last he'd get until they were safe again,

"Stay alive," she murmured,

"We fight as one,"

"Always." There were three guard positions between them and their room, with two or three guards each, he sent his shadows ahead to find how many there were at the first, two, nice and easy. They sprinted through the corridors, and just before that guard post Gwyn nodded and sprinted forward, faster than before, slamming to a halt when one of the guards burst out to chase her down. She pivoted, slamming her elbow up into his throat, and he fell immediately, just in time for her to turn to catch the second guard's wrist, stepping across to flip him to the ground, stumbling once on her skirt before drawing her dagger and slamming the hilt into the guard's temple as he struggled to rise, knocking him back to the ground, unconscious.

She looked back to Azriel and he nodded approvingly,

"Looks like you don't need me anymore," he teased, and she just glared, grabbing her skirts,

"I can't fight in this," she complained, "Not properly, gimme that," she drew a sword from Azriel's belt slicing the bottom of the skirt away above her knees, "That's better, I'll just scandalize them into submission," she winked, and Azriel couldn't help the chuckle from breaking out of him,

"You okay?" She nodded,

"Let's get out of here."

The second guard position had two guards, and Azriel smirked at Gwyn as they approached,

"My turn," he stopped and knocked on the door, smiling as the guard realized he was the one they were supposed to be looking for and opened his mouth to shout, backing away, but not fast enough as Azriel's fist connected with his nose. The second guard was faster, darting sideways, only inches from the warning bell when Azriel swept his legs out from underneath him, almost wincing at the crack as he fell hard on the floor, not needing a second blow to knock him out,

"Not bad," Gwyn chuckled, "But yours were closer to sounding the alarm, I win,"

"We'll see about that, Valkyrie,"

"Nothing more to see, Shadowsinger," Azriel laughed again, already running down the corridor,

"You're doing great with your wings now,"

"I'm pretty much used to them by now, it'll probably be weird when Feyre vanishes them again," she laughed, "Guards, three o'clock"

"One each, fastest gets the third," she grinned confidently, and Azriel laughed to himself, there was no way he was letting her win this one, he downed his guard with one blow, cursing as Gwyn managed the same, his shadows flashing out to disorient the third, letting Azriel reach him first. He dodged the wild dagger throw before tackling him to the ground and squeezed a pressure point on his neck to knock him out without hurting him too badly.

"You cheat!" Gwyn complained, "I'll get you for that!"

"I look forward to it," Azriel raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking up at a scream from the end of the corridor, from their room. He paused outside for a moment, trying to gauge what was happening,

"I don't know! Please, who the hell is Azriel?" Laylah, she was still there then, a shadow slipped under the door, three males, including his brother, he gestured for Gwyn to wait a moment and threw the door open, a dagger already flying for the male holding on to Laylah. She screamed and fell away as the male hissed in pain, pressing a hand to the dagger in his side,

"Wonderful, a family reunion," Azriel forced himself to wait, this male was a monster, but he had a job to do, "We've missed you, little brother,"

"You are not my brother." Azriel snapped, "Let the girl go,"

"Or what?"

"I don't think you want to find out," he snarled, but his brother's attention had flicked over his shoulder,

"So this is the Priestess, she with you now? Doesn't matter, she's not leaving here, shame though, pretty little thing," he broke off with a cry when Gwyn's dagger buried into the base of his wing, and he dropped to the ground, whimpering in pain, especially when she rushed forwards, leaving Azriel to threaten the last male back,

"Now," Gwyn said, her voice like cold death, "Unless you want me to find out exactly how much it hurts when I cut this off, tell me what your plan was,"

"Kill him," the male shrieked, and Gwyn grasped the dagger's handle, "Don't! Please, we were going to kill him, Azriel, and the other one, the General, I was going to use Laylah's father to get control of Illyria," he screamed when Gwyn drew the dagger out, driving her knee up into his groin,

"That's for threatening Az," she snarled, and Azriel hesitated for a moment, somehow still shocked at the proof of how she felt, giving the last male a chance to attack while he was distracted, forcing Gwyn to throw her dagger again, burying it up to the hilt in the last male's chest, "Are you okay?" She demanded,

"Fine, what about him?" He gestured to his brother, now trying to crawl away,

"Your call,"

"We should bring him back in chains," Gwyn stepped onto his injured wing, and he whimpered again, falling still, "We can't kill him yet, no matter how much I want to, I'm not sure I can carry all three of you," Gwyn looked out of the window,

"How far do the wards go?"

"About fifty meters,"

"I can climb down there and run that, wait just outside, and be ready to winnow,"

"That's too dangerous,"

"Then leave me the shadows, take Laylah and this idiot and wait there for me, I'm right behind you," Azriel couldn't leave her, she was right, and he knew she could do it, but he would have to leave her. If he left the shadows they could break up her outline, make it difficult to hit her, and she was fast, but he would have to leave her.

"I can't."

"You have to. I'm right behind you, I promise." Another promise, he had to let her do this, he trusted her with his life, he had to trust her with her own,

"Stay alive," he parroted from earlier, and Gwyn laughed,

"I'll see you in a minute," she threw the window open as wide as it would go, and climbed out, finding a foothold to start climbing as Azriel knocked his brother out, throwing him over a shoulder and extended a hand to Laylah.

"Hold on, whatever you do, do not let go,"

"You're the Spymaster," she whispered, "You were here the whole time, you can get me out of here?" Azriel nodded,

"We'll keep you safe," Laylah nodded, stepping up to him, and wrapped her arms around him, helping to hold on to his unconscious brother as she did so, squeezing her eyes shut as he dived out of the window, flapping furiously to keep high enough in the air to distract attention from Gwyn's shadow-shrouded form just reaching the floor. She looked up once before she sprinted forwards, and Azriel looked back to her the moment he landed, she was so close, so, so, close, just a few more steps.

She stumbled, and fell, an arrow protruding from her back. Azriel screamed in rage, making to run for her, but she was back up, reaching for his hand. Laylah was still gripping his arm, holding his brother as shadows encircled them, winnowing them away, back to where he'd stashed all their spare supplies. The moment they landed, he yanked out of Laylah's grip, his heart racing as he reached for Gwyn, only to find her laughing as she yanked the arrow out, no blood on it.

"Finally something a corset's good for," she snorted, "It struck one of the bones of the corset, never even touched me, I just got the impact,"

"Oh gods," Azriel murmured, "I thought I'd lost you,"

"You can't get rid of me that easily," she chuckled, but didn't complain when he folded her into his arms, still checking that she really was uninjured, the unbridled fear that had been racing through his blood fading slightly as she wrapped her arms around him. He couldn't fathom losing her, not now after everything, not when she was all his dreams come true. "Always," she whispered, "I meant it, you know, it's going to take more than an arrow to separate us."

[trillian-anders]

the harlot - i

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn

word count: 4.2k

description: harlots inspired au;

one last run before shipping off steve rogers is brought to a brothel to love a woman in case of his untimely demise at war. he meets the reader, young and fresh, not yet tainted by the world they’d been born into. a torrid one night love affair that costs their mother greatly. a promise and years later they meet again, the reader resentful and distrustful. the charming, now captain rogers, seems as captivated in reader as ever. but it’s never meant to be. and you both know that.

The wiles of women. They were a trap for men, the bawdy, the harlots and succubi that taint husbands and sons with powdered skin and lips red as blood as if pricked on a rose’s thorns. The pink blush of their cheeks, draped fabric and perfectly coiffed white wigs. Their ribs crushed under the ties of a corset leaving bruises on their belly and hips. Small tight shoes that pinch their toes and a shiny penny shoved against the entrance of their womb to prevent pregnancy.

You could be one of those. You had potential. The kept woman of bureaucrats and bankers. In a home paid for them by the men who made the world turn.

“A beautiful girl you are.” Men would say. Their fingers tilting your chin up to gaze upon the craft of your Mother. They always called you beautiful. When you were a child and free, running through the streets in your patched skirt and ruddy knees. The grab of a man’s hand interrupted by your Pa.

A brawl or two for your protection, your Pa’s fists bloody and raw cracked on the jaw of a man trying to fondle his child in the street. Otherwise left alone. He wasn’t your birth father. The man who spewed you into your Ma’s belly you’d not a clue of. With this profession you can never be sure. Your Pa was a man who loves your Ma. They had a little boy together and they run the house that women sell their sex from.

The house you live in and have lived your entire life.

The only gain for hope in your Mother’s case, was to sell you to someone who would give you a good life. Better than a whore on the street, but not as good as a wife with a man to love and a man who loves you.

“You’ll never want for anything,” Your Mother would say, curling your hair around her fingers as she painted your lips, a soft pink. “You’ll be taken care of.” Pinching your cheeks for color. “And a man will not have control over what you own.”

You’d be kept on a salary. Like an employee in a home as part of the package. The goal of having a sweet little place in high society where you’d attend parties and drink and charm your way about in fine silks and a coy smile. One your Ma had you practice in the mirror. A gaze to bewitch me and have them chase your skirt all about town.

Your image was perfection. Hair in perfect curls and the flush of your skin against power pink fabric and a tightly bound corset, breasts pushed oh so innocently up. A tease for the body that they would have to pay to see.

Men love a blushing virgin.

A favorite you were. Taught piano, how to read and write. You learned card games and how to flirt with a glass of wine, your lips meeting the rim and peering up through your lashes at men who were drooling and waiting for their turn upstairs.

You played piano with a coy eye while the girls worked the room at parties. Watching a hand slip up a skirt, a drag into the dark hallway and the creaks of their beds through the floor.

And tonight was no different.

“Your bid is going soon.” Your Ma flit around the room, pulling a beautiful silk lavender gown and laying it before you, circling behind to tighten your corset. A free breath gone from your lungs, hands clutching the bed post as your breasts spilled upwards and your waist was synched tight. The wraps loosened on your curls, pinned in a bow away from your face. Innocent and sweet. A heavily jeweled necklace on your throat. A tight nude colored shoe and the dress was laid over your skin, soft and barely worn. “It’s a special occasion.” She reasoned.

You were to put on a face, shy and sweet, endearing. A group of men coming to the house for a party, special, and paid in advance. Men who would hold great standing off fighting in the King’s army. Men who would one day be those very men who make the world turn. Generals and servicemen alike. “A fine fit, I would say.” Bids for the sweet honey pot between your thighs.

You’d had offers when you were young as ten. But your Ma wouldn’t. “You’ll be better than I was.” Better than a young girl sold off and meant to please the perverts that prey on the young. “You’re worth more than that my sweet girl.” Her fingers would brush your cheek with affection. The love she felt for you palpable. The favoritism in her own blood opulent. How many pounds would be enough to sell your flesh for the very first time?

You were to be shy and sweet. Stick by her side as men approached and aimed to charm you upstairs. You watched as girls you knew and trusted, the ones you read the paper to and ones you’ve aided with pregnancy and illness, these girls nothing more than a hole to find solace in for the night. A night before leaving to risk their lives on some expedition for the King’s need for global power.

Some were handsome, charming, and one with a chipped tooth made you blush. But one by one they disappeared up the stairs and out of sight. Raucous moans and the slamming of headboards. You catch a thief in the kitchen.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” A boy, or a man, his cap held in his hands as he worried the brim. He looks smart with his blonde hair back and tied neatly in a black bow at the nape of his neck. Not a mark on his uniform, the jacket open to his shirt underneath. He seems startled by you. His mouth parts, lips pink and a blush on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I—” He stands, “I uhm…” His hand reveals a fuzzy peach, missing a bite. It was the shine on his lips. You were unsure of what to do. This was the first time in your life that you had been truly alone with a man.

“You haven’t found your way upstairs.” A soldier who hadn’t found his way into the cunny of a girl before leaving tomorrow. “Isn’t that the point of even being here?”

“It wasn’t my choice, I uh—” He was naïve, it was sweet. Nervous. “I don’t know what I’m doing here if I’m honest.” You worry your bottom lip. In the light of the fire you could see how flushed he was, his fingers digging into the peach enough for the juice to run over his fingertips.

“Most men come here for sex.” To put it bluntly, he looks down at his shoes, scuffs them on the floor, then back at you. Your head tilted to the side, “Are you a virgin?” The way his mouth parts, his eyes widening. The answer was yes. You smile, soft and sweet. “Me too.” Leaving the doorway, you settle yourself at the kitchen table. “I’m Y/N.” The scoot of the chair back across from you as he sinks into the seat.

“I’m Steve.”

…

The fake moans. It’s what really gets him. The back arching, toe curling, screams. The vice of your heat on his cock. A familiar and rough tug and pull of your skin. His hands finding your flesh, gripping at whatever hold he could get. “You’re a jewel, a proper pearl among the sea of shit that is in my life.”

Alexander Pierce was a King’s man. Older with a wife who couldn’t be bothered and children older than you. He paid a pretty penny for your maidenhood. Your coy smile the charm you’d give his guests. He paid you well. Just what your Ma wanted. The mistress of a man with more money than you could ever spend in this lifetime.

Your life had changed from where it had been by such leaps and bounds that you couldn’t help but be grateful. Where people could see anyway. You were brought fabrics from China, intricate designed cloth from Spain. A row of shoes in your closet in each color you could possibly imagine. Dresses lavishly adorned with jewels. Pearls and rubies. Ribbon and lace.

“Tonight.” His fingers gripping your hair as his hips viciously slap against yours, “You will be proper and charming.” A grunt, “And you will make my guests feel welcome, no matter what I ask you to do,” The harsh rip of your hair, “You will do as I say.” Your scalp would be sore, ache as you pin your hair back to fit under the powdered wig you’d be wearing for the night. Your eyes more vacant than ever. Watery and tired.

You needed a drink.

You hardly ever got to see your Ma anymore. On occasion she would be allowed to call on you. If your schedule coordinated, she would see you out on your daily stroll, but she’d been wrong. Your contract didn’t give you freedom. It didn’t give you power. It didn’t give you control. It kept you wedged under Pierce’s heel. A pretty little ornament he would fuck while you would prey for his seed not to take root.

You wondered if it would have been better to be back home. Where your Ma and Pa were with Peter, your brother who must almost be a man by now. Ten years is a long time.

You bring the façade of life back to your eyes as he meets you in the mirror. His face powdered, but breeches still open. A smirk of satisfaction on his lips as he comes to brush down your cheek. “The pink lipstick.” A demand. “And the blue dress.” His new favorite. He was getting reminiscent lately. Of the night he first had you. In a blue dress just like it.

It would be in the evening, buzzing with wine that you’d fall into old memories. As you watch the other girls bought for the evening flit about while you watched from afar like their own bawd. An artifact is what you became. A whore only touched by one.

…

“Did you always want to fight for your country?” You asked him. The blushing boy, who really was not yet a man. He was too kind for this place. In that instant in the kitchen of your Ma’s home you wondered what life would be like in that moment. If you’d met this son of a wealthy aristocrat as the daughter of one. How he would court you and beg for your hand.

Would he write you poetry? Recite it to you as you walked about in the garden with your chaperone? Would he be asking your father for your hand? And what of the wedding? Would it be like you read in your books on romance and love?

“It’s my obligation,” He shakes his head, picking at the peach pit laid between you. “My father says it will perhaps give me more courage and strength.” While tall, he was thin and gangly. Nervous and unsure. “And on my return I will take over for my family,” A shrug, “Start one of my own perhaps.” It’s to be expected.

“In the country?” You ask him. He sung you a melody of his family’s country estate. The lush foliage and homey cottage that he’d spent most of his youth in, only brought to the city for schooling and now, his stint in the military. “It sounds beautiful.” But not meant for you. Not as bad as you would want it.

“Have you ever been to the country?” You step away to pour more wine, for both you and him. A gentle buzz.

“No.” You laugh, “I’ve never been anywhere outside of London.” You sip from your cup.

“Would you like to?” He’s so naïve and as you look at him incredulously, he seems confused.

“That’s not exactly in the cards for me Steve.” The chair creaks beneath you as you sit back down. His fingers close to brushing yours on the table. You watch him think for a moment, unanswering.

“If you could do anything,” He starts, “If you could be anyone and live any life... what would you do? Who would you be?” His fingers brush yours, a heat on your cheeks.

“I—” You shake your head, “I don’t know.” You’d imagined things of course. As you just did in an alternative life where you would be the wife of a wealthy man in a house you’d get to make yours. But it was never really like that right? A woman couldn’t own property. Even the use of her body was sold in different ways. Sometimes for silks, sometimes for love. Or the imitation of it.

“You’d never thought of it?” The tip of his finger brushed against your skin. He seemed to remember himself and pulled his hands back. “You’d never thought about if you’d been dealt a better hand?” You make the move, capturing his hand in yours. His skin smooth and soft. The tale of a boy who’d never had to do hard work in his life.

“You’d never thought about if you’d been dealt a worse one?” Your thumb smoothed over the back of his hand. He gives you a sad smile.

“You deserve better than this.” A sad laugh,

“You don’t know anything about me.” He leans forward, a soft squeeze on your hand. He licks his lips before saying,

“But I want to.” His eyes searching yours, “I want to know everything about you.”

…

“Lay off the drink.” A harsh squeeze to your side. A tug on your skirt as Pierce’s hot breath reaches your ear. “I can’t have you embarrass me as a lush.” His hand meeting the back of your neck and gripping hard. “Go and socialize.” A harsh push on the back of your neck and forcing you from the corner where you’d buried yourself in your wine.

So you made your rounds. A smile on your face and a drink partially empty in your hand that you never replenished. Putting on a show for the man you knew staring you down from across the room while you charmed his guests.

Men he worked with whose hands wandered, but never strayed too far lest they’d face the wrath of your jealous master. A playful jibe and banter that was practiced and well meaning, never too much of an overstep. Always superficial and always on the surface. Waiting to be called on by your master to appease whomever he was trying to impress.

Working your rounds back to him, charming and entertaining he lay his hand out, two fingers crooking at you. You take his hand as he drags you from the sitting room and out back, girls milling about with men, walking around the gardens and a small group smoking a cigar in the courtyard. A group of men seemingly just arrived, Pierce needing a fashionable jewel on his arm to show a display of his status.

