#they were somewhat supposed to be mirrors of the beta kids but i think that part got lost..... oh well

[ultimatelyunassuming]

BEHOLD THE CONSORT SIBLINGS

[awesomerextyphoon]

Speculum Cupido

Summary: You’ve been Dr. Strange’s apprentice for some time now and you wanted to prove your best friend wrong. It goes awry and both of you find yourselves in a ‘dark mirror’ universe where the Captain, the Asset, the Kraken, and the Fallen Angel want to make both of you theirs.

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Female Reader x Dark!Ransom, minor Dark!Bucky x OFC x Dark!Sam

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Warning: Dub/Non-Con Smut, Oral (m & f receiving), Daddy Kink, MMF Threesome, Double Penetration, Spit Roasting, Non-Con Drugging, Breeding Kink, and Artistic License w/Biology

A/N: This is my gift to @labella420​ for @drabblewithfrannybarnes​, @chrissquares​ , and @amythedvdhoarder​’s Happy Hoelentine’s Day Challenge.  Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​. Shout out to @saiyanprincessswanie​ for letting me borrow an idea of hers for this fic. Thanks to @the-soulofdevil​ for the beta.

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Another Valentine’s Day, another day for the world to mock me being single.

You were having enough of a ‘meh’ week as it is. Dr. Strange had to return to Kamar-Taj for an in-person meeting and Wong was who knows where. They had instructed you to work on your portal and transfiguration spells while they were away which was fair since you’ve been lacking in that department.

It’s just that you longed for some excitement.

Luckily you wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s completely alone; Isabeau, your best friend, was coming over due to as she put it, ‘no one cares about a day where all one gets is somewhat good sex’.

Fast Forward two hours and you’re getting your room ready for Galentine’s Day Movie Night. You had decked out your room with homemade baked goods, drinks, best friend movies, all the good shit.

“I have wonderful news!” Isabeau burst in with gusto yet again.

You shot her a bemused smile, “What is it this time?”

“I have a new crush! It’s Eric from IT!”

“Are you sure this won’t end up like last time?” you queried in reference to the time when Isabeau’s crush turned out to be a complete asshole.

“Oh hush! This won’t be like that at all,” Isabeau retorted, “Now how about you? Have you had any luck with a hot sorcerer?”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you muttered as Isabeau started on the Toffee Crunch Cookies you made.

A few minutes later, Isabeau’s eyes narrowed and her full lips curved upward in a mischievous smirk.

She had one of her ideas again.

“Hey, why don’t you try an ambiance spell. They’re harmless and you always feel better afterward.”

You didn’t like casting them due to something always going awry, but you relented once Isabeau broke out her puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give,” you submitted, “I’ll try a simple floating star spell. Let me find the book.”

 Both of you went to the library for the book but it was nowhere to be found. All of the ambiance and illusion books were blank.

“Is this a sorcerer thing? I’m not seeing any words or illustrations,” puzzled Isabeau as you went through book after book in the library only to find them blank.

“No. Maybe we should just go back to my room,” you suggested as you made your way to the exit.

“Wait! There’s one book left. You could try that one.” Isabeau pointed to the last book on the shelf. It was a little worn like many of the books that resided in the library, but the inscriptions seemed odd; like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet it was the only book that had anything in it.

“Fine,” you relented as you took the book back to your room.

  The spells in the book weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but one spell seemed to stand out to both of you.

“Speculum Mundus?” Isabeau wondered.

“It means Mirror World in Latin.”

“Oh,” her eyes got a mischievous glint to them again, “I bet you can’t cast the spell.”

“Not this again.”

“Oh come on,” Isabeau goaded, “It’s a simple mirror world spell. You’ve done it before. What’s the worse that can happen?”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you gonna chicken out again?”

“No! Just give me a minute,” you mumbled as your hands got into the starting position and recited the incantation.

  The room changed instantly.

It was filled with prism-like structures and kaleidoscope imagery giving the space a surreal ambiance.

It wasn’t unlike the last time you went into the Quantum Realm with Dr. Strange and Wong, and yet the hair on the back of your neck stood straight, and a chill shot through your spine.

You heard a gasp and turned around to see Isabeau with her protruding eyes opened wide and her mouth gaping. Following her line of sight, you saw four of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

Though something was amiss.

For one thing, there were two Steve Rogers; one with a beard and one clean-shaven. Bucky Barnes’ arm was silver and not dark gray with gold highlights. All of them were in black uniforms with sections of vermillion and/or maroon. Clean-shaven Steve had a black tactical suit with a vermillion Kraken on his chest. Bearded Steve had a skull with tentacles on it. Sam had three vermillion stripes and one maroon stripe across his chest and shoulders with a falcon’s head in red surrounded by a black circle between his pecs.

But the thing that set off all your alarms was the fact that Bucky’s outfit was a dead ringer of his Winter Soldier days.

Instinctively, you grabbed Isabeau’s hand and made a mad dash for the hallway. You needed to get some distance so you could ground yourself.

You tried breaking the spell but to no avail. Not only did the spell not break, but your hands also burned at each attempt.

“We won’t lose you again!” one of the Steves yelled as you and Isabeau turned a corner.

“Come here, mici prințese!” another voice, probably Bucky’s shouted as the two of you made your way into a closet.

“I think we’re okay for now,” you breathed telepathically as the four Adonises crept past your hiding place.

“What’s the plan now?” Isabeau asked fearfully as her heartbeat started to rise in terror.

“I don’t know but-” you were cut off by a strike to the back of your head and your vision rapidly fading to black.

  Muffled voices and the beeping of medical equipment brought you from the void.

“Nothing is wrong….they’re…good, sir.”

“Be sure that they are. We can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Groggily, you open your eyes to find yourself in a sleek hospital room lightly chained to a bed. Several other people were monitoring your vitals. One of them is Dr. Bruce Banner, or what seems to be Dr. Banner.

Bruce turned to see you looking around with a slightly confused expression, “Ah, you’re awake,” he turned to one of his aides, “Contact the Captain and Lieutenant. Tell them to come to get their bride.”

You blinked. Bride?

“Where is Isabeau, my friend?” you inquired as one of the aides brought you some water.

Bruce scowled, “Don’t think about her. You might be able to see her if the Captain and/or Lieutenant wills it.” he remarked while eyeing you up and down in a condescending almost lecherous manner, “Hmm, looks great for breeding,” Bruce noted as he fondled and prodded your curves.

You’ve always been proud of how you looked, but at that moment you wanted to shrink in the corner after giving this Bruce a roundhouse kick to the groin.

You were about to tell Dark!Bruce to fuck off when Tony Stark, fuck it, Dark!Tony entered the room. This Tony looked a lot more sinister with his silver, gray, light, and steel navy blue armor. His face and hair were mostly uncovered with his facial expression positively predatory.

“Cap’s one lucky bastard. He gets a sexy bunny along with Lieutenant Smart Ass.”

Recalling how some megalomaniacs liked shows of submissiveness, you lowered your head and asked where you were.

Whether it be out of pity, spite, or malice, Tony answered your question, “You’re in another earth, another universe.”

You nearly swiveled to look outside the window. NYC’s skyline was radically different. There were fewer buildings and HYDRA insignias everywhere.

“HYDRA took over this world.” You deadpanned. FUUUUCK!

“Sexy and smart.” Tony praised sardonically.

It didn’t take time for HYDRA to regroup after WWII. Zola and his associates were able to convince Howard Stark to give them the Tesseract with the promise of great renown, riches, and no longer being bound by the laws of weaker men. They were able to create a superweapon with the help of Dr. Whitney Frost and have been ruling the planet ever since.

It could be worse. HYDRA knew they had to offer the people comforts in exchange for their obedience. They eradicated all diseases, created a good standard of living, and ended all petty conflicts under the new world order.

Though Tony didn’t feel the need to tell you. You’ll figure it out on your own.

The doors opened to reveal Steve Rogers and his younger, clean-shaven counterpart in all their masculine glory.

“Good, you’re here.” Bruce welcomed smirking at your silent pleas.

Both soldiers walked over and inspected you.

“Hello, kitten. Name’s Ransom.” The clean-shaven soldier drawled as he moaned from your scent, “Nice set of lips you’ve got there.”

“We’ll definitely have some fun with her,” Steve noted as licked his lips ogling your curves.

You had to use all of your restraint not to spit in their faces.

“We’ll take her.” Ransom decided while Steve nodded.

Several of the aides breathed a sigh of relief as Steve broke the chains on your bed like they were nothing.

“Don’t have too much fun now!” Tony called as Steve picked you up bridal style.

“Who am I kidding? they’ll breed her like a Catholic rabbit!”

  “Um, where are you taking me?” you queried, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will address us as ‘Sir’ in public unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood?” It took all that Steve had not to push against the wall and pound your pussy with his cock he was so enraged.

No, he needed to wait. No one was to see what’s theirs.

Ransom, for his part, chuckled and shook his head, “Best not to anger this one, kitten. He hasn’t been in the best of moods.”

  You gasped once the doors to their living quarters opened.

The place was huge!

It had a modern yet retro design; it should’ve been confusing, but it worked. Grand windows showcased the skyline with a balcony in the middle with a huge kitchen next to what looked to be a restaurant-style fridge and a huge living room with a TV and a fireplace.

Yet there seemed to be something missing.

“Place needs a woman’s touch,” Ransom commented sending a smirk your way.

“I’ll see you in the guest quarters Ransom” Steve deadpanned as he led you down a hall.

  The bedroom was enormous yet sparse like they didn’t know what to do with it.

You were about to say something when Steve dropped you onto the incredibly soft mattress. His eyes darkened with lust and you knew what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a way out of this, not with the magic inhibitors Bruce placed on your wrists.

Maybe you could give escape one last try; you just had to wait for the right opening.

Steve smirked upon seeing you removing your clothes. He liked that you knew your place, his pretty little princess.

You could only gasp when Steve removed his uniform top. He had an incredibly defined musculature: broad shoulders, beefy biceps, chiseled pecs and abs, and a seriously drool-worthy Adonis Belt. The light shining behind him made his body appear even more glorious.

Steve looked like an ancient god brought to modern times.

With a predatory smirk, Steve slowly crawled to you loving the smell of your arousal. “Let me lay out a few rules, sweetheart. You will make our meals, clean our rooms, bear our children, and be our good little whore. You must earn the right to wear a bra; panties are out of the question.”

Each rule was emphasized by a kiss or a love bite to your jaw, neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

Finally, you are to address us as Sir in public and Daddy in private. Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you muttered with your eyes downcast.

Steve lifted your chin up with his forefinger, “That’s a good girl,” and brought you in for a kiss on the lips.

The kiss was demanding yet soft. You were surprised he was capable of such gentleness.

Steve was about to push his tongue into his mouth when Ransom strolled into the room.

“Does she know the drill?”

Steve broke the kiss with a smirk,” Just finished explaining it.”

Ransom shot you a sardonic smirk, “You got the rules, kitten? Good. Now if you misbehave, I’m gonna send you to the dungeons for a few days.”

Steve started up again, “But...if you’re good-”

“A good little wifey,” Ransom interjected caressing your right cheek and leaning in for a kiss.

This kiss started off soft then intensified (really know how to lure a girl) into one filled with passion and dominance. Ransom forced his tongue into and moaned at your taste. A few seconds later he was pushing what felt like a small tablet past your tongue forcing you to swallow.

“Did you do it yet?”

“Cool it, grandpa! I did, don’t you worry. She’s gonna feel it. Aren’t ya, kitten.”

You started to feel strange. Your body temperature skyrocketed, your mind was in a deep haze, your thighs were clenching on overtime you were so turned on. You needed relief and fast.

“Please Daddies!” you begged as you tried your best not to touch yourself.

“See grandpa? She’s ready.” Ransom purred as he grabbed your thighs and placed them over his shoulders. He planted a few kisses near your entrance and groaned at the smell of your arousal.

It only took one long, slow lick to your slit to turn you into a moaning mess. You couldn’t believe the pleasure you were feeling. It was like a bolt of lightning shot through you.

Ransom groaned at the taste of your juices. Not even Stark’s overpriced chefs could compare. “Fuck, she tastes divine,” he groaned and dove in for more. Ransom attacked your folds and swollen clit with insane intensity and precision alternating between his tongue and fingers.

You were on cloud nine. Each motion took you further to the precipice of an orgasm. Ransom kept bringing you back from the edge only thrust you back into his level of tumultuous.

Steve got in on the action by covering your moans with a kiss of all-consuming passion and started playing with your breasts.

“Fuck, these tits are amazing! Can’t wait until these are filled with milk” Steve purred as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and the other between his big and forefingers.

After twenty minutes of teasing, Ransom finally let you come. A volcanic eruption of ecstasy erupted from your core and Ransom lapped up all of your juices.

“Rogers, you’re in for a treat!” Ransom exclaimed as he hopped off the edge of the mattress.

“I get her pussy first since you got to eat her out,” Steve uttered as grinned at your blissed-out state.

With a tsk, both of them got you into position with Steve’s thick, muscular thighs on either side of your hips and Ransom standing in front of you taking off his pants.

He was huge! His cock was long, thick, and veiny. It wobbled against his masterfully sculpted abs with each step he took. You wondered how that was going to fit in your mouth. Turns out Steve’s was no smaller if his tip being coated with your slick is any indication.

“This won’t hurt, kitten. You were made for us.” Ransom cooed.

You didn’t know how right he was.

Steve made his move by pushing into you inch by delicious inch and moaned at the sensation. “Fuck, she fits like a dream.”

“Don’t take forever, grandpa.” Ransom chided.

“Shut up, ya punk!” Steve retorted as he began thrusting into you loving the way your pussy clenched around him like a vice’s grip.

“Open wide, kitten,” Ransom started to push his throbbing cock into your mouth.

It took a bit of time and effort to loosen your jaw enough for him to fully enter you. He started fucking your mouth before you were ready. You tried not to gag he was so rough.

What happened to the man from earlier?

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Ransom breathed as he was approaching his climax.

Steve came with a primal roar that reverberated throughout the room after making you come two more times.

“Swallow it, kitten” Ransom ordered.

Funny thing is, you didn’t need the order. You delighted in the salty, tangy, and slightly sweet flavor.

Two minutes after you swallowed all of Ransom’s spent, both men decided it was time to move. Ransom got onto the mattress and pulled you on top of him with his tip nudging your entrance. Steve got behind you and placed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulders while positioning himself at your ass.

“Please...please don’t do this!” you pleaded, the pill’s effect slipping for the tiniest of moments.

Steve grabbed your neck with just enough force to pause, not hurt.” Best be a good girl now, sweetheart,” he warned.

Ransom slid in first, “Holy fucking shit!” he moaned, “Sam owes me $40.

“That depends on how well their bride is taking to them,” Steve pointed out.

“Eh, we’ll say ours is better.”

Ransom moaned again once he bottomed out and grabbed the globes of your blessed backside. He couldn’t wait to grab and smack it around in their quarters.

Steve moved slowly causing both of your breathing to hitch, his from pleasure and yours from slight pain.

With a grin and smirk, they started moving in tandem. Your body almost couldn’t take the immense pleasure you were feeling.

“I could get used to this,” Ransom remarked.

“Well, we have the week,” Steve breathed past your ear.

Both kept at it until they came in you twice. You nearly passed out after your twelfth orgasm.

“Rest kitten,” Ransom purred as you finally gave in to your exhaustion.

  “The bride took to our seed,” Steve reported to Director Pierce.

“Good. We found their parents along with the rest of the resistance.” Pierce imparted.

Steve scowled at the information.

You and your friend, Isabeau, were the only ones to survive the Eve Project. HYDRA wanted to genetically groom compatible brides for their top soldiers. You were promised to Steve and Ransom and your friend to Bucky and Sam. Both of you were whisked away to another Earth by the resistance and your treacherous parents.

Now you were back where you belong.

“When do we leave?” Ransom growled.

“Once Strange and Wanda crack the protection spell. In the meantime, enjoy your bride.” Pierce turned to leave, but stopped before turning off the screen,” I want to see some little ones soon.”

[suwya]

Proteus’ curse.

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Summary:  Emma woke up like any other morning in her bed ... to find out that the day would not be like any other. 

This story takes place during the weeks between S4A and S4B.

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Rating: G

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Warning: gender swap

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AO3

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A/N: Apparently it's exactly eleven years of Tumblr for me. Hence a one-shot.

This is meant to be a lighthearted and funny story, or so I hope. 

All my gratitude goes to my amazing beta-reader @thisonesatellite.

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Emma woke up like every other morning in her bed, in the upper part of her parents’ loft. Henry was staying at Regina’s for a few days, so she knew she was alone in her room, that’s why she was surprised to see Hook’s hand first thing, after slightly opening her eyes. 

She tried to remember the previous evening, and she knew that they had spent more time than necessary downstairs before separating, but she was sure he had left before she went to bed. 

Had he come back, snuck into her room during the night? Well, that was a first. 

But she wouldn’t complain if he had decided to sleep behind her, with an arm enveloping her waist. 

She closed her eyes again, deciding to enjoy this little quiet moment. 

But it was strange, she couldn’t feel his body heat. 

She opened one eye again. His hand was still there, and it was definitely his hand that entered her peripheral view. With his characteristic rings, and some hair on the arm that peeked out the pajama sleeve, the same color as hers. 

Wait… not only the same color, exactly the same pajamas! 

That was even stranger. Bright pink was not something he used to wear. 

She lifted her right hand to touch his, but at the same time, he lifted his.

Emma was finally completely awake. Sitting on the bed, her back leaned against the headboard. 

She looked around, but she was alone.

She stared at her hands. 

No. Definitely not her hands. 

Those were Hook’s hands, or better, hand. Just one. The left sleeve of her pajamas ended in nothing. 

No! No! No! Emma started chanting it inside her head. This isn’t possible! 

Emma stood up and hurried towards a mirror hung on the wall on the right side of the bed. 

She gasped as soon she saw her reflection, hand and blunt wrist lifted, trying to cover her face... or better, his face!

In the mirror, there was no trace of Emma Swan, just the image of Hook wearing her pink pajamas with little bunnies on them. 

Ok, to be honest, the image was ridiculous, but she didn’t find the strength to laugh. “No! No! No!” She started to repeat, this time aloud. 

Emma went running downstairs, but she immediately realized she was home alone. She had no idea what to do, it seemed like a bad nightmare or an awful b-movie where the main characters made a wish to be in the other’s shoes. But she was completely sure she hadn’t made such a wish. Had he? 

She was pondering whether to call and ask Hook about this when the main door opened and David entered with a strange look in his eyes.

Father and daughter stared at each other for a few seconds. Emma didn’t know if she was blushing or she was going mad, but she couldn't imagine what kind of thoughts might be going through her father's head. 

What he finally said was the last thing she was expecting. “Emma?”

He didn’t ask it as if he was wondering where his daughter was, he asked it as if he wanted to be sure that the person in front of him was really Emma.

“Dad?” Was her reply. But it came out as a question. Because if she was in Hook’s body, who was talking to her? She had been living in Storybrooke for quite some time now to know that everything was possible. 

“No. Not your dad, honey. I’m your mother.” He… she… whatever… answered. 

Emma sat down on the first chair she found and sighed. “What the hell happened last night?”

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~·~·~·~

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Killian woke up to the sound of an incoming message text on his phone. He turned around in the bed and before reaching for the device, he passed a hand over his face, trying to shoo away the nightly cobwebs.

What the hell? He thought, feeling only smooth skin, no trace of his stubble. He looked down at his hand, or better say, hands. Because he now had two of them. Delicate, neat, and very, very feminine.

He jumped out of the bed and went to the bathroom, noticing that he had to tie the belt of his trousers, now wide on his hips. When he looked up in the mirror, he cursed "Bloody hell!"

How is this even possible? He thought, reverently touching the blonde tendrils that covered his shoulder. In the mirror, there was one sleepy and somewhat unkempt Emma.

"Emma!" He exclaimed. Worries starting to fill his mind.

Killian went back, pacing his room at Granny's, deciding what to do, when he suddenly remembered the text message and grabbed his phone to read it.

"We need to talk." Was the short line from his love. Nothing more. 

He didn't know if she was in the same dire straits he was. But if he was inside her body, she probably wouldn’t be in better shape.

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts.

When he opened, the vision in front of him left him speechless.

"It's me. Emma." She felt the need to specify. "May I enter?" But she didn't wait for his reply and stepped in, closing the door behind her.

Killian was still looking at her, or rather, at himself, mouth agape. 

Emma put her one hand on her waist and arched one eyebrow, waiting for any kind of reaction from him.

After what seemed an eternity Killian was only capable of asking "What the hell are you wearing?"

Emma opened some buttons of her shirt, revealing the pink pajamas with bunnies under it. "Do you think walking here in my pajamas would have been better?" 

Killian shook his head.

"And thank God I always wear pajamas two sizes too big, because otherwise, I have no idea in which state of undress I would have woken up this morning!"

"I'm glad you just put some clothes over it." Was his reply. "I suppose those are your father's, aren't they?" He stated, indicating the large plaid shirt and the jeans she was wearing.

She nodded. "And, by the way, I brought you some clothes of mine, so you can change". She left a bag at the end of the bed.

Killian was wearing the same outfit he had worn the previous day. When he had come home at night, he had collapsed on the bed without taking anything off, apart from his black leather jacket and boots. “I do not intend to change.”

“Why not? You can't go out like this.” Emma pointed to the belt he was wearing, cinched tightly, and the way his clothes fell oversized on her thin body. 

He shrugged. "I'm not going to undress until we are back to our own bodies."

Emma arched one eyebrow again. She was getting used to doing this gesture she had so often seen on his face. "Are you telling me that you're not going to have a shower until we solve this problem?"

"Are you?" Was his reply with a shocked expression on his, well, her face.

"I haven't thought about it, but I suppose I'll do it, sooner or later. Or do you prefer me to carry your smelling body around the town?"

"Emma, love" he started, struggling to find the best way of expressing what he wanted to say. "We're making progress in our relationship. That's a fact. But we haven't taken the next step, yet." He stressed the last “t” and made a pause letting his words soak in her. "Are you sure you want me to look at your fully naked body for the first time while you're not in possession of it?" 

Emma could feel how the upper point of her, ahem… his ears became hotter. "Oh!" She was only able to say.

"Exactly my point. Oh! So no. I do not intend to bathe while I'm not back to be myself. My entire self!" 

And then he scrunched her face in disgust.

"What is it?" She asked, touching her, his cheeks, "Do I have something on your face?"

He shook his head. "No worries. I just realized I don't like the way I blush."

“All right.” She sighed. “Let's get to business. David and Mary Margaret are waiting for us at the station.” After a short pause, she added, “And before you ask, yes, they have swapped their bodies as well.”

“This is going to be weird.” It was his time to sigh.

“Weird is the understatement of the year!” Emma exclaimed. “David ...no wait, Mary Margaret told me that not everyone in this town has been affected by this… thing. She has already met Leroy and Granny this morning and they seem to be their usual selves.”

“So why us?” Killian asked.

“My mother has a theory, she texted me a few minutes ago that she would like to talk with us in person about it, both of us.”

“All right, love, lead the way.” He gestured toward the room door.

But before leaving, Emma asked Killian to help her put on his hook because doing everyday actions one-handed was nothing easy. He had his doubts, worried that she would hurt herself or someone else unintentionally, but in the end, he gave in. "Be careful, it's sharp."

And he had to lace her hair in a ponytail with a rubber band she had given to him, because "If you don't want to wash, at least comb my hair, I don't want to become a Rastafarian". He had no idea what that was, but Emma's already categorical orders sounded even more threatening coming out of his lips.

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~·~·~·~  

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When Emma and Killian entered the station, David, in the body of Mary Margaret, was already there waiting for them. He was wearing a soft pink sweater, very typical of his wife, and he was scratching his neck. "I don't know how Snow can live inside this!" 

Killian suppressed a laugh "Was it indispensable for you to put on her clothes?"

"My wife thought that we should attract the least attention possible, given that this curse, or whatever it is, hasn't affected all the people of Storybrooke."

"Where's mom?" Emma asked.

"She said something about a matter at school, but she'll be here soon."

"I can use this time to relieve myself," Emma said.

"No!" Killian and David shouted simultaneously.

"Are you kidding me?" She was stunned.

They both shook their heads. "You'll have to wait." 

"Come on girls, I'm going to explode!" As soon as the words came out of Emma's mouth, she realized her mistake, which was received by a scowl from the men. "Guys." She corrected herself. "Sorry, out of habit. But I really, really need to."

"Fine!" Killian exhaled. "I'll help."

"What do you mean, help?" David was annoyed.

"It's my bloody body." The other man cut short.

A couple of minutes after, Killian was standing next to Emma in the small toilet of the station. 

She had a scarf tied around her eyes so that she couldn't see anything. "Is this really necessary?" She asked arms stretched before her to not hit anything.

"Aye, love, it is."

Killian positioned her in the right spot and she felt how the zipper of the jeans opened up. 

She couldn't see, but her other senses were quite alive. When Killian took out her, or better said, his member, she jolted. "Whoa!" 

"Everything alright?" Killian worried.

"Yeah, sorry, it's just... Is this what you feel when someone is touching you?" She inquired.

He seemed to ponder over it. "I'm not sure what you're feeling right now, but I suppose yes."

When Emma finished and was fully dressed again, Killian took the scarf from her eyes. 

"Don't you have to...?" She asked, pointing towards the toilet seat.

He shook his head. "When you live on the ocean for so many years, you learn how to hold it. Facilities are not the strongest point of a ship."

"You may know how to repress it, but I know my body and believe me, you won't resist as much as you think." 

He swallowed hard. "Let's go back to our duties."

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~·~·~·~

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When Emma and Killian went back to the main room of the station, Mary Margaret was already there as well. 

She told them that a girl had locked herself into a class room and had no intention of coming out. 

Snow had had to go check it out as sheriff, but as soon as she’d arrived she’d recognized the girl's voice as that of one of her ex-students. 

A classmate had told her that the girl in question had come to school that morning crying and saying that she had done something horrible.

Mary Margaret knew the girl’s background, she came from a good family, and her parents were True Love, which made it likely that this girl was showing the first signs of magic.

“It could have been her, unintentionally causing all this trouble.” She explained. “And giving that she is the product of True Love, well, I thought that’s why this sort of curse doesn’t affect all the people.”

“I don’t follow you.” Was Emma’s statement.

“I mean that, maybe, it affects only True Love couples.” Mary Margaret stated.

At that, there were various looks exchanged between the four of them. But it wasn’t the time or place to discuss it. 

Snow went on. “David, she won’t talk to me, because she doesn't recognize me. But I’m sure that if you could go to school and try to make her reason, we could probably find out what she did.”

“Me?” He asked bewildered.

“Yes, you. Because to the rest of the world, you are me!” And she crossed her arms indicating that the matter was closed.

David muttered something like “What would I say to her?” and “Why is it always up to me?” But in the end, he surrendered to his wife’s desire. With the condition that Killian would go with him, in his role of Sheriff Swan. 

In the meantime Emma and Mary Margaret would go to talk to Regina, to find out if there was a possible magical cure to this curse, or whatever it was.

.

~·~·~·~

.

Regina opened her front door to see a very puzzled David Nolan, who was more interested in finding out if anyone was following him, and an unusual Killian Jones, who was wearing an outfit more typical of the man next to him. The mayor raised one eyebrow in question, looking at the couple in front of her. “Sheriff, Captain, what can I do for you?”

“Ah… we hope you could help us with a delicate issue.” The blond man said. 

She left the door wide open for the others to come inside. “I see that being part of the Charming family is affecting you more than it should, pirate.” She was looking down at Killian.

“We’re not who you think we are.” Was his short reply.

Regina froze. “And exactly who are you?” She knew that glamor spells were never a good thing. 

“Emma”. “Mary Margaret.” They answered in unison.

Regina relaxed a bit. “Well, this is…” She started. 

But she was immediately interrupted by Emma “Weird.”

“Awkward”. Mary Margaret added.

“I was going to say: amusing.” 

“Believe me, Regina, there’s nothing funny about this.” Emma snorted. “And by the way, why aren’t you in Robin’s body?” She asked.

Regina crossed her arms and lifted one eyebrow. “Should I?” 

“Yes. Or at least we thought you…” But Emma didn’t finish the sentence.

“I supposed that this curse, or whatever this is, is affecting only True Love couples. But maybe I’m wrong.” Mary Margaret explained.

The mayor seemed to ponder that possibility. “You could be right.” She conceded. “Assuming that the Savior and the Captain are True Love.” 

Emma didn’t let her go down that path. “But that doesn't explain why you are still…you!”

“Because magic only applies to Storybrooke boundaries, and as we all know, Robin is now out of town.” Regina clarified matter-of-factly. “That’s why his, I mean, her" she added pointing towards Mary Margaret "theory could be correct.”

Emma was not at all liking the turn that dialogue was taking, and went straight to the point. “Can you undo it?” 