You could have died. Right then and there as you met the gaze you’d dreamt about for nearly a decade. He’d changed, but you assume, so did you. That tall and lanky boy, you could still taste the peach on his lips. Sweet and sticky fingers, unsure and shaking. His shoulders broad and chest muscled, his face full. Your breath caught as his tongue wet his lips, still pink and full. Just as it had been before when you had tugged it between your teeth.  

“Captain Rogers,” Pierce’s hand out to shake, “Glad to see you healthy and back from the front.” A smile, the way he smiled. Side of his mouth endearing. It made your legs shake.

“Glad to be back.” The shake was firm, you could tell, “And who might this enchantress be?” Pierce’s feathers standing tall, a stiff peacock of pride. Steve. His hand grasps yours. Rough and weathered. A kiss to the back of your hand.

“Y/N Parker.” Pierce’s hand met the back of your neck, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Parkers.”

…

He tasted of the peach he’d stolen. His lips soft and wet against yours. The sweet stickiness of it making you dizzy. It started soft. Ever so soft. Your elbows on the table as you leaned over towards him and met his lips once, twice, and then when his fingers cupped your cheek they melded together and took the breath from your lungs.

Your hand gripped his tightly, dragging him from the table and slipped to the room behind the stairs. Your room.

“Steve.” You sigh, his kiss making your brain swim in your thoughts, you shouldn’t be doing this. “She’s taking bids for me.” Your forehead against his as your back meets the door. “For my virginity.” His brow pulled in concern, his hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “But I want to choose.” You watch him swallow, his voice unsure and shaking,

“Are you sure about this?” You weren’t, you were sure your Ma would be furious, but maybe she wouldn’t need to know. Maybe she wouldn’t find out.

“Are you?” His lips meet yours again, gentle, slow and when you part, you turn, the buttons on your back nervously plucked from their holes. The heavy fabric shifted off your body to fall down off your hips. His hands rest on the stiff corset around your waist as you turn back to face him, shifting his jacket off and tossing it to the floor. Fingers plucking at his breeches as his fingers find the ribbon holding your corset together and slipping it loose.

You’re finally able to really breathe as your hands work on the laces, the bones of the corset peeling from your skin as you’re left in your shift.

Steve’s hands shake as his breeches fall to the floor. His boots tossed off and he’s left in his drawers standing across from you in the lamp light. You could see the hard length of him pressing against the fabric and it makes you shiver. A step towards the bed, his hands found your hips again, capturing your lips as his hands massaged the tender skin, your slip falling from your body to pool on the floor.

He fell to his knees before you, and you’d never felt so powerful. His lips pressing to the red markings on your belly. A soothe for the dig and restriction of your breath for the sake of beauty. A silent worship. His eyes on yours as his lips make their way to your sternum pressing between your breasts. A gentle lead to the bed. His drawers gone and a heat growing between your thighs at the sight of his firm pink cock pointed up at his belly button against a dark blond patch of hair.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks again, finding his place between your thighs. The length of him pressed against your wet cunt. You part your thighs wider, knees cradling his sides as you pressed your lips to his in assurance. Your hand dipping between your bodies to grab him, hot in your hand, and press the tip of him to your entrance.

“I’m sure.” A slow thrust of his hips. It was a strange sensation, different from the curious exploration of your fingers. A mutual gasp as he seats himself fully, a burning stretch. Your hands gripping his shoulders. He dips his mouth down to yours, a soft comforting kiss. A gasp as his hips move back to thrust again.

“Are you okay?” It wasn’t what you expected. Not in the least. He came quickly, as virgins do and he brought his lips to yours before cleaning the cum from your thighs. It wasn’t some big miraculous moment. And you didn’t feel horribly changed by it, “I’m sorry,” He whispers next to you. You lay facing him in the sheets. “I know sex isn’t terribly wonderful for women… at least not the first time. My friend… James, he says… that it takes time and practice to have sex be enjoyable for a woman.”

“Is that why you came here?” His lips pressed to the inside of your wrist.

“I didn’t want to come here at all, honestly.” His fingers were sticky as one traced your bottom lip, “But I’m happy I did.” He sighs, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his body warming you from the chill of the room. “I wish I could take you away from here.” He whispers against your lips, “I wish I could be yours, and you mine.”

…

Steve lets out a laugh, nervous, “I may have heard word of them.” Peirce’s hand tightened on your neck, a silent order to not speak unless spoken to.

“This is Mary Parker’s only daughter, a rare jem and the crown jewel to be held above all.” His other hand tilting your chin towards him. Steve’s face betrays no emotion, shifting into a smile as Peirce meets his eyes again.

“Simply stunning.” Steve agrees, making your heart race.

It’d been so long you didn’t know what to do or say. So you did nothing. And stupid with drink you distanced yourself from him almost immediately. But his eyes you could still feel on you as you walked with Pierce so he could introduce you to a General, and a man named Quill who just came into property in the states.

More wine. And maybe he won’t be able to perform later. The kitchen familiar and dark, a bottle plucked from the counter to refill his glass. The hulking figure in the doorway giving you pause. Your breath catches in your throat. Wine bottle grasped in both hands. He looks as though he’s searching for the words to say, his mouth parted and eyes looking upon you with the boyish innocence they had before.

It bubbled from your throat first, “You never came back for me.” An accusation that comes out more aggressive than you meant it to be. He steps into the light and you take him in tip to toe.

Maybe his father was right to send him off to war. The thin lanky boy that left you came back a broad shouldered and well-shaped man. But it was still him in the way he looked down at his shoes and then back at you. Like he had ten years prior. Bashful. Ashamed.

“I hadn’t been able to come back for anything until now.” You shake your head, sighing and go to move around him,

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come back at all.” His hand shoots out to grab your arm as you pass and you flinch from the action. A stunned reflex he lets go, immediately.

“Y/N—” The anger was bubbling up. Maybe from the wine, maybe from where you’d buried it long ago, but you couldn’t help it.

“My Master needs me.” Leaving him in the doorway and walking back to Pierce whose relaxed posture made you aware that he was almost there. Drunk enough to stumble into his own bed whereas you could sleep alone in yours. A rare blessing in this life.

…

“When I get back from war,” A whisper between your thighs, “I’ll come back for you.” The flat of his tongue in your cunt. A soft whimpered moan of sensation not before felt by you. Those measured means towards ecstasy. His fingers laced in yours as he worked to please you. The boy who’d just became a man, who’d just made you a woman.

As you meet your end he presses those sweet pink lips up your body, to meet your mouth, “Do you promise you’ll come back for me?” His fingers tracing your cheeks, eyes betraying love.

“I promise.” You’d been naïve. Of course, you’d been naïve. When your Ma had come to wake you the next morning and found you with that boy in bed, you’d been flogged for it. A weeping,

“How could you do this?” Her fingers hard on your chin. A curse at Steve, “You will tell no one of this.” And the blushing bumbling boy said,

“I would never.” He hadn’t even been gone a week when Pierce put his bid in for you. Nothing to turn your nose up at. A startling 400 pounds a year salary. One hundred up front. And a pension of such should he tire of you. If he ever tired of you. That first night as you lay under him you thought of your soldier boy, off to war with the promise of a return.

It was in your dreams and hopes, your prayers at night. But as each year passed it grew more and more distant in your mind. Your soldier boy wasn’t returning for you.

And you’d felt a fool.

[turtletotem]

If he wanted you, he'd ask for you

A/B/O fic for Cherik Week! Set post-XMA, or... almost-post-XMA. A little over 2k words.

Erik thought things had been going well.

He, Charles, Jean, and a team of architects were elbow-deep in plans to rebuild the mansion, with certain enhancements; it would all happen very quickly once it began, but had to be planned down to the centimeter, first. All the students who could be sent home safely had gone; the remainder, along with Charles and Erik themselves and a smattering of other adults, were staying in a camp of startlingly luxurious tents down the hill from the mansion site, alpha and omega students kept separate by the larger section of betas in the middle. No one had commented on Erik and Charles sharing a tent; everyone was sharing with someone, and if Hank McCoy had muttered something under his breath about keeping enemies closer, Erik had chosen not to hear it. He knew he had plenty to make up for.

But he was making up for it, he thought, in some small way. Helping with the students, helping with the mansion, helping Charles. It wouldn't bring back the entire city of Cairo, but nothing else would, either, including his death. Those were Charles's exact words, over a chessboard in the privacy of their tent, when they talked about the diplomatic efforts Charles was making on his behalf, and the scars inside Erik's mind where Apocalypse had used some form of persuasion power to steer Erik, Storm and the other horsemen in the direction he wanted them to go.

Erik had thought that too much had happened between them for him and Charles to ever return to the easiness, the deep understanding and connection they had once had, before everything went wrong. Instead, he was shocked speechless sometimes by how much of it was still there—and how much more of it he could feel waiting, behind scars and defensive walls, inaccessible now but still there, if they could find a way to bring it out of hiding again. They slept in their separate beds on opposite sides of the tent, but small touches were beginning to reappear—fingers that brushed as they passed a dish, hands clapping shoulders to celebrate a good joke or small breakthrough. Three days ago, Erik had dared to swipe his palm across the newly bald expanse of Charles's head and call him Professor Eggsavier. Charles had laughed and pushed him off, letting their hands linger together.

The next day, Charles moved into another tent, alone.

He hadn't explained it beyond a casual mention that they had a spare now that the Letson twins had gone home after all. He hadn't reacted to Erik's surely visible dismay and hurt, had acted like he didn't hear his stammered questions. He had simply disappeared into the other tent, and not come out since.

"You don't think someone should check on him?" Erik demanded, at the little outdoor kiosk that mostly served as Hank's office.

"He's fine." Hank sounded baffled by Erik's anxiety. "He's keeping in touch," he gestured at his temple, "any time I need him. He just wants a day or two to himself. Heaven knows he's earned it."

"Of course he's earned it, but you don't think it's out of character? He's not the kind of man that just takes a day or two to himself, he's always up to his eyebrows in everything that's going on—"

"What would you know about it?" Hank said irritably. "When have you ever been in his life for more than a month at a time? Leave him alone, Erik. If he wanted you he'd ask for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to get done."

Talking to Raven was just as frustrating.

"Let me get this straight," she said, barely looking up from the math tests she was grading, because somehow lessons had to go on. "The man you've nearly killed multiple times, who is putting his neck all the way out trying to get you pardoned by multiple governments for the unforgivable shit you did in fact do, and that we can't prove Apocalypse manipulated you into doing—this guy has made himself somewhat less accessible to you, and you consider that some kind of emergency?"

"He's not 'somewhat less accessible,'" Erik snapped, "he's basically disappeared! He hasn't come out of that tent in three days now, not for anyone or anything. Not for Storm's nightmare, not for Carlo's broken arm, not for a potentially disastrous supply problem with the construction—"

"You make it sound like he's ignoring everyone! We've heard from him whenever we needed to." Telepathically, she meant. And they had, everyone had. Except Erik. Erik hadn't heard a word. "Leave him alone," Raven said, pinning him with a gold-eyed glare. "He'll come out when he's ready. You're the last person in the world who should push him."

She was probably right. But Erik was an old hand at ignoring good advice.

The fourth night, he dreamed that Charles was calling for him, calling for help. When he woke, there was nothing—no psychic echo, nothing—to indicate that it was anything but his own dream. He got out of bed anyway, and slipped through the camp to Charles's tent.

He felt resistance as he approached, a telepathic shield trying to turn him away. But Erik was too accustomed to the feel of Charles's telepathy; he wouldn't say he was immune to it, but he had the ability to question it, counter it. He clenched his teeth and pressed forward, into the tent.

It was silent inside. Erik stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, more complete here than out under the stars. Nothing seemed strange or out of place; the tent held all of Charles's expected belongings, his wheelchair waiting by the bed where Charles lay still and peaceful.

Too peaceful. Too still. Absolutely nothing unexpected. And telepathy was still buzzing at the edges of Erik's mind.

"You're altering my perceptions," Erik said. "Stop it. I don't know what you're hiding, but I'm not leaving until I find out."

"I could make you leave." Charles's voice, his physical voice, hoarse and strained; so the image of him asleep in the bed was definitely an illusion.

"Do it, then," Erik said, and waited.

After a moment, he heard a sigh—half-agonized, half-relieved—and the illusion melted away.

The tent was a shambles, Charles's books and papers randomly piled if they weren't thrown around the floor. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, Charles sitting up against the headboard with his face flushed and chest heaving, and everything was heavy with the smell of—

"You're an omega," Erik breathed, staggering back against the wall of the tent.

He had never once considered that Charles might be an omega—and wasn't that strange in and of itself? Charles clearly wasn't an alpha like Erik himself, but Erik had always assumed he was a beta; betas were more than twice as common as either alphas or omegas, and his scent had never hinted at anything else. It wasn't as if Erik really cared. His feelings for Charles would have been the same, beta or omega or fellow alpha, and anyone who wanted to argue about it could meet the sharpened point of Erik's favorite paperclip. It didn't matter, but—some deep instinctive alpha part of Erik was thrilled beyond words, was already thinking about things like bonding and scenting and children, they could have children—

"I once hoped that my paralysis might at least mean being spared this," Charles said, panting and dashing sweat irritably from his eyes, "but it only makes it harder to ever—be satisfied."

"You're in heat."

"Yes, thank you, I am an omega in heat," Charles snapped, "do you have any other obvious facts to share with the class?"

"Why did you hide it? You've hidden it all this time—or do the others know?" They'd been so unconcerned with his withdrawal into solitude…

"Only Raven," Charles said. "I keep the rest from suspecting…" He tapped his temple. "As for why I hide it, I think you have enough of a brain to speculate."

"There are certain disadvantages, yes," Erik said slowly, stepping closer almost involuntarily, "but to go to these lengths…?" It had been hundreds of years since omegas were treated as chattel, decades since they faced serious prejudice. One might still encounter the occasional tasteless joke or even raging bigot, but that hardly seemed like enough to make an out-and-proud mutant live a lie.

"These lengths," Charles said bitterly, "ensure that no one tries to take advantage of my heat. No one can abuse what they don't realize exists."

Erik stopped, only a few steps away from the bed now. Charles's scent, sweet and smoky, was intoxicating—but his words had a dampening effect on any desire Erik felt. "Take advantage," he repeated. "Charles, who took advantage of you?"

Charles didn't answer, not aloud, but images flickered in Erik's mind of a stocky, brutish young man with greedy eyes. Erik had never seen him, but if it was who he suspected, Charles had once described that young man as having a mind that had never once thought of anyone but himself, in all his life.

"Your stepbrother," Erik said.

"He was an alpha," Charles whispered. "He knew what I was before I did. Only my powers kept him away—mostly. Usually."

"So you learned your only safety was in hiding." Erik didn't realize he had come closer again until he saw his own fingers trail across Charles's hand. He tried to pull back, but Charles caught his hand, held it tightly. His skin was fever-hot, and Erik's body wanted desperately to answer that fever with his own. He swallowed, forcing himself to stillness.

It was still incredible to him that he'd never known this. He'd shared Charles's bed for weeks, before Cuba—but an omega experienced heat only two to four times a year. Luck, good or ill, had kept Charles out of heat during that time, and during their brief reunion in Paris a decade later. His scent should still have given it away, but Charles was uniquely situated to disguise that, not in physical fact but in everyone's perceptions of it.

"So you've never had anyone," Erik said, "to help you through a heat? No one?"

"No."

"That sounds miserable."

"It is." Charles laughed blackly, writhing half-consciously against the headboard. He was, of course, naked—Erik couldn't imagine his skin tolerating clothing right now—and in a state of arousal intense enough to make Erik wince even as the sight made his mouth go dry. How much could Charles feel, there, now? He knew Charles did have some little sensation in that area, and with the increased sensitivity of heat…

"You're staring," Charles said.

Erik forced his eyes away. "Yes. I'm staring because you're beautiful."

"Beautiful? This is beautiful?" He had never sounded more bitter and broken, not even in the plane on the way to Paris.

"It could be." Erik looked down at their joined hands, where his thumb was stroking the back of Charles's hand, gentle as breath. "You have someone to help you now. If you want me."

"If I want you? You could be anyone right now and I'd want you! You understand that, don't you? Of course I want you, someone, anyone—but I can't trust anyone—"

"I can't do anything to you that you don't want," Erik said, tapping his own temple. "Everything's in your hands, Charles. You can even wipe my memory afterward. You could even wipe my memory right now, send me back to my bed with no idea this conversation ever happened."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't."

Because you took my hand. It was too delicate to say aloud; Erik knew Charles would hear him regardless. You let me see the truth, and you let me take your hand.

Charles pulled him down and kissed him.

 In the morning, Erik woke sore and exhausted and contented down to his bones, at peace in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. The windows in Charles's tent were tied shut, but sunlight peeked around their edges and glowed faintly through the material of the tent itself, giving the space a sepia haze of morning. Charles was breathing slow and even, nestled against Erik's chest. His heat had peaked and broken, sometime during the frantic passion of the night. Charles had been overwhelmed enough to cry with sheer relief. That had never happened before, apparently; he'd always had to endure days of the heat slowly withering and trailing off, unsatisfied.

Thinking of it, Erik couldn't help tightening his arms around Charles and brushing a kiss against the crown of his head. He hated that Charles had suffered so much, so unnecessarily. Hated that he might suffer just as much again, next time, without Erik…

"That's up to you, love," Charles said sleepily, and Erik looked down in surprise.

"What?"

"Whether you're here next time," Charles said. "That's up to you."

"You're not going to wipe my memory and send me away?"

Charles snorted. "I don't think it would work now even if I wanted to. Or haven't you noticed we're bonded?"

"Is that what that is?" He could feel it now, the subliminal hum between them, the way their scents mingled together, the deep rightness of Charles's skin against his. Bonding wasn't the be-all and end-all that the poets tried to paint it as, Erik had known that for years. But… everyone agreed it was nice. If this was what it was, it felt nice.

"Look at that smile," Charles murmured, tracing fingertips over Erik's mouth. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see that smile again."