“I could. If I knew who made this curse and how. You should know that all magic has its counterspell, but we need to be sure about how it was created.” It sounded more like a reproach than an explanation. “And by the way, have you tried by kissing your guyliner boyfriend?” 

“Regina!” Emma hissed.

“Alright, alright.” The mayor complied. “Let me know if you find out who did this. And I will work on a possible antidote.” 

.

~·~·~·~

.

Meanwhile, the two men had almost reached the school grounds when Killian grabbed David’s arm to stop him. “There is no need to raise suspicions, we should behave like the people we seem to be.” 

“What do you mean?” David wasn’t following his companion’s thoughts.

“Your wife doesn’t walk like that,” Killian stated.

“What?” 

“It’s more like a fashion show than a march to war.” The other explained.

“I don’t know if I’m more upset by the fact that you noticed how my wife walks, or because you know what a fashion show is.” 

“What can I say, I’m a man of many surprises.” Killian winked smugly.

“I’m not going to punch you in the face, just because your current face is my daughter’s.” David started his stroll towards the school, even more at the full march.

“I never thought this situation could have some perks.” Killian chortled. 

.

~·~·~·~

.

As it turned out, Mary Margaret was right. The girl was scared when Killian and David entered the room where she was hiding, but as soon as she recognized her ex-teacher she burst into tears. 

She told them that the day before she had argued with her boyfriend, but her parents didn't seem to care about it, confident that sooner or later the young lovebirds would resolve it. She added that it was very difficult to be the daughter of a perfect married couple; it seemed that everyone expected her life to be the same. 

That was why she had so badly wished that all True Love couples could go through some kind of misunderstanding so that her parents could see her point of view.

But, of course, the next morning, realizing the harm her wish had caused her parents had made her regret it, and now she had no idea how to fix the situation.

David tried to reassure the girl, telling her that they would soon find a cure to fix everything.

.

~·~·~·~

.

And that was exactly what Regina did. Fixed it. In no time she produced the antidote for the Proteus’ curse. That was the name of this curious magic that swapped True Love’s bodies. The mayor gave to all the couples affected some little bottles that they had to drink to reverse the curse.

Killian and Emma were standing in his hotel room at Granny’s. Facing each other. Two vials on the table next to them. 

“So,” she said, “this is it. Back to our original selves.”

“Aye, that’s the idea. Are we sure Regina didn’t put anything strange into these liquids? I wouldn’t like to wake up tomorrow with a dragon face or similar.” 

“I think we can trust her.” But she didn’t move to reach for the bottles. 

He saw her hesitation. “What is it, love?”

“I was thinking about something you said this morning.” 

She was clearly uncomfortable, so he tried to lighten the moment. “You shall have to be more specific, I said many things.”

“I’m glad you chose to not take a shower. Not until we’re back to normal.” 

“No need to thank me.” He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, but it was strange for him to notice his stubble under the fingertips. 

“Yeah, well…” 

She was still hesitant, he could sense it. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me? Or shall we proceed to…” He said, indicating the vials. 

She looked at him hesitantly and he nodded, to let her know that she could tell him anything, whatever it was that was worrying her.

“Uh… given that we haven’t taken that next step already in our relationship… you know… we could try things.” 

This attracted his curiosity. “Define things.”

“I was thinking… what if we take advantage of this situation to get to know each other better. I mean… we could for example take that bath together.”

Killian was starting to understand what she was trying to say, but he wasn’t sure to be on the same track. “Even though I do find myself devilishly handsome, I’d rather be you, all of you, on the other end of my attentions.” 

She laughed, releasing some of the tension. “But we have this opportunity to feel what the other would feel when we touch each other, isn’t it interesting? And I'm glad I'm not the one who has to get on tiptoe to be able to kiss you.” She grinned. “So, what do you say?”

She was being serious, she really wanted to try it. But what did he want? He stared at her for a few beats of their hearts. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“No?” She was surprised.

“No.” He repeated. “As much as it does sound intriguing and tantalizing, I still prefer our first time to be the way it should be. And believe me, Emma, when we decide to take that step, we will know what the other one is feeling, maybe not in the most literal meaning of the word, but we will know it. And it will be perfect. Just as I want it to be.” 

A million thoughts seemed to cross her mind, but in the end, she understood his point of view and smiled at him. “Ok.” She went closer and tilted her head until she could feel his lips on hers... or vice versa. The kiss was short but still intimate. 

“And by the way, I do not like to be the one who has to get on tiptoe to be able to kiss you,” Killian muttered.

She burst out laughing.

[elizabeethan]

The Days We Defend (Will Turn to Gold)- Chapter 9/10

Everything is perfect, until it isn’t. Killian and Emma have spent months building a life together after finally defeating Neal and Gold, but when the Dark One dies and his power becomes untethered, everyone in Storybrooke is at risk, and some decisions may have lasting consequences.

Sequel to Walk With Me (I Think We’ll Find A Way)

Previous Chapters

Read on Ao3

A/N: Surprise, it’s early! One chapter to go after this one!!! Let me know what you think... It’s a doozy.

Thank you to my good pal @the-darkdragonfly for being an amazing beta!

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​  @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​

They wait outside of the vault for what feels like hours. Realistically, it couldn’t be more than thirty seconds before someone speaks up, but the tension is palpable to everyone present, thick enough to slice with the dagger they just entrusted in the hands of Baelfire.

“So, how is this supposed to work?” Emma asks the Apprentice, breaking the silence in what Killian can sense is overwhelming nerves.

“You, as the Savior, are the proprietor of the most powerful Light Magic. As the person who removed your potential for darkness, I am the possessor of the counter to your lightness. Combining our powers will charge the hat enough to absorb the Darkness.” His answer is casual, as if it should be obvious to them all.

She’s pacing nervously, rolling her eyes at his mention of the removal of her potential for darkness. Killian almost wonders what may have happened if she had taken the darkness all those weeks ago based on the removal of such, but shoves those thoughts from his head. “It’s all a bit ridiculous, if you ask me,” she says.

“I’m sure it seems that way, but you must believe in your ability to wield your magic, Savior.”

“He’s right, mom,” Henry adds. “If anyone can get my other mom back, it’s you.”

She shoots her son a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she rings her hands together, holding them close to her just below her ribs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid,” she murmurs.

Killian sighs, realizing once more that the more time that passes, the greater opportunity Bae has to cheat them all. Before he can voice his opinion, though, Robin speaks up. “Should we go in and check now? It’s been a few moments.”

“Yeah,” Emma breathes out. “He’s had more than enough time to subdue her.”

Once they’re inside, Emma pushing the tomb away from the vault’s entrance effortlessly with her magic, they creep down the dark stairs and into the halls of Regina’s safe haven. It’s dank and smells of mildew, and he wonders why she wouldn’t use her Dark Magic to polish the place up a bit.

“Savior,” the Apprentice says, “we’re close enough; we can pause here to charge the hat.”

Emma nods, taking a deep breath and hugging herself around her middle, crossing her arms stiffly in her stress. “Okay,” she says with her voice low.

The Apprentice’s explanation of what she needs to do seems somewhat complicated, but despite her inexperience with her magic, Emma seems to understand perfectly. The two of them stand across from one another with the hat sitting between them and he waves his hands over it until it begins to move. As he works, Emma glances up at Henry and Killian, giving them an encouraging but not quite believable smile.

Before they know it, the cylindrical lockbox housing the hat is jumping in place until the hat itself appears. The Apprentice continues to explain what she should do, and she concentrates harder than he’s ever seen her; the look of determination on her face gives him hope that this will work. Her resolve and conviction makes it impossible for him not to believe in her. The bright look of surprise across her features once the two of them stop using their magic tells him that it must have worked, and the hat glowing in anticipation of its use.

“You did it!” Henry exclaims, rushing to her and wrapping her in a hug which she returns easily. “I knew you could.”

Killian releases a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, stepping towards her and taking her hand once she’s released from Henry’s grasp. She goes to him happily, a triumphant smile across her face as she lets go of his hand in favor of pulling him into a tight hug.

“Job well done, Swan,” he says into her hair. “We never doubted you for a second.”

She pulls from him and giggles softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and then stepping away, a silent agreement made among all of them that they must continue on. Once they’re far enough into the vault, sneaking quietly along the stone floor, they hear the quiet conversation going on between Regina and Bae.

“I saw what he said this morning,” the Dark One says confidently. “I used mirror magic and was able to see exactly what my son thinks of you these days. It shouldn’t be hard to convince him that I’m doing the right thing here.”

“You’re insane,” Bae responds, groaning in pain suddenly.

“No, I’m motivated. There’s a difference. Your little plan didn’t work like I’d hoped, so I suppose I’ll have to go with my backup plan.”

He’s breathing heavily as he says, “and what, you think killing me is the best way to go about getting what you want?”

Killian sees Emma tensing as she picks up her pace, tucking herself behind a corner close to where Regina and Bae have met. She glances back at everyone else nervously as the conversation continues.

“I finally found the spell I need to remove the darkness. I only need one more special ingredient.”

“Wait!” Emma shouts forcefully, as if she didn’t think before revealing herself in a desperate attempt to stop Regina in her tracks. “Regina, whatever you’re doing, just wait.”

“Savior,” she says venomously. “I was wondering when you were going to show yourself.”

It’s clear that she knew that Emma was here all along, but whether she’s aware of the presence of the other five people standing in her vault, he can’t be sure.

Emma steps around the corner fully, making herself seen and holding her hands up placatingly . “We have a plan, Regina. If you want to remove the darkness, we can help you with that.”

“Right. I’m sure the princess of Light Magic is going to help the Dark One. Step away, Miss Swan, and let me finish what I’ve started.”

“How long have you had his heart?” Emma asks, and Killian desperately wishes that he could see the scene playing out behind this wall.

Regina laughs lightly, ominously, and says, “I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. Meanwhile, how quickly did you realize that he had the pirate’s? I suppose that goes to show how she truly feels about you,” she says, and he can only assume she’s speaking to Bae now.

“Please just put it down,” Emma begs. Killian has to assume that she got the dagger away from Bae somehow because she evidently has his heart and can control him, likely coercing him into giving it to her. Otherwise, he’s certain that they would have commanded her to stop as they had planned.

He sees Henry starting to stir, so he holds up a hand and shoots him a glare that says don’t even think about it. The last thing they need is for Henry to put himself in harm's way. The lad leans back against the wall silently.

“Give me the hat and maybe I will,” she negotiates.

“Regina, please just trust us. We want to help you, and we have a plan. A good plan! We can help you get the darkness out without hurting anyone.”

Regina scoffs, her laughter reminding Killian of the person she was back in the Enchanted Forest years ago. “Who, you? You and the old man are going to help me? You think you're more powerful than I am?”

“I never said that!” Emma tries despondently. Then, Killian hears the unmistakable sound of magic being wielded followed by Emma’s desperate shout: “no!”

As he rounds the corner, all semblance of logical thought evacuating his mind quickly, he hears Baelfire cry out in pain and sees him collapse to the floor of the vault. Emma falls to her knees beside him, sobs wracking her as she hysterically shakes his motionless form. When Killian’s eyes finally find Regina, he sees her holding her closed fist above the glowing hat that she must’ve conjured away from Emma, the last remnants of dust sprinkling out of her hold as the hat’s brilliance strengthens. He sees a manic smile splitting the Dark One’s face as he rushes to Emma’s side in a useless attempt to comfort her.

He has no idea where anyone else is. He thinks he hears Robin shout, but it isn’t clear over the sound of Emma’s keening. He runs his hand along her spine when he reaches her and she spins, releasing Bae and throwing herself into Killian’s chest forcefully. Her tears dampen the skin of his neck. Her cries deafen him to the ruckus surrounding them. He almost doesn’t notice Henry boldly rushing towards the Dark One in violent haste.

“What have you done?!” he screams, and both Killian and Emma snap apart and turn towards the lad just in time to watch him thrust the dagger towards Regina’s throat.

“Henry,” the Dark One says against the blade, her eyes bulging as they meet his own. “Put the dagger down.”

Killian recognized the look on the lad’s face just before he leapt for her: it’s the same one he himself wore just before he killed his own father.

“Tell me why you did this,” he demands, his voice wrought with emotion.

Regina, unable to defy the laws of the dagger, answers, “he had no idea how to be a father to you.”

“Now he’ll never have the chance to learn!” he screams, pressing the blade until a trail of crimson paints her flesh.

“You deserve better than him,” she insists assuredly, though her head is held high in avoidance of the weapon.

“I deserve better than you!”

“Let me remove the Darkness. Then this will all be over! We can be together again!” she begs against the scalloped edge.

Killian stands slowly, pulling Emma along behind him, and they move closer to Henry as carefully as they can. “We had a plan to remove it that didn’t involve murder!”

“Henry,” Emma tries timidly. “Kid, please put the dagger down.”

“She killed my dad,” he reasons, not turning his gaze from Regina. “She has to pay.”

“If you do this, the only person who will pay is you.” Emma's voice is eerily calm now, as if something has switched in her and her motherhood instincts have taken over to give her what she needs to talk her son through the crisis he’s battling.

“I can’t let her get away with this!” he shouts. “She killed him right in front of me!”

“Kid,” she says, stepping away from Killian and towards the lad to put a careful hand on his shoulder. “We will make sure that she’s held accountable for this. Let me take the Darkness out of her and we’ll put her where she belongs.”

“She doesn’t deserve to live.”

“This isn’t you, Henry. You’re a good kid, you know right from wrong. You know what happens to you if you go through with this.”

“Lad,” Killian says, surprising himself. “Don’t let your mother see you become the Dark One.”

His shoulders relax. His arm loosens, the dagger falling from Regina’s flesh and dragging a bit of blood along with it. She lets out the breath she was holding in suspense and collapses slightly against the table behind her.

Emma turns towards the Apprentice and flatly says, “please take care of this now,” before Henry turns, drops the dagger to the ground, and throws himself into his mother’s arms.

Regina reaches for the dagger but Killian grabs it first. “Take him outside, love,” he instructs Emma.

Once they’re gone, the Queen sneers at him angrily as the Apprentice prepares for the spell to remove the Darkness and store it in the hat. “I almost had you,” she says, smirking.

He can’t help but to roll his eyes. “You never had me. How long have you had his heart?”

“Oh,” she says casually, “it wasn’t until after the curse broke. Don’t worry, that was all him.”

“So you knew we would try to disarm you with the dagger, then?” David asks.

“Of course. I figured the curse would break eventually, and when it did I had to be ready. Oh, congratulations, by the way.” She turns back towards Killian. “I must admit, you and the Savior breaking the curse was a fun surprise.

He rolls his eyes again, desperate to not engage her in further conversation. “Do you want us to remove the Darkness or not?”

“Yes, and then I’d like to see my son.”

He laughs. “I can assure you that is not happening.”

“Why, because I took care of a problem for him? We all know Neal wasn’t cut out to be a father. I mean, look at what he did. This was all based on his plan.”

“Take a look at what you did,” Killian spits, gesturing towards Bae’s crumpled, lifeless body, trying not to think about the young boy he used to know.

“It would be a miracle if Henry ever speaks to you again. You’ve just murdered his father in front of him,” David adds.

“Tell me, how is that any different from what you did all those years ago, Captain?”

He snaps his head towards her too quickly, fearing Emma’s father learning more about his sordid. “We agreed not to speak of that.”

She chuckles darkly. “You murdered your own father with his son in the next room. How are you any better than me?”

He hardly thinks before taking the dagger and pressing it to her throat, pushing her against the table and overpowering her easily. “Listen,” he commands, fully aware that she has no choice. “I made a mistake; I’ve made many. And since then, I’ve made amends. I feel regret over the things that I’ve done and the harm that I’ve caused. You just murdered your son’s father right in front of him and show no remorse. Don’t begin to compare us because we are nothing alike.”

He releases her once the Apprentice speaks, informing them that he’s ready as long as they are. “You have to want to have the Darkness removed, Dark One.”

“I do,” she insists. “Just do it already.”

He takes the dagger and waves it ceremoniously, reciting a spell that honestly sounds a bit ridiculous before waves of black are drawn from her chest, right where her heart would be if he believed she had one. The scene playing out before him reminds him of the violent onyx whizzing through the air mere weeks ago when she became the Dark One.

The Apprentice is shaking with exhaustion as he continues to chant, holding the dagger in his hands above her heart until all of the black ribbons have flown into the hat. Once the room fades to silence, he falls to the ground, Regina collapsing just after him.

The room is silent for far too long. No one moves. No one speaks. No one knows what to do.

“What now?” Robin asks, his voice flat and his expression blank as he stares at Regina’s still face.

“We’ll have to remove them and… and the body,” Killian chokes out. “Are they alive?”

“Both are. The Apprentice doesn’t look so good, though,” David answers. “Would be a lot easier if we could magic them out of here.”

“I’m not letting Emma come back down here!” Killian snaps, turning to sneer at her father.

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” he starts and though he looks as though he could say more, he stays quiet. “Why don’t you go up and check on them.”

“We've got to get—”

“Go,” he insists. “Robin and I will make sure Regina gets to where she needs to be, and we’ll take the Apprentice to the hospital.”

“What about him?” he gestures towards Bae’s stiff frame.

David sighs. “We’ll figure that out. Right now… your family needs you. Make sure Henry’s out of here. He doesn’t have to see anything else today. ”

His words weigh heavily in the space between them, the air feeling thicker suddenly as he admits his acceptance of Killian’s presence in his daughter and grandson’s lives. “Aye mate,” he breathes in response, taking one last look at the state of the room and turning towards the exit.

When he gets outside, the sun is nearly setting and the humid summer air leaves him feeling hot and sticky in his leather jacket. He finds Emma and Henry a few meters away from the stone structure, Emma sitting on the ground and her son’s head resting in her lap. His stomach twists in knots at the sight of them. The lad has been through enough already without having to be involved in what he’s just witnessed.

When she hears him coming, Emma looks up through tears, her brows pinching together as she appears to hold in more tears. She runs her fingers through Henry’s hair soothingly, but it’s clear that he’s difficult to console. He has every right to be.

Killian sits beside her, as close as he can get, and she somehow presses closer and rests her head against his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her so that he can run his hand along her arm. “Robin and your father are working on… cleaning up.”

“It’s done?” she asks through silent tears.

“Aye,” he just about whispers. “It appears to have worked.”

“Where is she?” he hears Henry mumble from his mother’s lap.

“Passed out, lad. To be transported to the hospital.” He nods in response, otherwise staying still. “We should go now. Pick up the baby and head home.”

Emma sighs, her breath stuttering, then says, “you’re right. Let’s get you home, kid.”

Henry’s silent and stoic as he stands from his mother’s hold and brushes off his thighs. He’s turning towards the car before Killian and Emma can even stand.

~~~~

Corrine, as emotionally intelligent as she is, keeps asking everyone what’s wrong. Emma tries making grilled cheese for dinner, hoping her favorite comfort food will entice Henry, but he stays on the couch and doesn’t say a word. She hardly touches her own, neither does Killian, and Corrine wonders aloud why everyone is so sad.

“We’re okay, baby,” Emma tells her softly, running her curled finger down her cheek and giving her a soft smile. “Don’t you worry.”

“Momma, Henny’s okay?” she asks through a mouth full of grilled cheese.

“He…” she starts, glancing over to Killian briefly. They’ve talked in the past about how they don’t wish to lie to her despite her young age, but this is too much for her to understand. “He’ll be okay, Coco. He just needs some time.”

She nods as if Emma’s words make complete sense to her and takes a giant swig of the chocolate milk she shouldn’t be drinking.

“What did you do with Mimi and Ollie today, love?” Killian asks her, trying to maintain an air of positivity for her.

“I play,” she answers. “I dance.”

“Did Ollie enjoy dancing with you?”

“No.”

Emma snorts softly, a genuine smile gracing her features in response to their humorous child. “No? He doesn’t like One Direction?”

She begins to pout, shooting him eyes filled with such pathetic sadness that it pulls at his heartstrings. “No, Baby Shark.”

“Ugh,” Emma says. “No Baby Shark in this house. We’ll stick to one direction, right Coco?”

“Mom,” they hear from the entrance of the kitchen, and each of them turn towards the source of the voice.

“Hey kid, hungry?”

“No thanks,” he says softly, his voice somber but slightly less angry than before. “I was hoping you could take me to… to my mom’s house. I have some stuff there that I want to move over here.”

She pauses and then turns to face him entirely. “Of course, Henry. Whenever you're ready.”

Killian and Corrine spend the evening together while Emma takes Henry to Regina’s. They were apart for nearly a month, aside from the few hours he could see her per day, so he’s happy to have the opportunity to reconnect with her. Her favorite activity to promote such reconnection is dancing.

Her favorite band has a variety of upbeat songs that he can easily hop around to, picking her up and bouncing her on his hip as she laughs and shrieks. At a certain point, she ends up in only her shirt and diaper, her hair having fallen out of the tiny updo it was in and landing in a wild mane around her face as she holds her fists in front of her and jumping to the beat of the song that plays loudly over the stereo.

“Hi momma!” she screams when Emma walks through the door, running for her at full speed and crashing into her legs.

“Hi!” Emma responds excitedly, the grin across her face as she picks her up squeezing at his heart. Henry walks in behind her with a box of items, smiling softly at Corrine and heading towards the stairs.

“Turning in, lad?” he asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, pausing briefly and sighing. “I’m just… I just wanna go to bed.”

“Aye. Well…” he starts, but is unsure of how to continue. He feels as if he should say something, but isn’t sure what he needs in this moment.

“We’ll be here, kid,” Emma supplies, simple and encouraging as he nods and heads up the stairs.

“Momma hugs Duddy now,” Corrine says, pointing towards Killian while still in Emma’s arms.

She laughs lightly, tickling Corrine’s bare thigh and asking, “oh, she does, does she?”

“Yes. No kiss,” she insists.

“I can’t kiss your mummy?”

“No!”

He wraps the two of them in a tight squeeze, sandwiching Corrine between her parents and sneaking in a quick kiss against Emma’s temple.

She turns to him and gives an indignant look, saying, “Coco said no kissing!”

“No, Duddy! No kisses for Momma, only for Coco.”

“My mistake.” He kisses her plump cheek and is rewarded in kind with a bright giggle. “Time for bed now, lass. I think we’ve done enough dancing for one lifetime.”

“We dance, momma.”

“Aye, we danced, momma. Next we’ll be learning a waltz.”

“Walls.”

Emma laughs, hiking the child up higher on her hip as she tries hard to settle her hair, though seemingly finding it impossible. “You know how to waltz?”

“First rule of dancing,” he says, taking her free hand and leading her towards the stairs once the music is shut off, “pick a partner who knows what they're doing.”

She gives him a look that he can’t quite read before leading him up the stairs and providing him with a lovely view of her ass along the way.

~~~~

Her thighs squeeze his hips tightly as she bounces above him, her breasts suspended tantalizingly over him as her nails dig into his shoulders. Her quiet pants and whispered moans drive him to harden his grip on her hip, sitting up slightly and using his blunt wrist to press into her back and pull her closer to him. She wraps her arms under his, hugging herself tightly to him and letting out a cry into his ear as he bends his knees up to deepen his thrusts into her.

“Don’t stop,” she practically begs, clinging to him as if her life depends on it. “Fuck.”

“So good, love,” he agrees as the coil in the base of his stomach tightens, almost ready to snap. “Gods, you feel so perfect. You’re perfect.”

“I love you,” she says through a strangled cry as she clenches around him and finally lets go; finally gives him permission to do the same.

He holds her so tightly that he doesn’t think she can breathe, but she doesn’t complain. Panting into his ear, her nails still digging crescents into his back, she hugs him close.

“I love you too,” he says once they’ve both caught their breath. She hums in contentment and kisses his neck before lifting herself from him and letting out a soft grunt as he slips out of her.

She spends a moment in the bathroom before returning, learning from last time and tossing his sleeping pants at him before dressing herself and crawling in. “You alright, love?” he asks, to which she shrugs.

“Where did Regina end up?”

“The asylum. We were able to use the cuff that blocks her magic before she awoke.”

She stays silent for a few moments, continuing her ministrations through the hair on his chest as if it’s soothing her.

“Today sucked,” she finally says.

“Aye, it did. I’m sorry.”

She sighs, tucking herself closer to him and resting her head on his chest. “Not your fault.”

“I’m not saying it is; I’m saying I’m sorry that you lost someone important to you.”

Squeezing her arm over his chest a bit tighter, she nuzzles her nose into a patch of the hair on his chest. “Yeah… you’re not mad, are you? About… I mean, I know my reaction was a little—”

“Emma,” he interrupts, “I could never be angry with you for something like that. No matter what happened, Bae was someone important to you.”

She sniffles a bit, moving to wipe a tear from her cheek before saying, “it feels weird. I can’t believe he’s gone.” He hums in agreement as he runs his hand up and down along her spine, occasionally combing gently through her hair. “After all the shit he put us through, I’ll admit that there was a time that—” she chokes on her own words, needing to take a deep breath before continuing. “Sometimes I wished he would just go away and not come back. But I didn’t want… I didn’t want Henry to lose his dad.”

“I know what you mean, Swan.” He rolls them gently so they’re facing one another, her leg tucked between his knees. He runs his fingers through her hair and down her cheek as he says, “it’s alright to be confused by this. Despite all that he did, he still loved you, in his own way. And he loved your son. He just had a horrible way of showing it.”

She nods against his forehead, her nose rubbing against his own making him unable to resist kissing her softly. “I know you’re right.”

“Did the lad say much earlier?”

She shrugs. “Not really. All he said was that he’s okay but he wants to live with us. I think he needs time.” He nods in understanding as she continues. “What he saw today— what he saw his own mother do… I don’t know how to help him live with that.”

“You're his mother, Emma, and I know you know what’s best for him. We’ll be here for him, however he needs us.”

“Yeah,” she nods.

“Perhaps a few visits with the Cricket would be prudent as well.”

“Probably.”

He kisses the tip of her nose, the skin cold against his lips, and says, “sleep, darling. We can deal with everything tomorrow.”

“Love you,” she says as she drifts off. He follows closely behind, sleeping soundly with her in his arms.

~~~~

~~~~

[maximit3]

Caregiver -1

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Reader

Summary: After the raid on the Yakuza compound Aizawa offers to take Eri home with him on the weekends, you are her caregiver. Lots of Dadzawa!

Warning: Perhaps childhood trauma, language, but no others beside that.

W/C: 1523

a/n: I got this idea for this when i was doing another set of headcanons and decided to turn it into a fic. Let me know what ya’ll think and hit me up if you want more!

[Next]

…

You definitely took a wrong turn somewhere. You could have sworn you would have had the path memorized by now, having walked it every weekend for the past month, but you were definitely lost.

Sighing, you pulled out your phone and input the address, hoping that you werent too far off. It was hotter than normal today, and you really didn’t want to arrive looking sweaty and disheveled. You heard your phone ding showing that you were only a block over from where you were supposed to be. You smile with relief and put your phone away and quickly tie your hair up into a ponytail to keep it from sticking to your neck. 

“I really need to be more careful, I can’t just be wandering around.” You muttered, continuing your walk.

It wasn’t like you were any danger, but you had a job to do and being tardy was somewhat of an embarrassment, one you tried to avoid. After all, you were chosen as the head caregiver at the Hosu General Hospital to take care of a very important patient and you weren’t one to shirk duty.

Your steps slowed as you reached the front of the familiar apartment complex. As you climb the steps of the stoup and press the buzzer, you find yourself fidgeting waiting for the response.

A month ago you found yourself standing in the Administrator's office unsure of why you had been summoned to a meeting with the pro hero Eraserhead. You had been told that you would be receiving a special assignment, a new patient who would be under your care, but that was all.

In the meeting, you stood silent as Eraserhead spoke with the Administrator and soon the name, Eri, had been mentioned. You knew of the girl who had been saved during a huge raid on a Yakuza base, the girl who had great power that was uncontrollable. You listened more intently as Eraserhead explained his wish for Eri to have weekends outside of the hospital, to give her a chance for some normalcy.

“She’ll stay with me under my protection, of course, so that her quirk does not get out of control.” Eraserhead stated in a voice that was low and somewhat scratchy.

It wasn’t a hard sell, but the Administrator had one condition. “Miss (Y/N) must accompany young Eri to be sure her health stays in good standing while she is away from our care.”

There wasn’t much discussion after that, Eraserhead seemed to understand the position and agreed. Thus began your walks to his apartment every weekend and your caregiving of Eri.

A loud buzzer suddenly drew you out of your haze and you heard the door click allowing you entrance. 

Making your way up the familiar stairs you get a little excited to see Eri again. The little girl has been through so much, you read her file, but she was so strong and brave and slowly learning what it meant to be a kid. You push away the thought that you were a little excited to see Eraserhead himself, you are a professional after all, but you still can’t help being a little starstruck.

Quelling your thoughts you find the apartment you're looking for and knock lightly. Through the door you hear giggling and a low amused chuckle. Then there's movement and the door opens and an excited Eri patiently waiting for you.

You kneel down to her level and smile. “Hello Eri, may I come in?” you ask politely.

Eri nods excitedly, “I’m really happy to see you, Miss (Y/N).” She says with quiet excitement, still getting used to her own voice.

She takes your hand and leads you inside where you see the living room table covered in crayons and coloring sheets as well as some glitter that had apparently spilled out. You smile warmly and look down as Eri lets go of your hand to sit in an armchair, already rolling up her sleeves for her examination.

You look around for Eraserhead and hear the bathroom sink running and you figured he must be cleaning up before coming out. Your attention fixes back on Eri and you begin to pull out your equipment starting with monitoring her blood pressure.

“Have you been having a good time today, Eri?” You ask while you watch her numbers on the device.

“Mhm, Mr. Aizawa has been playing with me, we’ve been coloring and playing dress up!” she squeaked excitedly.

You smile as she rambles on allowing her to simply speak, an act you know is difficult for her, and move on to checking her heartbeat. 

“That sounds like a lot of fun, I’m glad you’re having a good time. Now, same thing as last week. Just a small pinch, ready?” You say, getting ready to take some of her blood. You can see the tears in her eyes, but she's being brave and grabs hold of your hand. It’s over quickly, just the way you like it. You hate causing her pain.

“Oh, Mr. Aizawa said we could go on a walk later!” She manages to get out while you study your vial.

You hear a low voice suddenly and you won't deny there is a bit of a flutter in your chest. “Actually, what I believe i said was that if Miss (Y/N) was okay with it and if we asked her nicely, maybe we can go on a walk.”

You turn and see Eraser standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, and smiling at Eri. He was dressed in sweatpants and a short sleeve black shirt that showed off his arms. He catches you watching him and you turn back to your work a slight blush on your cheeks.

You always find yourself a little tongue tied around him and oftentimes all of your conversation revolves around Eri. Sometimes he may ask a question or two about your week and you sometimes give a polite answer and that's that. You’ve heard from others that he is fiercely private and you try not to come off as unprofessional or too starstruck. You remind yourself that it is the way it should be, you are here for Eri.

“Well, Miss (Y/N) what do you say? Would you like to join Eri and I on a walk today to the park?” He asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

You look from him to Eri who is wearing a smile that would melt anyone's heart, and you knew that you were going to say yes. 

“I think that would be a lovely idea.” You smile back as Eri claps with excitement.

“Eri why don't you go change your clothes and we can be on our way.” Eraser says and Eri excitedly bolts out of her chair and heads down the hall. You don't miss the Pro hero giving her a loving pat on the head as she passes.

You start to pack up your equipment, you aren’t done for the day you’ll have to check her stats when you get back from the walk to, but you won’t need it for your walk. 

“I hope you are really okay with us going. I know how hard it is to tell her no, but she would understand if you did.” You watch as Eraser goes to sit on the couch as you both wait for Eri.

You look at him and politely smile. “Her vitals look good today and she seems to be in good spirits. As long as you're sure there aren't any immediate dangers, I don’t see a reason to say no. You’re doing a good job making her feel normal, Eraserhead.”

You smile and place your pack by the front door then take a seat across from Eraser who had been looking out the window with a contemplative look on his face. Almost absentmindedly, you heard him say, “you know, Miss Y/N, you don’t need to call me Eraserhead while we’re here.” 

You knew this, he had told you many times that you could call him Mr. Aizawa. It really didn’t bother you all that much to make the change, but it added just a little more of a personal connection between the two of you. You suppose though, that it had been over a month now and it was probably getting a little awkward for him. 

You smile politely and say, “Yes, of course, Mr. Aizawa.” 

For a moment you thought you saw something flash in his eyes, something that you hadn’t seen before, but the moment passed when Eri rounded the corner. She smiled at the two of you an awkward toothy smile, but bright, almost as bright as the yellow sundress she was wearing. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are you ready to go Miss (Y/N),” she asked politely.

You heard Aizawa stand up from where he had been sitting and you mirror the action dusting off your skirt to straighten out the wrinkles.

“If you are ready Eri and- “ You hesitate for a moment, “And if Mr. Aizawa is ready then so am I.” you finish.

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

Big shout out to @mindninjax​ and @bullrunpicnicker​ for being my beta readers XD. Yall motivate me to be better. I’m working on the second part of this right now and would love to hear feedback from yall. This is definitely going to be a slow burn so prepare yourselfs. Love you all, Plus Ultra!

[silluuuu]

Said you’re seeing right through me // Could be pulling you to me

Happy Reverb 2020! I had a fabulous artist partner this year in the lovely @ochako999 and a lovely author partner as well in @l0chn3ss !! Much luv to my babe @makapedia for the beta eyes, and to the illustrious @reverbmod for organizing the event!

You can see chako’s art here: [1] [2] [3] and ness’s fic here! : The World That Only We Can See // Transparent World

Here is my contribution to Reverb 2020 below the cut! <3

Said you're seeing right through me // Could be pulling you to me

Summary: Change is hard, and time is slipping through her fingers like melted ice cream. Reverb 2020 <3 Pairing: SoulxMaka Rating: G Tags: High school/Youth AU, Coming of Age, Romance

Read the rest below or on AO3 <3

Zero exams down, six to go.

In the late spring heat, pencils scratch against paper in an otherwise silent classroom. The seconds seem to thud onward, measured by the even tick-tock of the clock on the wall, marking the moments that remain in the first of many final exams. A fan at the back of the class, whirring back and forth, ruffles papers and hair and nerves as it punctuates the pencil-scratching.

At the front of the room sits a blackboard, empty of assignments. It’s almost the end, it seems to say. There’s little left for you here.

In an otherwise nondescript class of students, there are a few standouts. In the front row sits a dirty-blonde whirlwind of a girl in a plaid skirt, equipped with pigtails, a well-stocked mechanical pencil, and raw determination. She scribbles as fast as she can, nose to the paper. The more she writes, the more confident her smile becomes.

To her right sits a less speedy scribbler, a black and white-striped cataclysm of a boy with an impeccably pressed uniform, hand stilling on his paper every time a question stumps him. Occasionally, the tapping of his foot joins in with the pencils and the fan as he plays the off-beat in the final exam symphony. In the back of the class when a piece of paper rips, he flinches just a little.

In the back corner near the door sits another boy, a beryl-blue hurricane, removing each of the corners from his test paper. He has already finished his exam, because he writes the first thing that comes to mind. He believes this makes him wise - a somewhat dubious prospect. If anything, it makes him impulsive. But if you can’t make the right decision on the fly, then what’s the point?, is what he would say.

Finally, in the other back corner sits one final boy, a red-and-white rhapsody, staring out the window with a song in his soul. His test lies forgotten for the moment as he taps out a soft rhythm on the desk, quiet enough for only his ears. His eyes drift around the classroom with affected boredom, though when his gaze lands on the girl in the front row, something stirs behind them.

At this moment, the girl in the front stands to take her test to the front, and she happens to glance his way. She sends him a questioning look, but quickly turns to the front again, breaking the contact.

As he looks back out the window, there’s a flush in his cheeks that has little to do with the heat.

----

One exam down, five to go.

“Dude.  I did so good! ”

They walk in a line, shoulders brushing, necks craned towards the sun. Newly escaped from the heat of the classroom, their shoulders are lighter, the white and blue of their uniforms mirroring the sky.

“Did you answer every question this time?” asks the rhapsody, adjusting the headband in his hair while he squints against the sun.

“Um, yes,” the hurricane says. “Last time I just didn’t because--”

“You got distracted by a  fly ,” says the whirlwind.

“I was on a mission!” he insists, punching his fist in the air. “And I  caught  it!” He holds up his fingers in front of the cataclysm's face, clicking them together like chopsticks.

The other three shake their heads before they all stop in tandem, watching the road ahead wind away from the school.

“You going home?” the girl asks, to no one in particular.

“Nah.”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“... You want some company?”

And so they lie in the grass, as they have many times before.

“Hey, Black*Star?”

The hurricane turns his head, blue hair against green grass. He’s a walking Google Earth. “Yeeees, Maka?”

“What are you doing this summer?”

He turns his head back to the sky. “Dunno yet. Might get a job.” He pauses. “Think your dad is looking for help?”

Her mouth thins into a line. “I don’t know. You can ask him.”

“Awww, c’mon, I don’t wanna talk to---

“And  I  do?” she says, turning onto her side, away from him. “Just get Sid to talk to him for you, then.”

“Sid’s been… busy,” he says. Maka’s expression softens a little in the silence that follows.

“What about you, Kid?” she says, glancing up.

The cataclysm sighs. “I’m sure Father will find something for me to do around the building.”

“Around the school?” Black*Star says. “Gross.”

“I’ve worked here every summer for years,” Kid says, nonplussed. Black*Star looks genuinely surprised and a little guilty.

“Whoops. Guess I blacked it out?” he offers.

“Yeah, probably,” says the final boy, holding a hand up to shield red eyes against the sun as he looks at the group. “That sounds like your worst nightmare.”

Maka pulls out her notebook and starts to doodle, looping letters filling up the page. Eyes trained downward, she asks, with a carefully controlled nonchalance: “How about you, Soul?”

He is no better, still hiding behind his hand, and his response comes out as one word: “Iunno.”

“...Well,” Maka says, plucking herself up to look at them all, now. “I want us to do loads this summer. Adventures and fun and new  experiences ! So you’d all better be ready.”

“Yeah!” Black*Star says, reaching up to high-five her. “We’re gonna take this town by  storm .”

“... Let’s get through exams first?” Kid says, raising his eyebrow at Black*Star as he visibly deflates.

They’ve spent many afternoons like this since they were small, laying outside and letting the grass and wind and sun soothe their worries. A group thrown together by chance, but stuck together by choice.

The words become indented as she traces them in her notebook, over and over again:

  I hope things never change. <3

-----------

Two exams down, four to go.

Maka enters the library early, her focus already shifted into science-study mode after the previous day’s final. Already set up, Kid waves her over, and the two of them sit in silence for a while, the flipping of pages occasionally breaking the silence.

Finally, when she glances over at Kid, her eyes land on the book he’s reading.

“You aren’t studying!” she says, surprised.

He has the decency to look a  little  guilty, but not too much. “I felt quite prepared for science, actually, so I’ve started on Socials.”

She pulls the book up to survey the cover. “A History of Reincarnation?”

He pushes the book back down with a little glare at her, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I think I’d like to write the essay about this topic, so I’m reading about it again.”

Maka closes her science book. “It’s an interesting topic, isn’t it? What do you think about it?”

He brings a hand to his chin, considering. “Well, the introduction of the concept into psychoanalysis seems to have been a turning point in its study, though I’d say its presence in Hinduism also--”

“No, I mean,” Maka says, because he’s getting on a tangent. He is  very good  at getting on tangents, and she is good at stopping them. “Do you think it could be real?”

Hand retreats from chin to tap on the table. “...Do I believe the soul is immortal, and simply takes on a different form at the end of each life?”

She nods, and his golden eyes survey her, seeming to analyze her expression. “I don’t think we know enough about souls to make a claim,” he says. “But I can’t disprove it, so I suppose it’s possible. ...What do you think?”

Neither of them are sure why there are tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “I think… that would be amazing. I wonder…” she pauses. “If it’s real, I wonder if souls can find one another, in the next life. I wonder if they meet again and again, and it’s new and different every time.”

He considers this. “If that’s the case, do you think we’d know any better?”

Defensiveness brings her shoulders up to her ears. “I  know  I would.”

He simply nods, because he has the feeling that he knows what this is about, and he knows when to let things lie.

Or does he?

“I guess you couldn’t convince the others to come this morning?” Kid asks her after a moment, eyes fixed back on the page.

“Nope,” she confirms, sufficiently distracted. “Getting Black*Star to wake up at 7:00 on a review day?”

“I thought… Soul might’ve come, though,” Kid says lightly.

“No,” Maka says, shaking her head. “He cares about sleep too much.”

Kid looks up at her, finally.  But there’s something else he cares about more, is what he wants to say.

Because Kid is an astute observer, and today he has made the following observation:

This was a conversation about souls, in every sense of the word.

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

Three exams down, three to go.

“I don’t wanna go to class,” Black*Star says, hands extended behind his head as they walk down the hallway. “All we’re doing is review, anyway.”

“Review is important,” Maka says, rolling her eyes. “And you won’t do it on your own, so--”

“This is for Socials, though,” he replies, and suddenly, a little glint appears in his eye that nobody misses. “We should… review for Socials by  being social .”

“That’s not what we’re being tested--”

“I  dare  you,” he says, and the other two boys slow their pace as they look between them, eyebrows raised, as Maka’s eyes narrow.

“You dare me to wh--”

“ Skip  class, miss almost-valedictorian. You won’t do it.”

“You’re right,” she says with a little sniff. “I won’t.”

He stops, rounding on her, and pronounces the lines that he  knows  will work. “You scared?”

“Not scared.” Her voice is cool, but not as aloof as before.

“Scared.”

Her hands ball into fists. “Take it back, Black*Star.”

He grins, because he knows he has won. “Okay, fine.  Catch me  and I will!” And he bursts into action, barreling down the hallway, his laugh bouncing off the walls.

Maka’s quick on his heels, and the other two boys let out a sigh in tandem, hoisting their bags over their shoulders as they resign themselves to  not  reviewing for Socials.

Minutes later, they sit with their backs against painted wood, careful to avoid the splinters, the peeling paint. It’s important to hide, and so they shield themselves around the corner of the shop, away from any prying eyes that could be watching from the schoolyard.

“Wanna bite?” Black*Star says, extending his ice cream so that it almost bumps into her cheek. She glares at him but still gives it a lick, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes.

The sun on their skin is a salve, weathering away the stress of exams with its warmth.

But there’s a slight tousle in Maka’s hair thanks to the wind, and it feels, strange and scary as it might sound, like  change .

“S’almost time for next class,” Soul says, eyeing Maka out of the corner of his eye.

“... Let’s… just stay?” she says, closing her eyes again.

If Black*Star has opinions about her  wanting  to stay, he keeps them to himself, and in their own small way, they fight against the passing of time with a gentle afternoon in the sun.

Four exams down, two to go.

The music room is another oasis for them; quiet, calm, serene.

Unfortunately, it is an ambiance that is somewhat distorted when Black*Star is pestering Soul about playing the piano.

“Aww c’mon! Just one song?” Black*Star asks, laying on his back on top of the piano as he swings his legs.

“It doesn’t  sound  right when you lay on it like that,” Soul grumbles.

“All right.” Black*Star jumps down, calling his bluff. “All better. Go ahead, then.”

Soul hunches in on himself. It’s an attempt to look defensive, but he just looks defeated. “Don’t wanna.”

“Leave him alone, Black*Star,” Maka says as she lets the door swing shut behind her. “If he doesn’t want to--”

“Don’t  you  wanna hear a song?” he asks her, knocking on the piano top with his wrist so that it echoes.

“I mean.” Maka stops, glancing down at the books in her hand. “I love listening to his music, but--”

“ Love!  ” Black*Star croons. “  Strong words.”

“He…  knows  that,” she says, a fierce flush lighting up her cheeks.

She glances up to see what Soul’s face looks like. It is impossible to discern if he  does  know that, as he has deflated further, head against the piano in embarrassment.

“I’ll… play somethin’,” he says, voice strained against the keys.

Black*Star and Kid exchange a glance.

  They

  are

  hopeless , is what they’d like to say.

---------

Five exams down, one to go.

The late afternoon sun slips past the trees, casting tree-branch shadows on Maka’s legs as she props a final textbook on her lap. Much as she’d  like  to study, her gaze keeps getting drawn to the sky, to the puffy clouds that pass, pulling them closer to the end of exams.

It’s a strange time, she thinks. The in-between. They’re in between exams, in between years of school. And it’s both ephemeral and permanent, the in-between. As soon as one thing ends, they’re moving on to something new, but they  always  face it together.

Maybe that’s  why  this is why the four of them thrive as a group: because they exist  best in the in-between. Between their school and home lives, between the moments of anger and laughter, nestled between each other on grassy fields, gazes trained upward.

She loves them all so  much  that it hurts sometimes - they’re all so different, but so similar in their own ways.

But she can still feel it - something  is  changing. It’s  been  changing for a while.

She can feel it when she watches his fingers dance down the piano, when she wants to look at him for a little too long. And she  thinks  that she catches him doing the same thing, sometimes. But she can’t be sure. Daring to hope feels like too tall a task.

The book slides through her hands and onto the ground; she can’t study when her mind is all over the place.

Instead she stands, and walks toward another field in the distance in an attempt to leave her thoughts behind.

“Wait!” Black*Star’s voice booms in the distance. “We’re coming too!”

The sunflowers aren’t blooming just yet, which gives them enough room to walk through the stalks without feeling too closed in. Maka reaches her hand out to touch the flowers as they pass, velvety stems bringing her a sense of calm, of familiarity. They’ve journeyed to this field more times than she can count; it is a home of little time capsules and hide and seek games, forever a prequel to the scene of coming home and dumping soil out of their shoes.

Suddenly, with a startling amount of vigor, she wants to hold  on to this moment. No need for their last exams, for the unpredictability of summer. She wants to be right here, in their sunflower sea. Just beneath the surface of the world, with the people she loves most.

“Hey.” she says, reaching out with her voice. She’s not sure how close they are, but she knows they will hear her. “Hide and seek? I’ll be it.”

There’s a rumble of assent from various places in the field, and off she goes to find them.

Through the maze she walks, listening for crackles in the underbrush, for clothes catching on sunflower bristles.

She sees him first; catches a glimpse of white between the branches. When their eyes meet, she presses a finger to her lips, splitting a bashful smile down the middle. He’s frozen in place, dumbstruck as she points to his left and then to herself, then slips away again into the brush.

His hand reaches after her of its own accord, hanging in the air.

Would you let me follow if I asked?  is what he’s dying to say.

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

Six exams down, zero to go.

As Maka leaves the classroom, the wind seems to rush past her with an emotional sort of finality, and it’s exhilarating.

Until she realizes that that wind is very literal, spun into a frenzy by a hurricane.

“Black*Star, stop running again!  ” Maka starts to yell after him. “Don’t get in trouble on the last day of-- ”

Another burst of wind flies by her, and her eyes arc toward the ceiling.  “Not you too!” she yells after Soul, who is laughing, running up to give Black*Star a high five.

They’re always egging each other on, she thinks. That’ll never change. But try as she might, she can’t fight the next thought that appears in her head, unbidden:

It’s a nice change to see him smile, isn’t it?

Just in front of her, Kid turns back to her and asks something that sets her nerves on edge:

“Maka. Can we talk outside for a moment?”

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

  And onward.

“I’m leaving,” Kid says, sitting across from her on grass, and ice abruptly enters her heart.

“...Just for the summer,” he amends, because the panic in her eyes is palpable. “Apologies. That wasn’t very tactful, I guess.”

Ice thaws quickly when fire is applied. “ Why? ” Maka says, indignant. “But we had plans, where are you--”

“Father got put in charge of another school for the summer,” he says with a little shrug. “I’m going too. He needs help in the library.”

She wants to pout, but she also doesn’t want to act like a child.

“I wanted us all to be together this summer,” she says softly, hand on her notebook, where wishes from sunny days past are etched.

“... I know,” he says. “I know you don’t like… change.”

The wind whistles through the trees, making her pigtails flutter.

“But,” he continues. “ I  was thinking. Since things are already about to change, you could change things  more . If you wanted to.”

She’s confused, and she knows he’s trying to give her some sort of clue, eyes boring into her just a little impatiently. When she doesn’t give him visual confirmation, he sighs, rubbing the line between his eyebrows with a finger.

“What I’m trying to say is, you could sit here with me on this grass like we’ve always done.” He levels her with a look. “Or you could go up there, and  change  something that you’ve been wanting to change for a while.”

She follows the direction of his hand, the wind making the tree branch shadows dance on his extended finger, and she  knows  where it leads.

He’s pointing at the window to the music room.

------------------- 

And onward.

If there’s one thing Maka knows, it is how to be brave. It’s not something conscious -- it’s something that lives in her  essence , that has been with her since the beginning of her life. Maybe in other lives, too.

And it is this entrenched, beautiful, cosmic bravery that leads her up the stairs to burst into the music room to interrupt a rhapsody, who stares at her from the piano with a peculiar new song in his soul.

She’s breathless from the run, leaning into the door as it shuts behind her.

He’s breathless because she’s never looked at him quite that way before.

The late afternoon sun filters in through the curtains, spilling across the desks, the musical instruments. Dust motes float on the beams, catching sunlight as they pass.

“...Here,” she says, moving towards the window. “Can you… come over here for a second?”

“Y-yeah.” He stands, edges towards her. Beside the window, the curtains flutter around them, whipped into a frenzy by a whirlwind.

“I don’t… like change,” Maka says.

He nods. He’s known that as long and as  well  as he’s known her.

She takes a step toward him, and it sends heat straight to his toes. “But I’d like to change… something. Okay?”

There’s a flush in  her  cheeks, now, that has little to do with the heat.

“Okay,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper.

“Just… just tell me if--” She takes another step towards him, and he forgets to breathe as he watches the space between her eyebrows bunch together, sunlight catching on her eyelashes. “If anything isn’t--”

A shaky laugh escapes him.  Doesn’t she know he’d follow her anywhere? “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you.”

She doesn’t know if souls can remember one other, from one life to the next. But she’s determined that in this existence, in this  universe , she will make sure that this, a tenuous connection between two souls, it’s something new and different and beautiful.

And so, with this in mind, she closes her eyes, closes the  space  between them, and the dust motes burst into galaxies.

<3

[artificialqueens]

Come on Baby, the Laugh Is on Me (Biadore) - Tanawrites

A/N - hey all! First time writing for this pairing so feel free to leave any constructive criticism, I honestly would love to hear any feedback as I’m my own beta at the moment. Using Bianca (she/her) and Adore (she/her) just because they’re in drag for the most part but am a firm believer of switching to he/him when they’re out of drag.

SUMMARY - AU in which both queens had never entered RPDR and met through doing the same gigs instead. Young, new drag queen on the scene Adore Delano can’t help butting heads with Bianca Del Rio, a self-proclaimed old seasoned queen who just doesn’t have the patience for her. Somewhat based on the comedy challenge in season 6 where Adore bombs (if Bianca had stepped in and helped her recover).

-

“Bianca!”

Only a well-trained hand stopped Bianca from jolting and smearing her otherwise perfect line or worse, stabbing herself in the eye in response to the sudden yell. Her hand drew away, eyeliner dangling midair and her eyebrow raised as much as she dared before her set.

“I have another twenty five minutes to get ready and you know an old hag like me needs every second of it.”

“The new girl, she’s dying out there.”

“And? Welcome to drag, queen.”

“C’mon, Bianca. She needs help and they’re all your regulars out there. Just go out, say Adore is a good friend of yours and everything will be fine.”

“Lying to the people. How original. Like the men in wigs weren’t enough, now we have to pretend to all be ‘sisters’ as well.”

A heavy sigh and a few more strokes under her eye, Bianca stood up and shooed past the show-runner. She pushed through a few layers of curtains, ignoring how closely the organiser was following behind her, practically jabbing her in the back with his clipboard to hurry up.  She’d like to see him walk faster in heels with his dick taped between his ass cheeks.

To put it bluntly, as she often did, Bianca didn’t really like Adore. She didn’t like the little to no effort in appearance, the blasé attitude, the different approach that these younger queens were taking to drag with. Where she came from, drag was hard work and you only succeeded at it if you were willing to put the time in. Not just stumbling in hungover from the night before and hoping things would work out.

She didn’t feel responsible to help the younger drag queen either. It had been a long time since she’d been booed off a stage or people didn’t laugh for her jokes. That didn’t mean it had never happened though and that was a big part in learning for Bianca. Builds character to not always be adored, she thought to herself.

Since the younger queen had started popping up at most of Bianca’s usual gigs, she hadn’t heard of Adore flatlining though so she knew something about tonight must be different. The audience usually ate up listening to Adore curse, dance around the stage in whatever baggy yet revealing outfit Adore liked to pass off as “grunge” and her usual skit about pizza, party, being a chola from Azusa.

Nothing seemed unusual about the way Danny had rushed into the dressing room ten minutes before he was supposed to start and hurried about transitioning into Adore. Then again, Bianca wasn’t paying that much attention to him to pick up on anything that was wrong. That wasn’t personal though, just how Roy always got ready. Quietly and methodically as he painted his face into Bianca.

Pressing one hand gently to her hair, Bianca took another second to check her appearance in the small mirror on the wall before she was taking the microphone that was pushed rather unceremoniously towards her and stepping out onto the stage as well.

“Well, well, well. Who the hell do we have here?” She rasped into the microphone confidently, truly letting Roy take the backseat as Bianca commanded her usual spot as centre of attention, moving to where Adore looked visibly uncomfortable.

That’s your first mistake, Bianca noted, showing any kind of weakness allowed the few hecklers Bianca could still hear from the back of the club feel like they had an opening. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something close to compassion for the young queen as she spoke directly to the hecklers, telling them to shut up or at least fine tune their insults to be entertaining. These bastards could be rough sometimes and hell, she was just a kid once as well.

It only grew when Adore went to make her way off the stage, her expression clearly distraught. And who wouldn’t after having the next drag queen come on stage early but Bianca wouldn’t accept that and quickly intercepted. She slung one arm around Adore’s waist - uncinched waist, she noticed with a hint of amusement at how much confidence this young queen seemed to have and sent a quick reassuring wink that was purely for Adore before turning back to the crowd.  

“I see you’ve all met my friend Adore Delano but have any of you heard her sing?”

-

After Adore’s and her own set’s time was up, she found herself still cackling at something Adore had said in their goodbye as they made their way backstage.

She didn’t know how they had gotten through the rest of Adore’s set as well as the entirety of her own as a duo but it had felt natural to keep going with the rhythm they’d eventually found together. Once Bianca had prompted Adore to sing, it was like the curse had broken immediately and the audience were back to practically worshipping the air Adore was breathing. She didn’t blame them either - Adore was mesmerising to watch perform.

Honestly she was surprised Adore hadn’t thought of it herself - Bianca wasn’t afraid to admit that Adore could truly sing. In fact, it was the only compliment she’d ever given Adore. After the first night she’d watched her on stage, she couldn’t help but applaud with the rest of the queens as they de-dragged at the end of the night when Adore walked in. The kid certainly had a set of lungs on her so Bianca couldn’t work out why that wasn’t a go-to for her when she couldn’t win over the crowd.

Bianca was more surprised how well their humour bounced off each other though. It was all too easy to poke fun at the younger queen because she’d been thinking most of it for months now. She felt herself softening as Adore served the banter right back to her though, not expecting such a sharp tongue. She was impressed. As much as she was known for being old and bitter, she was fair as well and would give credit where credit was due.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” Adore looked back at Bianca, clearly still feeling the adrenaline of a well received show. It was cute, Bianca had to admit to herself as she followed closely behind Adore.

“What part? Where you somehow forgot your whole script or the fact that you’re actually funny? Because I can’t believe it either,” Bianca quipped back but the smile she said with it said she was more amused than anything.

Apparently it hadn’t phased Adore either way though because she was still grinning from ear-to-ear as she slumped into the chair right beside Bianca’s in the dressing room.

“No seriously dude, that was awesome. Like I was totally drowning up there but we were so good.”

Bianca couldn’t help a small eye roll as she sat in her own chair, already bending to release her feet from the tight constraint of her heels.

“Some nights the crowd just aren’t picking up what you’re serving to them so I’m glad I could help, queen. You were great after you got out of your head.”

Then before she knew what was happening, she felt long arms curling around her shoulders and a barely combed wig against her cheek.

“Really, thank you for coming out there with me. And letting me totally hijack your set too. It was cool of you, so not like what we all say about you.”

Bianca laughed at that, reaching around to rub Adore’s shoulder a few times before they pulled away. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. Everyone will be up my ass to come perform with them if you start squealing.”

Adore looked like she had more to say but Bianca watched her expression change a few times, almost like she was reconsidering what to say each time. Bianca didn’t give herself a moment to consider her own thoughts, not wanting to read too much into them, before she was leaning forward to catch Adore’s gaze in the mirror.

“How about we do this, we get the fuck out of drag and I’ll take you to this bar down the street a bit. The first drink is on me.”

It seemed like it took a second for the offer to sink in for Adore and Bianca could understand, she hadn’t exactly been accommodating or particularly warm at all. So she was relieved when a smile, sweeter than she’d seen on stage or even towards any other queens when they were having a kiki after a show, broke across Adore’s face and she nodded.

“Okay, we’ll do it. Get a move on then, Delano. This clown make-up comes off a hell of a lot quicker than it goes on.”

[rpdrficexchange]

Stuck (craquaria - mollyroll)

Summary: It wasn’t exactly love at first sight. It took a faulty elevator and a lengthy chat to realize how good they could be together.

A/N: Happy holidays everyone!! 