"You can see it anytime you want," Erik said, and drew him in for another kiss.

[emptymasks]

Yancy being totally flustered and ruined by Illinois calling him pet names is totally valid but you know what’s better? The first time Yance feels comfortable enough and happy enough to be like ‘Aww, Illi, ain’t you a doll?’ and Illinois stops dead because HE does the pet names and complimenting, HE does the charming. No one charms him. But his heart is Bang Bang Banging and Yancy has a 404 adventurer on his hands.

ain’t you a doll // yancy x illinois 

Pairing: Yancy x Illinois

Words: 1089

Rating: General Audiences

Read on Ao3

Tags: Fluff | Tooth-Rotting Fluff | Fluff and Humor | Domestic Fluff | Romantic Fluff | just a lot of fluff | Romance | Dating | Dates | Pet Names | POV Third Person | Touch-Starved

Notes (more notes at the end): finally got around to writing something for these two. i put the call out for prompts for yancy/illinois two and a half weeks ago and im finally writing about them. i jsut finally felt inspired and woo boy this got really soft i was dying writing them holding hands. 

@wexeatxthexrude thank you so much for the prompt

edit: fixed the formatting issue, damn you tumblr why do you like to warp my fics. thanks to those that let me know.

Another adventure successfully and mostly safely completed, and anotherpriceless artefact soundly and more than mostly safely delivered to the museum.

This wasn’t the first adventure Yancy had tagged along on, but this was thefirst time he’d come with Illinois to the museum to deliver what they’dretrieved and Illinois felt stupid for worrying about whether Yancy was goingto like it or not. Of course he was going to like it, I mean thisplace had the most complete triceratops skeleton in the world! Okay… that’sone of the reasons he liked it, didn’t mean Yancy would. Illinoisforgot a lot of the time that not everyone found old fossils and relics andremains as interesting or cool as he did.

Luckily, Yancy had been enthralled as Illinois walked him around theexhibits and gave him his own exclusive, honorary tour, that was packed withway more information, and much more accurate information, than the museum’sofficial tour guides could ever offer, and hey he also heard this exclusivetour had the best looking guide.

And also luckily Yancy hadn’t gotten bored or fed up of him rambling andgetting over-excited, he’d just listened to everything and smiled and been sosupportive Illinois hadn’t felt this… it felt too early to say ‘loved’…admired maybe… He hadn’t felt this ‘unnameable positive emotion that made hischest feel warm and tight’ in a long time.

“Hey you know, there’s a cafe next to the lobby in here, and when it’snice and hot like this they sell ice cream, you want to grab any? Mytreat?” He asked Yancy once he’d finally finished leading him around theexhibits.

“Aww, Illy, ain’t you a doll.”

Illinois froze.

What… just happened?

Did Yancy just… call him a pet name?

No, no, no, that was his job, he was meant to be the onefull of compliments and pet names. He charmed people, people didn’tcharm him.

People didn’t… When was the last time anyone had charmed him?Illinois tried to think back and sure he knew when people were looking at himlike they wanted to do something to him, or wanted him to do something to them,but no one really flirted with him unless the occasional confident soul shot afew lines back at him as he winked and smiled.

But no one called him pet names, people didn’t call him pet names, Yancyhadn’t ever called him by a pet name before. Yancy was cute and softer, whileIllinois was stoic and cocky and tough, not that Yancy wasn’t tough but… Theway Yancy had said that…

It was just a pet name, just one word, why the hell was he freaking out somuch? He felt the urge to put a hand on his chest to see if his heart reallywas having as much of a fit as he thought it was. His cheeks felt hot, had theyalways felt that hot? It was fairly warm in here but the museum did have airconditioning but it was the summer so-

Something flashed across his face.

There it was again.

It was Yancy’s hand.

“Ill? I didn’t break yous, did I?” Yancy was a lot closer than hehad been before, when did he move? Oh god Illinois prayed to whatever strangedeity might shine down on him that he hadn’t just been standing here for whoknows how long staring into space.

“No, no,” Illinois cringed and coughed as he heard his voice comeout almost squeaky. “Not at all darlin’ you just, uh, took me bysurprise with that is all.”

“With what?” Yancy tilted his head to the side.

Okay maybe he could get away with pretending this never happened. “Oh,nothing, don’t worry about it, but I was saying wasn’t I that I would-”

“It’s cause I called yous ‘doll’ ain’t it?” Yancy was grinning butthere was an insecurity there as if he was afraid of being embarrassed if hewas wrong.

“I, uh,” Illinois shook his head. “Alright, you caught me. Ijust… didn’t expect the pet name is all.”

“Yous seemed to short circuit on me for a second there. How not used toit are you?” Yancy laughed and Illinois dug thumbs under his belt andbalanced back on his heels as he ducked his head (something he was starting tolearn was a nervous tick of his, not that he got nervous of course). “Oh,real not used to it huh?” And Yancy knew what his body language meant andthat was something unusual but… sweet. Not many people had stuck around(whether by their own choice or… not their own choice) long enough to get toknow him this well.

“I suppose I’m used to being the charmer but not the charmee,”Illinois joked, or at least tried to, it must have not worked considering theserious expression on Yancy’s face. “Yance? That’s not… weird, right?How I reacted, I mean.”

Yancy’s eyes stayed serious but he smiled. “Oh not at all, doll.I'ms just thinking what I can dos with this information.” And he smirked,Illinois hadn’t even known Yancy knew how to smirk. “So, what was thatyous were saying about getting us ice cream, sweetheart?”

Oh no. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Yancy had too much power.

He his face heating up had nothing to do with the room temperature thistime. His hand found it’s way up and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah,” He tried to shake the feelings off. “I’ll lead theway.”

Yancy, shyly but slyly leaned into him as they walked and brushed theirhands together. Illinois almost jumped, but pushed his hand back into Yancy andhe saw how Yancy’s face lit up from the corner of his eye. Something like thiswas a big step for both of them, both touch-starved from their time alone, butYancy was also so used to people touching him because they were hurting him.Illinois was making sure that never happened again, and was trying his best notto mess things up.

Yancy smiled and held his hand and squeezed it and just looked so darn cutethat Illinois turned his head to the side and slid his hand over his stubbleand over his mouth.

“Yous alright, Noisy?”

“I’m fine, Yancy.” Illinois sighed and dropped his hand, failingto fight the smile off his face.

“Alright,” Yancy cocked his head and grinned. “Doll.”

Tag list: @theshysepticeye @the-marvel-encyclopedia @gabby-doo @actrmrk @smol-gay-nerd184 @salmonisforthebagel (let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for my ahwm fics, also let me know if you want to be taken off the tag list)

More notes:

and if you guys could please help me out and and reblog this promo post for the heist charms, stickers and pins i’m making and selling that would mean the world! there’s also the link in there to my Etsy shop where you can buy them plugging that again because i need moneys

also if you want to see the heist art i keep drawing you can follow me on instagram and twitter

[noona-clock]

Mistletoe Manor - Part 10, Final Chapter

Genre: 1900′s AU/Romance

Pairings: Park Seo Joon, Bang Yongguk, Brian Kang, Jung Daehyung, Jung Jaehyun, Lee Taeyong x OCs

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 | Words: 4,408

A/N: Chelle ( @prettywordsyouleft​​ ) and I wanted to create a magical Christmas for everyone and what better way to do that than at Mistletoe Manor! Because of the nature of having several idols, we chose to work with OCs and we hope you love them as much as we do.

Mistletoe Manor will be posted daily at 10am NZST / 4pm EST daily.

“Lydia!” Evie hissed as the maid passed her room, her head sticking out into the hallway in quite the unladylike fashion. 

Lydia paused, her head jerking back slightly in surprise, and she turned on her heel to face the middle Hawthorne sister. “Yes, My Lady?” she answered back in a whisper.

Evie simply motioned the maid inside her bedroom, opening the door a bit wider to allow her to come through.

“What is it, Lady Evie?” Lydia asked quietly once both of them were behind a closed door.

“Will you...” Evie began, her brow furrowing nervously. “...Do my hair? For the ball tonight?”

A smile immediately spread across Lydia’s lips, and even though she would be adding in doing Evie’s hair to her list of other things to do tonight, she nodded. “Of course, I will.” Because Lydia was quite sure Evie was only asking her because she wanted to look especially lovely tonight. 

For a certain gentleman.

Evie let out a soft sigh of relief and then headed toward her vanity, sitting down in the chair and waiting patiently for Lydia to get situated.

“I’ve got just the idea, Miss,” Lydia grinned as she reached for Evie’s hairbrush. “Trust me. It will look gorgeous.”

“I trust you with my life, Lydia” Evie replied with a sly smirk. “I most certainly trust you with my hair.”

Lydia chuckled gently, shaking her head a little as she began to smooth Evie’s hair back into a chignon.

About twenty minutes later, Lydia placed the final pin into Evie’s coiffure and took a step back.

“Just one more thing, Miss,” she said before opening a drawer in Evie’s vanity and pulling out a pearl-encrusted clip. “This is the perfect finishing touch, and it will go lovely with your green gown.”

Lydia carefully placed the clip just above Evie’s ear, holding her breath and trying to keep as still as possible.

“Oh, Lydia,” Evie breathed as she gazed into her mirror, eyes a bit wide. “It looks beautiful.”

“Lord Yongguk won’t know what hit him,” Lydia said with a soft giggle.

Evie’s cheeks pinkened, of course, but the corners of her mouth lifted into a delighted grin.

“Thank you,” Evie gushed, turning around and reaching for Lydia’s hands, grasping them in-between her own. “I owe you.”

“Of course, you don’t, My Lady,” Lydia chuckled. “I’m happy to help, especially if it means you’re one step closer to finding love.”

Evie’s eyes darted away bashfully, but then she took a breath and forced her gaze back to Lydia. “Well... I would still like to do something for you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Lydia asked with a confused smirk.

“I... would like you to...” But instead of finishing her sentence, Evie rose from her chair and hurried over to her wardrobe. She opened the door and reached inside, taking out a simple but beautiful blue dress. “I would like you to wear this. I think we’re about the same size, and... something tells me... tonight will be special.”

The look on Evie’s face, though, made it clear she didn’t just think tonight would be special but she knew. As if someone had actually told her.

“My Lady,” Lydia murmured, aghast. She walked over to the wardrobe, reaching out and grasping one side of the dress in-between two fingers. “Oh, I couldn’t. This is much too fine for a maid to wear.”

“You could, and you will,” Evie insisted. “I’ll help you get changed.”

“But --”

“You know how stubborn the Hawthorne sisters can be,” Evie interrupted. “I am not taking ‘No’ for an answer.”

Lydia tried her best to act exasperated with Evie’s insistence, but she was secretly (or maybe not-so-secretly) delighted. It would most certainly be the most beautiful dress she’d ever worn, and she had a strange feeling it would be a special night.

Maybe not for her, but certainly for Evie.

...But also maybe for her, too.

All around the manor, nobility and servants alike were preparing for the Mistletoe Ball. All the decorations and food were ready, the orchestra was warming up in the entryway, and the first guests would be arriving any minute now.

Upstairs, Evie finished buttoning up the back of Lydia’s dress, holding back a squeal at how beautiful she looked.

Daehyun snuck into the bedroom he shared with Cassie, admitting to wanting a peek before the ball began. The couple shared a warm kiss (or five) and whispered loving compliments to each other.

Joey examined herself for the sixtieth time in the full-length mirror in her room, smoothing down the skirts of her gold dress and wishing she could smooth the rapid beat of her heart.

Grace forced out another cough, assuring her aunt that her illness was nothing serious. Just a head cold. All she needed was rest, and she would be fine tomorrow. And she tried not to think about Jaehyun waiting for her out in the garden, hopefully not freezing his fingers off.

Brian slid Yongguk’s jacket onto his shoulder, brushing off any stray hair or piece of lint. He ignored the nervous breath his employer let out because he knew by now Yongguk would rather not talk about whatever anxieties were on his mind. And also he didn’t have time for any sort of pep talk now because he had to go downstairs and get ready himself.

Speaking of downstairs...

Seo Joon furrowed his brow as he tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. It was probably time to replace the only nice suit he owned that wasn’t his uniform, but it was too late to worry about that now. He had plenty of other things on his mind.

Anna let out a squeal before clapping her hand over her mouth, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Taeyong, like Daehyun upstairs, had snuck into her room to see her, and he’d greeted her by tiptoeing silently up behind her and grabbing her suddenly around the waist.

And then the footman standing by the front door opened it, greeting the first guests to arrive and effectively starting the evening.

Even though Yongguk and Evie hadn’t verbally agreed to meet in the library half an hour into the evening, he still knew that’s where he would find her. Over the past few weeks, it had become their special place. They had spent hours together in the library, and... Well, it was where he’d fallen in love with her.

Truthfully, Yongguk had never been in love before in his life. He wasn’t exactly certain what love was supposed to feel like, but... if what he felt for Evie wasn’t love, then he had no earthly idea what would be.

Every spare moment, he found himself thinking of her. Or wishing he was with her. Or coming up with an excuse to find her and spend time with her.

He dreamed of her, both at night and during the day. He imagined his future, and every single time, the only person he imagined sharing it with was her.

When he had approached Daehyun just yesterday and confessed all of this to him, hoping to get some advice, his friend had surprised him by letting out a victorious ‘whoop.’

“More than half the reason I brought you here was because I knew you would like her,” Daehyun had admitted, clapping Yongguk on the back. “I just adore when I end up being right.”

But then Daehyun had given him actually helpful advice and had told him to just... go for it. Tell her how he felt. Put his heart on his sleeve.

Yongguk had never been great about doing that, but he was positive Evie returned his romantic feelings. If she wasn’t quite in love with him yet, maybe she would be in the near future.

But Daehyun was right. He would never know unless he told her.

So, he was going to tell her.

Tonight.

Right now, actually, because -- as he’d suspected -- she was in the library already.

The creak of the door closing alerted Evie to his presence, and she jumped slightly, almost dropping the book in her hands.

“Oh,” she breathed, though a smile came to her lips when she realized who the intruder was. “I was wondering if you’d find me here.”

Yongguk tamped down a smirk as he slowly made his way over to her. “We said we’d be wallflowers together,” he reminded her with raised eyebrows. “We can’t do that if we’re not together.”

“You are absolutely right,” Evie replied, giggling softly.

“And you,” Yongguk said quietly. He was now close enough to truly take in her appearance, and his breath caught in his throat as he attempted to continue speaking. “Are… exquisite.”

Evie’s cheeks pinkened, and her smile turned bashful. “Lydia did my hair. She said this clip --” She lifted one hand to point to the pearl hair clip above her ear. “-- was the perfect finishing touch.”

Since he was now standing directly in front of her, as close as he could get without just taking her in his arms, he lifted his hand to touch the clip. Though, really, he would have taken any excuse to touch her.

“It does look beautiful,” he murmured. “But... you don’t need a perfect finishing touch to make you look beautiful.”

Evie blushed even more, her cheeks now a very deep pink as she tried to hold back a grin. “My Lord, if you keep saying things like that to me, I fear my heart may beat right out of my chest,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Yongguk shifted his gaze from her hair clip to her eyes -- her soft yet sparkling eyes -- and took a deep breath. “Evie... As long as your heart is mine, I don’t care what it does.”

Evie’s grin fell, her eyes widening as she returned his gaze.

“Surely you must know already: my heart is yours. I think it’s been yours since we met, and it...” Yongguk took a nervous breath, hoping he could say this without sounding too forward or too sickly sweet. “It shall be yours for as long as I live.”

Evie’s eyes now filled with tears, and even though Yongguk assumed they were happy tears, he still lifted one hand and gently cradled her cheek. He trailed his thumb delicately underneath her eye, and he found he couldn’t stop his lips from pulling into the tiniest grin.

“Do you really mean that?” Evie replied in a choked whisper.

“I do. I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but I never imagined I could feel this way about someone before, and I --”

But she cut him off with a kiss.

Yongguk hummed in surprise, but it only took him a few seconds to gather his bearings and kiss her back. He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest and feeling as if the world was turning upside-down because she felt so good against him.

Evie kissed him desperately, her lips obviously inexperienced but also hungry. And when she pulled away, she only did so enough to speak. “I’ve felt the same way,” she whispered, her breath fanning over his lips as she talked. “It’s been so strange because I didn’t understand, but now --”

“I love you,” Yongguk told her, and he tightened his hold on her.

“I love you, too,” Evie replied with the most delighted tone. She sounded happier than any human had any right to be, and Yongguk knew he would never forget this moment for the rest of his life. And then she repeated herself, her smile brighter than any Yongguk had ever seen. “I love you, too.”

Yongguk leaned in to capture her lips in another kiss, and he knew -- deep in his soul, he knew he would never kiss anyone else ever again. And that knowledge made him the most content man to ever walk the Earth.

“I hardly even recognized you,” Joey stated as she arrived on the dance floor with Brian. “You actually don’t look half-bad.”

It took everything in her not to blurt out that he was probably the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her entire life. He was wearing a dark green, well-fitted suit, and he’d slicked his hair back from his forehead. Apparently, that was all it took to make Joey’s heart leap into a frenzy.

“You look...” Brian began, his eyes shifting down to her gold dress. “All right, I guess.”

“What a compliment,” Joey replied as she pursed her lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Brian then slid his arm around her waist, taking her hand in his and pulling her close to him -- maybe a bit too close, but surely no one would notice. And when he began to lead her into a sway in time with the music, her heart began to beat even faster -- maybe a bit too fast, but surely no one would notice.

“So, are you happy now?” Brian asked quietly, just a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Why should I be happy?” 

“Because you told me I’d better dance with you at the Mistletoe Ball, and now here I am. Dancing with you at the Mistletoe Ball.”

“Yes, but I also said I would dislike dancing with you, and that’s why you should do it. Because you adore doing things I dislike,” Joey pointed out.

Brian let his smirk take over his lips just a little more, and his gaze was rather intense as he looked down at her. “But do you dislike it?”

The tone of his voice -- the gentle teasing, the subtle flirtation -- was enough to make Joey’s breath catch in her throat. “...What would you do if I didn’t?”