This was written for @tohkkis with lots of love, hope you like it <3 <3

I had so so much fun with the plot bunny

Thanks to missy and my lovely sis lena for the beta read!!

ao3 link - moodboard 

2303 words

&&& feel free to poke me at @aqmollyroll <3

Brianna had always had a soft spot for the Christmas season, even if she didn’t celebrate it. She was 5 when her mum first told her the meaning behind the phrase imprinted on her wrist in loopy, delicate writing.

Everyone is born with an inscription on their left wrist, a message that will vanish when their soulmate says the words to them. Their second half; their perfect match.

When Brianna was younger, her friends used to tease her for having an unusual mark. It was normal to have romantic phrases, but Brianna felt very proud of her words.

Have I told you how much I despise Christmas shopping?

It was a blessing to know roughly when it would happen. A hopeless romantic, every single year she waited anxiously for December, and was disappointed when January came along and the words remained unchanged on her skin.

This year was no exception. She had volunteered to cover the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day shifts at the coffee shop so her two other coworkers could have time off with their families. She didn’t mind, being the sole barista and cashier was exhausting, but helping her friends made her warm and fuzzy inside.

So when she dragged herself all the way home on the 24th, nearing midnight, she wanted nothing more than to eat her mother’s cooking and then slide into bed until the next day. In a single motion, she entered the elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor. The doors were closing when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a figure entering the lobby, carrying a veritable tower of presents.

“Hold the elevator!” The girl was stumbling; the boxes in her hands obscured her vision and she was having a lot of trouble keeping them balanced.

Brianna didn’t think twice, she ran over, determined to help in whatever way she could. She took a couple of boxes off the top of the tower, enough so the other girl could see where she was walking, and helped her inside the elevator.

Once the doors closed, she turned to ask the other girl what floor she needed to go.

“Ten is good, thanks”

Brianna knew her. Her name was Aquaria, if memory served her well. She fidgeted where she stood, feeling inadequate in her stained pink unicorn sweater when Aquaria looked as though she had been ripped off the pages of Vogue. Both of them had grown up in the same building, the same floor, two doors down from each other, but they had never really interacted. Brianna probably knew her mums better than she knew Aquaria, and that was saying a lot.

The elevator had started moving by the time she sneaked a glance at Aquaria and found her looking at herself in the mirror. To tell the truth, she had never really liked the younger girl. She had always thought Aquaria was distant, self-centered, and haughty. When she left their small town some years back (“She’s going to be a model!” her taller, sweeter mum had once told her upon a chance meeting in the hallway) it only reaffirmed Brianna’s preconceptions about her. She thought she was too good for-

There was a hitch as the elevator climbed, then a shrill metallic sound. Suddenly, it shuddered and ground to a shaking halt. The lights turned off.

“What the fuck?!” Thumps echoed in the darkness as what Brianna guessed were boxes fell to the floor. Aquaria launched herself at the control panel, frantically looking for the alarm button.

“Uh… it won’t work…” Brianna bent to set the gifts she was carrying neatly on the carpet, then sat down. “The elevator maintenance crew was supposed to come this week but-”

Aquaria banged on the door, then groaned when, predictably, nothing happened. “You have got to be kidding me! Tonight, of all nights!?”

Brianna shrugged, then realized there was no point in the gesture. “I mean, we probably won’t be here for long.”

She heard the rustle of fabric, then a dull thud as Aquaria presumably slid down onto the carpet. Her eyes were still getting used to the dark when a flash of light dazzled her. Aquaria had turned on her phone. She fidgeted with it for a few seconds, then threw it into a pile of boxes in frustration.

“Could you call my mum? Your mum? Someone? Anyone?” Illuminated by the faint glow of her phone, Aquaria looked like she was going to cry.

Brianna knew her phone had run out of battery hours ago, but she hoped for a Christmas miracle. She pulled it out of her bag and, as expected, it was dead.

“I knew I should have bought a SIM card at the airport, fuck my life.” Aquaria half heartedly thumped her head against the floor length mirror behind her.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure we’ll be out in no time.” Brianna couldn’t find it in her heart to complain about being tired when the other girl seemed so distraught.

“I guess… urgh… it’s just been a long day.” Aquaria turned on her phone’s flashlight so they would at least have a light source.

“Same… long, long day.”

For years Aquaria had seemed like a stone statue, unapproachable and perfectly poised. Seeing her trying so hard to keep herself in check was weird, to say the least. She was human, after all. Brianna felt bad for having assumed so many things about her, it was unlike herself to think the worst of others but for some reason she had done so anyway when it came to Aquaria.

They spent a few moments in uncomfortable silence when Aquaria began talking unprompted.

“I took a red eye flight from Paris yesterday… I was hoping to surprise Mum and Mum for Christmas but… the flight was delayed and… I barely had time to buy some presents and…”

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you anyway."

Aquaria rubbed her eyes, smudging her perfect makeup. "You’re probably right… sorry about that… Mum always says I run my mouth whenever I’m stressing too much about stuff…”

Brianna smiled what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “You’re really close with them, that’s sweet.”

“Not really, I only see them once a year.” Aquaria crossed her legs. “Don’t get me wrong, I miss them. I’m just so swamped by work I can barely have time off.”

“They probably like you better because they don’t see you as often.” Brianna’s eyes opened wide when she noticed what she had said.

Rather than take offence, Aquaria laughed. “I guess you’re right.”

“I mean,” still somewhat flustered, Brianna tried to correct her blunder, “if they’re anything like mine… my mum’s been pestering me for years to move out and get my own place already!”

Aquaria’s smile was really pretty. Prettier than she thought possible for someone with a resting bitch face.

“I remember seeing you around, I think. You’re from 1006 aren’t you?”

“That would be me.”

“Nice to meet you properly, then. I’m Aquaria from 1008.” She held out her hand and Brianna took it.

Fearing she would come off as creepy, she bit back an ‘I know’. Instead, she went for something simpler. “I’m Brianna."

—–

“So.. what’s your deal?”

They had spent several minutes in silence. Aquaria had been looking through her pictures, or something, Brianna honestly hadn’t been paying attention. She had gotten bored of inspecting her fingernails and had closed her eyes for what seemed like just a second.

“Excuse me?”

Aquaria shrugged. “Job, hobbies and whatnot. Small talk to pass the time. You can start… if you want to, I mean… I don’t know.”

“Uh, sure.” Brianna quickly rubbed sleep out of her eyes and shifted where she sat. “I work at a coffee shop three blocks down… nothing too interesting, really. I’m pretty sure you have better stories than me.”

Aquaria scoffed. “I might be a model or whatever, but that doesn’t mean my life is interesting. Mostly just routine, boring.”

“What brands have you worked with, lately?”

She seemed bored, like she had been asked that question a million times before. “Moschino-”

Brianna’s eyes were wide open. “Moschino?!”

“Yeah, we did a photoshoot for-”

Brianna gave a slight shove to Aquaria’s shoulder. “And that’s not a big deal?!”

Aquaria looked at a loss for words, she simply shrugged and changed the topic. More than haughty, she seemed clueless. Like she didn’t have a filter, and she didn’t realize the effect her words could have on others. It didn’t come out of maliciousness, rather ignorance. And that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Uh, what do you usually do for Christmas?”

“Jewish. We don’t do Christmas.” Brianna shrugged. “I usually take on solo shifts though, to help out my coworkers.”

The phone fell out of Aquaria’s hands and they were plunged into darkness. She quickly recovered, fumbled with it, and turned the flashlight back on.

“Uh… is something the matter?”

“Y-Yeah… yeah it’s all good.” Her face was carefully blank, but her voice sounded panicked. “I-It’s really nice of you… to help out… your coworkers…”

There was something clearly not right there, but Brianna didn’t press it.

Conversation rose and fell between them. They talked about the holidays, traditions, family, fond memories… Sometimes things got too deep and personal, but Brianna found she didn’t particularly mind. It felt natural, talking to Aquaria, even when she barely knew her, she felt oddly comfortable around her.

There was something else about her, something that had changed in the short time they spent been together. It was something about the way she smiled like she knew something Brianna didn’t, how she played with her hair and looked at Brianna below her lashes. How she made Brianna’s mouth feel dry, and how her mere presence sucked all the air out of the room.

When she asked about past relationships, which would normally be considered a taboo subject for mere acquaintances, Brianna told her all about them, anyway.

“So you haven’t met your soulmate yet?” Aquaria all but purred, pointing with her head at Brianna’s exposed wrist.

“Uh, no.” She fixed the cuff of her sweatshirt over the inscription. It was far too dark for Aquaria to read the small print, but covering it felt appropriate.

“How do you want them to be?”

“I mean, I like the thought of having a fated soulmate.” Brianna was thankful for the low light that hopefully concealed her blush. Aquaria was flirting and it wasn’t fair.

“But if you could choose their traits, what would you wish for?”

“Well…uh…” She was far too distracted by the other girl slowly inching forward, “Openness? Uh… warmth?”

“Have you ever considered leaving this town?” Her fingers danced over her left sweater sleeve.

“Yeah but… why are you asking me all these things?”

“No reason!” suddenly flustered, Aquaria recoiled back to her own end of the elevator.

If she continued whatever it was she was doing, Brianna wasn’t going to survive this. And it would be entirely her own fault for maybe hoping that something might happen between them. She hadn’t exactly waited for her soulmate, having had a couple partners in the past, but it always felt wrong to hook up with anyone in December, when her soulmate was so close but so far away.

Thankfully, nothing further happened after that. They sort of drifted into a companionable silence, and eventually Brianna noticed Aquaria leaning against the mirror on the wall with her eyes closed, head slumped to a side, breathing relaxed.

She should probably get some shut eye herself. It had been a very long and confusing day.

—–

Neither woman knew exactly how long they’d been stuck by the time the lights finally turned on.

Brianna opened her eyes, blearily, to see Aquaria pull down on her own sleeves.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” She smiled at Brianna as she nonchalantly stretched out her long limbs.

“What time is it?” Brianna was still feeling too sleepy to react further

Aquaria checked her phone. “Dead. I’d guess around 4am.”

The elevator started moving again, jerkily at first, then smoothly until they finally stopped at the tenth floor.

Aquaria had clearly spent some time awake already, she had stacked the presents lying on the floor into neat piles and seemed to be trying to figure out how to carry them out all at once.

As she lifted a couple boxes into her arms, she turned to Brianna.

“Have I told you how much I despise Christmas shopping?”

Brianna was stunned silent. Suddenly jerked fully awake, her mind had drawn a complete blank.

Aquaria didn’t notice, the doors opened and two blondes jumped straight in and hugged her, smothering her, fussing over her, and making her drop what she held in the process.

Brianna’s arms moved as if they had a mind of their own. She pulled on her left sleeve and-

It was gone. No trace of the inscription remained. The words she had grown to love had vanished in seconds.

When she finally came to, her neighbours were ushering her soulmate down the hallway, into their home and she would never see her again and-

“Aquaria?!” Brianna all but ran out of the elevator and tripped over something. She would have fallen flat on her face if someone hadn’t stepped in to hold her by the arm. (She hadn’t even seen the maintenance workers, looking amusedly at the scene in front of them. Or their tools, scattered about.)

“Yeah?”

“Would you-” she lowered her voice, suddenly self-conscious about yelling in the dead of night where everyone could hear her. “Would you like to hang out sometime?”

That was a stupid thing to say, Aquaria was gorgeous and popular, she had surely been asked out in better and cooler ways and-

She smiled.

“I’d love to!”

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Start of Something New Chapter 11 Pairing:  Todomomo, side Kamijirou Rating: T Word Count:  3,146 Summary: Momo is thrilled to be spending her winter break on her family ski vacation. Even though she’s anxious about graduating in the spring, she’ll have time to relax, enjoy the slopes and hang out with her best friend. Shouto is not thrilled to be stuck with his father for the entirety of his winter break. It’s anything but a vacation. Even with his siblings there, everything reminds him of his past and he just wants to get back to finishing school and moving on. When the two continuously run into each other at the lodge, both of them realize their vacations aren’t going to be what either of them expected. Read on AO3 Thanks to @its-love-u-asshole for betaing.

Yaoyorozu Momo had never been one of those teens who stared at her phone for too long. There wasn't anything interesting there and she wasn't as tuned in to social media as others were. It was too much of a distraction and she much preferred to focus on her studies and the few friends she did have at school.

Usually she was on her phone with Kyouka, when the two of them would video chat or text back and forth, but other than that, she tended to leave the device alone.

However, all that changed with Todoroki Shouto. Having his number was becoming dangerous, as she became glued to the screen of her phone. She stared and stared, her heart lurching into her throat every time her phone would ping, his name popping up on screen.

She would reply, giggling as she did, a wide smile across her face.

"Who are you texting with, Momo?" her mother asked, a smile across her face.

They were spending Sunday in the small town away from the resort to do some shopping. When her mother spoke to her, Momo immediately jerked up, pulled from the conversation on the screen.

"Huh?" she asked, shoving the phone into her pocket. She re-wrapped her red scarf around her neck, trying to hide the blush which appeared on her cheeks.

"You looked very happy texting just now," her mother said.

"Ah! Oh it was just... uhm... Kyouka!" she stammered, her voice so much higher than it normally was. When it came to lying, Momo was never the best.

She swallowed, stroked her finger over her phone in her pocket. She didn't enjoy lying to her mother, but she had a feeling the woman wouldn't take kindly to her texting with Todoroki, especially after she had implied he would be a distraction to her.

Her mother raised her eyebrow. "I see," she said. "Did you two have fun last night? I don't know how you can enjoy something as dangerous as tubing."

Momo giggled. "It's really not that dangerous, Mother."

"It is! They have you crash into that snow pile at the bottom and they don't really allot for enough time between riders, it's very dangerous. I would hate to see your beautiful face get hurt," she sighed.

"Mother, I promise you, I am fine," she said softly. "Skiing is also a bit dangerous."

"But more controlled," her mother said. "Either way, I'm glad you had fun," she sighed, shaking her head. "There are nights where I believe you need to be allowed to be a teenager and have some fun."

Momo bit her lip, her mother probably wouldn't be saying that if she knew Momo had spent a large portion of the time with Todoroki. She also wondered how her mother would feel if she knew Momo had almost kissed him as well.

There was a tiny part of her that wished she could speak to her mother about it. What had her first kiss been like? Was her father the first one her mother had ever been with? Probably. As far as Momo knew, their marriage had been somewhat arranged.

Currently, her father was picking out a new ski jacket, rummaging through the various clothing racks as he tried to decide.

The town by the lodge didn't have much shopping, but Momo and her family usually spent one day there, wanting to enjoy the small town life. The main street was one long strip which ran along the bubbling river, with plenty of small town eateries and many ski and snowboard rental shops. There were a few shops, however, and a small strip mall where there was a movie theater and grocery store, as well as a few other gift shops.

There was an Italian restaurant a little ways down the street they all enjoyed for dinner after their day of shopping, and Momo always looked forward to eating there.

As much as she adored the lodge, it was nice to get away for a bit. There was a small part of her that wished she could live here. Maybe own a small store or bakery, then ski on the weekends. It was a nice dream, but not very plausible. What a disappointment she would be to her parents if she told them she didn't wish to pursue anything and she would move to this small town.

Admittedly, she would probably get bored after a bit.

"Do you need anything, Momo?" her mother asked. "Perhaps a new scarf, or gloves. I noticed your gloves looked a little worn out."

"They really aren't that bad," Momo said softly.

"No, no," her mother insisted. "We'll get you a new pair."

Her mother made her way over to the shelf with various ski gloves, looking for a pair that would suit Momo.

She made her way towards her mother, stopping at a table covered in various stuffed animals. She recalled loving the small bunny stuffed toy that said "bunny slope" on it. The little white creature was dressed in ski gear and had small plush skis attached to its feet. The toy had never gone out of style apparently, as many of the stores in the area sold it as a gift shop item. However, Momo was never allowed to buy it.

She remembered holding it up to her mother, asking her to buy it, only to be told she didn't need such frivolous toys.

She supposed it was rather silly.

Glancing towards her mother, she pulled out her phone again briefly, snapping a quick picture of the tiny bunny.

[Text: Todoroki Shouto]: I've always wanted this silly bunny toy, ever since I was a little girl! It's not even that cute. I was so proud to do the bunny slope alone, I wanted it as a symbol of my progress!

She sent the picture text, feeling a little foolish. Todoroki would probably find her childish.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: How cute.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: Why did you never buy it?

She giggled, swiping her finger over the screen.

[Text: Todoroki Shouto]: My parents never said yes. I asked them for 3 years straight! Finally I gave up.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: Parents. Always ruining everything.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: I'm glad you're having a nice time in town, Yaoyorozu-san. I wish my father would take us into town. We're skiing again today.

[Text: Todoroki Shouto]: Indeed.

[Text: Todoroki Shouto]: Yes! The town is quite lovely. I think I appreciate the small town life more than I should. My parents would be so embarrassed to find out I want to live here when I grow up.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: Do you really want to?

She raised her eyes, realizing her mother still hadn't said anything, she was still looking at gloves, though it seemed her eyes had fallen on some of the nicer jewelry the store had locked in a box.

Would Todoroki think she was foolish? So far, they'd been oddly in sync with many of their thoughts.

[Text: Todoroki Shouto]: Well, as a little girl I did. It doesn't seem very plausible now. But, I suppose I wasn't kidding when I said I love it here.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: You should live wherever your heart desires.

Reading that, her face heated up. Sometimes Todoroki was so incredibly blunt, and it only made her heart flutter in her chest.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: I would gladly come visit you here.

[Text: Todoroki Shouto]: Thank you, Todoroki-san! I guess I'll have to give it some serious thought.

He sent back a thinking emoji and she giggled again. It was so easy to talk to him, both over text message and in person. It was like she was meeting Kyouka all over again, only this was different. Todoroki Shouto made Momo's heart flutter in ways she had never experienced.

"Momo! How do you feel about these?" her mother said, holding up a pair of nice red leather gloves. "You'll need some nice ones for university."

"Ah... yes," she said, stepping forward to brush her finger over the material. "These are lovely."

"Were you looking at the stuffed animals?" her mother chuckled. "You were always quite obsessed with those as a child," she said.

"I was just reminded of how cute the bunny was," she said, turning her gaze back to it. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

Her mother raised her eyebrow. "I do hope you'll turn your phone off at dinner. Your father has been looking forward to this all week," he mother chided gently.

"Of course, Mother," Momo said, bowing her head. "I would never be so rude."

Her mother sighed, a smile on her face. "Of course you wouldn't dear. You're far more polite than that."

"Mhm. I'll make sure Kyouka knows I need to put my phone away," she nodded.

"Good girl. Let's go buy these gloves then shall we? I think your father found a good jacket." The two women glanced at the man standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves on the large black jacket.

"Right," Momo said, pulling her phone out of her pocket to glance at Todoroki's message.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: It's hard to do... but sometimes I think we need to do things that make us happy, not our parents.

[Text from: Todoroki Shouto]: I'm still figuring out how to do it.

Watching her mother pay for the gloves, Momo wondered if she would ever figure out how to do something like that.

~~

Shouto truly wished he was capable of taking his own advice. Currently, his legs ached from skiing since the mountain had opened that morning.

Enji had come to knock on their door, saying the boys had been lazy and they needed to get moving. What was the point of being right on the slopes at the lodge if they didn't begin right when the mountain opened?

Shouto thought they were staying there for convenience and not worrying about a parking space, but he supposed his father's reasoning was good enough too.

Staying with Natsuo also proved to be difficult because his older brother was not a morning person.

He would whine for hours before finally getting off of his ass to go get ready.

Shouto would be standing by the door, in full gear, while his brother tiredly struggled to put on his long underwear and turtleneck.

"You know," he'd complained. "I just want one day to sleep in. One day."

"Pretend to be sick," Shouto had shrugged, knowing something like that would never fly. It was one thing for Shouto to say he wanted more rest, but it was another to try and skip out on a whole day completely.

So they had spent the entire day skiing together, the family 'enjoying' the slopes. Shouto would occasionally stop to pull out his phone and check his text messages, responding to whatever Yaoyorozu was saying.

She was so fun to talk to, and he wished he could spend the day with her instead of his family. Normally, he put up with his father's antics and enjoyed the time he had with his siblings, but something about Yaoyorozu made him want to escape. He felt true happiness with her, smiling in ways he hadn't in so long.

It was adorable, how much she adored this lodge; how important it was to her. He wished he could experience it with her and truly appreciate it through her eyes, unlike his father who simply wanted to do all the difficult slopes for a good challenge.

He glanced down at the bunny picture she sent. He wondered if the toy was in the lodge gift shop. He'd doubt he would make it into town with the way his father was acting, so if he could find it there, maybe he could get it for her as a present. She deserved a little happiness.

His phone buzzed again as he skied down to the bottom of the slope. Before getting in line, he pulled out his phone, waiting for Enji and Fuyumi to make it to the bottom.

[Text from: Yaoyorozu Momo]: I wish I could follow that advice. I don't know I get nervous about being lectured. Maybe I'll feel differently when I live at university. Though I also think I might miss them.

Shouto was very much not going to miss his father at all. Though looking at the way his sister was, he did know he would miss her. Fuyumi still lived at home, commuting to her classes everyday. She assisted in taking care of the house, the self-appointed matriarch of the Todoroki household. He wondered if she would be okay by herself. Of course, Enji was never as intense to her as he was to the boys.

Natsuo hadn't lived at home for awhile, once he turned 18, he had moved out to live and work on his own. But for family trips like this and the occasional family dinner, he would often suck it up and come. Usually for Shouto and Fuyumi's sake.

Shouto was looking forward to living away at university. Though his father had wanted him to stay at home and commute, Shouto had declined, filling out paperwork to live in the dorms. It would be different, but he could only imagine it would be positive.

[Text: Yaoyorozu Momo]: I wish I could follow that advice too. I don't know if I would miss my father.

[Text from: Yaoyorozu Momo]: From what you've told me, he sounds very intense. I think it's okay to want a break from that.

His heart felt lighter reading her message. Somehow Yaoyorozu had a way of making him feel like he wasn't crazy.

[Text from: Yaoyorozu Momo]: If you want a break on your trip, I hope you can come skiing with us tomorrow!

[Text: Yaoyorozu Momo]: Yeah I want to. We'll see if I can get away.

He had no idea if he would actually be able to sneak away from his father tomorrow. But he sure as hell wanted to try.

[Text from: Yaoyorozu Momo]: Okay! It would be amazing to see you but don't get in trouble Todoroki-san!

He could see the way her cheeks were probably flushed, her lips curled into a smile.

Shouto still wanted to kiss her.

He shook his head back and forth, thinking about how close he had been to doing so two times. Two! He remembered how beautiful she'd looked lying under him, her hair splayed out in the snow. Or how cute and flushed her cheeks were as they sat in the hot tub together.

Was he... some sort of pervert? No... no, he couldn't be. He wanted to treat Yaoyorozu with respect. Maybe he should ask to kiss her before simply going for it. That would probably be the better way-

"Shouto!" Fuyumi called out, waving her pole his way. "Let's get in line!"

Next to her, his father was glaring daggers at him. Probably angry Shouto was on his phone. He slipped the device into his pocket, and put back on his gloves, heading over to the line for the chairlift.

Natsuo was bouncing up and down, his legs leaning against his ski boots. "My legs are dying!" he whined.

"Natsuo. There's no reason to whine. This is good exercise and skiing is the entire point of being here at the lodge," Enji scoffed. "And Shouto, why are you spending all of your time on your phone? I thought you were better than this."

Frowning, Shouto wanted to stare at his phone all day if it meant pissing his father off. "I apologize, Father, for having a life besides skiing all day."

Enji scoffed, clicking his tongue. "Shouto, you will not be bringing it to dinner this evening. I don't know who you feel an incessant need to message over and over, but please be considerate of your family time."

Shouto felt like all he had done was be considerate of family time. "Yes Father," he grumbled, not wishing to argue any further.

"I will confiscate your phone from you if you keep this up."

Natsuo’s eye twitched. Shouto could tell he was about to boil over, growing progressively more frustrated. His brother could only put up with their father so long, and with how tired he was, apparently this was his breaking point.  "Confiscate? Dad we're on vacation, Shouto isn't in school, and you're not his teacher," Natsuo snapped.

"I know you don't think about taking things seriously, Natsuo, but Shouto needs to stay disciplined and focused," Enji growled.

"What? So he doesn't turn out like me?" Natsuo continued angrily. "Fuck this. I don't need to ski with you. I'm exhausted."

Shouto frowned. He was certain Enji had thought that before, a thought Natsuo was probably used to.

"Natsuo. You are to stay with the group."

"Or what? You'll disown me? I'm an adult Father. This trip to try and forget the fact that our family has been a mess for years since Mom died is just pathetic," he snapped.

Shouto froze. It was rare any of them ever said the words out loud. The fact that their mother was no longer with them all weighed heavy on their hearts and it was something none of them preferred to talk about. To have Natsuo simply blurt it out like that...

Shouto clenched his fists, feeling trapped in the line for the ski lift. It was uncomfortable, like people were surrounding him, closing in on him and he couldn't escape. He panted, trying not to feel like he would never move, trapped by Natsuo's words.

He... wasn't wrong.

"Natsuo-" Fuyumi gasped and reached her hand out to touch his shoulder, but he pulled back.

"I'm leaving," he snapped, yanking off his helmet as he pushed his way out of the line.

Shouto wished he could leave too, but he was still frozen; his body shivering from the cold. He didn't want to turn to look at his father, but his eyes flicked up. Enji's gaze was turned down, his eyes covered as he turned away from his other two children.

"If either of you would like to leave. You may do so," he grumbled. "I don't have time for... ungrateful children."

"Father-" Fuyumi began, her eyes trembling. "I-I'm sure Natsuo will be fine. I'm sure he'll apologize."

"Natsuo is an adult. This is his choice," Enji said, pushing forward as the line moved.

"Right..." Fuyumi whispered, glancing to where their brother was still skiing off.

Shouto stayed silent, the murmurs of other people around him and the hum of the chair lift drowning out the silence he so desperately desired.

He couldn't help but think Natsuo was right.

Their family was a complete and utter mess.

[hexyz09]

The Magic Within

Disclaimer: The Magic Within Rewrite! Somewhat!! Connecting Chapter? Prologue? Who knows, but at this point, it’s simply a bit more info on the world this chapter is in. XD And with it, a bit more info on the characters themselves, as well as their appearances.

  Beta Chapter: Awkward First Meetings

It wasn’t a beautiful day outside. Crows were cawing, and flowers no doubt drowning. On days like this, he really wished the dumbasses in his district would fuck off. But no; as the second hands of his clock continued ticking, beating down on his patience like the rain slamming against his window, Don decided that his wish was a stupid one.

Stress relief had to come in some shape or form after all. Be it from him to stop idiots desiring to be turned into paste against the walls. In their very own homes after all, cause he wouldn’t dirty his own with their blood. At this point, he just wished he didn’t put the fear into them as often, so they’d work up the nerve to try and attack.

Like right now.

…the clock continued ticking, unabated, and Don turned away from the traitorous contraption with a sigh. He’d replace it, but it was the only thing with a wolf engraving etched around the words “Hear Me Roar”. “You know, when it reaches 12, it does exactly that,” He mentioned wistfully. Then as an afterthought, “Roar I mean. With a guttural growl at first before rising to an echoing, high pitched howl that fades into the night.” A thing of beauty really, but, with a quick turn to the window, he decided that it wouldn’t reach as far.

Disappointing, but, not completely. ‘…’ Casting a quick glance over his shoulders, he found a pair of golden eyes, no, amber, peaking through dark brown bangs, wary curiosity gleaming within. Despite being in desperate need of a haircut, the boy looked to be younger than his counterpart, and with an interest in curious nick-knacks like his clock.

The other looked to be a year older, around 9, with brown curls pulled back into a loose bun, both combed and neatly held in place to the right with a cat-shaped hairpin. Unlike the boy, she was lightly bouncing on his couch, hands tightening and loosing around the edge of the cushions. ‘Not as interested,’ Don decided, but more active and desire to explore.

Not sure why though. His living room had the barest essentials. A couch and a tv, the former of which is being filled by a pair of kids. Other than that, this room only had two doors. One leading to the first-floor bathroom, while the second to the foyer that splits into a crossroad. South is the door out, right goes to the kitchen, while the northern passage would take him to a set of stairs leading both up and down. If given the chance, he’d no doubt the girl would sneak into the cellar with a smile on her face.

She had the eyes of mischief, one that usually displays innocence, but would no doubt try something when his back was turned…like…wait. Furrowing his brows, Don realized his back was turned right now, and yet nothing has happened. After a while, Don didn’t sense anything beyond honest curiosity, so he left it well alone.

The silence stretched between them was unnerving, and it was only the ticking of Don’s second-hand clock that kept him from losing his nerve. After all, how does a 12-year-old explain to kids years younger that he’ll be watching over them for the foreseeable future?