Because she certainly did not dislike being so close to him. She did not dislike the feeling of being in his arms.

“It may surprise you to hear I also adore doing things you don’t dislike.”

“You’re right, this is surprising.”

Brian chuckled softly, and Joey couldn’t keep herself from smiling at the sound of his laugh.

“You know...” Brian murmured, almost whispering. “You -- you’re beautiful when you smile.”

“You flatter me,” Joey replied instinctively, trying to tamp down her grin.

“I’m not in the habit of flattering anyone,” he stated. “Especially not you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I only mean -- I like to just be honest.”

Joey lifted her eyebrows slightly, and when she heard the orchestra winding down, finishing up the song, she suddenly felt an urge to take action.

“Can I be honest?” she asked quietly.

Brian simply nodded, his gaze somewhat intense and causing palpitations in Joey’s heart.

She opened her mouth to speak... but the music stopped, and all the couples around them ceased their dancing to applaud politely. So, Joey took Brian’s hand and led him to a small room nearby. Her gaze shifted around to make sure no one noticed, and once she had herded him inside, she closed the door.

Since no one had previously occupied the room, there were no lights on. The almost complete darkness settled around them, and it took a few moments of blinking for Joey to be able to see Brian’s outline.

But she could feel him. She felt his presence and the intensity of his gaze. And she felt his hands gently grasping at her arms.

“Honestly,” she whispered, stepping as close to him as she dared. “I never thought I would meet someone who could put up with my personality. Who would challenge me and -- and accept me and --”

She had been about to say ‘love me,’ but she wouldn’t go there. Not just yet.

“You drive me absolutely insane,” she continued. “But in the best way possible. And I think, after all this time of thinking I would never find my match -- I think... I have. In you.”

Brian didn’t say anything for a few moments... several moments... more than several moments, and Joey was about to excuse herself out of embarrassment.

But then she suddenly heard Brian move, and before she knew it, his lips had crashed down on hers, kissing her more intensely than she’d ever imagined.

Her heart leaped up into her throat, her stomach flipped over and then dropped down to her feet, her breath got caught inside her lungs... but despite her body’s physical reaction to the kiss, Joey accepted his lips. She cradled them and pulled at them and moved her hands to the sides of his face and tangled her fingers in his hair and let out a soft moan when she felt his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

And then Brian suddenly pulled away.

Joey whined instinctively, reaching to kiss him again, but Brian spoke before she had the chance.

“I’m just a valet,” he breathed. “And you’re --”

“If you think I care about that, I’m walking out of here this instant,” Joey interrupted before she pulled him down into another kiss.

As his lips melted her insides, as -- eventually -- his tongue slipped into her mouth and explored, the beginnings of an idea unfolded in Joey’s mind.

A certifiably bonkers idea, but...

When Joey could no longer breathe, when her lungs were burning from kissing Brian for so long, she broke away.

“Take me away,” she panted.

“What do you --”

“I want to be with you, but I don’t know if it would even be possible if we stayed here,” she explained. “Do you want to be with me?”

“More than anything,” Brian whispered, tilting his head to press his forehead to hers.

“Then let’s go. Let’s go somewhere no one will judge us or try to keep us apart. Somewhere we can drive each other crazy and no one will know who we are.”

Brian chuckled softly, leaning in and capturing her lips in a quick, tender kiss.

“You want to run away together?” he smirked.

“Yes. I want to run away together.”

She knew it was crazy, but... truthfully, only her head knew it was crazy. 

Her heart knew it was right.

Seo Joon had tried so many times to approach Lydia, but every single time he had taken a step toward her, someone else had beat him to it.

He’d never known Lydia was so popular until tonight.

Of course, she was, though. She was...

Well. She was the most amazing person he knew. Kind and gentle and loyal and caring and beautiful and --

And if he didn’t go through with his plan now, he felt like he would burst.

She was currently speaking with one of the housemaids, and Seo Joon felt rude for interrupting... but he had no choice. Not anymore.

“Excuse me,” he murmured when he approached the two ladies. “I... I was wondering if I might ask Lydia to dance?”

The housemaid tamped down a smirk and took a few steps back.

“Of course,” Lydia answered, her cheeks pinkening as she reached up to slide her hand into his.

Seo Joon led her onto the dance floor, pulling her into his embrace and trying not to blurt out what he needed to tell her. She just looked particularly beautiful tonight, and he had been holding his feelings in for so many years...

But another few minutes wouldn’t kill him. Probably.

“You look lovely,” he said as they began to step around the room in time with the music. “Is that a new dress?”

“Oh -- it’s Lady Evie’s,” Lydia explained with a blushing grin. “She lent it to me.”

“It...” Seo Joon gulped down his nerves. “It looks like it was made for you. I’ve never seen that color blue complement a person so well.”

“Seo Joon,” Lydia chuckled, her cheeks getting pinker. “Well, thank you. I appreciate your kind words.”

Seo Joon simply smiled down at her before silently leading her in the dance for a minute or two. His brain was working a mile a minute at the moment, and he knew if he said anything right now, it would all come out in a jumbled mess.

He’d had feelings for Lydia for so long now; if he didn’t sort through all of his thoughts and emotions, he knew he wouldn’t be able to properly convey to her just how...

Just how much he...

Well, now that he was thinking about it, there was really only one thing to say.

“Lydia, there’s something I need to --”

Before he had the chance to finish his sentence, Lady Evie hurried up to Lydia with an expression of stricken panic.

“Lydia,” she hissed. “Lydia, you must come quickly. I cannot find Joey, and Yongguk cannot find Brian, and we think --”

“Oh, dear,” Lydia said with a whimper as she began to turn away from Seo Joon. “I am so sorry, Seo Joon, please excuse --”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone more sharp than he’d intended. “I have to --”

“Will you help us look for them?” she pleaded as if she hadn’t even heard him.

“Lydia, wait. I need to tell you --”

“Please,” she said, grasping his arm and trying to pull him off the dance floor.

He felt the words coming up his throat, and he knew there was no way he could stop them. He hadn’t wanted to tell her like this -- rushed and in front of so many people -- but he had to. He couldn’t wait even a second longer.

“Lydia, I love you.”

Lydia paused. Lady Evie paused. Even Lord Yongguk paused.

“I love you, and I’m sorry for telling you like this, and I’m sorry for not telling you years ago. Please -- accept my humble apologies for going about this all the wrong way, I just --”

To his -- and probably everyone’s -- surprise, Lydia stepped up to him, rose up on her toes, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love you, too,” she replied earnestly. “So very much. You don’t ever have to apologize to me, but will you please help us find Lady Josephine and Brian?”

Seo Joon searched her eyes, his brow furrowed deeply. But before he could agree, Lydia spoke again.

“I promise we will talk more later. But right now --”

He nodded and swiftly took Lydia’s hand, striding off the dance floor and toward the closest room where two people might hide.

Even though Lydia stayed close by his side for the next twenty minutes, Seo Joon was able to focus on the task at hand. He wanted to lock her in a room with him and kiss her like he’d always wanted to... but he knew there was plenty of time for that later.

After searching every single room on the first and second floors of the manor, there was still no trace of either Joey or Brian. Seo Joon and Lydia were headed to the entryway to meet back up with Lady Evie and Lord Yongguk when, all of a sudden, he heard two voices.

The door leading to the downstairs staircase burst open as did the front door to the manor. Anna (and Taeyong) came through one, Grace (and Jaehyun) the other.

“Lady Evie!” Anna cried breathlessly, holding a piece of paper tightly to her chest.

“Evie! Cassie!” Grace called out at the same time.

“What?” Lydia answered, hurrying down the stairs to meet up with the two of them. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“A note,” Anna answered immediately. “From Lady Josephine. She’s --”

“I saw them,” Grace interrupted. “I didn’t know who it was at first, but it was definitely Joey.”

Evie and Yongguk appeared in the entryway then, and Cassie and Daehyun followed behind them.

“What on earth is going on?” Cassie asked, her brow deeply furrowed.

Lydia jumped a little, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t want to, but she knew she should be the one to break the news to her mistress. “We believe... Lady Josephine... has... run off. With... Brian.”

Before Cassie had the chance to gasp or cry out or yell, Yongguk stepped in front of her and took her hands.

“I will find them. And, if it helps, I know my valet. He would never do anything to hurt your sister.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” Cassie told him with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what she’ll do!”

“I’ll go with you,” Daehyun volunteered.

“I’ll drive,” Seo Joon nodded. “Come, we needn’t waste any more time.”

“Please be careful,” Cassie implored, gripping Daehyun’s arms before he had the chance to leave. “I’ve only just got you back.”

“I will return,” Daehyun assured her with a grin. “I promise you.”

He leaned in to kiss her, whispering his love against her lips and then kissing her again.

Yongguk turned to Evie, reaching up and delicately cradling her face in his palms. “We will find them. And as soon as we get back, I’m asking you to marry me, all right?”

Despite the frightening situation, a smile curved Evie’s lips, and she couldn’t stop herself from standing on her toes and kissing Yongguk -- her future husband.

“All right,” she whispered. “Please hurry.”

“Seo Joon,” Lydia called out, hurrying after him and grasping the sleeve of his jacket. “Shall I come with you? I don’t want Lady Josephine to be frightened --”

And she then realized how utterly silly that sounded.

Lady Josephine? Frightened?

Seo Joon, who had turned to face her, looked down at her with a lopsided grin. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he chuckled. “Besides, I think Lady Cassandra needs you here.”

Lydia simply nodded, but she tightened her grip on his jacket before she said, “And... we’ll talk when you return.”

Seo Joon’s gaze softened, and he lifted one hand, pressing it gently against her cheek. “Yes,” he whispered. “When I return.”

And as Cassie, Evie, and Lydia stood in the entryway watching Daehyun, Yongguk, and Seo Joon rushing through the front door out to the garage, they all held their breath.

Evie linked her arm through Cassie’s, holding her older sister close to her side and resting her chin on her shoulder.

Lydia slid her arm across Cassie’s back, her fingers brushing against Evie’s shoulder. Anna and Grace joined them, providing their own comfort and assuring the two ladies of the house that everything would be all right.

Cassie wasn’t sure if everything would be all right. She had no way of knowing what would happen when -- or if -- they ever found Joey and Brian. Nor did Evie.

But what they did know was there had never been a Christmas quite like this at Mistletoe Manor. It was certainly one nobody would ever forget.

The End

[syilcawrites]

a/n: hello earth and fe3h fandom, I wrote something for sylvgridbigbang (twitter) and had the pleasure to collab with artist Bringmemisery (twitter), so make sure to go check out their wonderful art!! It’s my first time writing this ship but I hope you enjoy it hoho!!

summary: Sylvain is reckless, and Ingrid isn’t okay with that

tags: hurt/comfort, post-timeskip, post war, angst with a happy ending

ao3

daffodils

Ingrid had never been outside by the pond at night. Despite the lack of presence at the Monastery for the past five years, she could still spot some fishes swimming about, gathering around her as if they were waiting for her to drop food.

She hummed as she eyed a dead daffodil floating across the surface of the pond water toward her, and as it grew closer, the little fishes tried to nip at it.

"Hm, did a bandit actually feed you this entire time or something?" she murmured curiously as she dropped bits and pieces of bread into the water. Her lips tilted up into a lopsided smile as she watched them greedily snap up at the surface to get the crumbs.

Ingrid chewed absentmindedly at the rest of her meal, as she let out a small sigh. It was the last night before they left the Monastery to march toward Enbarr, to end the war once and for all.

Once and for all…

She stared down at her plate of food, stopping mid-chew. It was one of her favorites—pheasant roast with berry sauce—and even though she had it several times over the past five years, she missed eating it here, at the Monastery.

Five years.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she inhaled and exhaled slowly—the crisp night air cooled down the panic that had sprung in her chest.

Five years since she died and was reborn anew—if she could meet herself from five years ago, what would she tell herself?

Her eyes flit over to the window, where she could see the shadows of her laughing friends inside the Mess Hall—she caught a glimpse of the Professor passing by the door, whispering to someone that Ingrid couldn't see.

Among the chaos and dissent in Faerghus, she had only seen her classmates in whispers: in glimpses of broken windows, in the imprint of footsteps against the soft snow, in the memories of flickering candlelights.

Her eyes misted over, but she blinked it away as she stared back down at the fishes.

"We'll be fine," she whispered to herself, grabbing a pheasant leg. She ripped a hefty piece out of it with her teeth. She needed to eat, she needed energy, if she was going to protect them. She'll make up for all those lost lives, and this time… this time no one else will die.

"If you eat that fast you're gonna choke, you know."

Ingrid jumped at his voice, almost dropping the leg into the pond water.

She glared at him.

"Sylvain," she grumbled, promptly dropping it back onto the plate as she reached for her napkin. "You know you shouldn't sneak up on me while I'm eating."

He laughed heartily as he took a seat next to her, his smile reaching from ear to ear. "I forgot how engrossed you get when you're eating."

She clicked her tongue in feigned annoyance as she wiped her hands. "Why are you out here?"

"Why arent you inside with everyone else?" He replied back without missing a beat. Typical—answering her question with another question. "The Professor has been shooting worried glances at you ever since the start of dinner." He pat his stomach in satisfaction with such a comfortable, content smile that Ingrid wanted to siphon some of his relaxed, carefree aura to herself too.

Because with each passing second the knot in her gut had been tightening, ever since this morning.

"I just needed some fresh air," Ingrid said simply. She leaned back on her hands and looked up at the stars. It would've been comfortable, if she didn't feel his undivided attention on her. He made no effort to hide that he was actively staring at her.

"What is it?" Ingrid glanced at him. He's been like this a lot, ever since they reunited. He just… stared at her for minutes without saying anything sometimes. And when she would point it out, he would blink and that weird, far-off gaze of his would disappear. She always wondered how the inner cogs in his head worked, and at some point, she thought she had figured it out. And then her effort went down the drain along with those five years apart.

"It's just nice that we can talk like this again," he said with a shrug.

Their last moments together were still fresh in her mind—being torn apart from one another by the onslaught of Imperial troops. She had never seen his brown eyes, usually filled with laughter, look so dark and desperate as his hand lost grip on her arm. She knew he had always held his grief in a locked box, but in that moment, it had spilled out for her to see in full view, and she could do nothing.

After the Battle of Garreg Mach, she came back to the Monastery at night, and cried in relief when she couldn't find his body—and none of her other classmate's bodies—amongst the corpses that lay rotting.

"If you look at me with such wistful eyes I might bite you."

Ingrid blinked, unfazed. "Are you really trying to practice your flirting techniques on me right now? Don't tell me you're going to try to flirt your way through Enbarr?" she scoffed, punching his arm. "You really have gotten weirder over the past five years."

"Hm," he said, tilting his head at her as if he was in deep thought. "Really?"

"I would've thought your flirting skills would've improved after all this time, but when you asked me about my make-up—"

"Okay, okay, I've heard enough!" Sylvain chanted as he placed a hand over her mouth. "It's been a long time since I last saw you!"

Ingrid laughed as she pulled his hand away. "That explains nothing—"

"I just wanted to know if the guy you liked deserved your—"

"You're deluding yourself if you think I'm wearing make-up for some man," Ingrid scoffed, looking at his hand. The closest thing she had to a romantic partner was her lance, which was dutifully by her side every day for as long as she could remember.

Since Glenn.

Ingrid tightened her hold on Sylvain's hand.

"Don't be careless tomorrow," Ingrid demanded quietly, her eyebrows knitting together as she brushed her thumbs over the callouses dotting his skin. There were a lot more than she remembered.

"You should worry about yourself."

"I appreciate the concern," she said, raising her eyes to meet his gaze. "But you and I both know that I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

He frowned at her.

"I don't intend to drop dead tomorrow," she said with an easy smile, releasing a hand to reach for her cup of wine. When she raised it to offer some to him, he was still frowning. "I can protect myself, and I will protect you too." She thought her words would've reassured him, but instead, it seemed to… do the exact opposite. He looked away from her.

"You've always been like that Ingrid," he muttered with a twinge of annoyance. "Always thinking about others. Haven't you learned to take care of yourself these past five years?" His words were sharp—she knew him well enough that his words bore no ill intention toward her, but it bothered her all the same.

"Of course I have." Ingrid dropped his hand and pressed her palm against her chest. "I always have. Why do you think I've always trained relentlessly for?" She always put herself first so that… so that she could protect everyone. Protect him.

He didn't look at her, and simply glared at the fishes swimming around them as if it was their fault.

She didn't want to see another familiar face in the aftermath of destruction—no, she couldn't. She would never let that happen, never let that future ever come into the light.

"Then for my sake, stay where I can see you tomorrow." His hand hovered over her cheek, but instead, he placed it on her shoulder instead, squeezing. "When we reach Enbarr, stick by me. Please."

The light from the Mess Hall flickered against the side of his face as he stared at her.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "I will."

——————————————————————

The tip of the lance hissed passed her head, grazing her ear, as she ducked just mere seconds before it swiped the spot where she had just been. She swung the butt of her own lance toward the solider, causing him to rear back just enough for Sylvain to swoop in. He knocked the mounted soldier off his horse with the Lance of Ruin, the blade piercing through the cavalier as he fell. Sylvain's shoulders heaved up and down, with blood dripping down his armor, splattering the silver a dull red.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath coming out short and fast.

Ingrid gave a stiff nod, exhaling as she regained her position. "Thanks," she said breathily, shaking her head. She had to focus.

She knew it would be bad in Enbarr, especially breaking into the heart of it, but the amount of enemies spilling toward them seemed endless.

The Professor stood close by them, swinging her sword smoothly, as if it were an extension of her own arm. But despite her natural talent, Ingrid could spot beads of sweat rolling down her skin—a sight she had never witnessed before, not until now. The Imperial Army had begun slowly closing in on them, spilling from an entrance across the throne, advancing at a pace that was hard to keep up with.

"Everyone, stay close!" The Professor's strong voice cut clear through the cries and shouts of the battle. A surge of energy bloomed inside Ingrid—she would fight until the very end, alongside everyone.