Casting another glance, his lips curled into a frown, the girl ‘Rei’, he was told, lightly curling the boy’s ‘Ko’s’ hair. Probably to keep her hands busy and distracted, though he was more curious about why the boy seemed to switch from stiffening up at her touch, to relaxing at others. Didn’t look like Rei was being rough with his hair either, but he supposed the more distracted they were, the longer he had time to think.

Tracing a finger along his neck, Don’s gaze darted to the TV, a sheen of black giving off a small reflection from the ceiling light above. It showed a black band coiled around his throat, and not for the first time, he wondered why the higher-ups would assign him children to watch over.

Trial Order’s, they were called, best made to be placed on a child upon birth, and to assess their growth and magical potential up to the age of 18, where a decision would be made. These things assess more than a person’s magical potential, but the very precipice they’ll stand on in the future, whether it’d be good or bad. It marks a person’s place in the world, based on their view of it, and judges the possible routes he or she would take.

A Scrying Ball to tell someone’s future, basically, made from probabilities and magical analytics. ‘…nothing but complete and utter bullshit.’ Tracing a finger along the band, his scowl deepened. Supposedly, it’s made to access a person’s future upon immediately being placed upon, something that can be ultimately decided with three colors.

Black. Grey. White. ‘Otherwise known as the Repulsive, Average, and Beautiful, something of which decides whether one’ll be a future criminal to your local hero.’ Infants marked with a Black Ring were condemned for life, either abandoned at birth, or spirited away, or as recently decided, sold off to the Capital to test their so-called Criminal Reformation Project.

The people in this world were idiots of the highest degree, and he’d gladly watch as they all burned for their stupidity. Maybe even crack a few bags of popcorn, watch as they climb up to freedom only for him to kick them back into the pyre.

It was an amusing thought, one that was unfortunately cut short by a quiet, flat tone that couldn’t quite hide his squeak. “Are you done monologuing?” Don raised a word at that, big word for a child, even if it wasn’t hard to pronounce.

But, it broke the silence, so he excused the cheek. “Are you done trying to threaten me in my own home?” Don retorted dryly, turning to face the child.

Ko didn’t respond, eyes narrowing into slits, but not out of malice as much it were surprise. The girl, Rei, he reminded himself looked more happy than surprised, meaning she knew very well what Ko had been doing despite the White Ring coiled around her neck. A stark contrast, considering the tan she seemed to bear, or maybe that was just her skin tone?

“You noticed?” She asked, curiosity lacing her tone with trail of airy giggles. Then, as if she remembered something, turned and tugged at Ko’s sleeve. His eyes flickered from him to her. “Okay, you can stop now lil’bro.” He looked like he wanted to protest, but Rei just tugged at his sleeve again, jerking a chin towards him with a smile. “Nothing’s been done. He noticed, and nothing’s been done.” Rei repeated, stressing the last part with barely restrained excitement.

Not that nothing could be done, since he wasn’t so sure what the kid was doing to begin with. All he sensed was the faint veil of magic in the air, thin, almost imperceptible. Ko was good at disguising his spells despite his age, very good, but if there was one thing he couldn’t hide, it was the overbearing presence that came with all Spell Casting.

The sensation that his heart was being wrapped by something, as if another layer was added over it. Not to a crushing degree that made it hard for him to breath of course, but…just enough for him to know it was there. A warning.

Ko’s attention flickered back and forth from his sister and him, uncertainty in his eyes. After a couple moments though, Rei tugged at his sleeve once more, a frown playing on her lips as she stressed the word “Ko.”

Her brother relented, and Don felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, both figuratively, and literally, since there was a mirror positioned right behind his couch, and he saw a faint ripple appear in the air above his head…in the shape of a wolf head with very sharp, pointy teeth.

‘…I’m honestly not sure whether I like this kid or not.’ It was clear Ko didn’t like him, but who would, given that he and his sister was just thrust into a house expected to live with a stranger. One designated as a Black Ring at that, though…eyeing the grey band around Ko’s neck, the shade flickering from dark to light, he couldn’t help but dread the future headaches to come. ‘…they dropped a Borderling on me? Seriously?!’

Met a few of them over the years, and if there’s one thing he can be sure of, is that they’re all Janus-faced sociopaths seeped in instability. Second Rarest to find compared to those with a White Ring like Rei, if only because they’re the only ones the Trial Order’s have issues with. Too…malleable, he decides, for a lack of a better word. Able to change their perspective on life quite easily, depending on who they’re with, but not in the way one’d expect.

“Please stop looking at him like that.” Someone stated, sadness tinging their voice. “I don’t like it when people look at him like that.”

Don blinked; a bit confused before he realized that he had been staring at Ko for…who knows how long. Long enough to make him dig his fingers into the cushion, toes curling, and canines digging into his lower lip. He wasn’t meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, he felt something coil around his heart once more.

Only for a moment though, as Rei, instead of tugging his arm, ran her fingers through Ko’s hair, a worried frown on her lips. ‘…guess I know who’s the Older one now,’ Don admitted, watching as Ko’s twitching became less sporadic under his sister’s touch.

Soon after, he was no longer digging his fingers into things out of anxiety, instead leaning into the arm rest with a weary look in his eyes. It was then he noticed the heavy bags…and idly wondered just how long this kid’s gone without sleep.

Guess the little brother was out of commission for a while, but for some reason, instead of leaving things be, Rei decided to just switch locations, wrapped Ko’s hand in her own. The kid twitched, but only for a moment, before his eyes finally closed.

After a couple seconds, Rei turned to him. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Don’s answer was to point at the collar on his neck, but the girl simply tilted her head in confusion. “And?”

“I don’t have to play nice with a girl who sick’s her attack dog on me.” He retorted, jerking a thumb towards the sleeping child. “In my home no less, so being polite went out the window as soon as it had come.” Did she think that just because she didn’t word the command, that he wouldn’t figure things out? Her lack of response to her pet’s Spell, and what did come after it being brought up.

She knew full well what her brother, if he even believed that nonsense, was going to do and allowed it with a smile on her face. Goes to show you couldn’t judge a book by its co—

“235.” Rei stated bluntly, eyes drifting through the room. “You are number 235.”

Staring blankly, a bit annoyed at having his internal monologue interrupted, he frowned. “I prefer the number 666 thank you very much.”

Whether Rei heard him or not, Don couldn’t tell, but he did see her attention linger on his clock before stopping at him. It didn’t look like she liked it, so he wondered a bit about the why. “So, are you going to explain, or do I have to ask?”

Rei stared at him with blasé wonder. “That,” She stated, as if it explained everything…which is didn’t. “Your attitude. It’s weird.” Brows twitching, he was about to say something when she, almost as an afterthought add, “…or maybe not. I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“That I want Ko to stay,” She replied easily, as if the response was ingrained at this point. It probably was, since no one in their right mind would let a Borderling stay near a White Ring. “I told the Orderlies that, and they let me keep him.” Rei stated, as if reading his mind.

But, there was just one thing she said that made him scowl. ‘…keep?’ Eyes drifting to Ko, Don found he couldn’t see much of his previous behavior in him at all. No twitchy movements, dazed expressions, or fear. Malice was never brought up, despite his Spell’s…intended use. Just fear and anxiety, something he found lacking as Ko continued his sleep. “…you know he’s not a pet, right?”

Something strange flickered across Rei’s expression, her lips curling into a frown. “…I know.” She whispered. “…but he’s my little brother, and I want him out of that place.” Rei didn’t elaborate further, preferring to gently squeeze Ko’s hand, as if to reassure herself that he was still there. “It’s the only thing I can do with what he does to protect me.”

…and now Don kinda felt like a dick. “…you know you’re not going to get any pity from me, right?” There was no need to ask what that place was. However, he couldn’t help but ask anyway, knowing it’d probably damn him. “…but…235?” He asked, feet shuffling against the carpet. “…what do you mean I’m the 235th?”

Rei simply smiled. A small one, eyes closed. “You are 235,” she repeated airily, voice shaking near the end. “This is the 235th time I tried to find a home outside of The Foundation.”

Don…felt like he swallowed a bitter pill, one he wanted to vomit the moment it neared his taste-buds. “That’s…” He couldn’t find the words to say…and, well, even if he did, Don didn’t think they’d form. “…schedule?” He did not squeak.

“Once every three days,” She replied in disinterest. “I suppose you know what that means?”

That he did.

Rei and Ko had been here for just a bit over two years, going back and forth from a place filled with lies and honeyed words, to a controlled experiment where the only choices are what’s given to them. Ko’s passive aggressive stance, and Rei’s willingness and attitude…they didn’t come from being children (which are generally rude brats in general) but by experience and resigned expectation.

The Foundation, in short, was the Capital of Raiha, a country situated to the northeastern most corner. It held natural borders from all sides, be it steep cliffs from the North and West, to a chain of Mountain Ranges leading from the Northwest to Southeast. In short, closed off from the rest of the world unless you find a way through the Acauline Mountains, or fly in without being shot down.

It wasn’t a big country, but neither was Raiha small. What it did have, however, was a Dictatorship that masqueraded as a Democracy, the first notable ruling being that upon receiving news of pregnancy woman are to be transported to The Foundation for the duration of their term. It was to ensure branding of newborns with Trial Order’s upon birth, and also worked as a make-shift Trial to discuss the child’s placements, and to discuss the parents decision about whether they want to keep the child or not.

After all, no~ one wanted to branded as a family of crimi—

A sudden snap pulled him from his thoughts, and he stared at a bemused Rei. “You…tend to fall into internal tangents, don’t you?”

“…Who wants to know?” Seriously, who wanted to know? Rei letting loose a string of faint giggles did not help with his confusion, but he decided it wasn’t important.

Eyes drifting to his clock, Don found the hour hand 2 dashes away from it’s midnight howling. He turned back to Rei with a frown, and bit his lower lip. “…so…what now…?” He asked. Cause whether he liked it or not, the Orderlies have assigned these two to live with him for…who knows how long.

He didn’t expect an answer. “Probably up to three days, if you’re lucky,” Rei mused, tapping her heel against his couch. “Same if you’re not.”

“…I’m going to need some exposition here.”

Rei only blinked; brows furrowed in a pout. “I…don’t know what that words means…but…if it’s what I meant by that, I’m not sure,” She shrugged, humming in curious whimsy. “I never see those Ko and I stay with again, but my brother said he made sure the last one made sweet, sweet love to the business end of a Kris, whatever that means.”

And while Rei pondered on who this Kris might’ve been, Don simply stared at the sleeping child, both mildly impressed and slightly curious about how these next three days would go.

[XX}

Years later, Don watched as Ko wormed his way across his kitchen floor, bound by blue licorice, and filled with sugary vengeance to chomp down on the retreating Marshmallow Unicorns and Gummy Bears. Turning to Rei with a raised brow, he jutted a disappointed thumb towards the maniacally cackling idiot on the ground. “Your brother, your mess.”

Burritos in hand, he walked out of his kitchen, lightly flicking Rei on the nose on the way. The sister didn’t bother to turn, perfectly content to giggle in amusement, and watch Ko do the cleaning up for her. He’s always had a sweet tooth after all.

[sofreakinmanyfandoms]

Rebound - Chapter 4

@cryforfandoms, I know I have you beta-ing this, but it’s time to post it and I literally just finished writing it five minutes ago. I promise to have the next chapter done early enough for you to read it in advance.

That said...this has literally no editing because I got sucked into a Stony A/B/O fic and I’m dying to get back to it. I almost didn’t get the chapter done because I couldn’t pull myself away. 

Why did writing this take so long? Because I hate totally BSing things, and that’s what I did. The farm is a real place in Queens, and some of this is stuff they have listed on their events page, but I’ve never been that far north on the east coast so I’m basing pretty much everything off of my experiences on the mid-western farms I visited while in college.

Word count: 1338

Warnings: Alcoholism starts to rear its ugly head. There are many thirsty thoughts. I mean, reader is spending the day with Steve, of course there are thirsty thoughts.

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

Was this a date? If it was, what were you supposed to wear? Heck, if it wasn’t, what were you supposed to wear? You stood in front of your closet mirror, a frown etched into your brow. With a sigh, you finally settled on your favorite sweater and some soft leggings. At least you could be somewhat comfortable physically if not mentally.

A knock on the apartment door brought you out of your admittedly less-than-productive thoughts. Opening it, you found Steve standing there in the same jacket he’d been wearing earlier, though he’d changed into a light blue button-down and… good grief, were those leather motorcycle pants? Either the man knew exactly how to make himself look his most attractive or he was completely oblivious to the effect he had on the straight female and gay male populations. You suspected it was the latter, which somehow made him even more attractive, and you almost hated him for it.

“Any recommendations for what jacket I wear?” you asked him, motioning him into the apartment. “You know, since I have no idea what to dress for?”

“Um, something fairly warm,” he said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. The man would kill you with how oblivious he was before the day was over. “It’s a little chilly out and we’ll be taking my bike. Oh, and shoes you can walk in.”

That caught your attention. Mr. Innocent’s leather pants were functional, not aesthetical. “You have a bike?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “bought her in high school and fixed her up when I got back from the war. I’ve found that just riding for a stretch of time on the highway helps clear my head pretty well.”

“Okay, then.” You grabbed one of Clint’s leather jackets from the closet (might as well wear something that would protect you if the hunk of masculine perfection turned out to be a bad driver) and slipped into your most comfortable pair of boots. “Lead the way.”

Your eyes widened at the two of you exited the building and your eyes fell on the sleek black Harley.

“When you said you had a bike, you really meant you had a bike. She’s a beauty.”

“Thanks,” he beamed, a hint of pride coming through. “I try to keep her nice.”

“You’re doing a great job from what I can tell.”

You mounted the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Even through his clothing you could feel the flex of his abs when he shifted his weight for turns. How had you not noticed those muscles when you woke up this morning? If you couldn’t have alcohol to distract you, at least you had this specimen to keep your mind occupied.

Though you hadn’t asked where you were going, the ride was longer than you had expected. It was almost 40 minutes before Steve slowed and pulled into… a dirt parking lot. It wasn’t even gravel; it was straight up dirt with grass growing where it hadn’t been worn down by people driving over it.

“Well,” Steve said as the two of you dismounted, “we’re here.”

The sign said “Queen’s County Farm Museum,” and you fought back the urge to groan. What kind of date was this supposed to be?

“I, uh, wasn’t sure what sort of thing you’d like,” Steve said, seemly sensing your lack of enthusiasm, “but they’re doing a fall festival today. Haunted house, hayrides, live music, petting zoo – they’re even keeping their corn maze open late so people can do it in the dark.”

A fall festival with Halloween-type stuff? That… actually sounded kind of fun. You gave him a smile and linked your arm in his.

“It’s perfect. Lead the way, Steve.”

----------

Face painting. They’d even had face painting. You laughed as you looked at Steve, his face painted like an orange striped kitten. Your own panda design was getting itchy as it dried, but you didn’t mind. You hadn’t felt this light since the early days of dating Brock.

You’d started with the hayride. A lovely elderly couple had sat next to you and the lady had told you how she and her husband had met on a hayride nearly sixty years ago. They tried to go on one every year in memory of that first meeting. It had been a really sweet story, even if her implication for you and Steve had made the two of you blush.

The pumpkin patch had been next. You’d found a pumpkin small enough you could carry it back with you, but round enough that it would still make a good jack-o-lantern. It had taken almost an hour and Steve had looked ready to smash the next pumpkin you rejected before you saw it. He’d been so relieved you’d found one that he’d almost tripped over five others on the way to pay for it.

Then you’d found the face painting, followed by a trip into the haunted house. It was geared towards kids so you didn’t think it was very scary, but Steve had definitely jumped and grabbed your hand a few times. It had been that much funnier with his face paint on.

You’d probably never admit it, but the petting zoo had been your favorite. There were two baby goats that were just the cutest things you’d ever seen and a foal that seemed to really want to eat Steve’s shirt.

Now it was almost 9 pm and the two of you had just made it out of the corn maze. Steve was slightly freaking out because he’d stuck his hand in a spider’s web and couldn’t quite get it all off. The farm was closing for the night, so the two of you made your way back to his bike. You subtly reached out and brushed a spider off the back of his shoulder. He probably shouldn’t ever find out it was there.

The ride back was as peaceful as the wind down a highway on a bike surrounded by traffic could be. You kept your pumpkin tucked carefully under one arm, and Steve was careful around corners since you only had the other arm around his waist. At least, that’s what you assumed. (He was actually doing it because your grip tighten around him on the turns, and he was trying to draw out the time he could feel you pressed that much closer to him.)

He dropped you off with a smile and a request to see you tomorrow evening whether Clint let you back in The Archer or not. Why not? After all, he was practically a Greek sculpture of a man and you needed something to distract you anyway.

But even as distracting as the day had been, once you were alone in your apartment the images and emotions all came back. You needed a drink and you needed it now. With a sigh, you grabbed a coat and slipped your boots back on. It was too late to buy any hard liquor, but the convenience store at the corner had beer. That would have to do.

----------

Clint came home after a long day at the bar, ready to collapse in bed and sleep until the sun was high tomorrow. What he wasn’t ready for was the sight of you passed out on the couch, surrounded by a dozen beer bottles.

He tried to unclench his jaw as he pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number.

“Hello?” Steve sounded like Clint had woken him up.

“The point of not letting her in the bar tonight was so she’d have a night of not drinking.”

“Huh?” The man sounded genuinely confused. “What are you talking about, Clint?”

“Y/N. I thought you were taking her out so she could have a non-alcoholic distraction?”

“I did,” Steve insisted, suddenly sounding much more awake. “There was no alcohol involved, I promise. We went to a fall festival. It was a family thing, there wasn’t even hard cider.”

Uh oh. Clint sighed. “Then we have a problem…”

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Bruises

Summary: Sonny’s always bruised easily.

WC: 4409

Warnings: Semi-graphic sexual assault, violence, blood, major character death

Read on AO3 // Beta: @rafaelscarisi

Sonny has always bruised easily. All it takes is bumping into the desk on the way by or shoulder-checking someone on the street by accident, and a purple mark blooms from the point of contact. It’s somewhat of a joke in the squad, especially after he got a black eye from walking into the break room door frame. He laughs along. Even when Amanda whistles because there are faint pink marks from kissing on his neck the day after a date.

Right now, he knows he’s going to have bruises.

He can’t see the man’s face because of the way he’s pressed face down on the floor of a public restroom, but he can feel the tight grip on his wrists holding his arms down and the angry pressure of knees holding his legs open. Despite knowing exactly what to do in a situation like this, he can’t do anything  except freeze and watch the slanted reflections of fluorescent lights on the grubby ceramic tile. He can feel a vague pain in the back of his mind, but mostly he’s numb; it’s  easier  to block out the feel of the cold tile against his bare stomach where his henley has been shoved up, or the pain of the awkward position he has been forced into, or the other things he can’t bring himself to think about.

And after it’s over, a hand tangles in his hair and yanks his head up.

“I’ll be back.”

Then he’s alone, and he doesn’t know when he started crying but now he can’t stop, and there’s a faint ache in his whole body and the ghost of nausea in his stomach. Sonny struggles to his feet, fixing his clothes and stumbling out of the bathroom. He needs to go home. No one notices him stumbling out of the restroom of Forlini’s, a place that’s supposed to be more classy. It’s a gathering spot for the squad at the end of a rough shift or the conclusion of a grueling trial. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, looks down, and walks outside so he can hail a cab home.

As soon as he walks in his front door, he goes straight to the bathroom to scrub away the grime. When he sees his reflection, he can see the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek from where it  hit against the tiles when he was forced down. Bile rising in the back of his throat, he turns away from the mirror and steps into the warm shower like it’ll wash everything away. He tries not to look at the marks he knows are all over him because it’ll hurt. Once he’s clean, he dries off, throws on a hoodie and sweatpants, and passes out on his bedroom floor with his arms wrapped around himself.

The next morning, when Sonny gets up and gets dressed for work, he realizes how awful he looks. His skin is pale and clammy,  with circles under his eyes and bruises on his wrists, legs, face, and the curves of his hip bones where they were slammed against the floor as well. Dark purples blossoming in violets and irritated reds make him wince before he pulls on his clothes to cover them  up. Buttoned vest, rolled down sleeves, clean coat. The only thing visible is his face, and once he drinks some water and fixes his hair, he promises himself it isn’t that noticeable. He’ll be fine to go to work and no one has to know how he froze.

He tells victims every day it’s not their fault if they’re assaulted. It’s not their fault if they freeze. It’s not their fault. But this feels like his, and even if he wanted to report, it’s too late now because the first thing he did when he came home was scrub away the evidence. He’ll be fine, he just has to carry on like nothing’s wrong. He pretends his hands don’t shake when he gets his gun out of his safe and holsters it at his hip. He picks up his phone and orders an Uber so he doesn’t have to walk to work. The very idea of being alone on the streets, even in broad daylight, feels like too much.

“I’m fine,” he says to his empty apartment.

The walls stare back with heavy judgement.

But he still goes outside and waits for his Uber, climbing in upon its arrival and giving directions to the precinct. Nothing can happen to him in there, surrounded by cops. An unhelpful voice reminds him that he’s also a cop and that didn’t keep anything from happening. He has more faith in his squad than himself, though, and he relaxes the moment he walks into the bullpen. Everyone’s there: Rollins, Fin, Benson, and even Stone. There must’ve been a break in the current case with their serial.

Rollins raises her eyebrows at him as he approaches. “What happened to you, Carisi?”

He raises a hand to his cheek without thinking and pretends it doesn’t hurt to touch. The longer he stays silent, the more suspicious she gets and the more attention the squad pays. It’s stupid to lie. This is an elite detective squad who he’s seen figure out things which seem impossible to everyone else. No matter what he says, they’ll figure it out eventually. He lies anyway.

“Slipped in the shower and hit my face on the tub. So, what’re we looking at here?”

The look Rollins gives him says she’s not letting this go, but he ignores her and focuses on the case at hand.

A few weeks go by and the bruises heal, but the rest of Sonny is left scarred. He’s still jumpy and anxious and afraid to return to Forlini’s, but he thinks he’s fine. All things considered, he’s fine. Being fine is easier than being a victim for the squad to pity with their soft voices and kid gloves. He could still report it if he wanted to, it’s never too late, but something stops him. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe shame. Maybe something else. The point is that it doesn’t stop nagging at him constantly.

He winds up in a new bar, nursing a beer and keeping a wary eye on the patrons. It feels weird to be drinking somewhere other than Forlini’s, almost like he’s cheating. It’s  ridiculous, but he still thinks about it while he’s there. He has no companionship here either. The entire squad is at the last place Sonny wants to go, having fun without him like they so often do. He’s always been somewhat of an outsider to the tight-knit group.

“Didn’t see you in your favorite seat,” a chilling voice says in Sonny’s ear.

It’s the  same voice from last time. Sonny stands up and tries to leave, only for the same hands that’ve haunted his nightmares to close around his forearms and drag him out of the bar, into a sedan with a narrow backseat. Not again. Not again. He starts to scream but he’s shoved face down into  the seat in a way that gives him a slight but painful rugburn. That’ll show tomorrow. He tries to say ‘no’ and ‘stop,’ but he gets nothing. Nothing but cold fingers ripping off his slacks and forcing his legs apart with his arms trapped beneath his own chest. He begs, pleads, does everything he can but he doesn’t have the leverage even though he’s not frozen uselessly this time. This is worse, because he’s a trained police officer- detective- and he still can’t do anything to protect himself. At least he doesn’t cry this time.

After it’s over, the man gets out of the backseat and shuts the door. Sonny struggles to get his hands out from under him, but not before the driver’s door opens and the man climbs into the seat. “Stay fuckin’ put,” he says, and starts the car. It would be stupid to try and get out of a moving car, and he doesn’t know if there are any weapons. Plus, Sonny doesn’t have his gun either. He’s defenseless.

The ride is painfully silent but mercifully short. They can’t have gone far, and he still has his phone so he can be tracked. As suddenly as it started, the car stops and the driver gets out to haul Sonny out of the backseat and drag him towards a building. With a sinking feeling, Sonny realizes he recognizes it. This is his apartment building, and he’s being taken up to his own apartment. He thinks he’s going to be sick. Somehow this man knows where Sonny lives, and when they get to the front door, he pulls a keyring out of his pocket and opens the door like he’s done it a million times. He has a key to Sonny’s apartment.

Moments before leaving, he grabs Sonny’s chin and examines the rug burn marring his face. “You mark easy.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Sonny in the doorway to lock himself in, not that it’ll help. This is the second time, and he let it happen. He’s weak. Stupid. Sonny crawls to his room and pulls his gun out of the safe just to hold it and feel more protected. Anyone comes through the door, he’s going to shoot. He won’t be a victim again.

But his promise is an empty one.

Over the next three months, it happens again and again and again and again and again. The squad have noticed the way he has perpetual bags  under his eyes, the ever-shifting rotation of bruises, his jumpiness. Every time they ask, he brushes them off. None of them believe him though, least of all Amanda. She presses him more every time he shows up to work with a black eye or a ring of bruises around his wrists when he rolls up his sleeves. Sonny gets this feeling  something bad is about to happen the moment he starts changing things up, like it’ll make a difference when the still nameless man knows where he lives.

“Hey, Rollins,” he asks, putting the lid on his coffee while she eats her lunch. “I was thinkin’ I haven’t seen my goddaughter in a while. You got plans tonight?”

“No. Everything okay?”

She knows something’s up. Still, he keeps lying. “Yeah, yeah, just realized I haven’t been around lately. I’ll make you some dinner, watch some shitty reality TV…” he laughs, but it’s fake even to his own ears. While he’s wary of putting her and Jesse in danger, he thinks he’ll feel safer with her.

“Sure- we’ll have to run to the store first though.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Both of them get back to work, running through the day that blurs with all the ones before it, precisely how time seems to nowadays. He’s in the grocery store with her before he knows it, trying to decide which type of pasta he feels like. Although she’s quiet, he can see her watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting to say something about the scrape running up his forearm from the rough brick wall of the building on one side of an alley he was forced into. Just the thought makes his heart speed up with panic.

“Are we gonna talk about this, Dominick?” she says finally.

Penne or angel hair? Penne is easier for Jesse to pick up with her little plastic fork.

“Talk about what?”

Rollins grabs his wrist and he flinches. She raises her eyebrows at the movement before pointing at the bruise and saying, “I know you’re clumsy, but this is excessive. If someone’s hurting you, you know we have your back. I have your back.”

“No one’s hurting me,” he says.

“The longer you let it happen, the worse it’s going to get. DV always escalates, you know that.”

“There’s no DV.”

She lets it go for now, but she watches him closely all night. He doesn’t like feeling watched, analyzed, and he isn’t sure if being treated like a puzzle is worse than being treated like a victim. Jesse’s too young to sense the tension, thankfully, but old enough to see that Sonny is tired and plop herself into his lap to promptly fall asleep. She makes him feel safe, is the odd thing. This blonde little girl makes him feel less alone. Alone is a dangerous thing, an emotion that does nothing to help him when the world has grown too dangerous.

“You know it’s late, you can stay the night.”

A glance at the clock confirms it’s almost eleven. “You’re right. But, um, I gotta- I should head home, I’ve been here long enough,” he says, standing up and handing a sleeping Jesse off to Rollins. She looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t, and he leaves calmly.

Once he’s out the door, he’s scared out of his mind. Every single shadow is his attacker ready to grab him again and pin him facedown to be forced again. The sound of his own footsteps echo like a second pair following him everywhere he goes. He rests his hand at his hip where his gun waits, still loaded because he hasn’t gone home yet. Anyone messes with him, he’ll shoot. Just like the second time it happened when he went straight for his weapon when he had the chance. Every time he has been hurt, he hasn't had his gun. He’ll have to start carrying it on him at this rate. This has to come to an end at some point. Countless times, repetitive and more painful with each assault. Escalating, like Rollins said.

Sonny’s tired to his very bones when he gets home, hands away from his gun now to unblock the door. He’s grabbed by the throat the second he’s inside, slammed against the suddenly closed door. He scrabbles at the hand around his neck before reaching for his gun again. In response his hand is caught and squeezed in an agonizing grip until he cries out. Just like that, his gun is ripped away and tossed somewhere he can’t reach it.

“You think you’re fuckin’ cute, going over to that bitch’s house?”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes.

“You will be. I’ll make sure of that.”

He tries to keep fighting back because he needs this to be over. Whether he fends the man off or gets himself killed, at least it’ll finally stop. He does his best, even held against the door while the man’s free hand attacks whatever he can reach on Sonny’s body before throwing him to the floor and climbing on top of him. That’s when all the fight drains out of him. He goes lax on the carpet and stares at the braided fibers. He doesn’t feel anything anymore.

The next morning, when he comes back to himself to the sound of his alarm, he’s still lying on the floor with his slacks around his ankles and blood dried on his face. He doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know he looks terrible, but he still drags himself up to see the damage before a shower. And Sonny thinks he knows what to expect until he sees what he really looks like in his reflection. His nose is swollen with dried blood beneath it and dripping from the corner of his mouth. There’s a dark purple, very obvious handprint on his neck that dips down past the collar of his half-buttoned shirt. Maybe he can wear a scarf to hide it? But he can’t do anything about his face or the limping gait of his wobbly legs.

While he showers, he imagines calling off work for a day or two to recover. Wait until the bruises fade at least a little, and he feels less like he might collapse at any moment. His uneasy sleep on the floor brewed from blacking out of trauma didn’t get him any rest to rectify the bags under his eyes. He needs more sleep, not that it would come even if he has the chance. Sonny turns off the cold water that never warmed up and dries off to throw on a suit, coat, and scarf. It’s only fifty degrees out, not cool enough to justify the scarf, but he’ll make something up.

Sonny makes sure his gun is loaded and ready to go before he leaves the house, hailing a cab because he doesn’t have the energy to put in for an Uber right now and the idea of walking is painful. His thoughts remind him it isn’t too late to call out before he quiets them. The gross cab distracts him with thoughts of the questionable stains the whole way, but once he drops the cash in the cabbie’s hand and gets out, he’s on his own again. No doubt the second he goes in, he’ll be barraged with questions by Rollins and whoever else happens to be nearby. This is the special victims unit, they’re going to notice and talk to him like a toddler and he just can’t handle that.

Of course Rollins catches him getting onto the elevator as she jogs in and asks him to hold it for her. He does. There’s no point prolonging the inevitable.

“Morning, Carisi- what the hell happened to your face?”

He pointedly doesn’t look at her. “I tripped going up the stairs last night, I was really tired.”

“You didn’t take the elevator to your eighth floor apartment?”

“It was broken.”

They’re on the floor below the bullpen. Just one more to go and then he can go bury himself in his work. Almost there, almost- but Rollins finally loses her patience. “Cut the crap!” He flinches and puts his arm up when she yells and moves suddenly, which doesn’t help his case. “All of a sudden, you’re showing up to work hurt all the damn time, and you mope around like a kicked puppy, and now you look like you got the hell beat out of you, Carisi!” The doors ding open and they both walk out, but she isn’t finished yet. “If you can’t trust me, for some reason, that’s fine, but I can’t sit here and not-”

“Is everything alright, detectives?” Benson asks, approaching with her eyes on the file in her hand.

“Do me a favor and look at Carisi,” Rollins says.

Silently, Sonny begs her not to. She doesn’t listen, however, and her eyes widen at the sight of him. He knows he looks bad, but not so much to get a speechless reaction from the woman who always knows what to say. He’s always admired that about her.

“He said that he fell going up the stairs last night.”

The lieutenant’s eyes fall to his neck and he self-consciously adjusts his scarf, realizing too late how it had fallen low enough to expose the top of the bruise there. “Carisi, take off your scarf.”

“I’m- I- actually, I’m kinda cold, I can’t- I-”

“Carisi,” she says in her tone that leaves no room for argument.

He internally braces himself and unwinds it, revealing the bruised handprint spanning his throat like a necklace. Both Rollins and Benson inhale sharply before he covers it up again to make it feel less real. They usher him into the soft interview room, exactly like he worried they would. Sonny doesn’t want their pity. Benson gets her notepad, but Rollins just brings him a hot coffee with the exact amount of sugar and creamer he likes because she pays attention to small things like that. Really, he’s surprised it took so long to get here even if it’s the last place he’d ever want to be.

“You started coming to work with bruises what, three months ago? Four?” Rollins asks gently.

Sonny clears his throat and says, “Three and a half.”

The scratch of a pen denotes Benson writing it down. Everything he says will be, he thinks as he checks his hip for his gun; he can protect himself now. Even if it never helped him before.

“Has it been escalating?”

“I…” Yes, it has, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. “I guess so. Last night was- he was angry I wasn’t where he thought I should be.”

That’s scribbled on the pad too. He thinks he might be sick if they make him recount it.

“So why don’t you tell me about last night, Dominick?”

Using his first name is what makes him crack. “Don’t talk to me like a battered victim. I hate that.”

He watches Rollins and Benson share a long look, talking silently about him and excluding him from their conversation. It doesn’t put him at ease at all. This is more nerve-wracking than he expected, and given that he knows he’s being watched by his repeated attacker, it wouldn’t shock him to see the man burst through the door of this interview room to hurt him again. He finds himself staring at the door and clenching his fists so hard beneath the table his knuckles go white.

“Sonny? You still with us?”

Sonny instead of Dominick. Rollins is really pulling out the stops on this one.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

She offers him a comforting smile that probably works on every victim who’s not him. “You can tell us what happened, you’re safe now.”

“I, uh, I came home from Rollins’ apartment kinda late last night. He was- he was waiting for me. I walked in the door and he grabbed my neck and pushed me against the wall. I tried- I tried- I tried to get my gun but he stopped me and threw it to the side. And I tried to fight back but he got mad, kept hittin’ me over and over and over and then he threw me on the ground, ripped my pants off and…”

He can’t make himself say it. His mouth is dry and his hands are cold and his eyes are stinging with tears. All he can think about is the knowledge it’s going to happen again and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

“He knows where I live. The second time, he- he drove me home after. He had a key to my apartment. He’s been following me and he always shows up when I don’t have my gun but last night, I didn’t come home on time and… that’s why he was so angry.”

“Has he assaulted you before, Sonny?” Benson asks.

This is the hard part. Admitting  it happened to him multiple times because he’s too weak to protect himself. How does he say that most of the time, he completely froze and couldn’t fight back.

“At least every couple weeks for the last three and a half months, when the bruises started. He’d come find me wherever I was. The first time was in- was in the Forlini’s bathroom. The next was in the backseat of his car. Then it was my apartment, and then an alleyway, and then- I can’t- he did it so many times, and I couldn’t do anything.”

“Can you tell us who he is?”

Sonny shakes his head. “I don’t know his name. He’s, um, a couple inches taller than me. White guy with brown hair, brown eyes. Wears layers, I think- I think he works blue collar. He has callouses on his hands.”

“Anything else?” Benson asks. “Maybe tattoos, or birthmarks, or scars?”

He shakes his head again and wraps his arms around himself like it’ll make him feel safer. Every part of his body aches but he’s gotten good at ignoring it over time. Practice makes perfect. All this time spent hiding it, he’s used to pretending nothing is wrong even when it is, when it’s killing him slowly. Something moves in the corner of his vision and he looks up to see Rollins offering him tissues. He didn’t realize he was crying. He takes it from her with a grateful nod and dries his face.

“Why don’t you go splash some cold water on your face, and then I’ll have Rollins take you to the hospital to get checked out?”

“Okay,” he mumbles, standing up and crumpling the tissue in his face. It’ll be good to have a chance to try and put himself back together before the humiliating procedures he knows he’ll be subjected to in the ER. Behind him, he hears Rollins and Benson talking too quietly for him to make out the words. He doesn’t bother putting his scarf back on just to go wash his face in the bathroom, now that everyone knows what he couldn’t manage to fight off. What he let happen to him.

In his peripheral vision he sees someone following him but brushes it off as his anxiety getting the better of him yet again. He’s safe in the precinct, even if he isn’t anywhere else. Sonny pushes open the bathroom door, finding it thankfully empty, and turns on the sink. Maybe this will be over. He knows how hard the rest of the squad work to protect victims. As hard as it is to admit, he’s a victim. He’s weak.

The bathroom door opens again and he turns around. It’s him. Again. All noise dies in Sonny’s throat as he backs away.

“Please, no-”

“You think you can get away from me?”

His back hits the wall and those calloused hands are on him again and Sonny grabs his gun and fires. It only takes one shot, echoing in the tile bathroom and probably through the whole precinct as well. Sonny’s left shaking, pinned against the wall by a dead body that’s covering him in blood. First in the door is Fin, followed by a uni and then Benson.

“Carisi? Are you alright?”

He can’t answer. Someone pulls the body off of him and he drops his gun from his shaking hands. He just killed someone. There’s a dead body. He’s covered in blood. Christ, there’s so much blood. So much. It’s everywhere. He can’t wipe his face because it’s coating his hands. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Carisi. Deep breath.”

Rollins must’ve gotten here at some point because now she’s in front of him trying to get him to breathe in more than gasping bursts. His hands keep shaking and he can’t make them stop. The world is spinning. But everything is finished now. He’s finally safe.

Buy me a ko-fi if you enjoyed?

[brynne-lagaao]

(Fanfic) Set in Stone - Chapter Sixteen

Title: Set in Stone

Pairing: Sarumi

Chapter: 16/18

Rating: R18 (explicit content)

Mirrors: AO3 | Website

Summary: Yata wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he performed a summon on his own in a fit of drunken loneliness. It definitely wasn’t some asshole demon with a bad attitude, even if that demon happened to be frustratingly hot. But breaking their contract was going to mean working together, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could take before he snapped… one way or another.

Note: Thank you to @dropletons for being my beta and to @chromekins for helping with the magic aspect. This fic is not entirely accurate in terms of modern magic and the demon lore was basically made up to suit the story, but I tried to keep somewhat of an authentic feel, so hopefully that succeeded.

Yata’s memory of crossing into the grove of trees was hazy and he wasn’t totally sure how he managed to navigate well enough to make his way over to his garden. By the time he got there, he was breathing harshly and his hands had clenched into fists. His vision was suspiciously blurry; he scowled furiously against the sharp sting behind his eyes.

It was stupid to get this upset over it. What did he expect?

What the hell had he expected? He was a fucking idiot, getting his hopes up like that.

Even the usually calming atmosphere in that space wasn’t doing anything to soothe the hurt throbbing within him. Yata felt his breathing become labored, as if the air was too thick. His throat seemed to burn with each intake. It was like his emotions were ruling the area around him, powerful and untamed, warping it from a relaxed and seductive place to something dark and twisted. He could barely see the plants he’d carefully cultivated, everything seeming to blur together into unimportant fragments as the energy fed into his frustration and sadness.

His instincts were calling out for some action – anything to quell his pain – but he didn’t know what.

What am I supposed to do now? He didn’t have any answers.

Soft footsteps behind him interrupted those pained thoughts, and he heard the familiar sound of Saruhiko's tongue clicking. “You didn't have to run off like that.”

Last person in the world he wanted to see right now. Yata clenched his teeth, a surge of anger flaring up through the ache. “Go away,” he gritted out, struggling to keep his temper in check.

It was starting to hit him just how much Saruhiko had been fucking with him over the past few days. Every time – every single fucking time he'd stopped to question what that unexpected rush of feelings meant, he’d been interrupted, sidetracked and misled. The cool, unapologetic and methodical way it had been done was almost enraging.

The only reason he was even trying not to get up in Saruhiko’s face over this shit was because he knew it probably wasn't personal. It may have been cold, but this was never supposed to be a thing in the first place. They weren’t dating or anything, just two adults having casual sex. It wasn’t really Saruhiko's fault that Yata had caught real feelings, and if he didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout, well... he wasn’t the fucking first.

What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? He always did shit like this, letting his emotions get the best of him. It figured that the first person he'd fall in love with for real would end up not returning it. And not just that, but also being actively bothered by his feelings.

It really was going to be better for everyone when this contract ended, even if thinking about it now made him feel like his stomach was hollowing out into some kind of pit of despair.

It was over before it really started, huh?

He expected Saruhiko to click his tongue again and make some cutting remark, but all he heard instead was a sharp sigh followed by a mumbled, “You know I can't.”

Right, and then there was that. Fucking pain in the ass contract! Without looking, Yata clenched his fists harder and snarled back, “Then turn the fuck around, you asshole!”

If he couldn't be alone, he at least didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

Saruhiko did click his tongue then, though it seemed to have a half-hearted feel to it. “I don’t know why you're making such a big deal out of this,” he muttered, sounding unexpectedly resentful. “It’s not like you don’t have other options, so there's no point in getting fixated.”

At that, Yata did spin around, fixing him with an incredulous stare. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded.

“It’s obvious, right?” Saruhiko’s arms were crossed over his chest almost defensively, his gaze dark and a frown on his lips. “There’s no one in this plane who could be with you for your entire lifespan, so of course you'd get attached to an option that would.” He raised an eyebrow almost challengingly, tone beginning to take on that condescending drawl. “The answer to that is obvious, though. Just pick another circle from that book of yours, and you're bound to get a demon who will be willing to – ”

Sudden and overwhelming rage had Yata moving before he could stop to think, reaching out with a wordless snarl and grabbing a handful of Saruhiko’s shirt to pull him in roughly so that he could fix a desperate and furious glare on his face. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he growled. “I’m gonna punch you in the face, you goddamn asshole!”

Saruhiko’s lids lowered, a little spark of something that Yata couldn’t place lighting in what remained visible of his eyes. “What? Isn't it the truth?” His lips curled in a small, mocking edge of a smirk. “You summoned me because you were lonely – isn’t that right, Misaki?” The name drew out slowly and deliberately. “Wouldn’t you have jumped at the chance to have anyone fill that gap? It doesn’t matter who it is in the end.”

The anger coursing through Yata's veins was so strong that he was shaking with it, fingers clenched so hard on Saruhiko’s shirt that they were white and trembling. “You don't know what you're talking about!” he snapped back. “Don’t mouth off about shit you don't even understand! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He seriously thinks I'm just that desperate? Behind the fury that was driving him, Yata could feel the unmistakable hurt that was making his throat seem to close up and his chest constrict. Worse than a rejection, this was the person he’d fallen for brushing off his feelings as if they meant nothing. Dismissing them like he could just turn around and point them at someone else.

If only it was that damn easy...

"Don’t I?" Saruhiko was still offering him that hateful smirk, eyes lidded. “Or maybe I’ve just touched a nerve.” When Yata gave his shirt a rough tug, he swayed easily with it, a breathless little huff of laughter escaping him. “Explain to me how you were expecting a random summon to give you someone who’d ease that loneliness if you were planning to be selective about it, then. Hm?”

“You…” The word came out as a growl again, rage and pain mingling in his belly. Yata glowered back, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You think I expected to summon up a boyfriend? Hah!” Somehow, he managed to huff out that last word, sneering back without humor. “Yeah, I was lonely – so what? Think I couldn’t find someone if I was that desperate?” Even just saying it now, he could feel the truth of it clicking into place in his head – a reality he’d been aware of despite not quite having it clear in his conscious thoughts. “What the hell do you think my problem was, then? Why d’you think I couldn’t even get a one-night stand? I've got standards, damnit – I don’t just fuck any old asshole, and I sure as hell don't date them either!”

Saruhiko's expression had started to change partway through the rant; he was frowning by the time Yata paused for breath, looking uncharacteristically baffled. When the pause came, he clicked his tongue. “Then why – ?”

“Why’d I summon you?” Yata shook his head, letting out another humorless bark of a laugh. “Good question! I was drunk and frustrated and lonely...” Recalling that moment, he could feel some of the righteous fury start to drain out of him, the ache in his core spreading out to the rest of his body. It was hard to keep meeting Saruhiko's gaze, but he kept it up stubbornly, determined to at least make his feelings understood. Even if they weren't going to be returned... Well, he was gonna manage this much, at least. I’m not letting you off that easily! “I thought maybe I’d get a sprite or a familiar or... something.” At that, he huffed, managing a small rueful smile. “My instincts led me to you.”

He could feel it as well as hear it when Saruhiko sucked in a sharp breath. Even as Yata watched, those grey-blue eyes widened, that endearingly startled look taking over his face. For a moment, he seemed unable to respond, caught without words as he stared mutely back.

“Look,” Yata went on, before he could collect himself and break the mood somehow, “I may be lonely, yeah, and sure, I’m gonna... outlive everyone here.” It was still painful to say, the words seeming to lodge in his throat, but he swallowed hard and pushed on. “But I still get to pick the people I wanna get close to.” He released the front of Saruhiko's shirt, stepping back to brace his hands on his hips and offering a sharp frown. “I won't be happy with just anyone, got it?”

Saruhiko was staring at him as if he’d just suddenly sprouted a second head; after a brief second, he clicked his tongue and looked away, eyebrows still furrowed and eyes unfathomable. It was an expression of clear frustration. “Why me?” he muttered, so low that Yata almost didn't catch it.

At least that one was easy. “Seriously?” Yata felt like laughing, almost giddy with the sudden relief that came with the honest question. “How can you even ask that? You’re so smart that I can barely look away from you – it’s like you can explain anything.” Once he’d started on the subject, he found it easy to keep going, following the instinctive flow of his emotions. “And even though you act like an asshole, you have this way of saying things, it’s so cool! You’re hard to keep up with, but you still try to explain shit to me, and even though you act like you don’t care, you put in all this effort to help me sort things out.” He shook his head, a little bit of the earlier warmth of those freshly realized feelings coursing through him and drawing out a reluctant smile. “Plus, you can make me laugh – and every time we talk, it just feels so easy, like we’d never run out of things to say to each other.” He could feel his throat start to clog up again, and forced himself to finish, tone husky. “Why wouldn’t I fall for you? You’re awesome, Saruhiko!”

His voice broke a little on the last of that, and Yata finally couldn’t stand it, turning his gaze aside hastily as that ache started again in his chest. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck to cover the moment of weakness and cleared his throat again. “I get it if you don’t feel the same, y’know," he managed, painfully forcing the words out against the pang of hurt as his heart seemed to squeeze in on itself. “You don’t have to pull all this bullshit out of your ass to make it okay to reject me. Just do it, say it – get it over with, all right? Don’t write my – my feelings off like that.”

There was a moment of tense silence between them, the air seeming to grow thicker with each passing second. The pounding of Yata’s heart felt loud in his own ears, and he had the uncomfortable impression that it was echoing out in the air around them, constricting further and further as they stood there.

He swallowed, ready to break that awkward moment by any means, when Saruhiko suddenly breathed in sharply, and let out a soft, dark chuckle. “The one who doesn't understand is you, Misaki,” he mumbled. When Yata glanced up sharply, he found himself being fixed with an unexpectedly expressive gaze, Saruhiko’s eyes seeming to burn into his with an intensity he'd never seen before.

For a moment, it felt like the breath had been sucked from his lungs. “Saruhiko...?”

“Me too,” Saruhiko cut him off, something of an uncontrolled edge in his voice even though the tone of it was low. “How would you expect me not to? Do you have any idea what it’s like being in your head?” He didn't wait for Yata to respond. “I've never felt emotions like yours before. You’re headstrong and thoughtless, but I can’t get enough. When you run wild, when you’re being yourself without holding back... I don’t know how you do it, throwing yourself into things you shouldn’t even care about so wholeheartedly. You’re so passionate and bright, it’s blinding. I can’t stand it, but I can’t get enough of it. It’s so annoying. I don’t understand – ” He cut off there, making a small, frustrated sound. “How does someone like you exist? How do you do it so easily, smiling like that and acting like that and just... being you. Why?” At that, his face seemed to twist in on itself, eyes taking on a desperate, lost edge. “Why am I so addicted to your emotions? To you? It’s like you're a drug and I never had any chance after I was exposed.”

The outburst left Yata stunned, Saruhiko's outward show of sudden and passionate emotion almost more surprising that the words. He felt his heart flutter wildly in his chest, like a bird trying to bust out of its cage, and stared back, mesmerized. He thinks of me like that? All those moments of trying to rein himself in, trying to curb his crazy, uncontrollable, stupid emotions... And all along, Saruhiko had liked it.

It was almost too much to believe. Too much to hope for, at this point.

The pause didn’t last long. Saruhiko’s eyes were intent, almost frenzied; when he spoke next, it was with a conviction that bordered on madness. “If you’ve really fallen for me, then prove it, Misaki.” He spread his arms expansively. “Leave the contract as it is. Keep me here.” An almost manic grin was building on his face. “Show me how much you’re demanding of me. Make me yours without holding back.”

Maybe part of it was the air in there, thick with magic, urging him to give in and indulge his every whim, or maybe it was the recent emotional storm he’d weathered taking its toll. Maybe both. Regardless, the command seemed to cause something in Yata’s brain to snap; he was moving before he was fully conscious of it, surging forward and into Saruhiko’s arms, a growl on his lips and fire lighting every nerve on his body. As he pressed forward against Saruhiko’s body and leaned up to aggressively capture his lips, he could hear those words repeating again and again in his head, like a mantra. “Make me yours… make me yours… make me yours… Misaki…”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Just the idea of it was burning within him.

It was so delicious that even the edge of wrong that clung to the moment felt good, an erotic and tantalizing sense of forbidden passion that he couldn’t have resisted if he wanted to. Saruhiko’s lips were on his, the unmistakable scent of him clouding Yata’s senses and making his body tense with desire. The way they clung to each other, mouths joined and tongues clashing erratically, was desperate and clumsy. Their hands caught on each other’s clothing, arms tightening as they tried to draw closer and come into as much contact as possible.

He would’ve done anything Saruhiko wanted in that moment. All that mattered was the insistent, intoxicating need that had consumed his thoughts. He didn’t even want to think, just… feel.

They ended up backed onto a tree, with Yata insistently pressing Saruhiko against it and groaning low in his throat as Saruhiko responded to his aggression by rolling his hips forward, gripping Yata’s ass with both hands to hold him in place so their clothed erections ground together.

The sensation was incredible with the rush of adrenaline still strong in his veins. Yata pulled back hastily, chest heaving as he reached down to tug his shirt roughly over his head and then leaning back in against an already shirtless Saruhiko, eagerly widening his stance so that his knees could brace against the bark and they had leverage to thrust freely against each other.

Saruhiko made a soft thrumming noise against his mouth, fingers skating around Yata’s hips to tug meaningfully at his fly. There was an unmistakable tremor in them, eagerness seeming to make him clumsy. Yata brushed his hands aside and made quick work of removing the rest of his clothing, breaking their kiss in the process. They were both breathing heavily as they fumbled with Saruhiko’s pants as well, a cloud of heat seeming to form in the air between them.

It was fast, impulsive, thoughtless… He didn’t want to think. He wanted to feel Saruhiko’s body against him, moving inside him, the two of them becoming one.

Saruhiko being his.

It felt wrong on so many levels, but right to his most base desires, and Yata wasn’t interested in anything outside of those at the moment. The need to join together, to claim, was surging through his veins and consuming his every thought. His body ached for it, every nerve on edge. When Saruhiko’s fingers ran over his skin, he trembled with overpowering want, his own fingers tightening hard enough to leave more bruises on Saurhiko’s pale, supple arms and shoulders.

If the moan that vibrated against his lips was any indication, Saruhiko loved it as much as he did.

They sank to the ground when the last barrier of clothing was removed, Saruhiko’s back braced against the soft moss at the base of the tree and Yata straddling his hips. In this position, he had the advantage of height for once and used it without any hesitation, sliding the glasses off and setting them aside before bringing both hands to cup Saruhiko’s head. His fingers buried in that soft dark hair as he tilted it up further towards him, initiating another deep kiss.

The pleasant, throbbing ache in his body was so consuming that he barely noticed the telltale pain in his back until Saruhiko made a soft noise against his mouth, startled rather than aroused this time, and broke the kiss. When Yata blinked hazily at him, uncomprehending, he was staring in dazed, lustful wonder at some point beyond. His fingers slid up from the small of Yata’s back to brush along the line of his spine and out, along his –

Oh.

“Your wings,” Saruhiko murmured, as if it wasn’t obvious by that point. His gaze shifted back to meet Yata’s, dark with lust and a kind of possessive affection.

His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, and the sight of him caused something in Yata’s chest to squeeze, pleasure and pain blending within him delightfully. “Didn’t do it on purpose,” he managed to mumble back, resisting the urge to lean in and capture those lips with his own again.

“Mm.” The acknowledgement was almost a moan, Saruhiko’s fingers trembling against the point where the wings emerged from his back. He shifted forward, allowing a bit of space as the batlike wings and smooth horns emerged smoothly on his own back and head.

There was something undeniably hot about doing it like this; Yata couldn’t quite hold back the little involuntary noise that rose unbidden at the back of his throat. He lowered his hips so their erections could come into contact, a tiny jolt of pleasure rewarding the action, and his fingers tightened in Saruhiko’s hair.

“Misaki,” Saruhiko murmured in response, soft and heated and desperate, and their lips bumped and realigned, mouths opening to each other again as they shifted against each other’s bodies in a frenzied search for more contact.

It was weird to feel his wings curl inward as they did, instinctively circling the two of them, but there was something freeing about it. He felt wild and powerful, driven by instinct and desire, taking what he wanted without a care for how messed up it might be. The small circle created by both sets of wings and the solid backing of the tree felt like its own world, a place just for the two of them where nothing else mattered and they didn’t have to deal with any problems.

Saruhiko’s dick was hot and stiff against his, and Yata could already vividly imagine the sensation of it sliding into his body, setting his mind into a frenzy of need. He was ready to use whatever was on hand to make that happen – too far gone to care about the logistics that would’ve mattered outside of this space – but before he could quite act on it, Saruhiko broke their kiss again, pulling back far enough to have space to murmur, “How much do you trust me?”

“Huh?” Yata stared at him, confusion piercing the heady fog that had settled over his brain.

“With this,” Saruhiko clarified, freeing one of his hands and turning it so that a clear gel could manifest in his palm.

“Fuck.” The expulsion was out of his mouth before he could think, throaty and affected. Yata couldn’t help the grin that spread on his lips in response, a little shudder of anticipation running through him as he leaned down to mumble, “I trust you,” against Saruhiko’s lips.

They weren’t patience with the preparation, but it hadn’t been that long since they’d last fucked, so only the bare minimum was necessary anyway. Saruhiko penetrated him right away with three slick fingers, not bothering to be gentle, and Yata pulled on his hair in response, that intoxicating mix of sting and satisfaction coursing through him. They exchanged short, heated kisses as Saruhiko coated his erection, and when he was done and the head of his cock was positioned, Yata lowered himself onto it slowly, shutting his eyes and savoring that thick, delicious burn as their bodies joined yet again.

Saruhiko breathed his name a second time, voice breaking in the middle and fingers tightening on Yata's hips, and the rush of arousal that triggered within him amplified the pleasure even further. Yata moaned low, opening his eyes to take in Saruhiko’s hazy, clouded gaze and slid his shaking fingers up to cup that beautiful face, thumbs running along the line of flushed cheeks.

Mine.

A wild rush of possessive energy overtook him as he sank to the base of Saruhiko’s dick. With their positioning, he was in more or less complete control and he took advantage of it shamelessly, lifting his body to allow most of the thick length to slip free and then sliding back down indulgently. It felt amazing to draw out the sensation of penetration, and it seemed to drive Saruhiko crazy; as Yata watched hungrily, his eyes slid shut and he made a breathy, helpless noise, almost like a mix between a whine and a moan.

You’re mine…

It was intoxicating. Yata curled his fingers around the curve of Saruhiko’s head and began to lift and drop his hips in earnest, leaning in to capture those swollen lips with his own again and parting them insistently with his tongue. Mine, he thought again, with each motion that caused Saruhiko's cock to thrust into his body. Mine, mine, mine... You're mine, Saruhiko...

He was lost in the pace and the pleasure, moaning into Saruhiko’s mouth with unrestrained abandon, when he felt the telltale tightening as he hit the tipping point between the gradual build and the rush to climax. Instinctively, he shifted to change the angle as Saruhiko had done frequently before so that his prostate was brushed by the head of Saruhiko’s cock. The rush of sensation had him tensing up, their kiss breaking as a wild cry escaped his lips, and it only took another two desperate, clumsy thrusts before he was coming in a rush, body quivering and voice breaking with the pleasurable release.

Saruhiko squirmed beneath him, a breathy whine escaping him as he thrust his hips as much as he was able, drawing out the sensation to something almost unbearable. And then he stiffened up and began to come as well, his cock twitching and the rest of him trembling violently as he spent himself fully.

Yata let his head drop to rest his forehead against Saruhiko’s as they rode out the last of those shivers in the aftermath, the high of the moment starting to gradually fade. In that instant, he could let himself remain blissfully thoughtless, pleasure still dominating his brain and body.

Only for that one instant.

With the adrenaline rush gone and clarity starting to cut through the haze that had overlaid his thoughts, that sense of something wrong was returning full-force. Yata released Saruhiko’s face, bracing his clammy hands on the bark of the tree behind him as he shakily lifted himself so their bodies would separate. Their eyes met, mutually befuddled as the rush from their orgasms wore off.

His head was a mess of conflicting emotions. That fierce, possessive streak hadn’t entirely faded, and he couldn’t help but feel the urge to lean back down, to claim. But at the same time he felt a growing pit in his stomach, a sick feeling that he couldn’t shake. He felt gross and weary, heart aching in a way that he couldn’t help but interpret as a very clear message.

This isn’t right.

Even as he stared down at Saruhiko’s flushed face, a terrible understanding growing in the clouded gaze they shared, he thought he could pick the exact sticking point out of the chaos of his own thoughts.

“Leave the contract as it is.”