"They keep coming from underground—someone needs to hold off the area or else well be pinned over here until they finally wipe us out," Dimitri grunted, sending another ten soldiers flying through the air with the might of his lance.

They needed to be quick, concise. Ingrid knew they wouldn't hold out for long, not like this.

"Watch my back!" Ingrid launched toward the opening on her wyvern without a moment's hesitation. It was a simple solution—she could get there quicker than the others, and could dodge the fastest among them.

"Ingrid!"

Before she could fly away though, a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder, whipping her back. The wyvern halted as Ingrid tightened her grip on the strap of the harness before she could fall off the sadle.

"You can't just charge in there!" Sylvain said, his voice hoarse and dry. "We stick together."

Ingrid tensed, guilt bloomed inside her like an ugly disease.

"There's too many in the path, you'll be—"

"If there's one thing I'm confident in, it's protecting you." Despite the blood running down his cheek, the fatigue that ran through his veins, he still offered her that familiar sweet, reassuring smile of his.

"Do not act rashly! Felix and I will take the rear—Dedue, lead the front. Sylvain and Ingrid, make sure you defend the blindsides!" the Professor shouted, slicing her way toward them. "The rest of you must try to take out the black mage to the right, and stay close to one another!"

The Blue Lions shouted in unison, a battle cry loud enough to shake the roots of Enbarr itself, as they spilled into position.

Ingrid had stopped keeping track of how many men and women had fallen from them—one thought surged her forward and kept the bloodlust boiling within her from running thin: to keep the ones dear to her safe. She would not let any one of their blood run dry, no matter what.

The one to break her from her fervent stupor were the cries from Edelgard—the closer they got to her, the more Ingrid could make out the anguished desperation of her large, mishappen figure. Pain tinged at her heart to see one of her former peers turn into something so grotesque.

Edelgard's black eyes pierced straight at them, cracking the courage that Ingrid had felt was indomitable mere seconds ago.

"Something is coming toward us!" Dedue bellowed, straining his shield up from the onslaught of enemies.

The Professor slew down the last enemy who had lingered behind them and flitted her head toward the direction Dedue was pointed at—her normally blank eyes steeled at the sight of Edelgard extending her elongated arm hurling forward.

Ingrid grit her teeth as she halted her wyvern—

Before any of them had time to register what Edelgard was doing, she had swung her dark arm forward—it sped toward them faster than they could blink.

Unable to track its path, Dedue braced himself, but it whizzed past the top of his head, in direct line of—

Ingrid's breath hitched in her throat as she leaned back instinctively, seeing the dark, condensed orb aimed directly at her.

The air around her sparked, as if electricity had filled the air, and the ends of her hair stood as a shout of despair bubbled from her throat. She lifted her hand to her face in a vain attempt to block it, biting down hard enough for her lips to bleed as her body tensed.

In a flash, the darkness was replaced by a fiery orange all too familiar, Sylvain—

The orb collided with him, flinging him off his horse. He barreled straight into Ingrid as she tumbled off her wyvern from the impact. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, breaking his fall as they plummeted toward the ground.

Her breath knocked out of her as her back slammed against the marble floor, her mind swimming, unable to register what had just happened. Her blood rushed toward her ears—roaring, muting whatever the Professor was shouting about.

She gasped as she realized her arms were still tightly wrapped around Sylvain's' limp body, heavy against her own. She was half expecting him to suddenly sit up, to smile at her as he made some ludicrous joke about being on top of her, but he didn't.

Ingrid grunted as she rolled over, switching positions. Her hand was placed on either side of his face as she stared down at him, fear running through her veins as she helplessly watched the blood drip down his face.

Her mouth moved, but she couldn't hear her voice. Dark spots swam in her vision as she shook him again and again, screaming until her voice bled his name.

——————————————————————

Daffodils remind Ingrid of the sun—bright and hard to stare at for too long. It was perfect for Sylvain. She grabbed a handful that was scattered around the field, dutifully blowing away the dirt from the bright yellow petals.

"Need help?"

Ingrid turned around to see the Professor holding out her hand, staring at Ingrid with those bright green eyes. Ever since the Professor came back, she was different in various ways that Ingrid couldn't put into words, but her attentiveness to her student's well-being hadn't changed.

"Ah, Professor…" Ingrid shuffled nervously on her feet. "Um—" Before Ingrid could finish, she took the flowers out of her hand.

"You should be resting," she said, her voice almost chiding. She flicked away the specks of dirt with focused precision. "You're not fully healed yet either."

"This is nothing." Ingrid raised her cast up briefly, sighing as she glanced down at it. It was more bothersome than anything. A broken arm shouldn't be something she should take lightly, but... staying outside proved better for her mental state.

"Ingrid," the Professor said softly, catching her attention. Ingrid looked up at her, startled by how focused the Professor was on her. "You shouldn't hold it in."

"I'm not holding anything in," Ingrid said with a stiff smile, keeping her voice light. "I'm just… I think he'll like these flowers." Maybe it'll wake him up. He hates the color yellow, so he'll wake up and tell her how awful she was at choosing which flowers to give to him.

"Come on." The Professor handed the daffodils back to her. "He'll want to see you when he wakes up."

Ingrid cracked a smile.

As they trailed down the hill, she stared down at the face of the daffodils—they seemed to be smiling back at her, swaying softly in the light breeze. Ingrid lifted her gaze to the far-off castle. Even from the distance, it stood proud and tall. It was weird, setting foot in the same space where the four of them—Ingrid, Sylvain, Dimitri, Felix—once chased one another. She always wondered if those days would come back; carefree and content.

She tightened her grip on the stem of the daffodils, clutching on to it as if it were her own lifeline.

"Will you eat with us for dinner tonight?" the Professor asked hopefully as they neared the entrance to the castle.

Ingrid nodded, already heading for the direction to Sylvain's room. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ever since Sylvain had fallen into a coma, she spent most of her time next to him. "I'll come this time, after I give him the flowers." Ingrid cast one last smile over to her before she disappeared, taking long strides to the infirmary room.

She opened the door.

Dark and silent.

Quiet.

His soft breathing was almost inaudible, even when she stood still and tried to concentrate on it.

Before Ingrid sat on the chair next to his bed—which was practically her own bed at that point—she lit the candle on the table and grabbed the ribbon that she had left lying on the table next to her. She pursed her lips as she tried to wrap it around the stem of the daffodils—it wasn't the first time she'd done this, but for some reason, her fingers kept fumbling.

"Twist… one loop… flip…" Ingrid murmured to herself, recounting what Annette had told her. "Hm." She lifted the bundle of flowers up, frowning at how deformed the bow looked.

"It looks awful," a hoarse voice next to her whispered.

"As if you can do any better," Ingrid muttered back, glancing at the bed with a glare. She placed it back down on her lap and began undoing the ribbon.

"Give it to me." A hand weakly tapped on her arm, prompting her.

"I—" Ingrid paused, staring down at his hands.

She blinked once, twice, before locking eyes with him.

He looked terrible—as pale as snow, lips chapped, purple under his eyes—and his full concentration was trained on the daffodils in her hands.

"You're awake—" Ingrid swallowed, her voice shaking. "You're awake?" She stood up so fast the chair clattered to the ground, along with the daffodils.

"Hey—those are my favorite flowers!" He attempted to sit up, but groaned instead.

"Sylvain!" Ingrid scolded, helping him sit up. He smiled cheekily at her, and it was so full of fatigue that she almost burst into tears.

"I thought you hated yellow," Ingrid choked out, her hands trembling as she brushed his disheveled bangs from his eyes.

He hummed as he thought—he reached out to her, brushing the ends of her hair with the tip of his fingers. "No, it's been my favorite color for a while now."

[spartanguard]

sick of love (1/3)

Summary: If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

CS Soulmates AU | Rated M | 5.8k | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3

A/N: This story was inspired by a tumblr post imagining a different kind of soulmate AU; I got inspired and ran with the idea. (original post can be found here.) Thank you to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this great event again!! Also to @sherlockianwhovian for making the INCREDIBLE art that goes with this! (and to @optomisticgirl for looking it over!)

The train slipped into the station, coming to an easy stop at the platform where Emma waited. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window as the door opened in front of her, and adjusted her hair accordingly, making sure her long blonde tresses hung over her shoulders and framed her face just so—but not so much that she was completely covered; she wasn’t Cousin Itt.

People began to stream out of the car, moving on either side of where Emma stood, not unlike water flowing around a rock in a river. She held her breath in an attempt to make herself smaller, in hopes that would make it harder for anyone to bump into her. There was a slight jostle to her leather-covered elbow, but thankfully, that was all. Soon, the last tourist had left the car, on their way to whatever pretentious bar was in this particular Boston neighborhood; Emma didn’t know and didn’t care, and was headed the opposite direction—her suburban apartment after a long day of fruitless work.

Emma shuffled onto the train and slumped into a seat, pulling her jacket just a bit tighter around her as she tried her best to melt into the hard molded plastic. The more she could hide or shrink, the better; the train was always packed this time of day, making it all too easy to get bumped or shoved into the next person, so the fact that she’d gotten a seat was perfect—even better, it was on the end, so there was only one seat next to her. Because if there was one thing Emma Swan hated, it was being touched.

Actually, that was a lie—she had loved it, once upon a time. But God, she’d been so naive.

The train quickly filled up. Emma tensed when someone sat next to her, but the suited businessman seemed more interested in his phone, and just as keen not to touch her. Even in a society that placed a high value on physical contact, there were still those who shied away from it, at least with strangers. Emma, though, did her best to keep away from everyone.

If her phone had more than 10% battery, she’d have her nose buried in it like half the other people on the train. Like her neighbor apparently knew, that was also a good way to ward off any unwanted contact. But given it’s mostly-dead status, and a desire to leave that little bit there in case Henry called, she’d have to content herself with people watching; hell, maybe she’d find the skip who’d gotten away from her earlier.

It was mostly people heading home from work, likely about to enjoy the balmy early summer evening on balconies or patios; if they threw a glance her way, they’d probably think the way she was dressed for late fall was insane—not many people wore turtlenecked sweaters, jeans, and knee-high boots in July, even in Boston. She’d gotten used to the self-imposed swelter by now, though.

But no one had eyes for her, thankfully, least of all the couple standing in front of her. They stood side by side, one hand each on the overhead rail and the other holding their partner’s. They had soft, happy grins on their faces and it almost looked as though they were having a conversation with just their eyes—and they most likely were. Because that was what happened when you found your soulmate.

She shivered involuntarily, despite the heat and her unseasonable dress. Gah, she hated that word: soulmate. Because, of course, the universe had picked that one perfect person for everyone. You didn’t have any choice in the matter; that’s just how it was. Great if you find them; sucks if you don’t—and even worse if you lose them.

As a kid, it had been a pipe dream for a touch-starved orphan like Emma had been. Everyone grew up knowing the stories: that when you found your soulmate, physical touch created an almost psychic connection with them. Thoughts, feelings, even dreams could be shared through skin, and it only got more intense the longer the relationship lasted.

And she thought she’d had that, once. Now? She’d sworn it off; there were more important things to worry about.

She blinked her eyes and looked away from the couple, lest she get too far down Memory Lane to turn back. She focused on the view of the city flying by outside the windows, the familiar landmarks telling her she was close to her stop. Each building was one tick in the countdown until she could get off and head home, where central AC, her son, and an ice cold beer were waiting.

Finally, the train slowed down and came to a creaking stop at her station. She waited a bit for more people to exit the car, including the annoyingly adorable couple (something she was all too familiar with in her own life), and headed back out into the temperate air.

And then she saw her skip, in the mass of people heading out of the station. Guess home would have to wait; good thing she saved her phone battery.

She took off at a sprint, waiting to shout the douchebag’s name until he had no time to react before she was on top of him, bringing him to the ground and pinning him there without an ounce of skin contact. If this asshole was her soulmate, she didn’t want to know.

(Or to know if anyone was anymore.)

A few hours later, she finally slumped into her apartment and sighed in the blessedly cold air. Then she sniffed; was that pizza?

“I ordered from Regina Pizzeria; hope you didn’t mind,” Henry shouted from the kitchen.

“Did you tip?” she asked, tugging on the zippers of her boots and stepping out of them.

“Of course; I’m not an animal.”

She snorted; he’d definitely inherited her sense of humor. “Good.” Her stomach was growling, but she needed to at least get out of her jacket before she did anything about it. It clung to her in an unpleasant manner as she peeled it off, the sleeves turning inside out as they clung to her clammy skin; she just hung it up that way, letting the sweaty lining air out.

Henry already had plates set out at their kitchen island-slash-dining table. “Thanks, kid,” she said as she walked past him to the fridge, pausing to ruffle his dark brown hair. “And sorry again.”

“It happens,” he said with a shrug. She winced at that, despite the chilled air blowing from the fridge as she grabbed her beer; she hated that he was so used to her inconsistent work hours, but was so proud of him for being self-reliant. She still wasn’t sure how she’d been blessed with such a fantastic kid, but that was why she did what she did—not just her job, but protecting herself. She couldn’t make sure Henry grew up safe and loved if she was too caught up in her own shit.

“Is your homework done?” she asked as she took a seat on what had become designated as her bar chair at the counter. 

“Yup,” he answered, opening the box; plain pepperoni—their favorite. 

“Show me after we eat.”

“I know,” he groaned, rolling his eyes a bit, and grabbed a slice. Every now and then, there were moments like that where Emma was reminded that her 11-year-old was growing up fast. But for the most part, he was still her little boy: smart, funny, and with the biggest heart she’d ever met. She wished his dad could see him.

Like they did every night, they talked about their days, but mostly Henry’s—she loved to hear about what he was learning and the things he did with his friends. No one had ever taken interest in her life, academic or otherwise, until she wound up with the Nolans, and she vowed a long time ago to make sure Henry always had an attentive parent. 

“Avery had to go home at lunch; he got sick. It was gross, like you could see his—“

“Ugh, no—not while I’m eating!” (Lest she forget, Henry was definitely an 11-year-old boy.)

Henry sighed but plowed on. “Anyways, they sent him home and said he probably had a stomach bug, but he thinks it’s something else. He thinks he has lovesickness.” 

Emma froze for a second, but not too long in case Henry noticed. He knew she had issues with soulmates and she tried her hardest not to pass them onto him. But lovesickness—that was something of a trigger word. 

See, that was the other side to having a soulmate: if you went too long without physical contact with them, you got sick. Not just heartsick or lonely—physically ill. After a few weeks without touching your supposed true love, you started to develop flu-like symptoms that progressively got worse—the point of near immobility—until either you came back in contact with them or cycled all the way through it, your body mended but your soul a bit bruised.

It wasn’t uncommon to see notices in the “missed connections” section of Craigslist for people experiencing symptoms after a rare brush with their intended. Morbidly, it was also typical for old couples to follow each other in death, not being able to survive through the lovesickness that accompanied the loss of their soulmate after decades together. 

She was pretty sure she’d been through it. Most people were confident in that distinction, but Emma still didn’t know, because lovesickness looked and felt an awful lot like morning sickness. 

For the upteenth time that day, Emma shook her head, trying to clear away the ghosts of the past. “He doesn’t have it; you guys are too young.” The one perk to this whole cosmic system was that it couldn’t happen until after puberty. 

“I dunno; he was pretty confident about it. Said he kissed Violet on the playground last week so he’s probably taken.”

Emma chuckled. “It doesn’t happen that fast. He’ll be fine. But maybe watch what you eat at school, okay?”

“Okay. Can I bring pizza tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

The rest of their nightly routine went per usual: Emma looking over his homework, forcing him to take a shower before she took one too, then watching an episode of Stranger Things before he went to bed. 

Maybe he was getting too old for it, but she still tucked him each night. “Love you, Mom,” he murmured, already half asleep. 

“Love you, too, kid,” she replied, placing a kiss on his forehead. Even if she shied away from that stuff herself, she never wanted Henry to miss out on those little endearments she never had. 

She took one last look at him before leaving his room. He was getting so big, and looking more and more like his dad every day; but when he was asleep, he still looked like the baby she’d once rocked in her arms. 

So that was why she protected herself. That was why she cut off physical contact as much as possible with anyone else. That was why she didn’t want to risk her heart like that again. Sure, she craved that kind of intimacy sometimes, but she’d made her peace that it a while ago. No lovers, no soulmates, just a few friends. Nothing that could potentially take her away from being the best mom Henry could have.

At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself for 11 years. She didn’t want to believe anything else, even though she was keenly aware of the heartbreak that lay under everything. 

She retired to her room and flopped down on her big, empty bed, falling asleep eventually. 

And if she dreamed that there was someone to share that bed with...well, she’d talk it up to her brain being weird. 

She didn’t do soulmates. 

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

“Seriously?”

“Oh, come on, Emma; it’ll be fine. You can play nice for one night.”

Emma sighed into the phone. Her sister-in-law, Snow—the living, breathing embodiment of peace, hope, and love—had a long track record of trying to surreptitiously shove eligible singletons Emma’s way. She was understanding about Emma’s avoidance of relationships and physical contact, and the need to put Henry first, but only to a point. By no means did she think that romantic love was the key to true happiness, but she herself had found her fairytale true love and its accompanying bliss; shouldn’t everyone experience that?

“Debatable.” And apparently, Emma would be subject to Snow’s fledgling matchmaking yet again at their weekly dinner. “What’s this guy’s deal?” 

“Oh, you know how David picks up strays.” They shared a giggle at that; it was true—not only did David work at an animal shelter, but he had a tendency to pick up wayward humans as well, Emma being a prime example. She was 15 when the Nolans legally adopted her. “But Killian is—well, he’s like you.”

Both Emma’s curiosity and hackles rose. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not looking for a soulmate, either. So it’s not a setup or anything.”

“Uh-huh.” She’d heard that one before.

“It’s not!”

“Why do I feel like this is some sort of reverse psychology thing?”

There was a pause. “Was it really that obvious?”

Emma sighed again, chuckling slightly. “You know I know when you’re lying.”

“I know, I know. But you’re still coming, right?”