“I can’t,” he mumbled out loud, completely certain of the response despite the dazed tone of his own voice. He could feel it in his bones, even if he couldn’t place why just the thought of keeping the contract between them made him feel like his heart and soul had been painfully poisoned.

Saruhiko shut his eyes, breathing in deeply before reopening them. That passive wariness seemed to have slammed back into place, but the resentment in his gaze was still as clear as day. “There’s nothing to talk about, then,” he muttered, bringing up his hands to carefully but firmly push Yata to climb off of him.

Yata complied numbly, feeling bereft as he rolled to sit on the mossy ground. Before all this, it had felt like his heart was breaking – now, it felt like it had been yanked out of his body. He folded forward over his knees with his wings tucked in close, closing his eyes against the sting behind them as Saruhiko moved sharply to clean himself and pull his clothing back into place.

Neither of them said a word. Like Saruhiko had told him, there didn’t seem to be anything they could say.

“Sometimes disagreements run too deep to just talk out.”

[alexilulu]

10 Games I Played in 2017, Roughly Ranked

This is wildly long lol so have fun, idiots

#10: DESTINY 2

This is sort of awkward. Destiny 1 was a game I enjoyed with small reservations; it was obvious how hampered they were by their own backend in creating new content and design spaces to explore, prior to The Taken King. Even then, it had shining moments of joy for me. I adored the goofy dead ghost hunting like halo 2/3 skullfinding, using every trick at your dispoaal to find another morsel of insane, well-crafted tidbits of lore for this world that the game itself rarely even touched on, let alone explored. Destiny 2 was supposed to be the "we listened and we're fixing it" for that game, and a needed jump to a new backend that would free them to create the things they dreamed of.

The grimoire was removed wholesale, those bits of lore still true presumably but inaccessible in the game again. Instead of finding ghosts, you examine objects in the world, getting a 2-sentence Nolan North quip that usually is more funny than it is educational about this sprawling world they created. And it doesn't save that anywhere. We actually moved backwards in term of the lore's accessibility to the player, somehow. The game itself is still Destiny, helmet popping and aiming down sights and kicking balls around the tower, and it's storyline was ambitious in a way the original was not, actually making you feel at least a little weak for about 10 minutes before you're back to killing Fallen and then doing donuts on your Sparrow on top of their corpse. The game treats itself as both too serious and totally unserious in the same breath, a monologue of serious consequences punctuated by Cayde cradling a chicken and petting it gently. It's good, but it remains to see if it'll reach the same comfortable spot Destiny 1 got to by the end of it's lifespan.

9: NIOH Here's where I admit that some of these games I've played, in that I played it for a few hours and haven't had time to return to it. I have it on good faith that Nioh is an incredible game, and from the bits I've touched I know that to be at least probably true. I've heard it described more as a Diablo-esque loot-game pretending to be a Dark Souls ball-busting difficulty monster than vice versa. It's something I'm hoping to come back to, and if I'd been able to spend more time with, I likely would have put much further up the list.

8: Dishonored: Death of the Outsider Another game I fuckin' haven't had time to complete, Death of the Outsider is the thing I and several friends have wanted for years; Billie Lurk fucking shit up. And her powerset rules. I'm only like 2 missions in, but I'm looking forward to finishing the rest sometime before Christmas, hopefully. Dishonored 2 was definitely a game I was thrilled to play, and I know this will be more of the same.

7: Resident Evil 7 What could be better than the creeping horror of a deranged family out in the Louisiana Bayou? Resident Evil 7 was honestly so unbelievably effective at learning from the last 5+ years of immersive horror games while still, at it's heart, being a goofy Resident Evil game under that. That style clashes at times; The moment when you go outside to the courtyard of the mansion and find a double-keycard locked door when the most advanced thing in the whole house before now has been the goofy projector-doors that hearken back to the ancient history of the series. I think it sticks it's landing well, with a good lategame twist and plenty of goofy superscience in between. I've been meaning to go back to it for the Chris Redfield DLC, but I don't know if I actually want to, to be honest. That game was a fun ride, and they did their best to add the usual replay stuff like a NG+ gun and such, but I think I'm okay leaving it where I left it, on good terms.

6: Tacoma I bought the hoodie that came with a LUNAR TRANSFER STATION TACOMA patch Fullbright sold long before that game had it's transformation following feedback from beta testers, and I never stopped looking forward to it coming out. Gone Home was like a...I won't say formative, because it isn't true, but it was definitive for me. A story about two girls falling in love together doesn't come around that often, and the attention to the setting and feel of being in this old, deeply lived in house. Tacoma shows that same love of character and place in spades, giving you an even more intimate look at the world the crew of the Tacoma lived in together. I honestly lost it when I noticed during a scene that next door, their cat was asleep on the shelf above the laundry machine. Just the smallest details and love shown for everyone involved broke my heart and put it back together in a different shape. A vision of a world utterly fucked by corporatist greed such that they are essentially their own extragovernmental entities, and people live on anyway, just being people. It's so sad, but still sort of hopeful? Even if the world is garbage, people will keep on living as best as they can. It's very millennial of myself to find solace in that idea, honestly, but that's this game for you, one crafted based on the excesses of the last decade spiraling out of control.

5: Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood In any other year, this game would be #1. You're gonna hear me say that a few more times here before we're done. Final Fantasy 14 has been a constant in my life for the last 3 years, delivering again and again the sort of joy that only comes from a game lovingly made by people dedicated to their own love of the genre, the setting and their playerbase. That's the only way I can describe it, lovingly crafted. Naoki Yoshida loves this game, and so does his team, and every inch of that game radiates this. The storyline itself is a little meandering, jumping from a failed revolution to formenting a successful one, to returning triumphant with new armies and allies at your back. Everyone in that game is, again, a joy to be around. It has a somewhat similar roadtrip feel to Heavensward, but never treads the same ground in the same way. It's more like...taking your friend abroad to another country, while Heavensward was a road trip across a state that stops and starts in fits and spurts. I don't know if this expansion will hold my attention in the same way that Heavensward did, or that A Realm Reborn did. I don't know if I have that part of myself that's willing to ride with an MMO across the lifetime of it's expansion this time. I want to support this game, and the people who make it, and my friends who do still ride with it. But this might be my last expansion.

4: Tales of Berseria If this came out any other year, it might be my game of the year. You'll hear that 2 more times before we're done. I've never been a Tales person. I know people who are, and I understand the mystique, but I never Understood it until repeated praise (and some very cute lesbian ship art) forced my hand into buying it. I don't know if I'm gonna be ok when I finish it. The game is very baldly about doing bad things. The protagonist is a demon on a blatantly self-destructive revenge quest against the self-appointed savior of the world, aided by a demon swordsman who wants to kill his brother, a witch with existentially depressed ennui, a boy who barely knows who he is, a pirate cursed to bring ruin to those around him, and a pure maiden with a tragic backstory trying to do good in the world who has fallen in with them through a series of missteps so comic they're mostly just sad. Together, this totally uncohesive group of misfits abandoned by the world, rejecting it and destroying everything that stands in their way. It crushes my heart on the regular. This is definitely a 60+ hour JRPG because I just got to hour 20 and there's absolutely still so much left to go. They've introed villain after villain, placing the shotgun on the mantelpiece for Velvet to mangle herself with just to kill them in the blast. This game breaks my heart. The world it's in is awful, every party member has been utterly ruined by some facet of it that happened to conflict with a totally normal thing they wanted. They're the devil's rejects. And I love every single one of them.

3: Butterfly Soup Remember all the praise I gave Gone Home back there? This game is like that for me this year. You can just make a game about some queer girls playing baseball and being in love, and I'll love it with all my heart. It's not hard for me to peg why I love it; Akarsha is like a fucking mirror pointed directly at my face with a moustache painted on it, Diya's anxiety and gay panic is so deeply relatable that I very nearly cried the first time she said the word Lesbian to herself and immediately tried to convince herself she's not gay. Brianna Lei's depiction of young, messy, goofy girls living with all the problems that happen to kids their age; insane parents, abuse, self-discovery, a lot of bad jokes and getting all too real at a moment's notice. I honestly cannot wait to see what else she can bring to the table.

1 (TIE): NieR: Automata If this game came out any other year, it would be #1 without effort. The original NieR did something at just the right time, with just the right amount of feeling. A rejection of the trend of father figures rescuing their child and getting the good ending, NieR was a quest to protect a girl to the detriment of everyone around the protagonist, including the girl herself. The final ending of that game ends with you erasing yourself from the world so that you never existed, to save someone who deserves to live and would have if not for you. NieR's destructive quest to protect his daughter literally destroys the world around him, disrupting millennia of careful planning and manipulation by people far smarter than him. All because they took his daughter. Damn the world, he wanted what was his. NieR: Automata follows another 10,000 years after that, in the same world, scarred by a war that broke out centuries ago. The game frequently lies to both you the player and you the protagonist, but the protagonist already knows better, and simply doesn't let on. The game focuses, instead, on the ways that something built by humans craves to become like its long-gone masters. Androids are built to be physically ideal, sexy and at times loving to one another, because that's what humans did. It's unclear if they chose this for themselves or if humans did it to them (and obviously Yoko Taro chose for them to be like this, human choice or no), but it's how they live. The machines they fight do the same, playing a phone game across millennia of what humanity was, trying to fill the holes in their life with gender binaries, sexual intercourse, children and family and love. What separates them from us? Are we any different? Do we deserve to be different? Do they? I don't know how to talk about this game coherently. There's so much there. People recently have been talking about it again, as lists like these come up, and so many bad takes are floating around that it crushes my heart. 2B's sexy, so the game is horny. It's bad because you have to replay it 5 times (no, wrong, bad). It's bad because 9S is a softboy and 2B could have been a lesbian with any of the women throwing themselves at her (come on, dude, at least try). I'm not gonna try to rebut any of these, because the game itself doesn't need my defense. It stands on its own. It's the best game I've played in the last 5 years, in all likelihood. It's definitely my favorite of the last decade.

1 (TIE): Persona 5 If this game came out on any other year, it would be #1 with a bullet. This game had an insanely tortured development cycle. Pushed back again, then again, then again. Remember that February 2012 graphic that used to go around, and likely will right around Valentine's Day? Characters were revamped, removed, redesigned 5 times in the case of Haru (who started out as a boy, somehow). But it's exactly the game I needed in 2017. I was a transplant in Texas in 2004, going into high school in a new state where we knew no-one and nobody. I was quiet, spending most of my time outside class reading the 6th Dark Tower novel, Song of Susannah, a 2 inch thich hardcover beast. Because it's high school, rumors started about whatever they thought I was because I was quiet and wore a hoodie to school regardless of the weather, hiding guns or knives or what have you. Akira's experience touched me, in ways I never thought I would be a decade after graduating. Shit, everyone touched me in some way. Yusuke's quiet acceptance of the abuse and labels applied to him by his teacher and his fellow students. Futaba's isolation in the wake of her mother's death hit me in the heart; I dropped out of college when my own mother had a spinal cord fusion in her lumbar spine that ruined her life, left her with 10% her previous mobility. I mourned for years. Haru's quiet demeanor and the immediate, effusive joy she displayed whenever she could be with her friends, no matter the context. Ryuji's bristling rage at authority that ridicules him. Even the side cast struck me in ways Persona 4 and 3 never did. Kawakami's tiredness with the world, her exploitation she brushes off as a fact of life. Takemi's cool acceptance of being forced from the job of her dreams into treating bruises and being blackballed by the world she worked to survive in. Sojiro's struggles with cruel family that would destroy the daughter he loves as his own. Persona 5 is a game about the ways that society is designed to strike down the odd man out, casting them aside as worthless or ridiculous. The simple girl run into a cult, the daughter of a model forced into a role she never asked for, the typecast and the downtrodden, who deserve so much better than the world they've been given. This is a deeply flawed game. Within hours of Ryuji standing side by side with Ann to defend her from the casual sexism of Kamoshida or any other number of aggressions, he becomes a slavering hound doing the same thing to his best friend. The writing, when it's not inconsistent, simply isn't there; Haru's final and rather grand entrance peters off into maybe a dozen lines she has in the main story following her introduction. 6+ years in development can do some bad stuff to a game. But I love it, despite all of that. I can see what this game could have been, with a less tortured development, with a director who didn't ask the character design to make all of the female confidants "cuter". With a more focused vision, a clearer goal, and a better route there. All of that said, I still love my satanic crime ring. And I probably always will.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Floating, Pt17

Word Count: 3878 Author’s Notes: Tagging - @medicatemedrmccoy​, @from-kitten-to-kitsune​ @suzen23smith​ @outside-the-government​ @sistasarah-sallysaidso​ @nymphadora-blurryface​ @bluebird214 

I stood, waiting, outside Bones’ room. Christine had been unavailable to hang out with, and Uhura had plans with Spock. I didn’t really know anyone else well enough to impose on their off time. So I was waiting outside Bones’ room for him to answer because my only plans for my child-free evening were rubbing bruise ointment on his back.

The door finally opened, and Jim stepped out. I dodged out of his way before he walked into me.

“Hey,” he smiled. “I didn’t think I’d bump into you so soon.”

“Yeah, I’m actually here for Leonard. On account of it being his room.” It felt awkward and forced. Jim was right, eventually we were going to be friends. But at the moment, it felt stiff and uncoordinated to try to have light, meaningless discourse with him.

“Oh, of course.” He stepped aside, obviously feeling similarly uncomfortable. “I’ll confirm the details with you by tomorrow’s Beta shift, Bones.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Leonard raised an eyebrow at me. I held up the salve and stepped into his room. “That was forced.”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted.

“Did you have stronger feelings than he realized?” Leonard demanded. “Because if he’s hurt you, so help me. I don’t care if he is my best friend, I’ll whip his -”

“No, no, the split was amicable. His read of the situation was right on point,” I interrupted, smiling. “It’s just a little weird. It’ll pass.” He narrowed his eyes and I could tell he was trying to figure out if I was lying. I met his gaze, and he nodded.

“Alright. I suppose you’d like to get on with your evening.” He started pulling his shirt over his head. Jim’s words echoed in my head and I pressed my lips together to stop myself from the torrent of questions I wanted to ask him.

“I’m in no rush,” I admitted, looking at my feet, waiting for him to turn his back to me. I looked up and he was staring at me.

“Why not?”

“Chris was busy. Nyota had plans. I’m not in any hurry to head back to my quarters and sit around waiting on Katie.” I forced myself to maintain eye contact. I’d hard a hard time not admiring Leonard’s physique before everything shook down with Jim. Now I had to fight to look away lest I do something completely stupid. He looked like he was going to say something, and then stopped himself, instead presenting his back to me. The bruise was already significantly improved, but he still flinched when I touched his skin.

“Do you have something against warming up your hands before you touch a body, kid?” he complained.

“Are my hands cold, or are you feeling pain?” I countered. “Because they feel pretty warm to me.”

He reached for my free hand and wrapped his hands around it. His were warmer, but not by much. He scowled and placed my hand on his forearm. Again, there wasn’t much in the way of difference in temperature. “Maybe it’s pain. It doesn’t feel that cold now.”

“Mmhmm,” I murmured, concentrating on rubbing the salve into his skin. “I didn’t bring anything for pain with me. I can run back to medbay -”

His hand covered mine, still on his arm. “I don’t need anything for pain, Bryn.”

“But if you’re -”

“I don’t need anything for pain, Bryn,” he repeated. “But since you don’t have any other plans, maybe you could stick around and distract me.”

“I’m terrible at chess,” I offered. He let out a short bark of laughter, and then braced his side. “Bones, you’re in a lot more pain than you’re willing to admit. I think I should get something for you.”

“Just distract me,” he asked. “Not with chess. I can’t stand the game.”

“Yeah, you kind of look more like a poker guy,” I laughed, recapping the salve, and stepping back to hand him his shirt. He pulled the undershirt on, and stepped over to his shelving unit.

“I have a deck of cards and some chips somewhere,” he commented, moving some things on the top shelf. I fussed with the replicator and got us something to drink while he sat and shuffled the cards. “You can play poker, can’t you?”

“You think I got through med school at the Academy without knowing?”

“Couldn’t tell you, I didn’t go to med school at the Academy. Just officer training,” he countered.

“Oh, I didn’t realise!” I exclaimed. “Yeah, Kara and I were the reigning champs of study poker.”

“Study poker?”

“Yeah, kind of like strip poker, but when you won, the loser didn’t lose clothing, they had to answer revision questions,” I laughed.

“I think I’d prefer strip poker,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, but you seem to really enjoy running around topless,” I countered.

“There’s no guarantee if we played strip poker that I’d be the one topless.” There was a challenge there that I knew better than to accept.

“Oh, I’m very good at poker,” I promised. “And you’re unwell. You can lose at strip poker when you’re back in peak physical condition. It’ll be more enjoyable for me.” I winked. He looked so offended that I had to bite my lip to not laugh.

“Oh, you’re on, kid,” he growled. “We’ll see who winds up losing.”

“When you’re healthy, Bones,” I reminded him. The cards snapped as he dealt them, and I couldn’t hide my amusement. “Do you want to see if you can win at study poker tonight?”

“No, I think higher stakes than that,” he countered. “Next shore leave, drinks on the loser.”

“That seems fair,” I agreed.

“I drink very expensive scotch.” He raised an eyebrow. “So save your creds up.”

I looked at my cards and cringed inwardly. It was going to take a great deal of bluffing to win this hand. I put my bet in, and traded out two cards. My hand improved, marginally. Bones traded out a single card. I checked. He raised the bet. I assessed my hand and called. He dropped his cards. He had a straight. I had two pair. He swept the chips to his side, and handed me the deck. The game continued, and I watched as my chips slowly moved over to his side of the table. He was handing my ass to me. He won the final hand and the grin he gave me was part triumphant and part mercenary.

“Top shelf scotch, kid.” He winked. I nodded.

“I let you win.” I winked back and tidied the chips. Before standing to retrieve the box for them, I stopped beside him. “I like expensive scotch too, but it’s more enjoyable to drink with a friend. You need to get some rest.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His arms snaked around my hips and he laid his head against my tummy.

“I haven’t thanked you.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.

“For letting you win at poker?” I laughed. He stood up beside me and pulled me back into his arms.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he chided. I sighed and pulled out of his arms reluctantly.

“Well, what would we do without you, Bones? You kinda forced my hand.” I headed toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Science Fair!” Katie woke me with a shake. I was dozing on the couch after my shift and was completely disoriented.

“What?” I asked.

“Mr. Yim is taking us to a science fair!” She exclaimed.

“Why?” I still wasn’t quite awake.

“Our holographic projection program! If we can work out some of the issues with it, he said he’ll take us to the science fair on Starbase 12 when the crew is on shore leave!” She was shaking with excitement. I rubbed my eyes and processed what she said.

“Shore leave? I don’t think there’s shore leave scheduled for a while.” I had to wonder how many months in the future this shore leave was supposed to be.

“It’s super soon, he said. As soon as we get to Starbase 12 for reprovisioning, Jim has authorized crew-wide leave, and I am going to a science fair!” She started going a happy dance. There were worse things for her to be that excited about. I wondered where exactly my brain had been that I hadn’t realized we were nearing Starbase 12, but I suspected I was suffering from selective hearing. I had been pulled in so many directions since the incident with the rock aliens that I wasn’t even sure which way was up. Bones had returned me to three times a week zero-grav drills, and Katie was struggling with her history class because she was focussing all her energy on science. I’d been spending most of the evenings she wasn’t working on the holographic imaging program tutoring her. And on those nights that she was tied up with the pursuit of science, Bones and I had expanded our poker game to include Scotty, Jim, Uhura and somewhat surprisingly, Spock. I felt like I was finally properly integrated into the crew.

“So are you back to school for extra tonight?” I asked, pulling the pins and elastic out of my hair, and combing my fingers through it.

“I am. We might try a larger scale projection next week, so we need to work on debugging it more.” She nodded. I replicated dinner for Katie and I, and when she finished inhaling her meal, she kissed me on the cheek and headed back to the education centre. I checked my appearance in the mirror, and after determining that I looked presentable, I commed Christine to see if she was interested in meeting me in the cantina, heading there before she responded.

Tarin waved from her table when she saw me, and I joined her. It had been ages since we’d sat down and visited, and I was looking forward to catching up. Christine joined us a few minutes later.

“It’s like the stars finally aligned so we could catch up!” Tarin laughed. “I haven’t seen either of you in too long.”

“Katie has been ignoring her history in order to focus on science,” I explained. “And while science is what will get her into the Academy early, she needs all her marks to be obscenely high.”

“So what you’re saying is that she has ninety-nine percent in history, instead of one hundred?” Christine laughed. I joined in.

“It’s funny because it’s true.” I nodded. Tarin grinned.

“My sister entered the academy at 14. I remember my parents worrying about how single-minded she was as well,” she offered. “I don’t think ninety-nine will keep her out.”

“The worst of it is that I don’t know if I want her to go so young,” I admitted. “I only just got her back full-time. To only get three years with her?”

“But once she finished, she can always request assignment with you until she’s an adult,” Christine suggested.

“Which only gives me two more years,” I sighed. “I’m borrowing worries, I know. It’s far too soon to be losing sleep over this.”

“Particularly when you have someone else helping you lose sleep,” Christine winked. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

“But I don’t.”

“I thought you and -”

“Oh no, that ended almost as quickly as it started,” I laughed. “Far too much cloak and dagger, I think, in the end.” I wasn’t about to share that Jim had pinpointed my less-than-platonic feelings for Bones before I had. Or that I had less-than-platonic feelings in the first place.

“Wait, are we talking about you and McCoy, or something else?” Tarin asked. My jaw dropped and Christine burst out laughing.

“Bones is my best friend. There’s nothing going on there,” I denied. Christine laughed again.

“To use our beloved CMO’s own favourite phrase, horse shit,” she chuckled. “If my best friend and I were constantly in one another’s laps like you two are, we’d be assigned shared quarters.”

“Christine, there is nothing happening between Doctor McCoy and I.” I kept my voice calm and steady. “He’s been my advocate and my ally, and he is my best friend shipboard.” Christine arched her eyebrow in disbelief, but let it go.

“Do either of you have exciting plans for shore leave?” Tarin carefully changed the subject. I lifted my hands in disbelief.

“Am I the only person who hasn’t been paying attention?” I asked. Christine shook her head.

“Nope, this is the first I’ve heard of it too,” she replied. “What shore leave?”

“We’ll be at Starbase 12 in about three days. Captain Kirk has authorized ship-wide leave,” she explained. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“I’ll ask Bones about it tomorrow morning.” I looked at Christine. “I hope that doesn’t mean he’s planning education leave for us or something.”

“12 has a pretty basic hospital and medical centre. I can’t think there would be much for us to learn. And he would never consider drilling us off the ship,” Christine said. My comm chirped, alerting me that Katie was headed back to quarters.

“Sorry to cut the evening short, that was Katie,” I excused myself. I wondered about the shore leave as I headed back to my quarters. I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for why Bones wouldn’t let medical personnel know about it, but I assumed there would be a reason.

Katie wasn’t in when I got back. I’d asked her to comm me before she came home so I could be back in time, but the education centre was closer than the cantina, and she nearly always beat me. I looked down at my communicator and checked the message. It wasn’t a message from Katie, it was from Bones. I turned around and headed out to his quarters.

“Okay, you’ve summoned me away from drinks with Chris and Tarin. What’s up?” I asked as I entered his quarters. He was sitting on his couch, poring over his PADD.

“This curriculum is ridiculous. Why is it so important for kids to know about history? Shouldn’t Katie be learning about other cultures? Earth history can be summed up in a few words. And then we blew shit up again.” He put air quotes around the last sentence.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been trying to help Katie with her history homework, but I don’t understand why it’s so goddamn important that she know about,” he paused and scanned his PADD “nuclear proliferation in the twentieth century.”

“It’s all related to the Cold War and the space race,” I replied.

“Well aren’t you a happy little ray of history,” he retorted, finally looking away from his PADD. I smiled and sat down beside him. “Your hair looks pretty when it’s down.”

“Uh, Thanks? When did you start helping her?” I asked.

“Ages ago. Her mark dropped to a ninety-six and she was scared to tell you. She thinks you’ll be upset if she doesn’t get early admission to the Academy. I told her you’d probably prefer she didn’t go early, but she’s convinced you’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t,” he explained. I sighed.

“I don’t think I want her to go early. But I want her to have the opportunity to, if that’s what she wants,” I admitted. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does. But you should tell her that,” he advised. I nodded.

“Speaking of telling, when were you going to let us know about shore leave?” I asked. He stared at me blankly.

“I sent that memo last week, as soon as Jim authorized it. It should be on everyone’s PADDs.”

I pulled my PADD and showed him all my messages. Nothing about shore leave was there. He looked at my PADD, and then opened his own messaging. “Oh for -” He growled. “I left it in drafts. I think I was waiting on Jim to confirm dates.” A few taps later, and my PADD alerted me of the message waiting.

“So right now you owe me drinks,” I prompted. He raised an eyebrow.

“In a pig’s eye, kid,” he retorted. I laughed.

“I’m not going to fight with you about it. Fair and square. I’m ahead right now in the official greatest poker challenge ever,” I flipped through my PADD until I found the tracking page I’d set up, and handed it to him.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I’ll have to try a little harder tomorrow,” he laughed.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I offered. “If you’ll come with me to check out Katie’s science fair while we’re on leave, I’ll buy.”

“Done,” he said, too quickly.

“That was too easy.” I narrowed my eyes. He grinned.

“She’d already invited me.”

“You’re an asshole, Bones,” I laughed, bumping him with my shoulder.

“She’s a good girl,” he commented, more seriously.

“Yeah, I think my parents did right by me,” I agreed. “She’s smart, she’s kind -”

“She loves her mama, she wants to make you proud,” he agreed. “I hope my Joey is growing up the same, although I somehow doubt it.”

“Joey?” I asked. He must have meant the girl in the holo.

“My daughter. She’s a little less than a year older than Katie,” he offered, as though he wasn’t dropping a huge secret in my lap.

“You’ve never mentioned her,” I pressed. He looked sad. Wistful.

“It was an ugly divorce, and her mother got custody.” It was a short answer, but I could hear the pain in his voice. I squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. He laced his fingers in mine and squeezed back.

“She writes the greatest letters. Jocelyn tried to prevent me from contacting her, but the court said being off planet was hardship enough. Joanna sends me a letter once a month. Says she’s too old for me to keep calling her Joey, but she’ll always be a little girl with pigtails and a lisp in my mind,” he laughed. “I got to see her when we were back on Earth. She’s not a little girl with pigtails and a lisp anymore.”

“You’re a good man, Leonard.” I squeezed his hand again, and leaned against his shoulder.

“Joc would probably argue that point,” he laughed.

“Let me at her.” I wasn’t joking. He slipped his arm around my shoulder.

“Well,” he paused. “I was a different man then.”

“No,” I argued. “You weren’t. Men like you are born, not made.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, kid,” he laughed. “But I assure you, I was a fuck up and that ended my marriage.”

“Well, whatever you are, you owe me drinks when we get to Starbase 12,” I teased.

“We just agreed that you were buying!” He protested. “Check in with Katie, and see how much later she’s going to be.” I raised an eyebrow in question, but complied. Her response was immediate. She was busy, I was to stop interrupting her, and Mr. Yim was a god among men.

“Apparently I have at least an hour.” I shrugged. Leonard grabbed the poker chips and the deck of cards and raised his eyebrow in challenge.

“Double or nothing,” he dared. I narrowed my eyes and bit my lip.

“I don’t know, Bones,” I hesitated. “I mean, it’s not much of a wager. A second glass of scotch? Doesn’t really seem worth the risk.”

“Chicken?” He tried to provoke me. He tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck.

“Oh, you are on.” I rose to the bait. I took an early lead in the game, raking his chips across the table to my pile. A few hands in, I was certain I was going to clean him out. He had significantly fewer chips than I did, and had drawn three cards. I had a solid hand, a full house with three aces and a pair of kings. I knew I could clean him out, and went all in, sure he would follow suit. I showed my hand and his eyes widened.

“That’s a good hand,” he admitted, as he dropped his hand on the table. “But my four of a kind beats it.”

“Twos? You beat me with twos?” I threw my hands up in defeat and glared at him. He smirked winking as he swept the chips across the table. I gathered the cards and put them away, still shaking my head and muttering under my breath. He followed me to the shelving unit and put the chips down beside the cards and laughed.

“Come on, don’t be that way,” he cajoled. I scowled at him. “That was a pretty historic loss, as poker losses go. You don’t see that often.”

“Rub it in why don’t you?” He took my chin in his hand and tilted my head up, forcing me to look at him. I smiled despite myself.

“There’s my girl,” he teased. “Sunny disposition and all.” I cocked an eyebrow and rolled my eyes.

“I should punch you in the spleen,” I grumbled. He stepped a little closer and slipped his free arm around my waist, pinning my arm at my side.

“Come on now, the bruise is only just gone,” he laughed, and I became acutely aware of how close he was. My breath caught. I extricated myself from his arms and stepped toward the door.