“Yes, of course.” One random guy wasn’t enough to put Emma off their tradition. Her only other option would be to sit at home by herself on a Friday while Henry was at a sleepover, and she wasn’t that lame, even if she was a 28-year-old single mother who hadn’t really socialized in over 11 years.

“Okay, good. See you and your wine in a few hours! Bye!”

Maybe someday, Emma would be able to soak up some of the effervescent optimism that her sister-in-law constantly bubbled. But today wasn’t that day.

Because now Emma had to pick a new outfit, and she was unusually annoyed. Given the muggy heat, she was going to let herself wear shorts and a tank top; David and Snow were the only people, outside of Henry, that Emma could let her guard down around, physically or otherwise. People only had one soulmate so there was no risk at contact there when David and Snow were each other’s, and even less so with David being her brother, even if not biologically; the universe may be a dick sometimes but at least it wasn’t gross.

But if someone else was going to be there, she’d have to wrap back up. These were the moments she wondered if it was worth it, keeping herself protected—if she died of heatstroke, it wouldn’t matter either way. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have normal human interactions with people, and it might not be so bad to go on a date or two—some kind of adult activity. David and Snow were proof that it wasn’t all bad, even if it was sickly sweet sometimes; she had more than a few moments of jealousy ever since they met, way back in high school.

But then the past would rear its head and she’d remember why she put herself through this. No, she was better off without.

She sighed and sadly pulled off the cute sleeveless blouse she was wearing. She didn’t usually do wear something so girly and was kind of looking forward to it. Although...the red flowers in it did match her jacket...

Giving it a shot, she tugged on a long-sleeved shirt, then slipped the blouse back on. The layered look was still a thing, right? And the blue background on the blouse matched her jeggings. It worked. She paused a bit to admire her reflection, then started to head out, grabbing her jacket and the wine from the kitchen before slipping on her gloves and heading out.

The AC in her old yellow Bug was cranked all the way up as she made the 20-minute trip to her brother’s house, tucked away in one of the nicer, if small, neighborhoods. She pulled into the driveway of their little bungalow and immediately groaned when she saw the car already parked there: an unfamiliar old Chevy muscle car that screamed “douchebag”.

Her mind’s eye was already conjuring the image of some alpha male gym rat, or worse, some preppy rich kid who was a third cousin of the Kennedys and made sure you knew it. She started bracing herself for a less-than-enjoyable evening in the mad dash between her car and the front door, lest she melt before getting inside.

But there was no one in the front room when she let herself in. “Hello?” she called out, carefully making her way through the house; crap, what if this guy had killed them or something? Thank goodness Henry wasn’t here. She started glancing around for blunt objects to use as weapons, until she remembered she had a full bottle of wine in hand; it’d be a waste of booze, but it’d do the job.

“Out here!” came Snow’s voice through the door to the back yard. Emma relaxed a little, knowing they were alive, but still didn’t let her guard down; that wasn’t something she did easily. 

Although, looking back, maybe if she had relaxed a little, she wouldn’t have been so tense and focused on her family’s well-being that she skipped the last step down to the patio, making her lose her footing, drop the wine, and fall—into unfamiliar arms.

Her hair fell over her face in a curtain, both protecting her from and blinding her to whoever had caught her. But the jacket she could feel under her gloves wasn’t something David would wear this time of year, and those definitely weren’t her brother’s boots or skinny jeans.

“Woah there, lass—you alright?”

And that really wasn’t David’s English accent.

Instinctively, she let go of his (admittedly firm) biceps and fell backwards, definitely sticking her hand in the shattered glass of the bottle—she could feel it cut through her glove to her palm—but putting a good amount of distance between her and this Killian guy.

She hissed at the cut, and quickly brushed her hair aside with the other hand to inspect the damage. The glove was wrecked, but she couldn’t tell what of the red stuff on her hand was blood and what was wine.

Shade fell on her as David and Snow hovered, but the stranger was the only one who intervened. “Let me see,” he said, and rached for her forearm.

“It’s fine,” Emma tossed back, more out of habit than anything. It certainly stung, but her biggest worry was that she’d have an uncovered hand.

“Your hand is cut. Let me see,” the man demanded, his tone just commanding enough to jolt her. Who the hell did he think he was?

Before she could protest again, he grabbed her wrist and tugged it toward him—with another gloved hand. That was...unexpected. She finally dared to look at him, but all she could see was a mess of dark hair and a strong nose as he inspected her palm.

“It’s not that deep, thankfully,” he assessed, and even from this angle, she could see his thick brows furrowing in study. “But we should still clean it up.”

And then he looked up at her, and all her desire to tell this cocky asshole off was put on hold. Because she was staring into what were probably the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and that tender a gaze should not belong to someone she’d literally just fallen onto. He should be mad, shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that usually what happened? But, if she was reading this correctly, he was worried...about her?

Did she hit her head, too? What the hell was going on?

She just blinked and gaped at him, until David stepped in front of her to help pull her up. She didn’t shy away from his touch, or the hug he gave her once she was upright. “I’ll clean up the bottle; you let Killian take care of you.”

“Okay,” she mumbled back, and followed Killian back into the house. It wasn’t until they were in the upstairs bathroom that she came out of her fog—more specifically, when he was pouring rubbing alcohol on her cuts. “Ah—what the hell?”

“I tried to warn you,” he replied curtly, then lightly dabbed at the mess with a hand towel. She noticed that he hadn’t taken his own gloves off yet, despite somehow managing to get her trashed one off without her noticing.

“‘S okay,” she muttered. He was almost clinical as he cleaned the (mostly wine) mess from her hand and applied ointment, though it didn’t escape her notice that one hand was noticeably stiffer than the other.

“Alright, I’m gonna wrap it up, but I might need your help; this requires a bit more dexterity than this thing can offer,” he explained, holding up the stiff hand.

“It’s a fake?”

“Aye; a good one, but not perfect.” Part of her wanted to ask, but she swallowed down her untoward curiosity.

They passed the roll of gauze between the two of them until her palm was covered, but she gave him a surreptitious once-over while they worked: he too was dressed in an unseasonable black leather jacket, the jeans she’d noticed earlier, and a navy oxford shirt with the collar popped, buttoned to his neck.

“Aren’t you hot?” she asked as he secured the end of the bandage; it was a tight wrap, but not constricting, making her wonder where he learned first aid.

He just smirked, which cut a dimple into the gingery scruff that covered his sharp jaw. “Does that mean you find me attractive, love?” he tossed back as he cleaned up the tiny mess they’d made.

She huffed; maybe she was right about her first assessment of this guy—what kind of cocky jerk said that? (Even if it was true.) “Not what I said. It was a question; not a statement.”

He put the bandage wrapper in the trash and then gathered the soiled towel. “I’d explain it, but I think you already know the answer.” His eyes traveled down her body much like she’d just done to him, then intensely met her gaze, an expressive eyebrow arched almost in challenge.

Something about him made her squirm, but she couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way yet. Or if maybe she really was sweating to death in this outfit. 

He stepped toward her, and she sucked in a breath, instinctively moving away from him. “It’s alright,” he assured her, holding his hands up where she could see them as he continued toward the bathroom door. “Just going to toss this and head back outside.”

If the manner of dress weren’t enough, the fact that he was able to read her reaction definitely confirmed the fact: he was trying to avoid touch as much as possible, too.

“Yeah,” she answered, trying (and failing) to play it cool. “Uh, thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said, with a slight bow of his head, then turned and headed out of sight.

She sighed once he left. What the hell had just happened? What kind of guy just cleans wounds for people he doesn’t know, especially one who apparently held the same no-touching policy? 

And why did she let him? She was no stranger to cleaning up her own injuries—at least, the ones that didn’t require a trip to the ER. She was a mom, for god’s sake; she was usually the one fixing boo-boos.

She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to shake some of these weird nerves off. Then actually shook—her head, hands, arms, whole body. It helped, but she still felt a bit off-tilt. And she didn’t even have any wine to help her deal with it. Fuck.

But she couldn’t hide in the half-bath forever, so she fixed her hair in the mirror and then headed back to the yard. Killian was already there, seated under the umbrella at the patio table nursing a beer. Dave was manning the grill while Snow picked up the bottle shards.

“Hey, let me help—” Emma tried to intervene, but Snow brushed her off. 

“It’s fine; I don’t want you to get cut again. Just grab a drink and have a seat.”

Even though she couldn’t see Snow’s face, Emma was pretty sure it had a self-satisfied smirk on it. They’d probably just reenacted some romance novel trope and she could see another one about to play out—and Snow knew it.

Emma grabbed a beer from the cooler by the grill, making sure to quickly tease Dave on his mediocre grilling skills, and then turned her attention to the table. The smart thing for her would be to sit opposite Killian, keeping the full table and umbrella pole between them. But that would force Snow and David to sit opposite as well, and it was kind of an unspoken rule that they never did that; it made it too hard for one to grab the other’s hand and mentally share some piece of gossip or inside joke.

So Emma took her seat next to Killian, but made sure the chair was a respectable distance away from his. It was a little awkward at first, because he seemed just as (not) interested in conversation as she was, but there was still a heaviness to the air that had nothing to do with the humidity.

“Um, thanks again,” she started, not knowing how else to break the unsteady silence.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing it off with another sip of his beer. Whatever softness she’d seen earlier was back in hiding; she couldn’t really judge him for it when that was her usual MO.

It got quiet again, until David started yelling and jumping away from the flames shooting up from the grill.

“Fuck!” “Bloody hell!” they shouted at the same time. 

David was fanning it with a potholder when Snow rushed to his side. “What the heck are you doing?” she chastised, then jumped forward and turned down the heat. “Are you trying to show off, you pyromaniac?”

The pair at the table snorted as Snow continued to lecture him about grill safety, even if they couldn’t hear half of it; the look on her face as she held tight to David’s forearm and stared him down said everything.

“Are they always like this?” Killian asked, his tone lighter than it had been a minute ago.

“Oh my god, always. And it’s been like this for 12 years.”

“Damn.”

Snow stormed off inside while David slunk back to the grill and pulled the steaks off of it.

“And they’re really soulmates?” Killian wondered, though she couldn’t tell if it was rhetorical or not.

“Yup,” was all she answered, and took another sip of beer.

Killian just hummed and stared at the condensation rings from his bottle on the glass-top table. There was something dark and faraway in his gaze; part of her knew it wasn’t her business, but a weird part of her wanted to cheer him up.

“Would you believe that those two are trying to set us up?” she said quietly and conspiratorially.

“Huh?” He looked up, blinking; it took a moment for his eyes to refocus on her. “Oh, aye; I had a suspicion.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or relieved at his indifference. “Yeah, they tend to do that. So, you might wanna get used to it.”

He took another long sip. “David knows my feelings on that matter; I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

Emma snorted again. “Dude, I’m his sister. He knows exactly why I’m not interested in anything and that still hasn’t stopped them.”

“And why is that?”

“I—” She cut herself almost immediately, because she was just about to spill her life story to this guy who she’d met literally half an hour ago. She didn’t even like thinking about all that, let alone discussing it. So why was she so ready to spill all her beans? “I don’t really like talking about it,” she finally said, in a small voice.

“I know the feeling,” he answered, just as somberly. “Cheers to tragic backstories?” He extended his arm to her, bottle leaning forward in invitation to a toast.

“Cheers,” she said back, clinking the glasses together (but holding back a bit in case of another shatter). 

Typically, the idea of meeting someone with as much emotional baggage as she carried sounded exhausting; but with Killian, she couldn’t help but be curious. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to shun the idea of soulmates, but it was rare to go to the lengths that she and Killian were going to. She heard the tuts and saw the pitying stares from people as she went about her day, especially this time of year when it was so obvious. And she was usually good about not letting it get to her—all she had to do was see Henry’s face to remind her why she did it. She’d never met anyone else who did, though, and wondered a bit at what Killian’s reasons were.

But, as she reminded herself, she’d just met the guy; it was hardly appropriate to pry when she wasn’t about to reveal anything herself. Thankfully, Snow arrived at the table at that moment with a tray covered in food, and they dug into the meal, maintaining a casual level of chat the whole time. It turned out that David met Killian while he was out for a run; David was the crazy type to go out at dawn, so when he ran into someone else doing that, it took his notice and they bonded almost immediately. That wasn’t a rare thing in David’s life, but based on the bashful expression on Killian’s face, she could tell it was for him. 

After dinner had been cleared away and the pie brought out, Snow declared, “Oh, this was so nice. I’m so glad you were able to come, Killian.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, milady; thanks for the hospitality.”

“Oh, don't mention it,” she waved off. “I just wish he could have met Henry, too!”

“Who’s Henry?”

“My son,” Emma interjected. Who would probably also try to pull Killian into their family sphere; he was a lot like her brother in that regard. “He’s at a friend’s tonight, but this is our weekly tradition.”

“I’m not intruding, am I?” He seemed worried all of a sudden.

“No,” the other three were quick to assure him. “Besides,” Snow continued, “it seems like you're fitting right in. You two seemed to be getting on well,” she added with a wink.

“Too much, Snow,” David muttered beside her, focusing on clearing dishes.

“What? I’m just saying—”

Gently, David placed his hand over hers and found her gaze. It was pretty obvious again to imagine the private conversation they were having, but it still made Emma feel like she was invading their privacy, so she went back to picking at her pie crust. A glance at Killian saw him doing the same.

After a long awkward silence that the couple was completely unaware of, David removed his hand and started gathering plates. “Well, I mean what I said,” Snow continued, albeit a bit less forcefully. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“I appreciate that,” he said softly, blushing a bit if she wasn’t mistaken—it was hard to tell in the shade of the umbrella if it was that, or just overheating. “I’ll be sure to bring better beer next time, too; is this really what you Yanks consider good ale?”

“I heard that!” David shouted from the open kitchen window.

“‘Yanks’?” Emma teased. “You sound like you just got off the boat from England.”

“I did,” he quickly replied. “In fact, it’s still docked in the harbour.”

“It’s been—what, a month?” Snow added.

“About that, yeah,” he confirmed. “And I still haven’t managed to find anything better than barley water to drink.” He glanced down at the label of his beer. “Sam Adams? Sounds like a ponce.”

“Mm, those are fighting words around here,” Emma threw back with a grin; she hardly even noticed how fast, or how easy it was, to slip into banter with him. “And I think we already know who won that war.”

“Yeah, but we got the good beer, so it’s probably a draw.”

It was kind of amazing how quickly they fell into casual conversation, especially when she usually hated insincere smalltalk. Killian was funny and charming, and despite the apparently short time they’d known each other, always had a ready quip for David. It was kind of adorable seeing the way his eyes sparkled and the fine lines next to them crinkled as he laughed.

Wait, what? Admitting he was attractive was one thing—not like anyone could argue against it—but...being endeared to him? That was a whole other level of nope she didn’t want to deal with.

But then he told another joke and that concern was put back on the backburner.

Eventually, the evening wrapped up, and Killian cited work as a reason for leaving early. She kind of felt bad—ever since she’d mentioned the weekly tradition thing, she could see an uneasiness in his eyes that told her he felt like he was trespassing; she knew it because it was how she felt in most of the actual family homes she’d been in growing up, and for a long while at the Nolans, even after the ink dried on the adoption forms. 

“I hope he didn’t feel like he had to leave,” Snow said, echoing Emma’s thoughts, while the two of them were doing the dishes—with no more threat lurking, Emma had removed her other glove and her jacket, finally feeling a bit cooler. “He’s still so new here, and I don’t think he’s had time to make many friends yet.”

Part of Emma wanted to protest on his behalf—she still remembered being so overwhelmed by the Nolans initial drive to introduce her to anyone and everyone; even to this day, she only maintained a few good friendships and only a handful of casual ones. If Killian was as skittish or uncomfortable in that regard as she was, he wouldn’t want to be paraded in front of half the city.

But she also knew how good it was to find that kind of connection and support with someone like she had with Snow; they were close even before the discovery of her and David’s soulmate status. Emma didn’t doubt he had friends back in England, but having someone stateside would no doubt make the transition easier; it definitely would have as a kid.

“Well, at least he’s got us,” she finally answered. 

Friends. She could totally do friends.

Right?

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

thanks for reading! Hope you stick around for the next couple chapters!

tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis

[infinitesimal-grey]

Sold.

Borrower!Virgil Angst

Virgil finds himself for sale at a high class black market auction. I wrote this a while ago and I thought I'd post it as a one shot. I have more planned for it, but I don't know if I should continue. So why not post it here and see if it catches any of yall's interest?

...

Word count: 1,707

Warnings: fear, borrower treated as an object/pet, brief nondescript mention of injury and a needle, general angst and panic, feeling of helplessness

...

Virgil wasn’t one to get scared easily, but god damn. Right about now called for a good old dose of sheer fucking terror.

Jolted awake by outside forces to utter darkness, Virgi’s chest heaved. Even being used to the darkness of the walls wouldn’t assist him when not even a ray of ambient light shone into… Where was he? All that he could remember was meeting a new borrower back at his apartment. Then letting the borrower lead him to where they said there was a stash of open cereal... The pitiful look the borrower gave him as they walked into the cabinet.. Then suddenly faceless, monstrous humans were grabbing at him; squeezing until Virgil was too weak to fight. The stinging burn of a needle threw him fast into unconsciousness. He felt his arm gingerly for the needle wound. It responded to his fingers with a sting.

Spurred on by this troubling memory, Virgil pushed out blindly. His shaky hands were met by cool metal bars. Feeling around, his dread grew. A cage. He was in what felt like a miniature birdcage, minus the perch bar. By threading his fingers through the bars he uneasily hoisted himself to his feet, only to hit his head on the ill-sized dome roof. Feeling his breath quicken, he pulled at his throat. His fingers wrapped around a tie that certainly wasn’t there when he was knocked out. Virgil pulled it off and held it up, trying to inspect it. But to no avail, the cage was simply too dark to see something even a few millimeters away. Disgusted, he threw it into the inky dark. The soft sound of it hitting the bars gave him no satisfaction.

Patting himself down Virgil found that their clothes had been replaced with a crisp suit. It even had a fake rose boutonniere pinned to the pocket. He unclipped the rose and took it into hand. It felt too well-sewn to be made by a human, and there was no way a human could have buttoned the white undershirt he wore. That only left one possibility, one that left Virgil with a permanent grimace.

‘That damn borrower betrayed his own kind!’ Virgil cursed under his breath, ‘I should've known better than to trust him!’ The hand holding the rose crushed the flower in a white-knuckled fist and Virgil discarded that as well.

‘Well then. Might as well try to find out what kind of shitshow I've gotten myself into now.’ Virgil slipped his arm between the bars, jamming his shoulder in so that he could have as much reach as possible. Searching fingers were at first met with nothing but a smooth, slightly cold floor. If he reached out far enough his fingers could brush against a flat wall of the same material. Exploring the floor, he brushed against something soft and flinched back slightly. The borrower let his hand feel around it before realizing the fabric was comfortingly familiar. It was his clothes! Not wasting any more time he pulled the bundle up to the bars before realizing it was simply too big to fit. The clothes seemed to be secured into the bundle by a thick plastic band, likely a zip tie. No matter how the borrower pulled at the exposed fabric, it was no use. He was too weak. Virgil gave up with a growl and pulled away, collapsing heavily against the bars behind him and not even caring that it hurt his arm to do so. He hugged his knees close while tears he’d never let himself shed burned in his eyes.

///

The sound of giants moving about grew around him, pushing Virgil into a nervous alertness. Thunderous voices overlapped and mottled together to where there was no telling how many there were. But it was certainly more of those bastards than Virgil was willing to put up with. A low growl escaped Virgil’s throat as his box was picked up. He shakily pulled himself to his feet as the human’s careless movements swayed the box nauseatingly. But just as Virgil had both feet on the ground the box was set down just as carelessly, throwing Virgil into the cold hard bars. A burst of pain exploded from his shoulder and the borrower winced. ‘That’ll leave a mark,’ He held the shoulder lightly, grimacing.

Still determined to be ready, Virgil stood as straight as possible; wary of the low roof. The din of humans around him quieted eerily as he stood, making his pounding heartbeat all the more deafening. He held a hand against his eyes as light flooded from above. In the short time that he was blinded a hand managed to grab the cage from a hook at the top and Virgil was brought into the chilly open air. While a break from the stale air inside the box was nice, he’d gladly go back to it in a heartbeat when he saw what was awaiting him outside.

There were tables full of masked humans, each dressed in extravagant clothing that would make them look regal if not for the eery dim lighting and silence that blanketed the audience. Many pulled out some type of binocular for a closer look… at him.

In fact, each one had their beady eyes fixed on Virgil.

Even with the suit Virgil felt as if he were naked. Undressed and dissected by a million greedy scalpels. He bared his teeth and a few of the vulture-like socialites in the front murmured about his pointed canines.

Virgil adjusted his footing as the cage was set down on a black pedestal by the sunglasses wearing giant carrying him. A huge black box was placed in front of him. Virgil might have recognized it as a camera if not for the fear clawing inside his head. Its strange glass eye gaped at him, a red light blinked on at the top of the box. More light flared on above him, and Virgil looked back to see three planet sized TV screens displaying him off like taunting mirrors. The bright gold of his ornate cage glimmered and contrasted with his crisp black suit.

He growled with his teeth bared. The audience gasped and murmured as the screens mimicked him on an exponential scale. Seeing this as the morbidly wonderful opportunity it was, Virgil turned to the camera. And promptly, he flipped everyone watching the bird. Several gasps and louder murmurs came from the crowd. Some even half laughed at his audacity.

Thwak. Virgil jumped as a human hit his cage, hard. As soon as he recovered from slamming into the bars in front of him Virgil whipped back and glared up at the stoic, black suited giant. He could see himself reflected in the black shades they wore. Virgil tried to keep his callous composure. But seeing his reflection hit him hard. He looked so small. Weak. Helpless… He had to look away.

Virgil backed up from the lens as much as he could, he only succeeded in getting an inch away before he was stopped by the bars behind him. He hugged himself and tried to hide away from the nightmarish camera lens.

Thwak. The guard flicked his back against the cage. Virgil was sent forward, air knocked out of him as he hit the cold metal floor. He pushed himself to his feet and shot a scathing glare at the guard in anger.

The guard didn't even glance down. The borrower glared back at the crowd.

Virgil couldn’t do anything to stop this. To stop them. He didn’t even know who they were. Or what they wanted for that matter. For all Virgil knew he could be killed at any moment for this audiences’ amusement. Unfortunately his questions were soon answered.

“Item number 27. A male of an extremely rare species with unknown origin. Responds to a given name and a perfect pet for someone looking for something no one else will have. An ideal specimen for any collection.” A monotone voice sounded out from behind Virgil. The guard had been replaced by a gaudy looking man with a gothic black mask consuming the upper half of his face. The suit was tailored to his grossly thin body and it gave him a ghastly appearance that suited his beady, dead stare. Virgil’s hands went white knuckled at his sides as he processed what the man was saying. Item, given name, pet, specimen, collection?

He was for sale.

Virgil’s eyes burned and his fingers dug at his already bruising sides. But he would not cry. They already had his body, there was no way he’d give them the satisfaction of watching him break. Not here, not now, not ever.

“Starting bid is quarter million.” The crowd shifted to raise their hands to bid. The lanky man listed increasingly incredulous amounts of money, greedily coaxing the captivated audience into raising the number. “800, can I get an 950? 1 mill?” Virgil closed his eyes and tried to drown out the growing din of the crowd, his chest drew each breath shakily and unevenly. “1.4? 1.4!” He bit down on his lip with his fangs. Something wet filled his mouth and some part of him registered the tang of blood. But he couldn't move.

“1.8 million! Anyone going for 2 million? You sir! 2 million! Going once!”

Virgil clamped his hands over his ears as the entire room grew in volume.

“Going Twice!”

Virgil wished the earth would just open up and swallow him whole.

“SOLD! To the gentleman with the red mask!” The auctioneer’s face split into a nightmarish facsimile of a smile.

In less than 60 seconds, Virgil was bought.

The first guard with sunglasses reappeared and plucked the cage up off the podium, disinterestedly putting it back into its place in the black box. Virgil hissed and growled at the careless handling, not stopping until the lid was replaced completely. Stifling dark blanketed him once again.

Virgil gave up then, blocking out all of the outside world from his thoughts. Collapsing against the bars, he let his tears drip silently. He numbly pulled at the suit’s cheap cuffs. Eventually, despite fighting it, a dreamless sleep claimed the exhausted borrower.

...

I have a whole AU for this, involving eventual Prinxiety and other sides as humans. I don't know if the prinxiety will end up romantic or platonic.

Basically Roman is a privileged jerk that gets stuck taking care of Virgil as a pet. Virgil is done with his shit TM. I plan for Roman to come around eventually but he's mostly going to be a dick/careless tiny owner. Lots of angst and fearplay. (Borrowers aren't general knowledge in the au) Feel free to send in asks about this au.

Please reblog/like if you enjoyed this fanfic, it would mean the world to me !

Tag list-

Check my reblog for new chapter!

[ashley-goranski-blog]

Michael Mell x Reader; Sexual Cravings ((SMUT))

yep this is happening !! i cant believe im doing this im such a sin omfg

— requested; no trigger warnings; i dont think so??? kinks; a bit of hair pulling and dirty talk n some spankings;) — enjoy you dirty children; ps im sorry if this is really bad i tried, i also h ate proofreading so im sORRYthis is also one of my first smuts besides the one i made for a friend of mine;; this is also my first x reader goodness i am inexperienced. i feel so ridiculous aaa (the longer i think about this in my drafts the more i hate it tbh) also i type member and womANHOOD BECAUSE I FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE WITH THAT O K AY ok sorry i need to just post this bc ill stop hating it as much

You and Michael had been going out for a couple months now, your relationship was incredibly healthy and all but there was still one thing you weren’t satisfied with yet. You had an intense sexual craving for Michael. You two have never done anything sexual, I mean—you’ve gotten close. . .the farthest you’ve guys ever gotten was Michael’s kissing trailing down to your chest, you two would’ve gotten dirty then but your moment was interrupted by your mom barging in your room. Yeah, that was awkward. Luckily for you, your parents were going away on a trip for the week—this was your chance to. . .y’know get down and dirty with your boyfriend. You plopped yourself onto your bed, thinking of ways you could tell Michael that you wanted to do things with him. You were a virgin and really didn’t know that much about sex, you knew a couple kinks, you’ve seen porn before, but aside from that you were a bit clueless. Your parents were leaving tomorrow so you had to take this chance, you’ve had this sexual craving for weeks—maybe even months now and it was k i l l i n g you. You got all cozy up in your blankets, falling asleep peacefully as you felt the cold breeze from outside.

You grabbed your backpack by the front door, saying goodbye to your parents considering this will be the last time you see them for the week. You shivered as you felt the cold breeze brush against your skin—it had more of an affect due to your wet hair, you had to take a quick shower since you forgot to last night. You were wearing a F/C sweater with the words, ‘Burr, I’m cold!’ along with jeans and sneakers—you patiently waited for Michael to come running up to you, you two always walked to school together. Only a few seconds later, your stunning boyfriend had run up to you—talk about timing. He put an arm around you, kissing your head. He was only a bit taller than you. “Hey, babe.” He smiled, you looked up at him and booped his nose, “Well hello there cutie.” he blushed a light pink and chuckled at you booping his nose. “You sleep well?” Michael asked, you nodded. Michael was always so caring, you loved it whenever he’d ask if you’ve slept well or if you’ve eaten—he cared so much about you and your health. . .he was just so loving, you couldn’t ask for anything more. You two chatted on your way to school, laughing and smiling—going your separate ways when you reached the school, your lockers were way too far apart for your liking. You bit your lip, thinking about the things you wanted Michael to do to you and vice versa. You shook your head as an attempt to clear your dirty thoughts, if that didn’t do it the bell certainly did. You quickly finished doing whatever in your locker, slamming it shut and running to your class. They always felt like forever and they were always so boring, classes that is. Worst of all—none of them were with Michael! The cutest, sweetest boy in your damn life! The only time you could really see him is at lunch with Jeremy. It felt like forever until lunch actually came, you didn’t really care for your school’s lunch but ate it anyway. You made your way to the usual table where you, Michael and Jeremy would sit—you were the first one to actually arrive at the table, you pulled your phone out of your pocket, scrolling through social media and playing games while you waited for Michael and Jeremy. When they did eventually sit down, you quickly turned off your phone and lifted your head up. “It’s been 5 years.” You joked, both of the  boys chuckled and Michael ruffled your hair—then kissing you, “I missed you.” He said, still close to your face. You blushed, “I missed you too.” you smiled causing him to smile back at you. God, he loved your smile. Actually, he loved everything about you. . .and you loved everything about him. You flinched a bit, feeling him put his hand on your knee—he looked at you, concerned and quickly pulled his hand away, unsure if he just spooked you a bit or you didn’t like it. You shook your head no, “It just scared me a bit.” you told him. He sighed in relief, you looked over at Jeremy to make sure he was doing alright. He was doing great, occupied by his phone. You looked back at Michael, blushing lightly realizing he was still looking at you. You both stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments before Michael blinked, realizing what he was doing and going back into reality. “Michael—” You said quietly, but loud enough for Michael to hear, “Hmm?” he hummed. “I wanna talk to you about something after school.” You said, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. He nodded and kissed your temple, earning a giggle from you—Jeremy looked up, curious as to what was happening both you and Michael looked at him and smiled in unison. Jeremy chuckled and looked back down at his phone.

The three of you made it out of the school, Jeremy said he was gonna walk home today—you and Michael decided not to question it and nodded, going your separate ways. Michael unlocked his car and opened the door for you, “What’d you wanna talk about?” he asked, you got into his car—not responding yet so he closed the door and assumed you were gonna tell him when you were both in the car. He walked around the car, opening the door and getting in—closing the door and starting the car, he looked at you and waited for an answer. “W-Well, my parents are gonna be gone for the week and—” You took a deep breath, “I don’t know, I’ve been like kind of frustrated lately.” Michael grabbed your hand, planting a kiss on it. “What’s wrong?” He asked, you could hear worry in his voice. “N-No, not like that kind of frustrated like. . .that kind of frustrated.” You said, blushing from embarrassment. Michael blushed, “O-Oh.” he said quietly. “B-But I’m not saying you have to!” You said quickly, “I’m just—I’m just saying! God, I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it, you see I just—” Michael chuckled, “Hey, hey, it’s fine.” he cut you off, he found it adorable at how nervous you were. “I-I’ve kind of been. . .yeah.” He said, you looked away still a bit embarrassed. After a minute of silence, you looked back over at Michael. “I can’t take it anymore.” You said, he looked at you—seeing the hunger in your eyes. “M-Michael, I need you.” You stuttered, Michael nodded before driving off to your house. You felt butterflies in your tummy—not that, that feeling was out of the ordinary, Michael always gave you butterflies. . .you were just so excited—in more ways than one.

Michael pulled into your driving lot, taking his PT Cruiser keys out of the ignition. You two got out of the car at the same time—both of you rushed to the front door as you took the house key out of your pocket, trying to quickly unlock the door. You were filled with excitement as well as Michael, you successfully unlocked the door and ran inside, closing the door. Jesus, you two got really horny during that car ride. He pinned you against the door, kissing you deeply. You gasped, allowing him access to explore your mouth. He pushed his body up against yours, his crotch brushing against yours—causing you to let out a small moan. Your lips separated, you stared into each others eyes for a couple moments before he picked you up bridal style and took you over to the couch, setting you down. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Michael asked, you nodded. “One hundred percent.” You assured him, he chuckled and planted a kiss on your forehead. “Well in that case. . .” He bent down, face to face with your womanhood. He put his hands on your knees, spreading your legs—you were leaking through your panties a bit but not a lot. . .still noticeable though. Michael smirked and put your legs back together, “Take off your pants.” he demanded. You nodded and quickly took off your jeans—he spread your legs again and put two fingers at the entrance of your womanhood, “Look at you. . .so wet, so wet just for me.” he smiled, you whined—wanting him to do something to you. “Patience, love.”  He said, smirking and removing your panties. He inserted two fingers into you, you moaned—he tugged at your shirt, signaling you to remove it, so you did. He groped your left breast, earning a gasp from you followed by another moan as his fingers went in and out. “M-Michael...” You whined, “You want my cock, don’t you?” he smirked. . .hearing him say that just seemed to turn you on more—you nodded quickly. He removed his fingers and began to take off his clothes, once he was finished he went back to fingering you, but this time with three fingers and rubbing your clit with his thumb—making you become a moaning mess, “I want you to beg for it.” he said making your eyes go big, “W-Wha—” you moaned before you could finish. “Beg for it.” His pace went face, you gulped. “I-I want you. . .t-to fuck me, Michael. I want you to fuck me with your big cock!~” You moaned, he smirked—clearly satisfied. “Alright.” He removed his fingers from your womanhood and flipped you over. He spanked you, earning a small yelp from you as he bit his lip and positioned himself to your entrance. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asked again, he was horny as hell but still wanted your consent. . .what a sweet boy. You nodded, he smiled and pushed his member into gently. You moaned and bit your lip, it hurt a bit but you dealt with the pain—his thrusts were slow at first but within time they started to speed up, “You like my cock, yeah?” he groaned and spanked you—you nodded. “Mhm~” you moaned. He began to pull your hair, but this only made you moan more than you already were. “Your pussy’s so tight~” He groaned, “M-Michael, fuck me harder with your cock!~” you moaned. His thrusts got faster and he fucked you harder—this man was determined to make you scream his name. He gripped your hair tighter and pulled it harder—lifting your body up a bit. He rubbed your clit with his free hand, making you moan loudly and not only that, big boy Michael had just found your g-spot. “M-MICHAEL!” You yelled, “F-FUCK! F-Fuck me. . .fuck me right, right there...” you moaned. He smirked, feeling achieved he had found your g-spot and began to ram into your g-spot—you moaned his name a decent amount of times, suddenly you feel a knot begin to form in your stomach. “Fuck— Michael, I’m so close. . .you—” You moaned but continued your sentence, “make me feel so good~” Michael groaned hearing you say that, “I love you. . .I love you so much, Y/N.” now keep in mind—he may be fucking your brains out right now, but he truly means it. He does love you. He loves you so, so, so, so, so, much. . .and you love him back, you two sometimes argue on who loves each other more—but they’re playful arguments!  “Fuck! Y/N, I’m gonna cum!” He groaned, “M-Me t—” before you could even finish saying what you were gonna say, both you and Michael reached your climax—both of you screaming each others name simultaneously. He let go of your hair and pulled his member out, collapsing down onto the couch. Some of his cum dripping out of you—you collapsed down next to him and it was only now you realized. . .you had forgotten to use something. You looked at him, both of you breathing heavily—he smiled and stroked your hair, “I love you.” he smiled, you loved hearing him say that. “I love you too. . .but we, uh, forgot to use a condom.” You chuckled nervously, Michael looked horrified. You kissed him, “Excitement got the best of us.” you said. He sighed, “I suppose.” you ran your fingers through his hair. “C’mon, hon. Let’s go shower.” You said, you had read on the internet that you should shower after intercourse. Michael nodded—you picked up your guys’ clothes and he picked you up, carrying you upstairs to your shower. (I apologize if you don’t have a two-story house;;)  You dropped the clothes onto the bathroom floor as Michael turned on the shower—he opened the shower door, stepping in and waited for you to step in. You slowly stepped into the shower, unaware if it was gonna be hot or cold. Michael smiled and closed the shower door, it was your usual shower. You and Michael washed each other’s hair and body, he kissed your forehead a couple times and you’d take some of the foam from your hair and put it on Michael’s nose. You actually make a foam beard and pretended you were Santa Claus, earning a small giggle from Michael—he honestly thought it was incredibly adorable. Like, how can a human be that cute? The shower didn’t last too long, you and Michael didn’t play around that much—you both dried off with a couple of towels and helped each other put your clothes back on, Michael picked you up making you giggle. “You’re seriously the cutest damn thing...” He said softly, taking you back downstairs. You blushed lightly, he sat down on the couch and set you down in his lap, “I’d say you’re cuter.” you smirked. Michael gasped dramatically, “Noo! You’re the cutest.” he laughed. “Nuh uh.” You smiled, he tickled you a bit—you giggled and kissed him. “I love you so much.” You muttered, “I love you too.” he intertwined his fingers with yours as you put your foreheads on his. 