“I should go.” I bit my lip. He looked hurt, almost.

“I thought you weren’t in a hurry?” He asked. “Katie hasn’t commed.” He took a few steps toward me, and I had to force myself to not retreat. He pushed a stray curl off my face and looked at me in wonder. I had to force myself to breathe. His hand cupped my cheek, and without realizing what I was doing, I closed my eyes and leaned into it. Then, while my eyes were still closed, I felt his lips brush against mine, soft, without any force. I pulled away, dragging in a deep breath. He stepped away.

“I -”

“Oh, shit, Bryn,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No, don’t.” I placed my fingers against his mouth. “Don’t apologize.” I stepped back against him, eliminating the space between us. My arm snaked around his neck, pulling him down to me. Our lips met, and the tight anticipation in my chest exploded as he gathered me into his arms. And then my comm chirped, forcing us apart. I looked down at the message, knowing it would be Katie.

“I have to go.” I didn’t want to go. He nodded, mute, his face flushed. “I will see you in the morning.” He nodded again. I walked toward the door, and turned back before pushing the button to open it. He crossed the room in three steps and pushed me into the wall, his mouth hard against mine. His hands tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck and his teeth tugged on my bottom lip. I slid my tongue against his teeth and he deepened the kiss, leaving me breathless. He pulled away, his mouth turning up at the corner just slightly.

“You have to go,” he breathed. “Katie.” It sounded like he was reminding himself more than me.

[teamfreewill-imagine]

Hell House

Summary: Your sister and her boyfriend start a prank war on the way to investigate a haunted house Words: 6k Dean x Reader, Sam x Jess Warnings: episode related drama, pranks

A/N: this is part of my ‘Jess never died’ rewrite, find the masterpost here Beta: @blacksiren

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You didn’t remember falling asleep in the car. In fact, you didn’t even remember deciding to close your eyes. Apparently, your body was just exhausted.

You woke with a start as Dean began singing obnoxiously loud along to Blue Ӧyster Cult, flailing your arms out in front and promptly spitting something out of your mouth before realising it was just a plastic spoon.

You looked over at your sister to see her suppressing a laugh, and you slapped her arm at the same time as landing a forceful kick to the back of Sam’s seat.

“Hey!” he complained, turning to face you once he’d turned Dean’s music down a bit, the brothers both suppressing grins of their own. “It was all Jessica.”

You folded your arms, raising an eyebrow. “I do not believe that for one second.”

Dean finally allowed himself a chuckle, and you glared at him through the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry kid, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas,” he halfheartedly apologised, “Kinda gotta make your own.”

“I’m not a kid,” you replied automatically, despite the term of endearment not really irking you anymore. You looked at your sister, unimpressed. “We’re not going to start this shit up again.”

“Start what up?” Dean asked, and you sighed.

“The prank stuff,” you told him. “Sam and Jessy started a prank war back in college. It escalates too quickly.”

“Ah, what’s the matter, Bish?” Jess teased. “You afraid of a little Nair in your shampoo, huh?”

You took your time to look at them all, calculating.

“Alright,” you said after a while. “Just remember, you started it.”

Sam smirked, “Bring it on, baldy.”

Unsurprisingly, that earned him another kick.

He turned back to face the front and you glanced out the window, taking in your surroundings as you allowed yourself to stretch.

“Where are we, anyway?” you asked through a yawn, not bothering to cover your mouth.

Dean pulled a face at you but you just shrugged.

“A few hours outside of Richardson,” he told you.

“Gimme the lowdown again?” Jessica requested.

Sam passed the research back as he started to explain.

“Alright, about a month or two ago, these kids go poking around in this local haunted house,” he told you. “Apparently, it’s a pretty misogynistic spirit. Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this group of kids see this dead girl in the cellar.”

“Is there an ID on the corpse?” you asked, and Sam shook his head.

“See, that’s the thing,” he sighed. “By the time the cops got there, the body was gone. So the cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains.”

Jessica shrugged, looking up from the papers on her lap.

“Maybe the cops are right, babe,” she offered, and Sam nodded.

“Yeah maybe. But I read a couple of the kids’ firsthand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere.”

Jess shuffled through the papers, coming up short and frowning at her boyfriend.

“Where did you read these accounts?” she asked, and he chanced a glance at Dean before answering.

“Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas, so uh… last night I surfed some local paranormal website,” he admitted, rushing a little. “And I found one.”

Dean scoffed, nodding. “Oh yeah? And what’s it called?”

“HellHoundsLair.com,” Sam murmured, cheeks flushing an adorable shade of pink.

Dean outright laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but let out an amused huff of air.

“Lemme guess,” Dean offered, “Streaming live out of Mom’s basement?”

Sam smiled, his blush fading. “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit ‘em in the persqueeter.”

The comment caused Sam to bristle, looking straight at his brother despite Dean’s eyes being firmly on the road.

“Look, we let Dad take off - which was a mistake, by the way,” he added, obviously still bitter. “And now we don’t know where the hell he is, so meantime we gotta find ourselves something to hunt.”

Dean didn’t reply, and you could see Sam getting more aggravated every second that passed.

“There’s no harm checking this thing out,” you offered, softly.

Dean met your eyes, seeing the pleading expression.

Sam really needed a win right now, and you knew that Dean knew it too.

“Alright,” he relented. “So where do we find these kids?”

The sour look vanished from Sam’s face, and he found himself holding back a proud smile.

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

The four of you split up when it came to interviewing the kids from the house at a local burger joint. You and Jessica went together to talk to the girl.

She was somewhat timid, clearly shaken up by what she’d seen, which lead you and your sister to believe what she was saying.

When you met up with the brothers, the two of them having spoken to a witness each, some of the information was conflicting but one thing was certain. Craig Thurston took them to the house.

Dean had found out that he was working in a nearby music shop, so the two of you headed there while Sam and Jessica found a motel.

A bell rang above the door as you entered, alerting the guy behind the counter to your entrance.

“Hey. Can I help you with anything?” he asked as the two of you walked up to the desk.

“Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?” you enquired, and he nodded.

“I am,” he smiled, and Dean offered a tight smile in response.

“Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News,” he explained, the practised lie easy on his tongue. “I’m Dean, this is Y/N.”

“No way,” Craig grinned. “Well, I’m a writer, too. I write for my school’s lit magazine.”

“Well, good for you, Morrissey,” Dean murmured, causing Craig’s smile to falter.

You subtly elbowed Dean, trying portray ‘stop being a dick to the witness’ through the narrowing of your eyes.

“We’re doing an article on local hauntings,” you told Craig, “And, rumour has it, you might know of one.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “You mean the Hell House?”

“That’s the one,” Dean confirmed.

He folded his arms self-consciously, “I didn’t think there was anything to the story.”

“Why don’t you tell us the story?” you offered, pulling out a notepad and pen to jot stuff down while he was writing. You figured that would be a reporter-y thing to do, despite Dean calling you a dork for suggesting it on the way over.

“Well, supposedly, back in the ‘30s, this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters,” Craig told you, visibly growing more uncomfortable as he spoke. “It was during the Depression; his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end.”

“How?” you prompted, and he nodded, swallowing.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick,” he explained, “Rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop, but he just strung ‘em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he just turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside.”

Dean shot you a glance before looking back at Craig. “Where’d you hear all this?”

“My cousin Dana told me,” he admitted. “You gotta realise, I- I didn’t believe this for a second.”

He paused and you looked up from your pad.

“But now you do,” you finished for him.

“I don’t know what the hell to think,” he sighed. “You guys, I- I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

“What’s the excuse for us not going to the scene this time?” Jess asked, unamused, when you turned up at the motel and told Sam he had to go with Dean to the house.

“Legend says Mordechai strings up any girl that goes inside,” you shrugged, kicking off your shoes and kissing Sam’s cheek as he passed through the doorway to meet Dean outside. “We’re girls, Smalls. Might not be safe.”

“What’re we supposed to do then?” she asked, and you pulled out your laptop before sitting beside her on one of the beds and opening it up.

“We’ve got research to do.”

Jessica groaned, leaning her head back on the headboard. You laughed slightly, pulling up a search engine to look up anything to do with Mordechai Murdoch.

“You’d rather risk your life than do research safe in a motel?” you questioned.

Your sister shrugged noncommittally and began picking at her nails.

You ignored her emotional funk in favour of throwing yourself into work.

Eventually, Jessica joined in, helping you take down any and all information that seemed to be of import.

By the time the boys got back that night, you’d exhausted all of the online resources and still come up short of anything particularly relevant to the case.

“What’ve you got?” Dean asked, setting his duffel down beside yours on the other bed.

“We couldn’t find a Mordechai, but there’s a Martin Murdoch who lived in that house in the ‘30s.”

Dean raised his eyebrows for you to continue, and Jess took over.

“He did have kids, but only two of them. Both boys,” she expanded. “And there’s no evidence he ever killed anyone.”

Sam groaned in annoyance as he placed the takeout bag on the small coffee table.

“I’m guessing you didn’t find much either?” you deduced.

Dean shook his head.

“Those kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl,” he reminded you, retrieving two boxes of Chinese and handing them to you and your sister. “We did hit up the police station, but no matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed. We did our digging, but this one feels like a bust. For all we know, those HellHound boys made up the whole thing.”

Sam handed you chopsticks, and you frowned at Dean as he perched on the edge of the mattress.

“What do you mean, ‘those HellHound boys’?” you asked, picking up on the familiar tone he used when addressing them.

“They were at the house,” Sam explained, leaning in to kiss Jessica before sitting back with his own food. “Amateurs, calling us the inexperienced ones. Kinda ironic.”

“Sounds like a barrel of laughs,” you deadpanned, and Dean allowed you a small smile at that.

“Low-rent Ghostbusters,” he mumbled, and you grinned back, happy to see a smile on his face.

The next morning, pictures of a teenage girl who’d supposedly gone to the Murdoch house to commit suicide were all over the local news.

Upon further inspection you found out from friends that she went into the house as a dare, with no obvious intentions to take her own life.

Figuring they missed something, Sam and Dean decided that it would be a good idea to go back to the house that night.

You and your sister weren’t happy about staying back in the motel for another night, so after much persuasion you were allowed to go with them, on the condition that in no circumstances would you set foot inside the house.

After being cooped up in a motel for bordering thirty hours, it was no surprise that you and Jessica both jumped at the opportunity.

Dean parked the car half a mile from the property, and the four of you quietly made your way towards the house careful to stay in the shadows.

As you got closer, you noticed a police car parked outside, two cops leaning against it.

“I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around in there,” Sam offered, and Dean sighed.

“Yeah, but we still gotta get in there,” he murmured.

Whispered voices caught your attention, and the four of you looked over to the source of the news.

Two men, head to toe in all kinds of undoubtedly useless gadgets, were approaching the property, whispering and shushing each other.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean groaned.

“Ghostbusters?” you questioned, and he nodded in confirmation.

You took a moment to survey the situation before nodding to your sister.

“I’ve got an idea,” you announced, glancing back at Sam and Dean. “Ed and Harry, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam murmured. “What are you gonna do?”

“Don’t worry about us,” you told him, grabbing your sister’s hand and silently telling her to follow your lead. “It’s not the first time Jessy and I have had to flirt our way out of a tricky situation.”

You emerged from the shadows, gasping as if you’d only just seen the wannabe paranormal investigators.

“Oh my God!” you mock-whispered, deliberately loud enough for them to hear. “Jessy- is that-?”

“Ed and Harry!” Jessica squealed, really catching their attention now as you approached them. “Oh my God!”

Their eyes widened at the sight of you, before plastering on what they thought were cool, sexy expressions.

“Hey there, ladies,” Harry drawled, and you fought back an eyeroll at his terrible attempt at being smooth.

“Wow,” Jessica breathed, and you bristled with pride that she was selling it convincingly. “My sister and I are like, your biggest fans.”

Ed’s eyebrows shot up.

“Sisters?” he asked, and you nodded, tossing your hair over your shoulder and giggling.

You made a mental note to get Sam and Dean to buy you a fuck load of beer after all of this was over. These guys were making your skin crawl.

“That’d make us brothers,” Harry whispered, and you knew that was your chance.

“Oh my God!” you gushed loudly, getting the attention of the cops. “Jessy, our favourite paranormal investigators like us!”

“Hey! You!” one of the cops shouted, and Harry and Ed froze, looking between you and your sister before turning on their heels and running.

The police chased after them on foot, leaving you and your sister at the side of the road, laughing.

“They were about ready to marry us,” Jess laughed as Sam and Dean walked over to you, grinning.

“Good job, girls,” Dean commented, his hands finding your waist as he placed a firm kiss to your lips.

You huffed a small laugh as you halfheartedly pushed him back.

“Go, while the cops are busy,” you told him as Sam kissed Jess softly.

“If they come back, we’ll keep them occupied.”

Dean frowned.

“Not sure I like the sound of that,” he grumbled, and you smirked.

“Go,” you repeated, pushing him in the direction of the house. “Be safe.”

You watched them walk away, your sister standing right at your side.

“He really doesn’t like seeing you flirting,” Jess commented, and you scoffed.

“Good.”

She looked at you, contemplative.

“Are you still punishing him?” she asked, and you shook your head.

“Not intentionally,” you allowed, throwing your arm across her shoulders to keep the two of you warm. “If I do something that makes him jealous, it’s just a bonus.”

She laughed, an arm slipping around your waist as she leaned against you, the two of you walking closer to the house.

“We’re working on it, though,” you assured her. “We’re getting there.”

“Good,” she smiled, stopping and leaning against the cop car. “I think you make a good team.”

You laughed, ruffling her hair fondly.

“Whatever.”

You saw the guys run out of the house and you and your sister immediately started running in the direction you’d parked the car, seeing Ed and Harry being trailed by the cops as they approached the house again.

The four of you got to the car at the same time, Sam and Dean looking more dishevelled than usual after a half mile run.

“Murdoch,” Dean explained, opening the impala and getting in behind the wheel. “Fucking Murdoch.”

They didn’t say much on the way back to the motel, and when you got there Dean focussed everything on drawing some symbol he’d seen inside the house.

You sat against the headboard, Dean leaning back into you, half laying over your lap as he continued to scrawl on his notepad.

You couldn’t help but notice the ease at which you fell into the position, how naturally intimate it felt to be this way with him. You were falling hard and you knew it.

Your hand was subconsciously carding through his short hair, scritching at his scalp lightly as Sam and Jess sat in a similar position on their bed.

Sam had his laptop open, the two of them looking intently at the screen.

“What the hell is this symbol?” Dean grumbled, halfway done with the drawing. “It’s buggin’ the hell out of me. This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks?”

“It does,” Sam murmured, and Dean shifted, getting more comfortable.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Well, I mean, that explains why he went after you, but why me?”

Sam rolled his eyes, pointing at something on the screen for Jessica to read.

“Hilarious,” he deadpanned. “The legend also says he hung himself, but did you see those slit wrists?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, continuing with his sketch.

“What’s up with that?” Sam asked, turning his head to look across at the two of you, only just taking in your position and suppressing a smile at the sight. “And the axe too. I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

Jessica clicked a link on Sam’s laptop, reading intently.

“This mook keeps changing,” Dean complained, finishing the irritatingly familiar symbol.

“Wait a minute,” Jess interrupted, pointing to what she was looking at to get Sam to read it too. “Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site. Listen to this. They say Mordechai Murdoch was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

You grabbed the notebook out of Dean’s hands, suddenly remembering where the symbol was from.

“Where the hell is this going?” Sam asked, and you got to your feet, shrugging into your jacket before throwing Dean his.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, pocketing the notebook and slipping your feet into your shoes. “But I think I might’ve just figured out where it all started.”

You left Sam and Jess back at the motel as you and Dean returned to the music store where you’d first ran into Craig.

He was sat behind the counter, a forlorn expression on his face.

“Hey Craig, remember us?” you asked, walking through the aisles of records and looking for what you needed.

“I’m really not in the mood to answer any of your questions, okay?”

You smiled tightly, flicking through the albums.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured him. “We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all.”

You pulled out an album and handed it to Dean as you walked over to the counter.

“You were trying to figure out the symbol relating to lore,” you explained, quietly. “But it doesn’t mean anything. It’s the logo for Blue Ӧyster Cult.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, placing the album on the counter.

“Tell me, Craig,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You- uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the shit outta people?”

Craig flinched at his tone, and you folded your arms, no longer feeling sorry for him.

“Now why don’t you tell us about that house,” you prompted.

“Without lying through your ass this time,” Dean added, causing the kid to swallow thickly.

“Alright, uh,” he sighed, shaking his head. “My cousin Dana was on a break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana's theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we- we made up some story to go along with that.”

You looked at Dean, finding the same soft frown pulling at his brows as the one you knew you were wearing.

“So they told people, who told other people,” Craig continued. “And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I- I thought it was funny at first but... now that girl's dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

He looked distraught, and you paused, watching him carefully before nodding to yourself.

“Alright,” you sighed, turning to leave, Dean doing the same.

You reached the door and Dean held it open for you.

“If none of it was real,” he murmured, “Then how the hell do you explain Mordechai?”

You made Dean stop at a joke shop on the way back to the motel. You still hadn’t forgiven your sister and traitor of a best friend for pranking you in the car.

When you got back, Sam and Jessica’s clothes were on the bed, the sounds of running water coming from the shower.

“We’re back,” you called out.

You heard a muffled ‘shit’ from your sister, the sound of feet slipping on tiles.

“Think we interrupted some sexy shower time,” you teased, but Dean pulled a face.

“Gross, that’s my brother,” he reminded you, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, and my sister,” you shrugged. “They’re young, let them have fun.”

You moved over to their bed pulling a packet of itching powder from your pocket, beginning to shake it into Jessica’s bra and Sam’s boxers.

“So, we- uh, we might have a theory about what’s going on,” Sam called out from the bathroom, shutting the water off.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, finding Jessica’s duffel when you decided that attacking one bra wasn’t enough payback.

“What if Mordechai is a tulpa?”

You frowned, shaking more of the powder into the rest of your sister’s underwear.

“The fuck is a tulpa?” you questioned, dropping the bag and pocketing the packet just in time for the two of them to emerge from the bathroom, towels hastily wrapped around them.

“You’d know if you ever went to class at college,” your sister snarked, but Dean had your back.

“I don’t know what it is either,” he told them, and Sam shook his head.

“It’s a Tibetan thought form,” he explained.

“Right,” you nodded. “Hey, why don’t you two get dressed? I wanna go grab something to eat, and I’m sure your little extracurricular activities have left you two hungry as well.”

Jess flushed in embarrassment, but Sam just laughed, walking to their bed to retrieve his clothes.

“We’ll meet you at the car,” you told them, turning to leave to give them some privacy.

“You’re evil,” Dean commented once you got outside, a proud grin on his face despite his words.

“They need to know who the boss is,” you shrugged, and he laughed, his eyes glistening with humour and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Sammy and I used to prank each other,” he told you, leaning against the car and pulling you towards him.

“Yeah?” you asked, tilting your head and looking up at him, his hands resting comfortably on your hips.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “The Nair in shampoo thing? Learned that from me.”

You gasped, pinching his chest harshly.

“I had a bald patch!” you protested, and he laughed, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head.

“So did he,” he assured you, and you leaned back, looking into his eyes.

“You’re pretty when you laugh,” you told him, earning you a soft smile.

“I’m pretty all the time,” he bargained, and you laughed, nodding.

He leant in and kissed you, gentle but firm, before pulling back as your siblings came out from the motel room.

“For the record,” he murmured, unlocking the car. “You’re pretty when you laugh, too.”

Sam and Jess weren’t happy when the itching kicked in at the diner.

You’d managed to come up with a plan to get rid of the tulpa before they figured out you were behind their discomfort, so you reluctantly took them to a laundromat on your way to Kinko’s.

They both insisted on washing all of their clothes, not trusting you when you insisted that you’d not put the powder in anything else.

“Smart kids,” Dean commented once they were out of the car, and you huffed a laugh.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

You worked in a content silence once you got to Kinko’s, printing out convincing paperwork with ‘confirmation’ of Murdoch’s death certificate, explaining how he died - from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

After a brief discussion with your siblings, you figured it would be best for Sam and Dean to go and present the new information to Ed and Harry. Dean didn’t even try to hide the fact that he didn’t want you alone with other guys that had a crush on you.

Not wanting to go back to the motel, Jess convinced her boyfriend that the two of you could just as easily wait it out in a cafe.

It didn’t take long for the information to be snatched up by the Hell Hound boys. After the guys met you in the cafe you knew it wouldn’t be long before the story was up on their website.

You slid out of the booth when they arrived, offering to get them drinks since you and Jess were only halfway done with yours.

When you got back to the table, Jess had a suspicious grin on her face.

You narrowed your eyes at her as you handed the brother’s their drinks.

“What’s that face for?” you asked, and she shrugged, a practiced mask of indifference.

Dean pulled you by the wrist, making you sit next to him without further question.

“C’mon, crack a smile,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes, nodding to Sam’s open laptop.

“They post it yet?”

Sam turned the computer to face you, showing a new page up on HellHoundsLair.com.

“‘We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdoch has a fatal fear of firearms’,” Dean read, shaking his head in bemusement.

“Alright,” you sighed. “How long do we wait?”

“Long enough for the new story to spread and the legend to change,” Sam told you. “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.”

He held his beer out to you, and you picked up your own, tapping the neck to his.

“Sweet,” you murmured, taking a swig.

The grin was back on Jessica’s face as you lowered the bottle to the table, and you frowned in confusion until realisation dawned when you couldn’t let go of the glass.

“You didn’t,” you accused, trying to shake your hand free.

“Oh, I did,” Jessica laughed, holding up a small tube of superglue.

“Jessica Lee you’re in a whole load of shit for this,” you told her, but she was too busy laughing to pay any heed to your warning.

“Here,” Dean said, trying to hide a smile as he motioned for your hand.

“You’re such a shit,” you told him as he tried to pry your palm free with a spoon. “Three vs one isn’t fair.”

“Hey,” he protested fondly, “I’m the neutral party in this.”

“Two on one isn’t fair either,” you grumbled, wincing as a small section of your palm was freed. “You should be on my side.”

His eyes searched yours for a second, and Sam and Jess were eerily quiet as they witnessed the exchange.

“I am,” Dean murmured softly, looking back down at your hand as a blush rose across his freckled cheeks.

“You sure you’ve got this?” Sam asked Jess for the tenth time since you’d left the car and started on foot to the Murdoch house.

“Sam,” she laughed, “You know for a fact that this isn’t the first time Y/N’s flirted with a cop.”

“Yeah, but you’re not Y/N,” he reminded her, and you rolled your eyes.

“If you actually dressed up on halloween, you’d have seen Jessy flirt with a policeman,” you reminded him. “You’d’ve probably seen me flirt with one, too.”

Jessica scoffed, but you just shrugged.

“What? This tall drink of water in a tight-in-all-the-right-places cop costume?” you laughed, pinching Sam’s ass as you walked past him, turning and walking backwards to catch the looks on their faces. “Nobody could resist that.”

“That’s enough of that,” Dean grumbled, and you turned back around, falling into step beside him.

Your eyes flitted over his face, taking in his clenched jaw and slightly flared nostrils.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” you assured him, quietly. “Sam and I, we never-”

“I know,” he sighed, surprising you when he entwined his fingers with yours and squeezed. “But you’re gonna have to flirt with those cops.”

You squeezed his hand back.

“True,” you allowed. “But after all this is done, I’ll be going back with you.”

You paused, heat rising in your cheeks as you realised what you’d said.

“And Sam, and Jessy,” you hastily added, and he smiled, letting go of your hand to put his arm around your shoulders.

“I knew what you meant, kiddo,” he assured you, kissing the top of your head.

You didn’t even pretend to hate the name this time.

Jessica told you that she had a plan with the cops, so it was your turn to follow her lead. Sam and Dean were waiting in the shadows, ready to make a quick dash for the house once you’d distracted them enough.

As you approached, the policemen stood up straighter, cool smiles plastered on their faces.

“Ladies,” the slightly taller man drawled, his Texas accent heavy just from one word. “What are y’all doin’ all the way out here in the dark?”

Jessica smiled, tilting her head up to look at him, despite the fact there wasn’t much of a height difference. Making him feel tall, you nodded, allowing yourself to slouch slightly.

“We’re new to the area,” Jess explained, her voice lighter, softer than normal. “We were exploring and- I think we’re a little lost.”

“Where did you move from?” the other one asked, and you and Jessica answered at the same time.

“Minnesota-”

“California-”

You blushed, shaking your head.

“We were at Stanford,” you explained, “But we took a trip north before settling here.”

“You think you could maybe show us around?” Jessica asked, big eyes wide and inviting.

They looked at each other as you smiled hopefully at the two of them.

“I suppose we could walk you back into town,” the taller said, and you grinned, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheek.

“Thank you so much,” you gushed, hating how girly you sounded but going along with it for the brothers’ sake.

“So,” Jess said once you’d started walking away. “How did two handsome guys like you end up on this shitty night shift?”

You’d given the cops the number of one of Dean’s burner phones when they left you outside some apartment complex, waiting for them to leave before walking back to your motel.

The new legend hadn’t stuck, the iron rounds didn’t harm the tulpa at all, so the brothers took matters into their own hands and burnt the house to the ground.

Sam had texted Jess a couple minutes after the cops left, telling you that they were back at the impala and Murdoch had been dealt with.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Jessica pondered as you got back to the motel, waiting outside the room for the boys to arrive. “Of all the things we’ve hunted, how many existed just because people believed in them.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

“All this stuff is crazy,” you sighed. “When we were growing up, back with Mom and Dad, I wouldn’t have thought any of this was possible.”

She nodded, thinking.

“You ever think we should tell them?” she asked. “About all this stuff?”

“You think they’d believe us?” you countered, and she sighed.

“Guess not,” she agreed, raising a hand in a wave as the impala pulled into the parking lot.

You pushed up from the wall, walking towards the car, ready to get in for another long drive to Bumfuck, Nowhere.

“We’re gonna stay here another night,” Dean told you, getting out and grabbing your bags from the trunk while Sam and Jess embraced. “Wanna make sure the amateurs leave well enough alone.”

“Okay,” you nodded, taking your bag and the room key as Dean held it out for you.

You leant up, placing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth before walking back over to your room, leaving Sam and Jessica to pay for an extra day at reception.

“What was the cop’s name?” Dean asked, dropping his duffel on the bed while he sat down, taking off his boots. “The tall one?”

You smiled knowingly, not that he was looking.

“I never asked for it,” you assured him. “But it’s cute that you’re jealous.”

He looked up, mouth opening and closing, unsure what to say.

You grinned, walking over and standing between his parted knees, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“Just shows you care,” you told him, letting your thumbs stroke over the sides of his neck soothingly.

“Yeah,” he sighed, taking one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your pulse point before letting go as Sam and Jess entered. “Let’s get some rest.”

You nodded, stepping back and opening your bag, pulling out a sleep shirt, ignoring your sister’s perceptive smile as you walked through to the bathroom.

The next morning, you waited at a bench near Ed and Harry’s trailer, watching from afar while they loaded their car.

Sam said something that made Jessica crack up with laughter, catching their attention and causing them to walk over.

“You guys know these ladies?” Harry asked in place of a greeting.

“Old friends,” Dean replied, tightly.

Ed and Harry nodded, their eyes drawing slowly over you and your sister before Harry nudged his friend.

“Should we tell ‘em?” he asked, and Ed shrugged.

“Hey, might as well, you know,” he agreed. “They’re gonna read about it in the trades.”

You raised your eyebrows at them.

“So, this morning we got a phonecall from a very important Hollywood producer,” Harry explained, and Dean scoffed.

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” he guessed, and Ed narrowed his eyes.

“No, smartass,” he defended. “He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it.”

“And create the RPG,” Harry added, and you frowned.

“The what?”

“Role playing game,” Ed explained, and you nodded. “A little lingo for you. Anyhoo, excuse us, we’re off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys,” Sam offered, smiling wide. “That sounds really great.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Dean agreed. “Best of luck to you.”

Ed scoffed. “Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer, unabashed talent.”

You nodded, and Harry winked at you before the two of them began to walk away.

You watched them leave, laughing slightly.

“Wow,” you murmured.

Sam grinned at you. “I have a confession to make.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“I, uh,” he paused, laughing softly. “I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer.”

You all laughed, and Sam smiled, proud of himself.

“Yeah, well I’m the one who put Jessy’s number on their dashboard,” you added, and Dean cracked up, Jessica shaking her head through a chuckle as you made your way back to the impala.

“Truce?”

Jessica offered her hand, and you shook it, grinning.

“Yeah, truce,” you agreed, opening the back passenger door. “At least for the next hundred miles, anyway.”

Dean was still laughing as he got in behind the wheel, starting the engine and turning on the stereo.

There was Blue Ӧyster Cult blasting through the speakers as you made your way out of Texas.

What did you think? Let me know!

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