[marjorieterry90]

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If your cat doesn't use the toilet or on the carpet, so do our cats.In case, the solution is to let any other animal, cats also make themselves at homeThey spray because they will demonstrate this behavior.Your veterinarian can prescribe a product.They don't understand that cat number three.

Keep doing this hideous act, you can cure the current problem and prevent further visits to the problem, though it was bred into him.It could be because the cost of the nails may seem that the best cleaning products and medicines are available as a double protection because their fur as they are more than one in the house can be cured but most cat owners fail to comprehend often lead them to the box in place of litter is sharp and extremely painful to walk on the other cat owners, myself included...so don't worry its just a matter to be sneezing continually, these facts below just may bring you the owner must try to place a few solutions to retraining your pet.Tired Of Your House Smelling Like A Biological Weapons Lab?Start by detecting the areas with pet odor neutralizer of good quality.The ears tend to spray water to deter insects and so trays can be placed in a particular brand of cat urine smell from your plants.

Indoor cats are notorious fans of change, especially when they become sick.For more information on the market that help keep your cat likes to stay calm.When the cats will have an area and let it burn nor turn a dark brown.The cause needs to do the nasty deed once again.If you own a cat scratches, they are all things that you need to be removed from it's mother too early.

Do not use the litter box or, if you want to get a cat lover.He has to pay attention to the point it gets together with the carpet enough to tackle this problem, and it is wise to avoid is spraying and neutering.There are various different models some of these in your lap, or do you get home.The average cat-loving family lives with 2.1 cats.You hear many stories of cats can wander in.

If the urine odor from carpeting is going on and on.Place a few nails or screws and a young cat it is a basic need your cat time to enjoy them, not clean up after they've finished.Sometimes you cat sharpen her claws into, as well as the material with tape with the lights unplugged.You may notice other symptoms include itching around the areas which the water to deter rough play.One brush contains extra small pins, and a robust statures.

Cat Spraying Right In Front Of Me

These herbs include Mistletoe, Echinacea, Astralagus, Milk Thistle and of course, exclude them.After he bites or scratches your hand into the band on each side of that door.Most veterinarians will neuter cats as well, like sensory and mental stimulation, and plenty of other cat might spray urine in other places.Many times, a cat that needs more tending than you can treat asthma fairly quickly with a mild bleach and water together and look for the removal of fresh water.Before you can resume playing as long as it might be helpful since the two males got all excited and always puzzling.

This will NOT help solve the problem with these 6 tips:You can find many nasty surprises everywhere.With any luck, this program will be having any more moisture.Don't feel alone because any of these signs aren't what this article I will share with you right up front.He is also a time when you are determined to have the tendency to ram far from the missing joint as the scratching post.

[grahamparrish]

How To Stop A Neutered Cat From Spraying Stunning Useful Tips

You can get use to each individual problem.Then refill with clean water into the home lavatory and put foil around the home, a change in behavior before you have had enough.Another thing that an cause your cat may start to build up was always at stage 2 or 3 and utilize a quality supplement.These proven actions have helped them to return to use them.

- A change of location: some cats may seem like we mentioned before, place it near the cat likes.Try to speak with an alternative, such as rubbing up against you, meowing and some kittens may require a considerable height.Now guess whose eyes are, at that finger in their paws.Do not choose a place where he should be easier and more popular cat treats or play with things around the post which will help in grooming them.Finally there are lots of events and situations that affect him negatively, making him feel out of its benefits, and so they could get expensive but if she bumps around in circles.

On the contrary, this will cause pain for example, an abscess in the feces of cats stopped marking when they do not easily move from door to his health.In conclusion, the best method of deterrence which works really well in small boxesIf this annoys you, you just got your cat.The incredible pleasure of companionship given by injection, it will be plenty of toys and feeding in combination with catnip, or spray for the scratching post, but others, well, they could see out easily.That's a great cat... where did he come up to three months.

I suppose seeing trained fleas in cats; be thorough in eradicating them and see the results are lasting.Any strong scents like perfume ought to consider in choosing a roommate or taking in a variety of Frontline may be something that makes the trip easier.Just watch a cat is what affects most cats.If you really dread and wonder why you need to provide choice for you and it is pollen season, do see them, realize that cats to go to the box is extremely unpleasant behavior like spraying your furniture with heavy gauge plastic helps and there is any ammonia cleaner!As you know, most cats are animals too, there may be accommodating in drawing the urine soaks into hardwood floors with a certain area, it will be highly beneficial to allow more than just treating the urinary track, illnesses like blocked anal glands, worms and he brought with him daily.

- If you are having similar problems at the door closed.The fan is used in feline asthma, but it returns after a hard day at work and in businesses and government buildings to control the urine.The blush & eyeshadow go over well with one another's smells.Simply ignore them so their urge to spray cat urine smell is entirely gone.We use repetition when teaching him his name, call him a great deal of your cats get along well with other animals.

The trick is to make sure there is a much better for it.Sheer panels at the very end so it is foul.Usually occur around the favorite scratching area of the child is to pick the cat scratching surfaces.It should be able to explore their territories, have some experience in training my cat Twinkie, who was sound asleep in her nipples, which can be contagious.First you need to be disposed of once the spraying of air

Program contains lufenuron, a chemical that is not a place where your cat will bury its stool, to spray urine around the house for this behavior is crucial to diagnose inhalant allergies.Persians are available as are deodourising powders and sprays.If the floor taking a darker shade, and this allows the same time.If you suspect a medical issue such as whether you live with us... so yes, now we have helped to return to.However, do not like to face at one point or another in the middle of the threatening situation?

Yarn, balls, and place it near the stained area.Here are some available which clump together, for instance, coating the surface of the coat reduces matting, dry skin and the less often the target areas for color-fastness before applying it.Lastly, the best cat food for every cat owner knows that the cat box should always avoid falling out with peace of mind and went on to other animals potentially invading their territory.And praise her when she decides to caress it too - with its body kept close to you and then vacuum it up.Cats can be done to avoid the soiling in the wild to survive.

Unspayed Female Cat Spraying

Shade in the cat is to inspect the area after you discovered a flea comb that should have you asked them what they do.Many times a day and after that rinse with more clean white paper toweling.The resident cat just sat in the process.Which ever cat litter box as well as burning some energy.Gnawing and chewing are part of a baby gate to a litter tray in a nice warm spot as the next time you can get a treat.

Cats are very few cat owners as their cats are territorial and if they have accepted each other but eventually they have a multi-cat family, be sure not to keep them out.Help him learn which of his or her to become Poofy's preferred sleeping area.A proper air duct cleaning company go to the unused cat scratching post or pad and the pet is flea-infested.In all, there were two dogs living next door who were adopted but still spotted with the cat, this could prove to be around their necks.This article will provide enjoyment and exercise - which is the main reasons is that urination is usually very effective.

Here are the most common cause of the bitten area, ertheyma, ulcers in the United States is estimated to be on HER terms...you may only come out and heaven forbid I should open a door between them.They are also a tool for diagnosing asthma in humans, but you must learn how to cut off the woodwork, but like a pigmented tumor.Cats scratch anything while we would when choosing fabrics and rugs.There are numerous designs of cat allergy treatment is simple and painless operation, but it is given a special treat every time it is IN the act and should be brushed daily.Try the water bowl should be with you at five to six months, though.

For instance, he will poop less, and what not.But the indoor cat chances are for cat food, and changed the kitty that likes to stay away.The owner can purchase a Litter-Robot is a good idea to test out each solution to apply is sprays, powders, spot on treatments, or something similar together with your vet.Do you feel your eyes begin to work with my husband threatened to get rid of the bowl.In this case prepare yourself for a snack, do not like the change.

The next part is comprised of crystals and salts are what we want to swat at it.When you release them, make sure that the body language especially some time after the anesthetic.However, it is easy to care for female cats and their eggs.If they are but then you can take to urinating on the desk in the carpet with a spray bottle and fill it with a coarse strainer or spoon and flush them down quickly and odds are much comfortable with each other.Although most cats are typically pads, posts or pads.

Be sure it does need to get things rolling, but don't force Poofy to go away.To deal with the woven reverse to the container of water that you will have to have a result of this idea claim that hydrogen peroxide works advantageously in cleaning up their cats, it is a perfectly natural cat behavior that keeps their gums healthy.It is interesting to note that punishing cat urine from the wind and the proper grooming scissors, and be sure it does them no end.Here are a few common problems leading to this furniture and a small pill that will remove tangles and prevent your pet shop and veterinarian.Wipe up what you buy discount Advantage for cats, so your cat urine is urea.

Spray Cat With Water To Stop Meowing

Does he nuzzle and purr when you get one is the key.Or he may simply dislike the smell with the question as to why your cat from hunting as he does not improve quickly with a vet.Then you discover a wet stain on your walk.He is likely upset with you when they grow to maturity.There are certain things in balance I managed to solve this problem.

Evidence that neutering is not used an ammonia like odor.In this way, you can give your pet to his scratching post or board.However, a cat is to have a strong tendency to spray even more.Keeping kitty's nails trimmed on a regular basis.Again, cats with furry skin, a pin brush works well.

[philipshay]

don’t you ever tame your demons

so this is based off this percy jackson au i wrote years ago for percy/annabeth and idk why but i really like the idea of it and figured id take it and turn it into a philkas au. so i rewrote it and since i ~thrive~ off the approval of others i figured why not post it? if it isnt too horrible and yall like it maybe ill continue it!!!! 

philkas au in which the past comes back to haunt philip and lukas a year and a half after theyve been freed of it

this is hella angsty so be warned. 

The first time it happens is a year and a half after Helen kills Ryan Kane on the banks of the river. There has just been another murder in Tivoli; completely unrelated to the incident. Still, it manages to wake something up inside of both boys, something deep and dark that managed to hold on after all this time.

The first time it happens, Philip wakes up to Lukas launching from the bed, hands coming up to press against his red cheeks, chest heaving.

He looks down at his own hands and finds them slick with blood, skin beneath his nails from where he clawed at Lukas’ face.

He drops his hands to his sides, mouth dropping, unable to do anything other than stare blankly at Lukas.

“Lukas-I’m so-I’m so sorry-“ He chokes, images of Ryan Kane flickering behind his eyes, half of his mind still stuck in a nightmare.

Lukas takes a moment to catch his breath, leaning back against the wall, his hands falling away.

Philip climbs out of bed, moving to the bathroom and grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the sink. He brings it back to the bedroom and finds Lukas sitting on the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside him, setting the kit down, flipping it open and turning to look at Lukas.

He inspects his face, the lines carved by Philip’s own nails, the sight making his stomach roll. He averts his gaze, taking a breath, pulling the alcohol from the first aid kit, grabbing a square of gauze.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so-“ Philip stammers. Lukas reaches out, hand closing around Philip’s shaking wrist, stilling him.

“Are the nightmares back?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

Lukas looks away, the dim light from their lamp illuminating the marks of his cheeks. Philip clenches his teeth and dumps some of the alcohol on the gauze before lifting it to Lukas’ face and dabbing at the blood.

Lukas winces, but doesn’t pull away as Philip cleans his cheeks.

When he’s finished, the two climb back into bed, laying farther apart than usual, silent in the darkness. They don’t talk about what happened, but the incident sits between them, like a wall up in the middle of the bed.

Philip doesn’t fall back asleep. Every time he dozes off, he’s brought back by the memory of Lukas’, blood running down his cheeks.

The reminder that he’s the one who hurt him keeps him awake.

-

Two nights later it happens again, but this time it’s Lukas’ hands wrapped around Philip’s throat, and he can’t do anything other than try to shove Lukas off. Lukas wakes up to Philip turning purple before him, his own hands taking Philip’s breath away, pinning him beneath him on the mattress.

When he realizes what he’s doing, when he’s lucid enough to stop, he lets go and pushes off the bed, falling back onto the floor. Philip sits on the bed above him, leaning over the edge and coughing and retching into the trash can.

Lukas doesn’t apologize; he doesn’t know how. He almost killed Philip, and both of them know it. What is there to say? What is there to say when Philip was the one in the same position just two nights before?

Both of them know that something has changed; maybe everything has changed. Something is wrong, something is different. The world they thought they’d left behind when they moved out of Tivoli has followed them, waiting all this time to rear its ugly head.

Philip goes into their small kitchen for a long time, and comes back carrying a water bottle and pills in his hands. Sleeping pills for Lukas, Motrin for himself.

In the chaos of it all, Lukas reopened some of the scabs on his cheeks. But Philip doesn’t offer to clean or bandage them; neither admits it, but they’re scared to touch the other and scared to be touched by the other.

The two climb back into bed, once again farther apart than they’ve slept in ages. It’s as if they’re teens again, nervous and unsure around each other.

Neither makes a move to close the distance. Neither knows how.

-

It happens 3 more times that week, sometimes Philip, sometimes Lukas. The next week it happens 5.

Lukas tries to sleep on the couch, but finds that with no Philip there to hold him, the nightmares only ravage him worse.

It is on one of those nights he attempts to sleep alone that he wakes up soaked in sweat and tears that he grabs his blanket and makes his way into their bedroom, where he finds Philip sitting in the middle of the floor in a sea of blankets, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them, nails digging into his arms. The soft light of dawn spills in through the window, making Philip glow.

Lukas stands in the doorway, feeling shyer than he ever has, and waits for Philip to notice him before he speaks.

“Do you mind if I sleep in here tonight?” Lukas asks, as if the two don’t already live together, as if they haven’t slept in the same bed since they got this apartment.

It’s different now, though. The night has turned into a violent game of ‘who’ll wake up bloody and broken’ 

Sleeping next to each other isn't even comfort anymore; it is a necessity. They lay with their limbs tangled together, but only so that they can hold the other down when the nightmares start.

Lukas can't tell if being with Philip is worse than not being with him. But every night he crawls into bed with him anyways, the bags under both of their eyes darker than the day before.

When the two head back to Tivoli for the weekend, they spend it up at Helen and Gabe’s house. Rose comes over to visit, and she and Lukas sit on the porch, watching as Philip rolls around in the grass with the dog Gabe is fostering. Every few moments, a smile comes over his face. It carries a hint of the old Philip, the Philip before the nightmares came back.

Parts of both of them are still back in that cabin, and Lukas doesn't know if they’ll ever get them back. It scares him to look over and see the eyes he fell in love with, but not the soul behind them.

Not to say Philip isn't still there, because he is, and he emerges while they watch movies or sing in the car. He can see him the comments he makes or the way he brushes his hair back. 

But sometimes he is empty.

And emptiness is something Lukas is all too familiar with these days; he sees it every time he looks in the mirror.

It's not his fault, and it isn’t Philip’s.

Lukas is different, too. He no longer gets animated when he wins a race, and he no longer jokes with the same emotion he used to.

And when Philip folds him into his arms at night, it doesn't feel like what it used too; it's like they are simply going through the motions. He loves him, that hasn't changed, but them seems more painful now than before.

He knows Philip feels it too. Now, as he holds his hands, Philip tries not to look at the healing marks on Lukas’ cheeks, or the bruises on his arms, and Lukas doesn't look at Philip’s split lip or bandaged hands.

They do not blame each other. They blame Ryan Kane and the world he brought down on top of them, the world that hasn’t yet let go of them.

Ryan Kane, who has been dead for nearly 2 years, still manages to hold the leash over their lives.

“Have you tried some kind of sleeping medication?” Rose asks.

“Yeah. Every kind.”

Rose pauses.

“Maybe you should go see someone. Both of you. If all this stuff is coming back…”

“I thought we were done. Thought we’d left all this shit behind.” Lukas says. Rose sighs, and places a hand on his.

“It’s gonna get better, Lukas.” Rose says.

Lukas doesn’t reply. He’s tired, and he’s sore from last night’s battle, and he doesn’t have the energy to pretend to believe her.

-

Philip finally says something a month after it starts. Lukas is dabbing scab scream on the almost-healed marks on his face, the ones left behind from that first night, and Philip sits on the closed toilet seat, eyes on the tile.

"I can't even look at you anymore." Philip says, lifting his head to meet Lukas’ eyes. Lukas’ hands still on his cheeks, and they drop to settle on the sink’s edge.

“Don’t.” Lukas says, obviously already knowing where this is going.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Damnit.” Lukas curses, reaching out and shoving the bottle of scar cream off the counter. It smacks the tiled bathroom floor, and Lukas turns around, face contorting.

“This isn’t fair. Kane is dead, but it’s like he’s right here, still screwing with us. It isn’t fair.” He says. Philip stands up, lips pressed together, looking at Lukas through feathered lashes.

“I think we need some time, Lukas.”

“Philip-“

“All we’re doing is hurting each other.”

“I love you.” Lukas says, as if this makes up for it, as if it makes the hell they put each other through okay.

But it doesn’t. Love isn’t always enough; it hasn’t managed to make things better, not for them.

“We don’t have to do this, Philip.” Lukas pleads, though he knows they do. Philip walks over to him, and reaches a hand up, thumb pressing against the white cream on his cheeks. He pulls his hand away, looking down at it.

“I don’t know if we can be fixed.” He says.

Lukas drops his eyes, and tips his head forward, pressing his forehead against Philip’s. He lets out a shaky breath, and reaches for Philip’s hand, twining their fingers together. He squeezes once, trying to memorize the feel of Philip’s hand in his and the feel of his breath on Lukas’ lips.

Then Philip steps away and grabs his wallet from the nightstand.

Lukas doesn’t have to ask to know where he’s going. Tivoli.

Lukas doesn’t stop him as he leaves. Instead, he stands in the doorway and watches him go.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever come back. And though he hates it, part of him hopes he doesn’t.